Describe a market you like to visit

The market I like is the Coyoacán market, which is in the south of Mexico City. It's a covered market, quite old, near the main square of Coyoacán, so it's always full of people, especially on the weekend.

They sell almost everything there. There are many fruit and vegetable stalls, with mangoes, papayas and like twenty types of chillies. You can also buy mole paste, which is a sauce made by chocolate and spices, and there are some stalls with toys and colourful piñatas for children's parties. But the most famous thing is the tostadas, crispy tortillas with chicken, cream and avocado on top.

I go there about two Sundays a month with my grandmother Lupe. She has been going to this market since she is a young girl, so she knows where are the best things. My job is carry the bags, and at the end she always buy me a tostada.

I enjoy going there because it's very different to the supermarket. In the supermarket nobody talks to you, but in the market the sellers know my grandmother by her name and they make jokes with her. She always tries to make the price lower, even for a few pesos, and they pretend to be angry. For me it's not only shopping, it's a special time with her and it gives me a feeling of my culture.

I'd like to talk about the market in Coyoacán, which is a neighbourhood in the south of Mexico City. It's an old covered market just a couple of streets from the main square, and at weekends it's absolutely packed with families and tourists.

It sells pretty much everything you can think of. There are rows of fruit stalls piled high with mangoes and papayas, and one stall that has at least twenty varieties of dried chillies. You can buy mole paste by the kilo, which is a thick sauce made with chocolate, chilli and spices, and further in there are stalls full of toys and enormous, brightly coloured piñatas. But what it's really famous for is tostadas, crispy fried tortillas topped with chicken, cream and avocado.

I go a couple of Sundays a month with my grandmother, Lupe. She's been shopping there since she was a little girl, so she knows exactly which stall has the best of everything. My role is basically to carry the bags, and my reward is a tostada at the end.

What I enjoy most is that it's so personal. In a supermarket nobody even looks at you, whereas half the stallholders greet my grandmother by name and tease her. She always haggles, even over a few pesos, and they always pretend to be outraged, but it's obviously a game they all enjoy. So for me it's less about the shopping and more about spending time with her, and feeling part of something that's been going on for generations.

The market I'd happily spend every Sunday in is the one in Coyoacán, an old neighbourhood in the south of Mexico City. It's a sprawling covered market a couple of blocks from the main square, and at weekends it's teeming with families, tourists and stray dogs who know exactly where the butchers are.

You'd struggle to name something it doesn't sell. There are aisles of fruit stalls stacked with mangoes and papayas, a chilli stall with at least twenty kinds of dried pepper hanging in bunches, and vendors selling mole paste by the kilo, that dark, rich sauce of chocolate and spices my grandmother refuses to make from scratch any more. Further in, the place turns into a riot of colour, with toys and enormous papier-mâché piñatas dangling from the ceiling. But the real draw is the tostadas: crisp fried tortillas heaped with chicken, cream and avocado.

I go roughly every other Sunday with my grandmother, Lupe. She's been doing her shopping there since she was about six, so she knows which stall has the sweetest mangoes and which one quietly overcharges. I'm officially there to carry the bags, and I'm paid in tostadas.

What I love about it is how human it all is. In a supermarket you can do a whole shop without exchanging a word, whereas there half the stallholders call my grandmother by her first name and tease her about her haggling. She'll argue over five pesos as a matter of principle, they'll act scandalised, and everyone walks away grinning. It's a performance they've been perfecting for decades, and being part of it makes me feel rooted in a way that no loyalty card ever could.