Translation Please? (B)

The world was a swirl of vibrant colours. Sweet flowers wafted down the street along with the smells of rush hour traffic, the smoke from the afternoon market, and the pungent odour of the durian sold by street-side vendors. Emma was missing home. She walked along in a set of alarm and trying not to get hit by cyclists, other pedestrians, street dogs, motorcycles, or even other cars that had taken to the sidewalk. Three blocks to the market could seem a long way when it was as humid as it often was in the afternoon. Emma had no idea what to buy. The market could be a busy and distracting place. Some pineapple maybe, or a mango, and some fried chicken. She would stop for an iced coffee on the way back to her apartment.
She stepped into the market and immediately felt the familiar mix of panic and claustrophobia sweeping over her. "Excuse me," she called out loudly, "I'm sorry!" But no one showed any sign of understanding her.
Through the crowd she saw the smiling face of the fruit vendor, "Canada!" he called in his nasal accent.
"Hello." She replied. She wished he would tell her his name. She had tried to ask but he did not seem to understand the question.
"Sawadee krub." He smiled.
"Mango." she said, pointing at the mangoes, "One."
"One?" he held up one finger. She nodded, "Yes." He put a juicy yellow mango in a bag for her.
She looked at the disgusting spiky fruit that sat next to the mangoes. Eww, she thought.
"Pineapple." she said now, pointing to bags of pineapples, "One."
"One?" he echoed in his nasal accent, and held up one finger.
 Emma nodded, impatiently. He put the second bag in with the mango.
"How ... are ... you?" his wife said slowly, smiling all the while.
"I am good." Emma replied, "How are you?"
"Very ... good." she answered.
The fruit vendor said. "Haa sip baht."
"What?"
"Fif-ty."
Emma reached for 60 baht from her purse. At least the twenty baht bills were the same colour as twenties back home. She received a 10 baht coin in return.
"Kob khun krub, Canada."
"Thank you."