Learning the Art of Haggling

Cotton t-shirts just stick to one's body in this humidity; time to find breathable fabric.  Steeling ourselves we headed into the fray.  Days before, to our dismay, we'd noticed that there were no price tags whatsoever in the market.  Walking past, we're greeted with sing-song calls of "hello, come see my shop"; owners promising that it's okay to just look.  But once you darken the doorstep, you're committed.
The shop-keeper is like a blood hound sniffing out what you want to buy, what size you need.  She brings garment after garment; first the loud, bold styles, a tailor's exclamation mark.  Pointing to more restrained patterns gets you an invitation to try it on, either over your clothes, or behind a sarong that the she discreetly holds up.  You emerge to a small audience, relatives & friends that have now combined forces, admiring your new look.  Up to this point, there has been no mention of price; just a small, pesky thing for tourists, right?  When we finally ask, the shop-keeper deliberates before her solemn pronouncement. (Our minds are racing as we remember the guide book's advice: it's culturally expected to haggle, and besides, the appropriate price is usually only 50%.)  Thus begins the game of back-and-forth.  Eyebrows are raised at our price, and we get a lecture about the quality of the fabric, the detailed stitching.  We say we know of similar articles elsewhere for half the price.  So she declares a "final" number, with a small reduction.  Our counter-offer is a little higher, but she scoffs.  A stalemate, it seems.  Silence.  We simply tell her the price is way too high.  The sarcastic chuckle that follows seems practiced.  She asks us, with some impatience, how much we want to pay and we tell her.  Another declaration, slightly lowered, followed up with "my final price!"  (Interesting how many different "final" prices we are given!)  We start walking away, politely saying thank-you, while she (amazingly) is bagging up the clothes!  "How much are you going to pay?!" she calls after us.  We turn back and explain that we only have 300,000 rupiah.  Finally, she concedes "okay, 310,000."  She's agreeing to our price, but adding 10,000 so that she doesn't "lose face" in front of everyone.  After counting our money, we find we actually do have 310,000.  We both won.  Handshakes & smiles all around.

A Murtabak warung

At the night market, warungs sprout up on a street that was empty and relatively quiet during the day.  Compact fluorescent bulbs, plugged in at regular intervals, light up each individual cooking area.  A dozen warungs serve up various noodle, rice and soup dishes.  At the bakso (soup) warung, broth & meatballs are ladled from a massive pot over chopped greens, bean sprouts and precooked noodles. Large woks run off propane burners for the nasi goreng or mie goreng (fried rice or noodles).  Since this was the second night in a row that Aron had murtabak, the fellow was obliging as far as photos.   Each warung has tables and plastic stools set up for customers.  Utensils are a fork and spoon, no knives are used here.  A plastic container set in the middle of the table has a roll of toilet paper.  But condiments are easy to find at every warung including several types of chili sauce, sweet soy sauce and even raw chili peppers.  Dishes are washed as soon as they're used, in a pail of soapy water.  The woman at the warung selling fried goodies sits beside a large cauldron looking bored as she drops dough into boiling oil.  The whole set up is incredibly unsafe; they don't appear to be taking any of the usual safety precautions for deep fat frying.  Yet, she's probably done this day in and day out for years.

Avocado "juice"

Fruit juice in Bali (or anywhere in Asia, for that matter) is fresh & plentiful.  A hunk of fruit is often pulverized in a blender instead of run through a juicer.  One option on quite a few menus beside the pineapple & watermelon juice was avocado.  How does one get liquid from an avocado?  Curiosity killed the cat and I decided to give this one a go.    It arrived, smooth & thick, with something dark brown drizzled over top.  Soy sauce?  Gravy of some sort?  My first sip revealed that it was chocolate syrup.  Somehow, it works!  Who says avocados are only good for guacamole!