#10 Hello to Haggling

Fresh off the Aussie experience, or at least when I felt fresh again, we were brave enough to expose ourselves to other tourist areas. So we decided on shooting across to the markets in Ubud. And wow - I finally get it - this whole haggling phenomenon! 

You may recall my earlier uncertainties about haggling. Turns out, in Gianyar (where we’re staying - whoops, probably forgot to mention that), this is not the norm. Prices are fair, and what’s on the tag is what’s expected. But Ubud - different story. Ubud is teeming with tourists. Tourists can be suckers. Haggling thrives off suckers. 

Here are some of the clues that I deftly uncovered that suggested Ubud is home to haggling:

Haggling exhibit A: 

We exit the taxi and, for the first time since arriving in Bali, are approached by a man on the street carrying a chess set. Without prompting, the man kindly shares that this handcrafted, one-of-a-kind wooden masterpiece could be ours for 750,000 IDR. 

Put this in perspective, this is slightly under a tenth of our accommodation cost. Bargain! Grab my cheque-mate! We bought immediately, reveling in our fortunes. 

…

Alright, this is a yarn. Being reluctant also gives me the good sense to be constantly suspicious. We politely declined his offer and walked on.

Haggling exhibit B: 

“No” supposedly means, “why, yes, I am interested - please keep pestering me”.

I understand - I took this similar approach in my dating years.

The man follows us now willing to sell for 350,000 IDR. The kids were fascinated that he continued to follow us for a block and a half, reducing his price with each step. I assumed, like a car, that this chess set devalued with mileage. 

Haggling exhibit C: 

We pass another stall, where there are eight other handcrafted, one-of-a-kind wooden chess sets that look surprisingly similar. Shrugged it off as coincidence.

Meanwhile our persistent friend gave his final offer of 40,000 IDR, surely prepared to take a significant loss to satisfy the customer. Generous, given the starting offer was 750,000 IDR. Politely declined again. I can only guess, he was heartbroken by the missed sale. The world of business is cruel.

Haggling exhibit D: 

My feelings were then hurt when I overheard the man cut his original price for the next potential customer.

Haggling exhibit E: 

Every other merchant called us over to look at their wares, which are increasingly similar from store to store. They must hand craft the stuff collectively. The kids and I can’t walk more than a few paces before we are guided towards the next stall.

Unlike Gianyar, in Ubud your shopping experience occurs without your consent.

Haggling exhibit F: 

I noticed they don’t provide any clues to the cost of anything, either. Nothing is priced. Nothing is labeled. They want you to ask “Berapa Harga?” (“how much?”), which usually leads to a counter-question: “What’s your offer?”. Then cue the scoff when you do put forward a suggestion.

Reluctant Traveller’s Tip: for those vulnerable to haggling exhaustion, only carry limited cash in your wallet - store the rest elsewhere on your body. Then, if the haggling gets too much, or there is a price you aren’t keen to go any higher than, you can just show them the limits of your purchasing power. It’s a handy way to either end the conversation or secure a better deal.

As you might deduce, I’m not big on foreplay!

Haggling exhibit G: 

I asked a merchant, and they advised me I should haggle here. That’s pretty convincing.

Sidenote: I just looked up the definition of haggling, as I thought I would look pretty silly if I was using the wrong term to explain all of this: Haggle: dispute or bargain persistently, especially over the cost of something. 

Persistently is definitely the active adverb. So the expectation is for a journey towards the final sale. Makes a whole lot more sense now. 

Add this to another journey I’m reluctant to endeavor on.

Haggled Out

So, what have we learnt? Haggling is exhausting! We managed two stalls before we decided not to engage. Yes, there are deals to be had. Yes, support the local economy. Yes, immerse yourself in the culture. But equally, fuck that. It’s hot (still), the kids are now hungry, and the novelty has worn off. So we found a place to eat. 

Then….wait for the segue…it was time for my wife to be eaten! A bit of a fishy nibble. Courtesy of a Balinese fish spa. 

Supposedly, the fish enjoy eating the dead skin on your feet and legs. And they do really go for it, wasting no time to engulf her seemingly tastier left leg! The kids had chickened out of joining her, so we awkwardly spectated the fishy feast - the next fifteen minutes awkwardly watching my wife wriggle and giggle until they had both had their fill. A man can’t compete with that.

Freshly satisfied, my wife and the family attempt a few more stores. One had stunning Star Wars crafted helmets and weapons, which forced my attention, but not my wallet. The kids, however, insisted on buying musical instruments (major oversight from the parents!) which have now been added to the cacophony of the rubber chicken symphony. 

My daughter also wanted to try some dresses on in one store that seemed to specialise in children’s clothing and various sculptures of phalluses. Diversifying at its finest. 

We cocked up here. 

Not from a purchase, but from allowing our daughter to try on her favourites (clothes that is!) before establishing price expectations. The store owner seemed shocked with our haggling prowess, until, after a bit of excited back and forth, we showed them that our daughter did, in fact, only have a pittance left in her wallet. The dresses were returned to the rack and an upset child was escorted from the store.

Know when to Fold 'em

It seemed strange leaving Ubud when we did. It was a 40-minute ride into the area and we had originally expected to stay for at least half the day. But it broke me.

I can see the appeal for seasoned shoppers. However, I find that even in pleasant climates, my shopping resilience is about 8 minutes before I start feeling light-headed and need a sit-down. Add the relentless charm of ‘encouraging’ salespeople and my tolerance drops like a hot potato.

Ubud eateries made it even harder not to draw comparisons, easily running four times what we’d pay back in Gianyar.

My wife, easily acclimatising to the shopping scene, assured me that she would cope just fine without me, suggesting I just look after the kids. Tag teaming with the complaining youths, we managed to crush her spirit, before I joyously ordered a return taxi back to Gianyar. 

Celebrated with a cheap ice-cream when we got back home. 

Sometimes the best deal is knowing when to walk away.