One of the charming verbal habits of older ladies whom are at least acquainted to you is to inquire how much you have spent on such and such. The object in question does not really matter, be they vegetables, a car, or a house. The results are always the same: (a) I’ve spent too much; (b) they know a place or person who can provide much cheaper. These mavens of bargain would never cross a supermarket’s threshold for food items. The best prices are at the pasar.

The supermarket is for wealthy foreigners like me. One can get imported goods such as Chinese mandarins or Washington Red Apples (why they chose the worst apple in the apple world to import is a separate question). The presence of shrink-wrapped or individually packaged vegetables in a brightly lit and well-swept space provide an illusion of cleanliness. No one bargains because the prices are fixed. If a foreigner wanted familiarity in a foreign land and were willing to pay for it, then the supermarket is the place.

The pasar is a different beast. All the produce is open to the air and piled in baskets. The streets and sidewalks are never swept. Last night’s rainwater slowly flows down adjoining canals, a dirty blue-gray burbling brook. Importantly, everyone is expected to bargain here lest you pay some hideous self-determined markup. They tell you a price, you say, “Mahal!” and then ask if you can suggest a lower one.

Prices at the pasar can be highly variable. Price might be affected by the fact that I’m a foreigner, whether the seller likes me, how often I visit, whether it’s a holiday, or even how much money I look like I have. Even if I visit vendors repeatedly, the vendors might charge me more than a local simply because I was willing to buy at a higher price in the past. Keep in mind that I am not necessarily getting cheated, though it feels that way. Relationships are the currency of the pasar even though money is the medium.

What does a foreigner with no relationships and unable to speak the local patois do? Go to the pasar. If an elderly lady tells me to do something, I go and do it. I know that I will have improved in her eyes though she will still reprove me for paying too much.

Buying Fruit

Our pasar starts at a nearby street. Several fruit stalls line it, selling green oranges from Medan, bananas, tiny pre-cut pineapples, guava, and green mangoes. Each vendor has a slightly different style of arrangement. Guava and oranges may be piled in stately pyramids on wicker plates. Fruit less prone to neat arrangement, like mangoes, may be stuffed in wicker baskets. Specialist stands that only sell one type of good, such as pineapples or coconuts, might pile them in a large, indignant heap.

Dana and I stop at one stall that our host visits for 2 kilos of guava. We intend to stick it all in a blender and make guava juice. Our host informed us that 2 kilos of guava for juice should come out to 15,000 IDR (1.04 USD). 2 kilos of guava, 5 Medanese oranges, and 2 mangoes later, we end up paying 44,000 IDR (3.04 USD). What happened?! We lacked the courage to bargain. It may have been closer to the holiday, the guava was good enough to be eaten (instead of only good for juice), or we were clearly foreigners. It stung, but there’s no explaining the markup even if we knew the language.

Buying Vegetables

The available standing/walking space shrinks to two lanes once past the initial fruit vendors. Vegetable sellers line the thin alleyways leading from the fruit vendors. Stopping anywhere will result in a backlog of people (especially if you have a backpack on) so it is imperative you know what you want when you are looking.

Vegetable stalls are a study in contrast between their vividly colored produce and the drab tents and worn wooden frames that house them. One can find high piles of lettuce, carrots, cabbage, bok choy, egg plant, cucumber, tomatoes, and long beans. Spice stalls sell bags of ground or whole spices on wicker plates - sienna paprika, golden tumeric, yellow-brown coriander seed, toast-brown cumin, and so on. Some sellers sell only aromatics, such as ginger, peach-colored galangal, purple shallots, and bright red and green chiles.

We stop at one gentleman who is lazily sitting against a wall. I ask him how much the bok choy is and he quotes me 15,000 IDR per kilo. In the supermarket, i might be charged 9,000 IDR for 5 thin stems of bok choy.... so 15,000 per kilo is great! A kilo is a lot of bok choy, but I can’t remember how to ask for half a kilo. “Silakan, satu kilo! (One kilo, please! Also, note that I use the incorrect form of “please”)” I watch the gent with satisfaction as he starts putting bok choi in a bag. My satisfaction turns to wonder as he continues putting bok choy in the bag. He weighs it out to around a kilo and asks if I’d like to throw in some long beans that I’d eyeballed earlier. I ask him for a quote on the beans.

At this point is much confusion. Dana thinks he means an extremely pricey 30,000 IDR per bunch. I think he means 30,000 IDR for 3 bunches, which is good to me. Even better, it might mean 30,000 for 3 bunches and the kilo of bok choy! I am unsure why my lack of language learning produces such unwarranted optimism in the face of ambiguity. Try as we may, no one is getting an accurate picture of what the other means. I back away from the good-looking beans and walk away with 2.2 lbs of bok choy. Good thing they shrink a lot.

The Rest of the Pasar

The Pasar follows one main alleyway. The alleyway’s walls are lined with inset stalls protected by descending corrugated steel garage doors that go down at closing time. Vendors without stalls set up tables between stalls. Not to be outdone, vendors with inset stalls will extend their storefront to match the others, lest you find yourself unable to get to them. The alleyway that could hold 4 people comfortably side to side has again been reduced to 2 lanes in opposing directions.

Back here are vendors for coffee beans, eggs, gelatinous desserts, mysterious foods wrapped in banana leaf, sandals, and everything that is not produce. A good 30ft of the alleyway on both sides was dedicated to raw meat. It unsettled me to see massive amounts of raw meat sitting out in the open air. Raw meat will putrefy quickly in 75F, and flies settled on their little raw slice of heaven. Then again, boiling, steaming, or sauteeing anything hot enough will kill all the pathogens anyway, so maybe it’s not such a big deal..... Nah. I’m getting my meat at the supermarket and I don’t care how much the old ladies disapprove!

Coda: Buying Fish at the Supermarket

The supermarket we frequent has a tank of live fish. Upon request, the employee took a net, caught the desired fish, and unceremoniously dumped it thrashing on the floor. He then took a large rubber mallet and hit it once. The bludgeoned fish must have been in its prime because it valiantly leapt/flopped away. One more bludgeon and it became an ex-fish. The employee picked it up off the floor, scaled and gutted it, and handed the formerly valiant fish to me in a bag. I made sure to steam it overly long that night, and no one got poisoned. Maybe I will try the meat at the pasar someday.