THE MORNING at Badung Market in Denpasar was bustling with activity, filled with the aroma of spices and cheerful laughter. Amidst the bustle, Mr. Reginald Smith, a British tourist in his sixties, strode confidently. In his hand was a notebook containing a list of market snacks he had “researched” the night before: klepon (Indonesian glutinous rice balls), laklak (Balinese pancake), pisang rai (boiled flour-coated banana with grated coconut). He had come to Bali not just for the sun and beaches, but to master the art of local bargaining.
“Get ready, Bali,” he muttered to himself, “Reginald Smith is coming.”
He found a colorful stall stacked with tempting snacks. Behind it, a middle-aged woman with a bright smile and sparkling eyes greeted him. Her name was Mrs. Made.
“Good morning, sir! What are you looking for?” Mrs. Made greeted him kindly, but her eyes betrayed her familiarity with all kinds of tourists.
Mr. Smith smiled a sly smile. “Ah, good morning, Ma’am! I’d like some pieces of klepon. What’s the best price?” He emphasized the word “best price” as if it were a trade secret.
Mrs. Made laughed heartily. “Klepon? That’s IDR 5,000, sir. Guaranteed the best in the market!”
“Five thousand? Oh my.” Mr. Smith shook his head slowly, as if the price was a shock. “Too expensive, ma’am. How about… three thousand?”
Mrs. Made only smiled wider. “Ah, you’re funny. Three thousand is the price of rotten bananas, sir. My klepon uses real brown sugar and fresh coconut!” She waved her hand, as if the price was non-negotiable.
Mr. Smith tried his next strategy. He pointed to a pile of green laklak. “How much are those klepon? Three thousand five hundred?”
Mrs. Made frowned, staring at the laklak she was pointing at. “This is laklak, sir, not klepon. It’s different. The price is the same, IDR 5,000.” She gave Mr. Smith a strange look, then suddenly turned to serve another customer, as if she couldn’t understand Mr. Smith’s English anymore.
Mr. Smith felt frustrated. He tried the classic “go and come back” strategy. He took a few steps away from the stall, pretending to look at other merchandise, hoping Mrs. Made would call him back with a better offer.
“Don’t pretend, sir,” Mrs. Made called from behind him, her voice amused. “I’ll be back later!”
Mr. Smith flinched. He turned around and saw Mrs. Made chuckling. He knew he’d been read. Okay, he thought, this is an interesting game.
He approached the stall again. “Okay, ma’am. I want to try… pisang rai.” He tried to pronounce it correctly. “Is that… uh, crazy banana?”
The entire stall and several surrounding customers burst into laughter. Mrs. Made clutched her stomach, laughing out loud. “Crazy banana, sir? Hahaha! No, sir, it’s pisang rai! Steamed banana with grated coconut!” She explained in hilarious sign language, imitating the movements of steaming and sprinkling coconut.
Seeing Mr. Smith blush but laughing along with her embarrassment, Mrs. Made was amused. “Enough, enough. This gentleman is so entertaining. Just take these banana fritters, they’re still Rp 5,000. But since you made me laugh… here!” Mrs. Made grabbed two fried bananas from the tray next to her and handed them to Mr. Smith. “Bonus, sir! So, I don’t go crazy!”
Mr. Smith was stunned. He’d lost the bargain; he still paid full price. But he got an unexpected bonus and a genuine laugh. He went home with a bag full of delicious snacks and a big smile on his face. The lesson of the day: in traditional Balinese markets, bargaining isn’t about how cheap you can get, but how much laughter and interaction you can create. And sometimes, local snacks aren’t that expensive to bargain for. (*)
