The Pasar

The traditional Indonesian market, the pasar, is all but extinct in most of Indonesia, slowly replaced by the convenient one-stop supermarkets. On the island just east of Bali, Lombok, few pasar exist at all, but on Bali, the pasar still thrive, sustained by the ancient rules of Hinduism. Hindu people are required by their gods to dedicate offerings several times a day, and they are required by their village to buy the supplies for the offerings in the pasar. Hence, while the traditional markets throughout a densely Muslim Indonesia disappear, the markets of Hindu Bali thrive still.

From the early morning on, women lay out their wares to sell. In Ubud, the local women selling food and offerings from woven baskets to other local women leave by 9:00, opening the space for more permanent stalls to open for the tourists, selling textiles and handicrafts. It is clear, that before 9:00, the tourist does not belong in the pasar, and after 9:00 they only represent a healthy and naïve wallet. I unknowingly entered the pasar at 7:00 one morning in Ubud in search for some fried bananas to snack on a pre-breakfast walk. As soon as I walked up to the lady selling pisang goring, among other things, the surrounding locals started commenting on the tourist trying to mingle. After five harrowing minutes, I bought my four pisang goring for four thousand Rupiah and fled, knowing I had been scammed- I should have gotten 20 for that price- but too afraid to try to bargain.

After my failed pasar experience, I decided to go with the experts, and next time arrived to a pasar near the orphanage with Komang, the cook, and another girl, Cynthia. We walked through every type of fruit my American imagination could fathom and more. Ginger was spread on the road between stalls under the sun drying. Baskets filled with small purple onions stretched into the shadows of the stalls, covered by tarps, while rows of baskets of small dried and bony fish sat waiting with hundreds of glassy eyes unseeingly staring ahead. Traditional Balinese dresses for religious ceremonies hung on models colorful rainbows of lace, and in the next row down, a woman chopped up chicken on a stump of wood with a machete. The ground, damp from yesterday’s rain, had spilled and wasted produce littering the main walkways while the traditional offerings, the life source of the pasar, tucked under poles and behind baskets, wafted incense into the air.

I had only wanted to come to the market to watch, to discover what prices Komang wrangled from the sellers, to learn how to bargain. But Komang had decided to come to the market for me, thinking I wanted to buy something. Luckily, while the pasar is a great place to buy fruits and vegetables, it is also a wonderful place to buy traditional sweets. From stall to stall, Komang practically danced, knowingly examining rice sweets and explaining her white shadow with a laugh. She didn’t bargain, just requested, received, and paid the given price. Only one time, when looking at some sweet oranges, did Komang walk away from a price. She started examining the oranges, squeezing and smelling while the vendor assured her they were sweet, opening one for her to see, maybe even sample. Komang didn’t touch it, asked how much for one kilo (10,000 Rp, I think), shook her head, and walked away. I was surprised by her either downright acceptance or rejection of products, and I wondered also: would those same women have given me the same prices for those same items had I been by myself? (Since then I have received some bargaining lessons and pricing guidelines from Chi Chi, my problem solver.)

My local pasar experience was much more enjoyable than the few harrowing moments I spent in Ubud. Accompanied by two locals, I was excusable entertainment, a tourist with an appreciation for traditional sweets and a good humor, essential when everyone else knows more than you, but even with them I didn’t quite belong. If I have the choice, I will probably choose to avoid the early morning pasar in any village, venturing in later, after the seriousness lifts and just before the hot weather sets in. And if I lose my humor and still cannot find my place in the pasar, I know that the Circle K just down the street has banana flavored, SpongeBob themed ice cream bars with smiley faces.