Market Madness

Hello from the Land of Smiles!

We are currently in Bangkok - and yes, it's just as crazy as you've heard. Thailand has been truly amazing and I can't wait to tell you all about it. But first, I have to finish with Indonesia - and then of course, I still have Malaysia to write about as well. We better get started!

We left you last in Kuta, Lombok riding the waves. After another journey via ferry, we found ourselves back in Bali. Our sites were set on a little town called Ubud and after a long days journey we finally arrived. Ubud was everything we needed - a nice town full of wonderful spas and good food. We stayed at a family owned bungalow. The little lady who showed us our rooms was just as sweet as could be. She was grandmotherly and had the nicest smile. We were well taken care of - tea and coffee and breakfast every morning on our deck. Our bungalow looked somewhat like a little temple with an elaborately carved door and beautiful cement work on the outside. The grounds were full of beautiful landscaping and small hidden shrines that were faithfully attended to daily with incense, fresh flowers, and offerings. All of it was homey and relaxing. But the town and the bungalows aren't what I want to talk about today. I want to talk about the place I enjoyed the most...

The word “travel” is individually defined by those that endeavor to pursue it, each person creating a criterion of comforts, choices, locations, and lengths to meet their ideas or itinerary. The weekend road tripper sees travel as a dot on a map chosen by the miles round trip, and the continual feeling of the open road. The two-week vacation seeker leans towards the comfortably exotic and the relaxation of a controlled atmosphere where money is secondary to convenience and quality. The backpacker looks for budgeted accommodations and (often) numbers of passport stamps with the temptation to spend their time like their money – with quick stops in the cheapest places more concerned with variety than quality. Those that travel for work might see it as a business opportunity with the benefit of exposure to new places and faces instead of hefty 401ks and retirement plans. But no matter what your definition, travel is (or should be) a way to increase the enjoyment in your life.
Even the most seasoned backpacker will readily admit that if comfort is your definition of enjoyment then you’re going to have to shell out a little more mula. The old saying is true: you get what you pay for. More money will undeniably buy you better accommodations in a nicer part of town or with a better view. The nicest restaurants will probably be cleaner than their cheaper cousins – the food stalls. And souvenirs are usually on par with the price as well (at least ‘high-end’ things like artwork and jewelry). In my limited experience, however, I have managed to find one area of travel where this “more money = better item” rule is reversed and that is culture. You can’t buy culture and when it does have a price tag you’ll probably find it forced and fake. Cultural shows, while excellent ways to see the exotic or unusual side of a society, often have an air of repetitiveness. Museums are culture strongholds but offer only a snapshot of occurrences or phases but do little to expose you to current culture. In other words, it’s hard to get a sense of emotional pride or religious vigor by looking at an artifact encased in glass. This is because culture is a living, breathing dimension of society. And it lives and breaths most commonly (and colorfully) in the back alleys and city streets, in the fields and aboard the trains and boats. So if your definition of travel involves meeting the locals or being exposed to the heart and soul of a city or town, may I suggest one very important must-see – the local market.
You’ll find that markets are as varied and as unique as the places you visit. All markets have some kind of appeal from the amazing variety (and constant repetitiveness) of the classic tourist trap souvenir markets to the fresh off the boat and out of the field produce markets. The latter are my favorite and carry the added benefit of food stalls and fresh fruit stands. For authentic local food the rule is simple – eat where the locals eat. And if you’ve ever visited a market you know that the locals adore those little food stalls.
Back in the US of A, local produce markets are usually small weekend affairs located conspicuously in a large, open air parking lot or town center. Here in Asia where the produce, meat, and fish are still grown and distributed within a hundred mile radius the markets are still a daily part of life. Arrive early to any market (and every city and village has at least one) and your sure to see restaurant owners and grandmothers haggling side by side. The markets are located wherever there is adequate space and can sometimes prove surprisingly difficult to find.
That was the case with the market in Ubud, Bali. This artsy town offered every traveler something – from fancy hotels and spas to small family-owned bungalows (like ours) and cheap local eats. We had heard rumor of a big market and even saw signs of one with local women carrying large baskets on their heads that were overflowing with bright chilies, eggplants, and mangosteens. However, the only stands we could find were those selling sarongs and other run of the mill tourist fare. Finally, we decided to follow one of the ladies whose basket was empty. She led us through several narrow alleyways lined with souvenir shops, past paintings, clothing, and wooden knickknacks, all interesting but lacking the true soul of a local market place.
Then – bam! – we turned another narrow corner and it opened up to a large area filled with the sites and sounds and smells that make a market so incredible and so memorable. If you’ve ever been to a fresh produce market then you know what I am talking about. Suddenly I was standing in the middle of an ancient ritual – buying and selling food. There is something so basic and heartwarming about watching the vendors (which in Asia are predominantly women) sitting among their wares. Baskets filled to the brim with rich, vibrant chilies in an array of colors, their spicy scent filling the air. Large mounds of the oddly cartoon-like rhambuton, a fruit akin to the lychee that is encased in a red covering with tiny, soft, spike-like hairs growing from it. That fierce exterior hides a sweet, grape-like fruit that makes an excellent snack. We had our first experience with snake fruit here as well. This small, spade-shaped fruit has an outside skin that looks and even feels like its namesake. Inside you’ll find a truly unique fruit that combines the taste and texture of an apple, pear, and cashew nut. Then of course, there was the mangosteens – round, deep purple fruits whose thick, soft exterior can be peeled away to reveal a fleshy white fruit that is sweet and tangy and absolutely amazing.
We were loving it. The smells of fruit and spices, the women haggling and laughing, the people constantly moving and looking. A market is a cultural picture in motion.
Mixed in with the fruits and vegetables were the pastries and packaged spices as well as the random house wares and souvenir stalls. The whole of it was located in what appeared to be a multi-level parking structure converted to fit the ramshackle mix of tables and stands with the more permanent stalls lining the corridors that faced and overlooked the action below.
A whole section was dedicated to meat. Chickens were being cut up and wrapped in paper. Mystery meats were awaiting purchase while providing the flies with an early morning meal. A liver the size of a McDonald’s tray was lying on a table alone. Beef and pork were mysteriously missing (as was refrigeration) but duck, chicken and the occasional fish were in abundant supply. It wasn’t exactly appetizing to see or smell but it was part of the cultural picture. This is life here. Minus the Wal-Marts and mass distribution you get what you get on a daily basis.
We roamed the stalls for hours purchasing fruit, trying new things that the vendors happily cut up and offered to us. We happened on a stall stacked high with pastries and snacks. One of the ladies spoke limited English and guided us through the wide selection of items. There were samosas – tiny fried wanton-like pastries filled with potatoes, glass noodles and spices and packaged with a small bright green chili that would bring tears to the eyes of the most staunch chili enthusiast but when combined with the samosa was downright delightful. Individually wrapped muffins, sweet or savory colorful crepes with crème fillings and delicious cake slices all littered the shelves and soon filled our bags. Each bag cost a little over a buck.
We went three times to the market to explore the stalls and to browse the souvenirs. We met delightful merchants and watched colorful transactions. On one such occasion, we saw two people haggling over a live duck who, judging by the sheer volume and vigor of his quacks, had already guessed his fate.
That market with it’s routine madness and activity gave me the best cultural lessons I would learn in Indonesia’s crowded streets. The images of women walking serenely with basket full of produce balanced precariously on their heads, the smiles of the vendors, and the way that they would take the money they earned after the first purchase of the day and wave it over the rest of their items as a sign of good luck – these are images that will last long after my pictures have faded or been stored away in some back closet.
I would (and will) visit many more markets on my trip, each as individual as the cities I stayed in. All of them share the direct connection to the local culture that the market in Ubud first showed me. As Desirae said a market is a place where you can go and watch without being watched. The customers are there to buy food for their homes and businesses and the vendors cater to them, not to the wayward backpacker that buys a kilo here and a kilo there. You lose the dollar sign that floats about your head out on the street and for just a second you can stand as an observer as life at it’s normal, hectic pace walks around you in a blur of colors and smells.

Our time in Indonesia was just about over. We were moving on up - literally. Malaysia was north of us and the next destination on our trip.

I'll leave you for now. Be sure you keep Desirae in your prayers on Sunday, June 8 (Saturday June 7th for you). She'll be leaving us then and flying home. We will miss her but I'm sure her family will be just as happy to see her as we will be sad to see her go.

I hope all is well back home. I miss and love you all. Adios from the road...