I absolutely love this process. It's a bit of an addiction actually, one that I rarely get to indulge in the US.Tonight I decided to drop lots of cash on various handicrafts here at the Chaing Mai Sunday night market, so I could bring them home and keep some and give the rest to you (awwww, Ron-eeee!).
Thousands of people and many hundreds of vendors fill a huge, closed down street from late afternoon through midnight. It is awesome!
It's a very warm night (I think it hit 100 today), and that makes it especially special. Though I must say being surrounded by so much delicious food, and still not being able to eat much more than rice (hey, I had a steamed spring roll today, and still haven't felt like vomiting!) is a bit like torture.I'm compensating by shopping. And bargaining like a bad ass! Or at least I'm telling myself that.
I've long loved to bargain, ever since my hard as nails former tank mechanic Israeli father taught me how. We were in Mexico when I was 10 and the guy was a machine. I think actually once some poor peasant paid my father instead of the other way around. That's how good he was.
I learned quick. I was 2/3s as tall as most of the vendors (OK, as tall as most of the vendors - it was Mexico. Oooh, Krouzman) and they say, "3500 pesos." And I'd say, in a voice that was higher pitched than I care to remember, "750 pesos." And god damn it I'd get the little toy sombrero for 750 pesos.
I was hooked. And my father's prowess only emboldened me (see more on this point below).
He taught me the art of bargaining Israeli-style. And let me tell you, few people do it as good as Israelis, in more ways than one ;-)
So tonight I've having a field day! So much fucking fun.
Here's how it goes.
"Thao Arai Krap?" (How much?)
"250 Bhat" (7 dollars)
[Look of shock] "250 Bhat, for a silk table runner?! Wow..." [Start to walk away]
"Wait wait. For you, special price."
[Look of suspicion. Head cocked slightly to left.]
"220 bhat."
[Grimace] "Come on. That's the best you can do?"
"OK, you give price."
[Confident stare. Pause.] "Roi ha sip bhat." (150 bhat) (Nice counter offer in Thai, Krouzman. That'll throw 'em for sure.)
[Bashful smile, or in some cases look of consternation] "Ohhh. No. Too low. I buy for 200 bhat. Cannot."
"OK, how much then?"
"200 bhat."
[Hands to hips. Stare.] "Come on now."
"200 bhat."
"That's the lowest you can go? I'll give you 170 bhat."
"Ohhhh... No... 180 bhat."
"180 bhat? Well, OK, 180 bhat."
[Smiles] "&^% *($% &%$ !" (Unintelligible Thai. I translate it to mean, "Wow, this farang knows how to bargain. Must have had an Israeli dad!" Actually means, "Hey everyone, get a load of this farang. He just paid 180 fucking bhat for this cheap silk table runner I bought for 20 bhat!"
So we're all pleased in the end. No really I think I'm doing quite well, and it is fun either way. I do feel a little guilty sometimes, like, "God, she wants 7 fucking dollars. I can give her seven fucking dollars."
But Lonely Planet, which is right 23% of the time, says Thais respect a good bargainer. And honestly that's been my experience.
OK, I'm back to the night market. More goodies to be had!
Plus there's that French girl I hope to run into again. I think I heard her say something about a boyfriend, though in French the words for "boyfriend" and "pig" actually sound quite similar. That could be a tough bargain.
Love,
Roni
More on my father's zeal for bargaining and how it landed me my first car...
There's a famous family story about how he dad bought our used 1980 Cadillac. He saw that a Midwestern bank had seized it and was selling it in New Jersey for $5,000. To a former member of the Israeli armed forces, this is the equivalent of shooting very large fish in a very small barrel.
My father calls the bank and says how much? $5,000. He says, "I'll give you $900."
My mother's jaw hits the ground, actually making an audible sort of thumping sound. "Are you nuts?"
My dad got the car for $950. A few years later it became my first car...
More on the car...
I'm compelled to continue here because the car was an anomaly if there ever were one. It was a full sized Cadillac with only 2 doors. You can imagine how heavy, and hence dangerous, each door was. Not only that, but it was produced during a period of time were digital and analog technologies were overlapping, a freak few weeks in late 1979 when someone could actually produce a car with power windows, power seats, power steering, digital stereo...and an 8-track player. Luckily I got my high school's one hippie, Brian Keil (a very cool guy), to give me 34 or so of his 8-tracks. At the time I thought the only music in the world worth listening to was classic rock (wow times have changed - I think I would have walked away from my current self in disgust had I caught me listening to "Glitch Mob" or "The Postal Service"), so I was super stoked to get his collection of Hendrix, Zepplin, and Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young. Oh I actually sort of miss that car.
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