A Web of Authenticity and Consumerism: The Street Markets of Bali

Meandering through the streets of Kuta, an oceanside, packed city in Bali, I hear the siren calls of shopkeepers: "Darling, come here," "Come inside, only a minute," "Take a quick look." Attempting to appear pleasant and respectful, I paste a quiet smile on my face while looking down at the sidewalk and murmuring, "No, termina Kashi," which translates to "No, thank you." Each shop is filled with similar items: loose-fitting, colorful pants and sundresses, off-brand Birkenstocks, and Nikes. If something does catch your eye, the price will be quoted to you typically two to three times the amount you should actually be paying for it. Welcome to the Bali bargaining ritual, where the negotiation dance is as much a cultural norm as the fragrant incense wafting through the air. 

Once the vendor quotes you their price, you must first act shocked and then declare that the item is worth less than half that. After a bit of back and forth, using a few other tricks in the book, the price is negotiated down or should be, to less than half the original quote. If you go too low on your price point, you may find yourself being guilt-tripped. This is not a fun situation to be in. Additionally, if you walk away from negotiations, you are seen as working in bad faith.

For the seasoned shopper, Bali is a retail paradise. However, for those seeking to immerse themselves in the authentic Balinese way of life, the constant onslaught of commercialism can be overwhelming. Behind the scenes, though, amidst the calls of eager shopkeepers, lies a genuine Balinese spirit that transcends the transactional nature of tourism.

Despite the stain of capitalism, the thread of authenticity runs through. Authenticity unveils itself in the form of Balinese women, donned in traditional attire, diligently arranging little flower baskets made from palm leaves. Going to each stall, even the seats of scooters, beneath doorways, these tiny flower baskets, the size of one's palm, are placed to honor their religion. These aren't mere trinkets to lure in tourists; they're offerings, a testament to a deeply rooted religious practice that coexists with the bustling commerce. For the tourists, they call out from their stalls to buy their wares. For themselves, their community, they have a constant cycle of offerings and rituals. It's this duality – the interplay between the market calls and the sacred rituals – that unlocks the door to understanding the heart of Balinese culture.

However, as with any intricate tapestry, there are layers of complexity. While trying on sundresses and navigating the sea of compliments – "so beautiful," "so sexy," "you are so thin!" – one can't help but yearn for a glimpse behind the curtain. Balinese minds remain a mystery, guarded by the smiles and flattery that often accompany the retail experience. I came close on one occasion when I tried on a pair of pants, my legs too long for them. The Balinese woman looked me up and down, peering up at me (for context, I am 5 foot 8, and the average height for women in Bali is around the 5-foot mark), and stated, "You are so big!" She quickly covered her mouth and said, "No! Thin!" I responded, "no, you got it right the first time. Compared to you and many others, I am big." I say this with no self-disrespect. I stand tall and love my long legs, even if none of the white linen pants fall past my lower calf. 

I wanted to know the truth. The struggle for a genuine connection is palpable as attempts to veer into personal conversations quickly pivot back to the sales pitch. I did not want to be called beautiful or sexy, but to know about them. Their lives, where they come from. I tried to glean this knowledge, finding out a few times that they were typically from our current location. One woman I talked to is a forty-five-year-old shopkeeper with four children, the last of which she had last year. However, the topic of the conversation quickly pivoted back to trying to sell something within minutes, and any connection I thought was forming was quickly lost. I can't blame anyone for this, however. The country's economy rests on the tourist industry, and these people are trying to make a living. Whether they are happy about their workplace or the stalls on the bustling streets, I am not sure. Still, I did savor the noise of Balinese shopkeepers laughing amongst themselves as I got far enough away from the stands. I only wondered what they were talking about.