Not in Season

I hop to one of the large produce markets each day to prepare dinner.  It helps break up the day and gives me enough real-life juice to continue my scribbles. Yesterday's menu was fresh spaghetti sauce.  The other day was papaya soup. Today will be red curry.  It's a give-and-take at the market.  Much like the advance and retreat of war. Know your enemy, says Sun Tzu, and in a Vietnamese market, it's a battleground where the test of wills, craftiness, and determination come into play.  I have yet to know my enemy.

I don't know the market rate for my purchase, putting me at a handicap from the starting gate. I can't tell if a quote price is ridiculously high or out-of-this-world stratospheric high.  The conflict is low-intensity.  For the past month, I buy small quantities of the same stuff at different markets – slowly building up a mental arsenal of prices for vegetables, meats, and fruits.

From Dong Xuan to Hoang Hom to 1912, the art of bartering is consistent.

It makes a difference whether yuppienomad goes alone, whether I go alone, or whether we go together.  The answer: it's the cheapest when yuppienomad goes solo. She avoids all the cultural landmines of gender expectations and roles.  I am expected to play the cavalier man who should not care about the world of old wives at the markets.

The gloves are down when 'How much?' is first uttered.  In most attacks, asking is an signal of weakness.  Most Vietnamese women just pick out their purchases, shout a couple of prices, complain and head home.  However, I don't have enough battalions to storm the castle.  I have to settle for a drawn out siege. 

Of course, the asking price at the start is not the final treaty.  But come back with too low a price and be brushed off, or worse, laughed away.  Give a price that isn't low enough and get a smile and get a bag of overpriced produce -- feeling utterly like a dumb Westerner.  So it's a game of feel and pinch.  From my experience, one-two-three-four-five is the best way to go.

Vendor: This costs so and so
Witless buyer: No, that's too much, are you crazy?
Vendor: No it's not too much, ask anyone! You think I'm lying?
Witless buyer: No, look at the marks on this. It's spoiled, smells bad, etc. (gives reason for lower price).
Vendor: Ok ok! You're robbing me blind!   

It's very important to give off the notion that you do not need the purchase.  Like most movie battle plans, an early retreat has always been good to me, as the vendor will call me back with a lower price.  However, in most markets here, there are only two or three vendors for a particular ware (e.g. shrimp, meat, cucumbers), so play the 'walkaway card' very carefully.  Coming back is a sure white flag.

What makes it hard is vendors have such sharp ears.  Vendors who hawk the same produce will listen to the exchange, and they will quote the same price – unless they are anxious at the end of the day.  In some of my exchanges, an irascible vendor will say, "Fine, don't take it. This is the price.  Go to another vendor and see", with the knowledge of inevitable collusion. Go to another vendor and you'll have to go back to the original vendor.

It's been a hit-and-miss so far.  Today's simple curry has been comprised of many battles between minds, my wits against the vendors expert in their wares: coconut milk (fresh), galanga, mushrooms, shrimp, dried kaffir, and peppers. But for all my studies in this art of war, I haven't come up with an adequate solution to their hidden ace.  I can go only so low on the price before these women look up, flash their brightest smile, and say, "Well, hon, it's just not in season."

I may have to reload  – perhaps a quick look at wikipedia before I attack the markets again.