Well those of you that know me know that shopping has to be one of my least favourite activities. I honestly believe that there is some ethereal force that sucks the energy out of men and channels it into women. This being said, I decided to join the Swedish couple, Martin and Ida, and Israeli Naomi to the locally famous Wednesday Anjuna market. I had heard mixed reports from other travellers, some loving it, others figuring it wasn’t much different from walking down the main street at Arambol Beach (where I’m staying) with all of the same kind of knick knacks but where it’s easier to escape aggressive vendors.
The plan was to take a taxi the 20-25 kilometres south to Anjuna Beach. Anjuna used to sport the reputation of being the “freak capital of the world” in the 90s with lots of recreational drugs, many trance parties and people trying to combine the spiritual traditions of the east with the west’s hippie art and music. The locals finally had enough of this never ending party so the police began cracking down and subduing these incessant festivities. Anjuna remains one of the more active beaches in north Goa with regards to night life but it lacks the over the top craziness of 15-20 years ago.
Ida seized the opportunity of hailing a cab to warm up her bargaining skills. Nothing here is a fixed price...everything can be haggled but of course there’s an art form to it (not one that I possess). The first taxi driver offered to take us there and back for 900 rupees. We wanted 800...and he wouldn’t do it so we moved on to the next guy. Ida was able to secure a ride for 800 rupees and we were off...nice job Ida!
Arriving at our destination, I was amazed at the number of stands that had been set up just for this one day of flea market action. It must be worth the vendors’ time to bother setting up shop like this once a week.
It was fairly toasty walking around but thankfully some of the little alleyways lined with stalls were shaded from the sun. I hadn’t planned on buying anything, in fact, I need to try and get rid of some stuff as my bag, with paraglider and all, is still too heavy. So I walked around with the other three with a pair of “I don’t care what you say to me vendor” glasses on which was a bit liberating. The others however did have a few items on their shopping lists. For both the couple and Naomi, a bed cover was a top priority. Ida not only wanted one for their home but was considering getting one for her boss however she explained how particular this lady was and that almost everything in her house was white...so it had better be a white bed cover.
We stopped in every bed cover stall we could find and there were a few covers that caught the eyes of our prospective buyers but no one wanted to pull the trigger until they saw some more places...this is a normal way of shopping in the west right? Check around, if you see something you like, make a mental note of where it is, continue to look and if you don’t find anything better, return and get the one you liked. Well this didn’t go over too well with one seller. Martin and Ida both looked at a few of the hanging bed covers, asked about pricing and then Ida stated that she might return and the response was “Don’t come back!” Well then, I guess that’s one place we don’t have to revisit.
The search for bed covers:
“You like?”
“Give me a good price.”
“Hell-o my frend. Good price for you my frend...” (that’s not a typo...I’m trying to write it as they say it).
These are a couple of the selling catchphrases you hear over and over as you walk about the market. Sadly the same goes if you sit on a sunbed at any of the beachs with the “lamanis” (illegal vendors who parade up and down the coastline). Soon you start to tune them out (at least I did).
An area of the market for the "small stuff"
Martin and Ida thought they had found their cover of choice but the lady selling it did not want to come down as low as the seller offered. The negotiations continued on for five minutes but then Ida took a hard line and said take my price or not. We walked out of the stall and the lady followed Martin and tried to work on him. Martin surprised me and continued dealing as the Ida and Naomi walked down the street but they failed to reach an agreement. Into another bed cover stall. They found another cover they liked and within five minutes it seemed like the deal was locked up. As the guy folded the cover and put it in a plastic bag, Ida noticed this strange wax-like substance spattered across the back of it. The seller explained that it was glue, used in making the bed cover and all of them were like that, including those from other stores. It was easily picked off but was going to take an hour or two of menial labour for Martin and Ida. It looked like the deal was blown and the woman from the previous stall was standing on the road, looking ready to pounce on Martin to reclaim her sale opportunity but Ida decided it wasn’t that big of a problem in the end and so they walked away as happy new bed cover owners. Meanwhile, Naomi just quietly went about her business and had bought a cover and some pillow cases with seemingly minimal hassle...good on you girl!
After a bit more perusing of products, it was time for a drink and a bit of a sit down...but then it was back to business. I decided that my best role was to be the “mule” and carry as many of the purchases that the other three had made so that they would be unencumbered to shop till they dropped. Naomi was in the hunt for some chiming bells as she holds a meditation class at her office (at SAP in Israel) and eventually she found some she liked from a nice Tibetan fellow who she felt a bit sorry for as he spends a lot of the year a long way from home.
A well deserved break:
A funny sign in the bathroom...pay attention to the first rule!
One of the locals:
Soon we were all shopped out so it was time for a sunset beer on a beach bar patio before our taxi would pick us up. There is a small hill on the south end of the beach where paragliders were flying. The area is much smaller than Arambol so I wasn’t overly tempted (I didn’t have my wing with me so that helps too...) but I enjoyed watching one skilled pilot kiting on the beach after having landed and he would work his way up some stairs and then onto a low roof of a restaurant before chucking off for a mini flight down to the sand. It looked like he was having a great time.
Martin and Ida with their booty:
We walked back to where the cab had dropped us off, negotiating our way amongst all of the small carrier vans, push karts and bikes that the vendors were using to remove their unsold product, and thankfully our man was there and we headed off back to Arambol. We met up later for dinner with Zohar and had a lovely evening. I’m glad I experienced the market...but I think it’s one of those “Been there, done that”.
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