A Trip to the Market

Because Friday is the Muslim holy day, Erica's weekends fall on Friday and Saturday with her weeks beginning again each Sunday. The first Friday I am in Bangladesh, we decide to take a trip to the market. I am in need of appropriate clothing for India and we are all up for the culture experience.

The market is a huge labyrinth of shop stalls selling everything from books to kitchenware to beautifully colored saris. We are once again accompanied by Keron, who after introducing us to his Uncle at a shop near the entrance, leads us to sari shop where we are warmly greeted by the shops owner. We stand at the edge of the shop, while about two feet above the ground on a raised platform, the owner and two other men pull sari after sari off of the shelves, holding them out for us to admire. Erica is interested in purchasing a sari as she will be in Bangladesh for two years and may well find herself in a situation where it would be a practical garment. I am interested simply for the novelty, but my interest soon fades when I find that the asking price is over $30. Having spent the past month in Vietnam where shirts sell for a dollar and fancy hotel rooms go for $5, I balked at spending six nights worth of accommodation on a single purchase. Erica, having come more recently from the states and still thinking in dollars, and with a nice salary coming her way every two weeks, thought $30 was a steal and set aside a sari both for her and for me for us to come back and make the final decisions on later.

As we went off in search of more practical garments for my trip to India, we soon found that we were now accompanied by a new guide. The owner of the sari shop had taken it upon himself to help us through the maze of the market and to steer us towards the areas selling the products we wished to purchase.

We went first to a hall filled with shops selling salwar kameze, traditional Indian and Bangladeshi outfits consisting of long short sleeved tops in lengths varying from a six inches below the waist to knee length with slits up to the waist on each side, a pair of lose flowing pants and a wrap, which are worn draped over your shoulders with the ends hanging down your back. Coming from places where I had purchased clothes for the equivalent of a few dollars, I was surprised to find that the shop owners wanted $20 or more for their wares. Being the suspicious shopper that I am, I immediately suspected that we were not only being charged western prices, but we were also being duped by our "guide" who assured us that these were reasonable prices. After going from shop to shop where men willingly unfolded outfit after outfit only to be faced with a shake of my head and a view of my retreating back, I began to feel bad and told the group that I would find something later and that we should move on to other areas.

We dutifully followed as our guide led us to an area where Mark could buy a loongie (a traditional Bangladeshi/Indian men's "skirt"), and another where Erica could buy a scarf. As we were heading to the jewelry area, we passed by the shops with the salwar kameze and I begged my way out of the group, saying that I didn't want to waste any more of their time and that I would be fine on my own. I went back to a shop where I had found an outfit that I particularly liked, a black and orange embroidered top with bright orange pants, and used all my Southeast Asian bargaining tactics to get the man down from 1,8000 taka to 1,000 taka (or $15 US). I was sure I was still paying too much, but I felt much better knowing that I hadn't simply given in.

I was soon rejoined by our group, which now, loaded down with bags, headed back over to Keron's uncle's shop where we had began our morning. There the men start going through our packages and arguing back and forth in Bangla. Not quite sure what is going on, the three of us stand by and watch as the argument grows more and more heated. Finally we figured out that Keron's uncle things that we have been charged too much for our purchases and is trying to get the man to come down on the prices. After much ado, the sari shop owner (who ultimately turns out to be another of Keron's uncles) gets his way and we make our way to a nearby bank to get the money for our purchases.

Exhausted, but proud of ourselves for getting out, we head home.