Of touts and markets
"Hello, I recognise you from the hotel."
"Hello." We didn’t recognise him from the hotel, but a new chat-up line is always fun. We explained we were going to the market.
"Market closes in an hour and a half for the festival. I show you. Come quick."
Well, no, it wasn’t closing, not until the evening, a LONG time later. We had the idea that he was a stranger to the truth. More than an idea. Even so he was still showing us the shortest way to the market, so we went along with his charade.
Many times he told us that the hotel doesn’t let him speak to guests and he would lose his job if we told them. And he asked if we were angry that he was talking to us. Al likes these guys. I can’t stand them. He finds out about their life stories, chats away. I get bored fast.
But he did show us the way to Kandy market, and it isn’t hugely obvious.
He’s a tout, obviously. He hopes to get a commission from the traders and a tip from the tourists. We bought fruit, and I got a sarong and a Nehru collared shirt. Mel found some pashminas. I wondered if they were fruit or clothing!
We found two types of passion fruit. The locals seem to prefer a golden and very sweet one, and the more ’usual’ sweet-sour one was frowned on, or at least not so readily available.
The food market is amazing. This is not, or ought not to be, a poor nation. There is an abundance of fresh fruit, meat, fish, vegetables. There are many kinds of rice. There is, of course, tea, though Sri Lanka exports the best tea for the best money. But the prices are so low that, surely, anyone can afford to eat pretty well. Or am I being naive?
Tout boy eventually came clean and asked for "a beer", which he wanted to have dry, as a handful of 300 rupees. Al surprised himself by handing over 200. And we headed back to eat fruit.
Have I mentioned that durian tastes like leeks and custard? And that Al loves it? Well, Mel and I tried it. Barfomatic! Al left it in our digs that night, Salon Dil, booked by Lake Bungalow because they had overbooked us. The thing stinks as badly as it tastes.
Back to the market for Mel’s sari.
There were so many wonderful silks, the ’wear once for a special event’ type. She looked fabulous in one, but needed a more practical one which could be washed with care, not dry cleaned only.
From final choice to measured for the blouse and fitted took only two and a half hours. This picture is the final steps of the tailoring, in the market, outside the store, at about 7:30pm.
And the tourist heavens opened to release a small deluge of French people, all choosing to look but not buy. Except one who wanted his Magic Box mended. Of course the silk stall man was able to do that!
Why was I surprised that the market trader spoke English, French, Dutch and German?
The finished sari? I’ll show you later. Glamorous, very.