The ghosts

Delhi

After our 18-hour train trip back to Delhi, we checked in at the ‘airport hotel’ to spend the night. It wasn’t really an ‘airport hotel’ – it was simply named ‘airport hotel’ and was in reasonable proximity to the airport. It was a dump, but sufficient for our purposes and handy for our any morning flight.

The view from the train coming into Delhi

Late at night, Swags and I went for a walk. First, Delhi airport and the surrounding area was covered in thick, cold fog. Huge construction sites surrounded the airport, so we walked along a very narrow street with construction board on one side on shops on the other side. We crossed the road and walked down an alley. As always, it was filled with people.

I’ve written in this blog about being a ‘celebrity’ and having everybody look at you. I’ve also touched on being an outsider, and how even though I am in the country, I felt like a complete stranger.

Walking down an alley, the strangest sensation came over me. Though there was the usual bustle of activity, people, and food smells, I felt like a ghost. I may as well not have been there. Not a single soul looked at me. People walked past as if I didn’t exist. I don’t know why, but it felt really weird.

And what I though too, was the irony of it. As a tourist, you always want ‘out’ of the tourist zone, to immerse yourself in the culture of a country. In other words, you urge to belong. Then, when you finally get it, when you’re out with all the Indians and no other westerners’, you feel like a ghost.

I don't know if you can ever have it all in life, just as long as your happy with something. 

Trip in the desert, pt II

Jaisalmer

Night descends across the desert and the sand whistles its silent tune of the darkness. The small campfire cuts out from the void, the smells of cooked food carried through smoke and warmth. You stare into the fire, the smoke watering your eyes, the heat warm against your skin. There is darkness all around and nothing but the desert. You’ve recovered from the strains of the day, leaving the night to sing you a soft lullaby.

***

Okay, enough of that crap. The three of us plonked ourselves on the sand after our ride. Isaac had four people with them, mostly teenagers, and a child (maybe they were his friends/family) and the five of them sat around the fire preparing dinner (the goat from this afternoon). They spoke amongst themselves the entire night, speaking softly and occasionally asking us if “yes, okay.”

I tell you, it was the strangest feeling. The three of us sat in a line, wrapped in blankets and beanies, about a metre of two from the fire. I swear, there could have been a glass wall between us and what was going on. I felt like an outsider. I felt like an intruder on their evening, their night, and though I was there, I never really felt part of it. We barely spoke a word, the three of us, our thoughts consumed by the fire. The five of them, a fire, some food, and solemn bonds between them, and us, tourists, outsiders, the differences between us irreconcilable.

We ate more than we thought possible that evening, stuffing ourselves till we could eat more, and didn’t even make it through half of what was there. After we’d finished, there wasn’t much to do but lay down on our blankets, the sand beneath us still cold, and look up at the moon watching over the desert.

The sun was half way up by the time we woke – about ten – and the stupid, munching camels were seated just in front of us. Isaac and co. were cleaning the packing up the blankets and cookware, and we slowly rose to begin the journey home.

The ‘journey’ didn’t last long, and in true keeping with the ‘non-tourist’ camel ‘safari’ within about half an hours riding we were close to the road, and our ride. We took a photo with Isaac, said goodbye to the camels, and slept in the car on the way back. The road was long and straight, dusty and sandy on the outside, and as always, the car sped along the road, as if we were leaving the barren wasteland where tomorrow does not exist.

Our trip in the desert was very weird. Looking back on it, it feels like our time in the desert didn’t happen, for soon we were on an 18 hour train trip back to Delhi. We had a first class cabin for the trip back, the small enclosed walls a direct contrast to the open sky and sandy floor of the night before.  

Trip in the dessert, pt I

Jaisalmer

Jaisalmer is a dessert town. It lies far to the west of Rajasthan, and indeed that of the whole of India; it rises from the dense sands of the desert state, and straddles the border of Pakistan. It bears little resemblance to the cities we’ve visited, and the buildings rise from the arid desert like the golds of Arabian nights; the houses are made of a golden sand stone, and the desert rides through the dense lanes and alleys of the city like a slithering carpet. Water is a luxury, the sun rises early, and the day begins suddenly.

We have arrived by train so early in the morning. Our bodies are weary; our minds are still half asleep. We’ve been mobbed at the train station, but escape, and find ourselves sitting on the rooftop just before sunrise, sitting, watching, and waiting for the sun to rise over the distant sands. It does so, slowly, and the land lights up, like the might desert mirage that stretches out before us.

***

I don’t remember much about the day; something about a golden fort (they are always the golden attraction in the Lonely Planet books), a few meals here and there, the purchasing of a ten pack of cookies and the arrangement of a camel ‘safari’ the following day. We were set to leave at 10am and would return the following day around midday.

Now, let’s get a few things straight. Rajasthan is a desert state, Jaisalmer particularly so. Don’t confuse the ‘desert’ with the Sahara, with its endless sand dunes and monotonous colour; no, the Jaisalmer desert is dry and arid, like most, and full of trees, shrubbery, and a hard, dusty floor. It is hot, but not staggeringly so, and water’s a scarce commodity. Not that I’ve been in one, for that matter. Our guides name is Isaac. He is a surprisingly good looking man, with a touch of regalness to him, George Clooney like silvery hair, and a broad, striking face. There are three of us on camels with Isaac leading the way on foot.

Whilst it’s a desert state, and we are in it, we’re in fact never far from the main road (even though we can’t see it), so it’s no really a ‘safari’ but more an afternoon camel ride in the countryside. It’s also funny too – every safari is marketing in the town as ‘non-touristic’. It’s ironic; only tourists do it, and they all do it in small groups. We like to keep the dream alive – we all doing something different from one another.

***

If you’ve seen the movie ‘Inception’ you may recall the scene where Leonardo DiCaprio is talking to Arian in a Paris café, and he asks her how they got there. Point is, they’re in a dream, and in a dream, and you always wake up in the middle.

I wake up in the middle. The sun is shining high in the sky. There is an ever so faint breeze, and the heat is a warm, dreamy state. Thankfully, the heat doesn’t absorb into the sand, so the ground retains its coolness. There is Yobin, lying flat down on a blanket in the middle of the dessert. Swags is nowhere to be found. Isaac is huddling beside a bush, preparing our lunch, chatting quietly to a small child beside him. I am on a blanket, looking out with a blank expression on my face. Or maybe I am running about like a spaced out lunatic, trying to catch a goat. 

There is something confusing in the dessert. Something moving. A person maybe. No, an animal. No. Something else. I don’t know. I hit Yobin. No response. Where is Swags. Why is everything so slow. Where are the camels.

It’s getting late. We’ve had lunch, and Isaac is still hunched beside the bush, cleaning the cooking utensils with sand. He’s doing it ever so slowly, still chatting to the child. The hours tick by. The sun seems to get lower; the sand in the earth starting to cool, as if a sudden chill is going to rise up from the earth. The hours drag, curse, falter, are we staying here. It’s been four hours.

Then, an interlude. I can’t remember how. A goat. We purchase one. 3,000 Rupees. From the village man. Isaac assures us of a special deal. We won’t be having a vegetarian dinner. We will be dining on fresh goat.

Isaac gets on his cellphone (reception in the dessert?) The logistics of the matter require a small child from the village to fetch the goat in preparation for the evening feast. The goat isn’t tied up, instead headed to the ‘tsk’ noise that Isaac makes. It wanders, slowly at first, then further and further, maybe as far as the camels who haven’t been seen for hours. Then, it drops out of sight, over a hill and into some thick shrubbery.

“Shall I go get it?” Says Swags.

“Yes, get,” says Isaac.

The last we see of Swags...just what is he doing exactly?

I stand up. Yobin is still passed out on his back. I see Swags running off into the dessert on a fool’s arrand; chasing a goat that instinctively runs from pursuers. He disappears into the dessert, over the hill and far away, not looking back, never to be seen again.

“Shall we go get him,” says Yobin, up from his slumber.

“No. We get lost.” I say. “Isaac, goat gone.”

“Okay.” He gets up. He runs after the goat, and Mr Swagger. He disappears. We are alone in the dessert. The sun is losing heat from above. Cool is rising from the earth. The camels are gone. Yobin and I are alone.

“Hey Yobin.”

“Yokrus.”

“I don’t like this.” Paranoia kicks in. The camels are gone. We’ve been set up. The goat was a farce to lure one of us into the dessert. The unlucky soul will be knifed, chopped up for dinner and mixed with goat meat. Yobin and I will be left to rot and starve in the dessert. We’ll shiver in the cold, wander for days, and meet our demise in the ocean of sand. The long shadows of the trees cast a devilish spell.

“Yobin,” I said, “we’re going to die.”

I'd hoped it wouldn't end like this. 

***

We wake up in the dream again. Isaac is back leading the camels. The goat has been despatched to the village, it’s fate unknown to use. Yobin rides in front of me, Mr Swags in front of him. The sun has dropped low over the horizon, giving us a few hours of light. 

Isaac jumps on the back of the leading camel. The camels walk slowly across the arid desert, and meet the sand dunes, beginning the steep climb to the true sands of the Sahara. No one is saying anything. Whether it for the beauty of the setting sun, the eloquence of the sand below, or something else, I cannot say. At the peak we demount the camels. Isaac points to our camp.

“When you finish, come down there,” he says, pointing to a makeshift two walled campsite. We look at each other, we look over to the setting sun, and our long shadows over the sand dunes. The big ball in the distance changes colour as it goes down, from yellow, to golden, to orange, to dark red. Our shadows get longer. The air gets cooler, but not much. There is a moment, the three of us, staring into the distance, not saying a word, perhaps aware of how far we have come.

I’m awake from the dream. There is a sun, and a dessert, and my friends, all combining to create the moment that dreams are truly made of. No one but us. No cookies, no goats, just the easy setting sun and the light of a generation – one that’s lived in the dessert long before we ever came here, people like Isaac and his young friend. Our visit is just a trip – a trip in the dessert.  

Bargaining, what a cinch (Myanmar redux)

Classic Indian bargaining?

All over India

One of the things you often hear from people returning from overseas is how cheap everything is, but also how much they had to haggle to get it. You know the story: such and such went to a South East Asian country and was quoted a ridiculous price for some item or another. Hah! I wouldn’t even pay that back home. Through smarts, cunning, and information they have heard from various sources, they got the price down to a third of the original asking price. Wallah! An imitation Ralph Lauren polo for just under $10 (for the record, they are always knock-offs).

We’ve bought all sorts of stuff while we’ve been in India. I’ve also had the joy of shopping through markets in Thailand, Philippines and a few other places. So it would be fair to say I know a few things about bargaining in South East Asia. It would also be fair to say I have often fallen victim to my own ‘smarts’ and have massively overpaid for items that really weren’t worth much at all.

For instance, I once paid NZD$25 for a pair of glasses in a Vietnamese market, which I later paid NZD$1 for after that pair broke. Beak dipper paid INR500 for a massage and shave that we now typically get for INR30, and he who shall not be named paid INR1,000 for some postcards that were later found for … well, we won’t go there.

On the flipside, there are bargains. I recently purchased a pair of reasonable quality (and road tested) knock-off Adidas running shoes for about NZD$30. We generally get all sorts of things far cheaper than we would pay at home.

I love bargaining in India. I don’t love it because you can get yourself a bargain, I love it because it is a near perfect microeconomics, human psychology, general wits, and perhaps, greed. You could add desperation to that list, because we often don’t think that the making of a sale could be the difference between eating and going hungry.

I’m going to borrow heavily from “The Psychology of Influence” by Robert Cialdini here, because there is so much interesting stuff in it, as well as add my own thoughts on the matter.

So first, bargaining is a classic case of information asymmetry. You literally have no idea how much an item cost to the shopkeeper. Normally, all you have to go by is what you think it is worth, and some benchmark as to what you could pay for it. So he holds all the power here, but this does not make him all powerful. We’ll get to that later. Back home we can usually get an idea as to how much we can get something for – check a few catalogues, browse the internet, ask your friends – and you’ll soon know how much you should pay for something. Over in India, you don’t have that advantage. It’s a bit easier with more common things, but with some of the more obscure and abstract things, you’re estimate of value might as well be a feather in the wind.

The human psychology element is interesting as well. Reciprocity (principle # 1) is a classic technique by the shopkeepers. They will say something along the lines of ‘I normally don’t do it this cheap for people’ or ‘for you, I’ll do it at this price, just this one time’. Human psychology says you’re then inclined to pay a price higher than you’d typically pay – or your idea of value – because he has done you a favour (by offering just you a ‘special’ price).

Social proof (principle # 3) is another good one. Shopkeepers will often mention how lots of people have been buying these, at such and such a price. Well, that’s good for you, because if everyone else is doing it…? In a starker example, Lonely Planet holds all the power. They’re recommendation is the ultimate social proof, because that drivers visitor’s, which in turn drives further visitors, even in the instance there is a perfectly good (or even better) restaurant or shop just down the road. There just happens to be no one in it, so you don’t go (we found we could often feed the three of us for NZD$5, and have food just as tasty and filling as the more upmarket restaurants).

The Indians also have the annoying technique of asking where you are from then using an authority figure (principle # 4) to persuade you to purchase an item, and probably pay too much. I’m sure Ross Taylor of New Zealand cricket doesn’t shop at a crappy shop in the backstreets of Jaipur, and I’m sure Mick Jagger didn’t buy an item of clothing from a Jodhpur cloth shop.

Mag anyone?

It is also common practice to massively overinflate the price of something, then ‘reduce’ the price to give the impression that it is on sale. In fact, the sale price is probably far above what the seller would accept, and represents a decent profit margin (the classic Briscoes technique).   

There is also a place for ‘general wits’ in the sale process. I know this may sound corny, but often a ‘hard-nosed’ approach employed by many isn’t the best way to go. Sometimes to laugh, joke, and tease with the salesperson is just as effective at bringing their guard down as is going in like a ten pound gorilla. Have some fun, see what you can do.

How much for that there omelette?

Greed is perhaps another factor. How often will we see a shop and say ‘wow, I must have that’ and when we take (or send) it home we think ‘why on earth did I ever buy this thing?’ Think: will I really want this when I’m back on home soil, in my natural habitat? Most things – you don’t.

Endless haggling over a drink...shall we drink to that?

Okay, so that about does it. I’m sure I’ve massively over complicated the process. But what I will do, is quickly offer my 4-step process for getting a bargain:

1.    Determine, with relative precision, what you think an item is worth and what you will pay for it. Take into account the generally cheaper prices in South East Asian countries, and the relative satisfaction you will generate from it. Ask: would I be happy paying $20 even if I later found out it only cost $1?

2.    Initiate the bargaining process. The time it takes to get to a serious negotiation will generally depend on the circumstances of the sale in question, and the relative experience of a person. For example, if salesman sees a ‘green’ person, they will generally offer a very high price, knowing all the while they will accept much less and still make a handsome profit. They will quickly sense when a buyer knows what they are doing.

3.   Maintain bargaining process with a series of bid-offers. Start below your pre-determined value and do not go above it. Be prepared to walk out.  Employ a series of tricks and techniques to bring the price to, or below, the price you are prepared to pay. For instance, you could say ‘the guy down the road had it for this price’ or ‘my friend paid this price’ and so forth. There are often dozens of shops filled with the same crap, so you can shop around if time permits, and it’s unlikely that the inventory is worth very much, because the sellers often can’t afford the capital investment – translation: the stuff isn’t worth very much, so you can get it cheap.

4.    Turn the ‘close’ around by saying, “I’ll take it for this, you are happy and I am happy,” or something like that. Add a smile if you like. If it’s not working, just leave, and realise your disappointment and not having purchased the item will quickly be replaced by a sense of satisfaction at your negotiation prowess and not having paid too much. And besides, you’ll probably not even want the thing after you sleep on it.

I bought a Rajasthani police jacket for NZD$20 in Jodhpur. It’s been my constant companion throughout the trip, and has protected me from the cold. For all I know the shopkeeper picked the jacket up off the side of the street. Doesn’t matter. I determined I would pay no more than INR1,000 for it. First he said INR2,000, I countered with INR800 and quickly got to INR1,000, to which he said INR1,500, to which I said, no INR1,000 and so on. I’m not sure if he was happy (he probably was) but I sure was.

What bargains lurk down these alleyways?

So the next time someone tells you about the bargain they got, and the haggling they had to go through to get it, why not delve into some economics, some human psychology, and some general bargaining techniques, and maybe the value of the education will be far in excess of the value actually paid for the item.

And finally, good luck!

Errr, can we negotiate over that blanket?

***

There is another side to this. Whilst I think I am a smarty-pants, an able enough negotiator and so forth, what I also am is a continual sucker who doesn’t follow his own rules and falls too easily for any old trick. My desire for the item in question eventually overrides all. 

There was one little incident in Myanmar – about a month or so after the conclusion of the Indian trip – that truly bought home what a sucker I am.

I was on a busy street corner in Yangon. The sun was still very hot, even though it was late in the day, and the traffic had started to build up for the past half an hour. As usual, I was waiting for Swags to sort his life out. I believe in this particular instance he was buying some underwear. I sat down on the curb, realising that the man had to make a decision and it might be a while, and I just happened to start scratching at my digital Casio watch, which by now had a few scratches in it.

A man spotted me an offered me a plastic film to put over the watch face, and thus conceal the scratches, and preserve for future generations (future son: don’t be disappointed with a Casio digital instead of a Rolex). He took what was basically duraseal out of a shoe polish tin, and offered me 1,000MMK. That’s about NZD$1.25. I said no, and wistfully requested he stop hassling me.

Nevertheless, intrigued, I stared to play with the watch again. He placed the film over about a third of the watch, and began peeling it back from the white paper backing it was on. I hummed and erred. He said 500MMK, which is about NZD0.60. I hummed again. He started peeling back even further, and when it had just about come fully off, I said “okay.”

He employed a classic sales tactic and bargaining tool: put in the customer’s hand the object they desire (money, or object), thereby almost forcing them to accept.

Whilst I was outwardly chuffed at my smooth new watch surface, I saw the gentlemen who did it for me turn around and show his friend the shoe polish tin. They laughed mightily together, with frequent pointing to the ‘2000’ cello-taped on top of the tin, and the 100 or more ‘watch surfaces’ inside. And, after Swags returned from undie shopping he said:

“Why did you buy that for?”

Lesson learnt. Sales tactics are effective, and it’s inevitable that you will fall for some. I know it was only 60 cents, and in the end I guess it was a pretty cheap lesson; and besides, to this day, I still have my shiny watch surface J 

Somewhere north of Yangon...