Ubud Morning Market -

Serenity of the dawn

Every week I go to the “pasar (market) pagi (morning)” to buy fresh food in order to prepare my meals at home. It has become a moment that I particularly cherish. First, because it’s a moment of friendship with my friend Komang with whom I go to the market, and second because it plunges me directly into a very local environment where I can practice my knowledge of the national language and get to know the local prices.

At 5:45 am, the alarm wakes me up. It’s still dark. I get up gently and begin to prepare while drinking a hot lemon water. By the time I leave the house, the dark sky has changed to welcome the first ray of light.

The little road that crosses this part of the village ends just after the house where I stay. Cars are not allowed to pass here, only motorcycles. In some places, the path is so narrow that I have to stop to let the motorbikes pass.

But at this hour it’s still very quiet. Balinese are already awake drinking their coffee at home. The few women I see on the way are probably heading to the market. A farmer walks in front of me with a scythe slipped into the waist of his trousers on the way to work in his field.

I take pleasure in greeting all of the familiar faces with a big smile and a joyful “Pagi!” (Good morning!). Some people ask me where I’m going as it is customary here. They always seem surprised to see a foreigner getting up that early to go to the local market. Let’s say that many tourists and expats prefer the convenience of the supermarket.

This morning the light that is reflecting on the rice fields is amazing. As usual, the roosters are crowing loud and the ducks are bathing in the irrigated paddy fields. Their quacking noise puts me in a joyful mood.

I arrive at Komang’s house a few minutes later. I enter the small courtyard by stepping over one of the two dogs lying in front of the entrance. Putu, the eldest son of 12 years old, comes out of the room with his face still asleep. Her mother picks up some money and we are ready to go.

On our way to Ubud

The three of us get on the motorbike, Putu in front, Komang in the middle and I sit behind. Ubud is only a few minutes away and we’re all seated comfortably. The air is cool and less polluted than during the day. The main street of the city is so quiet. There are only locals on their motorbikes driving to the market, to school or to work. Early mornings in Ubud have absolutely nothing to do with the madness of the rest of the day. The city has exploded over the past few years to become a huge traffic clog where crowded tourist buses, taxi-vans, and motorbikes are lining up on the road. On the sidewalks, it’s also busy with cohorts of tourists walking their way through the poor condition of the pathway while hearing ad nauseum “taxi?!”, ”massage ?!” The town of Ubud is not a peaceful haven as many people think. But tranquility can be found within reach:)

We arrive at Putu’s school. When saying goodbye, Putu grabs his mother’s hand and brings it up to his forehead. It’s a form of blessing and protection. A gesture that I see filled with love and affection. Students need to arrive early at school because they have to sweep the courtyard first then pray at the school temple before starting the class. The schedule varies from one school to another but Putu and Kadek, the youngest son who goes to another school, are in class from 7:30 am until 12:30 pm.

Ubud Morning Market

As the streets wake up slowly, merchants and locals have been busy for quite some time already. Some vendors arrive as early as 3 am. Women are selling flowers and ready-made offerings beside pickup van filled with watermelons and other varieties of fruits or vegetables in season.There’s a popular stand where Komang usually buys breakfast for her family. The old woman prepares a typical takeaway meal consisting of a generous portion of rice with on top, a few spinach leaves, small pieces of either meat, fish, tempeh and the sambal (a mix of chili, onion, and garlic) for less than a dollar. Takeaways always come in a sheet of brown paper or a banana leaf, folded forming a nice triangle. For me, at this early hour, I’m more into the sweet treats made from sticky rice or the ones coated with fresh coconut.

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Tomatoes, cucumbers, daikon radishes, potatoes, papaya, pineapple and way much more are everywhere. Woven baskets overflow with oranges, limes, apples, and mangoes whose season has just begun, succeeding to the dragon fruit.

At one end of the stairs, tempeh and tofu are sold for about 20 cents a unit. Not far from there I also buy pieces of old coconut that I like to eat as a snack or like Balinese do, I grate it and add it to steamed leaves, bean sprouts, and long beans.

Of course, Komang and I have our habits and we often buy from the same vendors. Many of them are selling the same products, but the price and quality vary. No prices are displayed. This is the reality of most of the markets in this part of the world. The price fluctuates according to the season, the ceremonies and also depending on your ability to demonstrate whether you live here or not. The fact that I’ve been going often to the market with Komang helps a lot. She tells them in Balinese that I am her sister-in-law and consequently I get the Balinese price (or close to it). I don’t speak Balinese (except for a few words), but I speak some basic of Indonesian, the national language, which helps while being very well appreciated.

At the market, almost everything is sold by weight. Each merchant has a balance and small metallic weights. Very quickly, by experience, one comes to learn how many mangoes to put in the bag to have one or two pounds, to say and understand the terms “more”, “less” and “enough” when referring to quantities. The hardest is to learn the numbers and the money which comes in big notes of thousands, ten thousand and one hundred thousand.

Of course, vendors are wise and many are able to tell you the price in English or at least, to type it on a calculator with a slight inflation when you don’t know the local price and this is whether of not you’re speaking the national language.

There are few expats and tourists who come to buy fruits, but most of the clients are Balinese and like Komang they come to buy snacks (peanuts, local chips, cakes) to sell at their convenience store or to cook at their warung (small restaurant) or at home. They usually buy little each time simply because most families don’t have a fridge and also because they buy the meat and other cooked food from street vendors. So at home, they don’t need much besides the rice that is always ready in the rice cooker.

An hour after our arrival, we see fewer people and some merchants had started to pack up their stuff. The place will soon be cleaned and transformed into a traditional tourist market where clothing, accessories, and souvenirs are sold.

We come back to the motorbike with our hands full of bags. Surprisingly many bags fit on the small hook of the motorbike and I carry the rest on my shoulders thanks to my reusable bags. My purchases cost me around $20 Canadian dollars and my fridge will be full of fresh local foods.

PS: Do you know this strange fruit with a cool name? It’s a Jackfruit. It has a very fragrant and fruity taste with a unique texture. The flavor is comparable to a combination of mango, pineapple, and banana.