A Shocking Admission — Sailing Steel Sapphire

Author: Pete

There are certain things in life that everyone agrees on. They are non-negotiable, non-controversial, non-topics of conversation. They’re simply not worth discussing.

To disagree with these things marks you out as some kind of sociopath, or weirdo, or non-person.

Puppies and Kittens are cute. Long walks on the beach are romantic. Sunsets are beautiful. I make the best spaghetti bolognaise. Getting up for the sunrise is virtuous. Eating healthily is good for you. (OK, one of those may be a little different from the others, but it’s no less true for that).

When you live in a niche community like the blue water cruising world, there is an additional layer of those self-evident truths.

Never go through a reef after 3pm, or with the sun in your eyes. All other things being equal, sailing is better than motoring. You should back down on your anchor to make sure it’s well set. If anything’s gonna happen, it’s gonna happen out there.

If anything’s gonna happen…

But there’s one MAJOR “truth” that lives in the intersection between the sailing community and the general population at large.

One statement that EVERYONE agrees with, no matter their walk of life, whether they’re leading a conventional life with occasional trips overseas, or whether they’re full time travelers.

One statement, that to disagree with is such heresy, so ill-advised, that even considering uttering it aloud would cause the holder of such an opinion to shudder in anticipation of the vitriol, condemnation and ultimately shame that is surely coming his or her way.

That statement?

“Shopping in local markets is one of the BEST parts of traveling/sailing around the world”.

Yes, yes. I know.

The sights, sounds, and even smells, are so visceral. The variety of foods, at such cheap prices, is amazing. You can learn about new fruits and vegetables you might not be familiar with, and maybe even some new recipes. It’s a great way to interact with locals, and also to support them and their communities. Food is a great unifier – we all have to eat, so for those moments in the markets, we are truly connecting. Seeing fruit and vegetables (and sometimes meat and fish) in their natural state, without packaging, is really centering and connects you better with what you eat.

I’ve heard it all. And even agree with most of it… up to a point.

But after 3.5 years of shopping for fruit and vegies almost exclusively in local markets, across 7 countries in SE Asia and Africa, in small towns and large, in tiny villages and big cities, I can tell you this.

It totally sucks!

I actively dislike the experience and everything it stands for.

There, I said it. Now let me explain why.

Let’s start with hygiene. These places are filthy, with dirt, dust and flies everywhere. Your produce is being handled by any number of people whose personal hygiene habits are unknown. What you DO know is that the chance of a rodent or insect infestation in the market is all but certain.

Of course, you’re going to wash your produce when you get home, right? Well yes, of course, but quite possibly not until you use it, before which it lives in your fridge or fruit bowl unwashed and spreading its bacteria and quite possibly bugs. And yes, in our world some virtuous people wash everything in their cockpit before anything makes it down below, but I strongly suspect, at least from personal observation, that they’re in the minority.

There’s a reason we have food standards in the west, and inspectors visiting supermarkets. Why is it suddenly OK to disregard all of that because of the so-called “romance” of shopping at the local markets?

Let’s move to the next canard – quality. Shopping at the local market is an absolute lottery. For sure the fruit and veg are unlikely to look as pretty and pristine as what we’re used to in Western supermarkets. And some of that may even be a good thing. I do understand that there are all sort of artificial means used to make sure that the produce we buy in the west looks the way we think it should. But at least at a Western supermarket, the variability in quality from one tomato to the next, or between lettuces, is minimal.

In a traditional market, you’re as likely to pick up something rotten as not. And depending on the size of the market you’re visiting, and where you are in their resupply cycle, the produce may have been sitting there unrefrigerated for days and sometimes weeks. Certainly, in the market we were using in Tanga, Tanzania recently, we would visit twice a week, and a lot of the produce would be there for multiple visits, slowly degrading and rotting.

What about price then? Well sure, sometimes the price of eggs or avocados or onions may be less than you’re used to paying in the west. But sometimes it’s more. And for sure if some things are cheaper on your grocery shopping trip, other things are going to be more expensive. We certainly spend no less overall on groceries now than we ever did in our shore based, supermarket-driven lives.

But none of this is my real objection. If the issues were only what I’ve outlined above, I’d possibly still think that the good outweighs the bad. Maybe.

No, the real reason why I dislike the markets so much is how they make me feel.

And the short answer is…conflicted.

Let’s start with bartering. Now I like a negotiation as much as the next person. And I know that the starting price is always vastly overstated to allow room for the inevitable reduction. But I’ve still got a few issues with it.

Firstly, the obvious one. We’re usually arguing over 50 cents or less – a sum that means almost nothing to me and potentially quite a lot to them. So the western guilt within me wants to just accept their price. But not only does that deprive them of some cultural sport, it also sets the bar higher for the next person coming along.

So I set aside my guilt and enter into the spirit of things. But then I run into my next problem. I know that I can get the price lower if I play “hard-ass”, but that doesn’t feel right. So I give up relatively early. And while that feels more in tune with who I want to be, I then see fellow cruisers negotiating more “successfully” than me, and paying less.

And I start to feel like a mug. Essentially, I’m paying a “too soft” tax. And that doesn’t sit well with my competitive side.

And finally, there’s the whole concept of the “foreigner tax”. The starting price for these negotiations is usually at least double the local’s starting price in the barter. Here in Tanzania, it’s more like 5-10 times as much.

On the one hand, I find myself thinking about the reciprocal situation – would I think it was right if shops and supermarkets in Australia charged more for foreigners? How reasonable would we find that?

On the other hand, I figure, it’s perfectly understandable. Why shouldn’t they try and squeeze the rich tourists for as much as they can. Goodness know the odd dollar here or there has the potential to make a much bigger impact in their pockets than it does in mine.

Taking into account their circumstances and mine, maybe it IS fair enough. But it just doesn’t sit well with my sense of innate fairness.

So there you have it.

Quite apart from the dodgy hygiene, the variable quality and the questionable cost savings, it should be clear by now that every visit to the market stimulates a degree of existential angst in me that no purchase of potatoes, plums or pineapples should ever be responsible for.

Since I wrote this naive and starry eyed blog post the month after setting off, I estimate we’ve visited local produce markets an average of twice per week for the last 3.5 years - that’s almost 400 visits. At least 1,000 individual negotiations for some ugly looking, sometimes mouldy, and always filthy, carrots, cabbages and cucumbers.

A thousand times that I’ve felt like someone’s being taken advantage of - me, or them. And I’m never sure who.

And a thousand times that I’ve gritted my teeth and told myself that this is part of the experience I signed up for. That everyone loves shopping in these places. And I should too.

For years now, I’ve pretended to the outside world that I was one of the normal people – someone who loved the local markets as much as sunsets, puppies and beach walks.

But it feels so damn good to be out. I’m a market hater – and PROUD of it! I may even form a support group when this post stimulates what I can only assume will be a deluge of like-minded fellow sufferers to come out of the market closet

And in the meantime, I’m off to grumble at the sunset and strangle some fluffy animals :-)