Shopping Old-town style

On Thursday I undertook a shopping trip into old Kampar town. When travelling as a tourist, these experiences can be stressful, but today, with time on my side and with a view to learning, I approached the shopping with an open mind.

My first visit was a quick, successful foray into the world of the Chinese Hardware. I had deduced that it might be a hardware store by the Dulux logo pained on the building, but as I entered the store, wondered if I had been mistaken.

The shelves along the three walls of the store appeared to be stuffed with empty boxes and bags of rubbish, which I surmised were the remains of stock accumulated over years and decades. After some consideration, I determined that the floor was an uneven, pitted concrete, so dirty that I'd initially mistaken it for compressed soil. To my right, a long glass cabinet stretched to the back of the store, where an elfish Chinese grandfather sat. He didn't look up from his Chinese newspaper as I entered, and as I approached, it was obvious he spoke no English.

“Plug,” he repeated, looking bewildered. The tiny man rose slowly and shuffled along behind the glass counter. “Plug.” I followed doubtfully.

“There,” I cried in delight seconds later, as my eyes picked out a stainless steel drain from the jumble of bags and seemingly unsorted parts crammed into the cabinet. “Plug,” I said, pointing and gesturing.

“Ah.” He nodded, though without, I noted, that spark of recognition I had been hoping for. Once again I followed as he shuffled to the front of the store, and pointed as I shouted with relief.

“Plug!”

The ancient man mumbled to himself, or to me, as he withdrew the bundle of plugs and chains which seemed united as a single unit. He plucked pointlessly at the tangle of chains.

“Here,” I cried, drawing a lone, chainless plug from inside the cabinet. “This one is good,” and I watched with amusement as he shoved the tangled bundle back from whence they had been taken.

“One fifty.” This time the words were clear, and I resisted the urge to clarify. I fiddled in my purse for two one-Ringgat notes, still wondering if he could possibly have meant one fifty. Surely a plug would be more than 45 cents?

“Thank you.” I pocketed my change, nodded and left the store, suppressing a giggle as the diminutive man slowly weaved his way back through the dusty clutter to his chair and newspaper.

The next visit was in stark contrast to my first in every respect. The quiet old man at the back of the hardware store was replaced by a loud, pushy young man at the electrical store. The short, successful purchase was followed by a very long, drawn-out, and eventually unsuccessful one. I wandered into the electrical store to look at a few items, but mainly to compare the price on the Samsung 40 inch LED TV we were thinking of purchasing. Now, I could relate this story step-by-step as I did the last, but this would be sure to crash the blogspot server. Over the course of an hour, he flitted between me and the steady stream of customers that entered he store. We agreed on a price, he changed the price, he offered me another model, we dropped the price, he took my credit card, he phoned about my credit card, he wouldn't return my card. I was uncertain whether to be amused or irritated, but I derived considerable entertainment from the way he swapped mid-sentence between Chinese and English without seeming to realise he had done so. Eventually I had retrieved my card and as I put the key in the ignition of the Isuzu, he offered me my best price yet, 1500 Ringgats, down more than 400 Ringgats (over $100) from the starting point. This was not the end of negotiations. Throughout the day he rang my mobile number numerous times, and by 6pm we had decided to accept his offer of 1400 Ringgats. Back we drove to his store, only to discover it closed. The following morning we returned with credit card in hand, but to our bewilderment, he had changed his mind on taking the credit card and happily let us leave with the promise of a return with cash next week.

Our house is now finally equipped with a plug, but the fitting itself gradually leaks all the water from the sink anyway, and we have no TV, no Wii games, and no Wii fit. None of this matters much, as we are still sampling the vast array and variety of restaurants around Kampar for most meals. We have little time for cooking or TV, though Harry took us shopping on Thursday night and we now have a microwave and a two-burner gas cooktop. The ever-patient man stood around as we deliberated each choice, cheerful as always, waiting with ever-reddening eyes. Despite the late hour the store was crowded, and after carrying the goods to the front of the store and waiting at the checkout, we were told that we would have to return to the electrical department to have the items checked. It was only then that I thought Harry's saintly composure might fall apart, but he rallied for a last effort and remained cheerful and polite till we dropped him back to his car. So now we have the option to cook. We might do that, one day.