Day 4… Buyers Keepers

Day Four began the way most Bali mornings do:
with roosters screaming, scooters revving, and me stepping out of my hotel room with the confidence of a man who believed — foolishly — that he could walk 50 metres without being approached by someone selling something.

This was a mistake.

The Sales Boy (Man?) Appears

I had barely reached the footpath when a figure materialised beside me like a Balinese ninja in flip‑flops.

He was… well… I couldn’t tell how old he was.

He had the face of a teenager, the posture of a 40‑year‑old, and the sales aggression of a man who’d been doing this since the dawn of commerce.

He wore:

A faded Bintang singlet
Sunglasses that were definitely not Ray‑Bans
A grin that could sell sand to a beach

He clapped his hands once. “Hello boss! You want tour? Cheap cheap! Very good price!”

I smiled politely.

“No thank you.”

He nodded thoughtfully.

Then immediately pivoted.

“You want sunglasses? Very good quality. Real Ray‑Bon.”

I said, “Ray‑Ban?”

He said, “Yes, Ray‑Bon.”

He pulled out a pair that looked like they’d been assembled during an earthquake.

I declined.

He nodded again.

“You want massage? Very cheap. Very strong. Very relaxing.”

I said, “No thank you.”

He nodded again.

“You want sarong? You want bracelet? You want hat? You want wooden turtle? You want wooden… souvenir cock? Very funny. Very popular with Australians.”

He held up a carved wooden object that looked like it belonged in a museum exhibit labelled “Ancient Fertility Symbols and phalluses.”

I nearly swallowed my tongue.

“I’m good, thanks.”

He nodded, unfazed.

“You want taxi? You want boat? You want fishing? You want volcano tour? You want waterfall tour? You want coffee tour?”

I said, “NO THANK YOU.”

He nodded again.

“You want… vee-agra?”

I said, “Absolutely not.”

Enter the FIFO King

Just then, the FIFO King — a man with the energy of a Labrador on Red Bull — appeared holding a coconut like it was a trophy.

“207! You gettin’ hustled already?”

The sales boy/man turned to him.

“You want tour, boss?”

The FIFO King grinned.

“Nah mate, but I’ll take one of them wooden cocks! I have a mate at work who’d have fun with that one…” And he pointed to a phallus that seemed too big for the bag the Bali boy was carrying.

The sales boy produced one instantly, like a magician.

The FIFO King inspected it like he knew a quality cock when he held one. I was mortified.

Enter Bazza & Shazza

At that moment, two new characters wandered over — Bazza and Shazza, a sunburnt Aussie couple I’d only just met at breakfast.

They were the kind of tourists who:

Wore matching Bintang singlets
Bought souvenirs in bulk
Called everyone “mate”
Treated haggling like an Olympic sport

Shazza had a voice like a foghorn and a laugh like a kookaburra being tickled.

Bazza had a beer belly, a mullet, and the confidence of a man who believed sunscreen was optional.

Shazza said, “Oh my god, Stevo, you HAVE to buy something. It’s rude not to.”

Bazza added, “I got ten sarongs for twenty bucks. Bargain.”

I said, “What are you going to do with ten sarongs?”

He shrugged. “Christmas presents.”

Shazza held up a wooden novelty item the size of a rolling pin.

“Look what I got for me sister!”

I blinked.

“Is that… appropriate?”

She shrugged. “She’ll love it. She’s got a sense of humour.”

I prayed she did.

The Sales Boy Escalates

The sales boy sensed weakness.

He leaned in.

“Boss… I give you special price.”

I said, “For what?”

He said, “Everything.”

He opened his backpack.

Inside was:

Sunglasses
Sarongs
Carvings
Magnets
Keychains
A small statue of Ganesha
A laser pointer
A packet of instant noodles
A live chicken (I swear it blinked at me)
And an entire family of wooden novelty items in various sizes

I said, “Why do you have a chicken?”

He said, “Bonus.”

Enter Trent & The Influencer

Before I could respond, two more new faces arrived — Trent, a shirtless Aussie fitness influencer, and his 13‑year‑old cousin, who filmed everything like he was documenting a wildlife documentary.

Trent shouted, “BROOOO! STREET MARKET CONTENT!”

The kid zoomed in on the chicken.

“GUYS, HE’S GONNA BUY IT!”

I was not going to buy the chicken.

The sales boy held it up proudly.

“Boss! Very good chicken! Fresh!”

The chicken clucked in agreement.

The Negotiation

I tried to escape.

The sales boy followed.

“Boss, I give you package deal.”

I said, “I don’t want a package deal.”

He said, “Okay, okay. You choose. Anything you want.”

I said, “I don’t want anything.”

He said, “Okay, okay. I choose for you.”

He handed me:

A sarong
A bracelet
A wooden turtle
A pair of Ray‑Bons
And a wooden novelty item shaped like a carrot that had gone through puberty

I said, “I REALLY don’t want that.”

He said, “Okay, okay. I keep chicken. You take turtle.”

The Hallucination?

As I stood clutching a wooden turtle I didn’t want, I heard a tiny voice near my ankle.

“You overpaid.”

I looked down.

A gecko stared up at me.

I blinked.

It blinked.

I blinked again.

It scurried away.

I decided I was dehydrated.

The Aftermath

By lunchtime:

The FIFO King had bought three wooden novelty items
Bazza had bought a drum
Shazza had bought a sarong for every niece, nephew, and dog she knew
Trent had bought a laser pointer
The influencer had bought the chicken
And I had bought a turtle I didn’t want, from a man who absolutely deserved the sale

Bali, You Beautiful Marketplace of Chaos

Some people come to Bali for:

Beaches
Culture
Relaxation
Spirituality

I came for none of these.

And yet I ended up:

Negotiating for a chicken
Buying a turtle
Being filmed by influencers
Being followed for 300 metres by a man of indeterminate age who could sell oxygen to a fish
And possibly hallucinating a gecko giving financial advice

And Bali, as always, delivered.

Next: To be continued…