The Next Contestant on the Price Is Right

Aside from food, the first thing I bought in Indonesia was computer speakers. These didn't have the right jacks or a USB jack and therefore didn't work. I was unable to return them and they remain in a box on a table in our living room.

The second item I bought was a reading lamp. When I got home the box was empty. Try explaining that to customer service when you don't speak the language. (I did eventually get the lamp and it is, miraculously still working, though it didn't come with a bulb and I had to make a third trip to the store.)

The third thing I bought was the Blackberry. Several of the keys stuck and the battery blew out on it two weeks after I bought it. The vendor would not replace it but did offer to repair it for almost as much as I originally paid for it. Adik used her contacts to get it repaired for a reasonable price but the battery never properly held a charge again. And of course, in the end, it was stolen.

After the latest alarm clock purchase also proved futile, I am not looking forward to negotiating the purchase of a new camera. Still, I leave for Thailand in a few days and if I want pictures I have no choice.

"The Lucky Plaza" is in the heart of what used to be Batam's equivalent of a Red Light district, at Nagoya Hill. The local government, in a bid to clean up Batam's image, shut down most of the bars and brothels three years ago, and Batam's economy has never really recovered from this and Nagoya itself still marinates in the ambience of festering seediness.

The Plaza is two city blocks of fluorescent lit kiosks with glass cases filled with cell phones, laptops, cameras, and video cameras. Most of these items have well known names like Sony, Nokia, even Apple branded on them but they're nothing more than cheap Chinese knock offs. Fortunately most of the sellers will tell you what you're looking at is made in China and then show you the two genuine articles that they have and will sell you for ten times the price.

I make my rounds of the camera kiosks. I look at every Canon available. I snap pictures. I try to ask questions but none of my limited Bahasa vocabulary is useful for camera shopping. After almost two hours of shopping I decide on a model. It's larger and heavier than my last Canon but it does take good night shots and doesn't use a rechargeable battery which will save me adapter hassles when I travel.

I also choose a seller based largely on the size of his shop and our ability to reasonably communicate but when I tell him I want the Canon and the price I'm willing to pay he says no, he will not sell it to me for that price. I thank him and start to leave in order to look for the seller who made me that offer but he stops me.

"You don't want that Canon. It's cheap. Made in China. Is no good. I give you only two day warranty. You want this."

He hauls out an Olympus. "Made in Japan," he says, and shows me the Japanese manual to prove it. "I give you one year warranty. Also this camera has 4GB memory in camera. No external card. Canon you need to buy external card."

It is a beautiful camera but he wants almost $80 more for it. I laugh and tell him I can't afford it.

"How much?" he asks.

I tell him the same price as the Canon, about $180. He shakes his head. "For you, best price," he counters offering an approximate $240.

Now it's my turn to shake my head. "$200."

"$220 and I will give you case for it yes?"

I shake my head. "Too much," I say.

"Ok fine, $210. Final."

I ask him again how much memory the camera has. "About 270 pictures," he says. "4 gig, 4 gig."

It does take beautiful pictures, at least from what I can see on the display, and it has a warranty. I don't think I'm going to do any better, so I agree to the price and when the deal is done I walk to Nagoya Hill Mall for some butter chicken at the only Indian restaurant I've been able to find in Batam.

While I'm waiting for my food the owner's son strikes up the usual conversation with me; where are you from? why are you here? where is your family? where is your husband?

Foolishly believing the boy is simply making conversation I don't bother to haul out my fake husband, who is usually sick if he's not away on business, poor man.

"No husband," I answer honestly.

"How old are you?"

I laugh. "Too old."

"No really," he says earnestly, "twenty-five? Twenty-six?"

"You are very kind," is all I answer.

"Well you can't be thirty," he says, wrinkling his brow.

Nope, I think , I'm definitely no longer thirty. I simply smile by way of an answer.

"Then why aren't you married?" he asks, alarmed.

I laugh. "I was once. Wasn't for me."

He nods and, as my food has arrived, he leaves me alone. When I'm done my meal and getting ready to go he appears again.

"Do you mind," he says, "can I have your number?"

"I don't have one," I tell him honestly. When he looks at me disbelievingly I tell him, "It was stolen and I haven't replaced it. I don't think I'll bother."

"Can I give you mine then?"

"Sure, but I don't see the point. I don't have a phone to call you with."

"Do you have an e-mail then?" He asks somewhat agitatedly.

I agree to give him my e-mail, cursing to myself the whole time. There goes my one and only option on the island for Indian food. It wasn't the best I've ever had but now I will have to take a ferry to get my fill of tikka masala and a lassi. Note to self: nag fake husband to buy me a "wedding" ring so I never forget him.