Sweat-covered, bleary-eyed, and dazed from wandering amid teeming crowds in maze-like alleys, I struggled for a breath, and the revelation came as I stared at a very tiny stall miles from the hotel.
I am market-addicted.
In fact, I am so market-addicted, I admitted to myself on that night as the soaked air percolated in the 90s, that I was staring at a stall of chickens and other small pets stuffed into small wooden cages. Hmmm. How would the cages look in the living room?
The revelation came in Saudi Arabia, I think. But it really doesn`t matter. I have been, I confess, a chronic, recidivist market addict for years, starting when I was a Peace Corps volunteer in Turkey and continuing as a Tribune correspondent in the Middle East. Tangiers. Cairo. Luxor. Tunis. Beirut. Dubai. Algiers. Istanbul. Jerusalem. Baghdad. Jiddah. The deals blur. The incredible sales pitches run from one to another.
If it is a souk, shouk, pazar, bazar or anywhere in the Middle East where serious long-term bargaining takes place, I am lost. I hopelessly scamper down alleys in search of that old copper coffee grinder, that specially colored donkey bag, that purple carpet from whatchamacallit. So what if I have them already?
The problem is that there are so few us who openly love the tapestry spread out before our eyes in the market, and who delight in the wonderful banter with a shopkeeper that sometimes might even lead to an incredible buy. The banter, after all, with all of its cultural insights and riches is the real bargain.
There are, of course, some perfectly reasonable excuses why people find Middle Eastern marketeering inhospitable.
The markets are too crowded, they say. And who knows the prices? You can always be cheated if you don`t know what you are buying. And how can you trust someone who has just cut their prices in half within minutes? And time. Who has the time to spend bargaining? Worse yet, they say, how can you find your way back to the hotel, to the police station, or to a place for a clean, cold drink?
Legitimate exuses. Ignore them. Take my word. Consider instead my basic painless market guide. But you look worried. Sit down. Please. Relax. Have a coffee, my dear friend. Tea? Move the rugs over, my dear friend. Nice, huh. We`ll talk prices later. These are the rules:
– Eyes: Even if you fall in love with something, never stare, and never show excitement. At first, at least. Bargaining is more of a visual than a vocal experience. And the first steps of this dance must begin very slowly. Disinterest goes a long way.
The first movements of this mercantile ballet must involve traipsing through several stores to get a sense of prices, whether real or unreal.
– Moolah: Leave your riches back at the hotel, so your wallet isn`t dripping with dinars as you reach for it. If you know how much you should pay, set that aside so you can hand it over at the right time. No mess. No fuss. Head for the door soon after.
If you are really stuck after marathon bargaining, confidently put the money down, pick up the item, and slowly walk away. My wife once did this, so help me, and she lived, although I am not sure how. My eyes were closed.
– Revenue-sharing: There is no exact formula for a deal in the Middle East. The real prices may be 50 percent lower in one country, 30 percent in another. It depends on who is buying, how business has gone lately, and who can drink more cups of sweet tea before surrendering. Some stores will display a sign that says no bargaining. A fantasy.
This is a dance of desires. Enjoy it. Don`t get impatient.
– ”Let me show you a bargain”: Nope. No guides. No experts. Avoid the tour buses where they visit the tourist shops, and skip the ruins.
– Museum pieces only: Try to figure out how old it really is. Was this antique made yesterday by the young woman working in the back of the shop, and what did she do to make it look old? If the history of the item is garbled, you might consider looking elsewhere if you don`t know what you are doing. But if you know what you are doing, do it.
– I had a cousin in Toledo: Just as they want to show you they know about your culture, ask about theirs. With only a few questions you may find yourself led through the most fascinating tour of Berber rugs, given a hilarious history of family bargaining or receive a detailed lecture on ancient sculptors.
You say you can`t go through it all. Don`t give in, my friend. Years ago in Istanbul`s Grand Bazaar, two polite, elderly Midwestern matrons stood face to face with a tough-willed merchant and walked away with a great buy. I never told them I was in the Peace Corps. But that is another story. You will come back tommorow. Yes. For you I will have much more.
