the id, the ego, & the single misfiring brain cell

utterly unavoidable

When I knew I was coming here, almost everyone who knew anything about Turkey said, "SHOPPING!!!" I was getting the idea that shopping in Turkey consisted of buying amazing stuff at rock-bottom prices.

Now, less than two weeks into it, I don't think that's what they meant. What they mean is that not shopping here can be harder than just shopping.

Lemme explain. First, everybody is selling something. I mean literally, if not figuratively as well. You just think telemarketers are annoying because they invade your home to pitch you, but you can hang up on them at any time. This place is chock full of entrepreneurs who vie for your attention and will use any tactic in the book to get you to buy something you don't need, don't want, and don't like. I bet they sometimes manage to sell mystery items to foreigners who walk away thinking, "I don't know what it is, but freedom isn't free."

You've no doubt seen the "bazaar" in films. It's busy and crowded and people are hawking wares. It's like that, except the film cannot capture what it's like to be walking through the streets, minding your own business, and having people walk up and offer you a cup of tea (or whatever) then throw carpets at your feet for two hours, even after you tell them you don't want any and you WILL NOT BUY. This has happened to me three times so far.

I think they just think I'm playing hard to get. I think a hard sell gets them excited like their daughter's wedding or their son's circumcision might. It must be a huge honor to manage to sell to the unwilling and uninterested, because the less interested I am, the more they work at it.

The techniques vary, but first they'll offer you a drink. This is common in the Mediterranean, in my limited experience. Italy was like this, and so was Greece. It's polite. Business is a leisurely activity. You don't just sell something; you cultivate a relationship. I always liked this before, but the Turks cultivate the relationship in order to thoroughly exploit it. Once they have you enjoying a nice cuppa chai or "apple tea" (hot apple cider, really) or kahve (coffee, but it comes in a shot like espresso and is the consistency of mud), they start showing you their wares.

The drink is a trap, a commitment. It's bait. Know this, and accept it at your peril. The carpet sellers will take you to an upstairs room where they have huge piles of carpets folded and stacked like pancakes. They will commence unstacking them and throwing them at your feet. A couple of the sellers would throw them down then pick them up and twirl them so you can watch it change colors and check the quality. This goes on indefinitely. They don't get tired. Rather...I get tired long before they do.

At this point, I'm politely trapped, though. There's a mountain of unfolded carpets on the floor and they're working up a sweat unstacking* them so I can look at each and every one.

* Every time this happens, I think, "Surely there's a more efficient way to display them, yes?" Then I realize that the answer is "Probably," but such a method would reduce the magnitude of the guilt trip.

They'll bring you tea indefinitely, too, then not offer you a toilet. But that's neither here nor there.

So there you are, in a stuffy upper room filled with wool, cotton, and silk carpets created by Afghan, Persian, and Turkish child labor, fully caffeinated and bored and needing to pee. The stacks of carpets are transferring from the piles against the wall to the pile on the floor, and you didn't even want to go carpet shopping, but...there you are, and you're stupid enough to think you have an obligation to sit politely and look at the wares.

Not so. The first trick is to not accept the offer of a drink unless you're truly interested in shopping and have all afternoon to get sucked into their vortex. The second trick, should you accept and realize at some point that you aren't interested and you're ready to go, is to stand up, thank them for their hospitality, and leave. They'll work this, too, of course. It's just rude to walk away while someone's talking to you, particularly after they gave you a drink (they also offer alcohol, of course), so they'll just keep talking. Walk away anyway. Do00 eeet, or someone will eventually find your corpse moldering there, Death By Bladder Pop.

Another thing I've noticed about carpet sellers is that they will immediately, if they learn you're an American, show you pictures of themselves with the local American general and his wife, along with plaques the generals have given them. One had a Better Business Bureau certificate on his wall, which is probably about as authentic as my new "Prada" handbag. This is supposed to make me trust them, I guess, but it doesn't really have that effect. It just means they've charmed someone with a lot more money than I have and a lot more time to shop. One even offered to phone the general's wife and have me talk with her. These people are shameless.

They ignore you when you tell them you need a specific size, too. Well...they view any request for a specific size like they view lanes on the roads: wishful thinking which can be safely ignored. I've decided I need a 5 foot square carpet. It's for the closet of the pool room back home, where we're going to set up a meditation room. It will also be the only room in the house where the dogs and cats are not. So my needs are specific. I have explained this to my would-be venders. Nonetheless, they will toss dozens of 6X4 carpets before me. Maybe the room will just change dimensions, you know, if the carpet is pretty enough and "the right price." My room does not have rubber walls, I say, but they go on pretending it's adjustable.

Speaking of price, I'm the sort of person who goes shopping only for what I want (and I have something specific in mind when I do), I find it, then I decide if I'm willing to pay the asking price. Well, yesterday, I ended up being carpeted for over an hour because I was looking for a handbag. We had ostensibly stepped into the carpet seller's to ask where we could get a good handbag. I told them I wanted a handbag and that's all I wanted (needed, actually), and it continued to rain carpets until I stood up and left.

So anyway...we finally went to get the handbag and when I found one I liked--this was a trial, too, because I'm a woman so I must want that ostentatious red one over there...--there was, of course, no price. This is because, unless you're stopping in a supermarket where the prices are clearly marked, the price is open for discussion.

Perhaps some people enjoy this, but it drives me mad. I don't want to argue with you about what the item is worth (particularly in TL play money). I don't want to hear about how your children are going hungry if I offer you 20TL less than you asked. I don't want to waste my time trying to figure out what something does or should cost. Just tell me what you're asking, I'll shop around and compare prices, then buy the one I think is a good deal.

No. Nonononono. We don't play that here. Thus...if I wish to buy anything, I must either:

1. Take the time to shop around, then the time to haggle about price, the time to drink enough tea to drown a camel, and then I must remember where in the maze bloodthirsty venders I found the right item at the right price, or

2. I pay what they're asking (or not).

This means carpet shopping will be the bane of my existence during my stay here. It also means that while I have a list of things I must buy, I now loathe shopping with a hatred surpassing that which which I have regarded this pasttime heretofore in my 43 years.

Good times.

d