On Monday, we arrived at the Grand Bazaar with trepidation and excitement. Armed with minimal research, Spice Market experience, and several hundred lira tucked in our purses, we entered the infamous gates.
Our Googling had informed us that early was a good time to arrive. The merchants have to walk a fine line; they must reach their daily minimum income, and also earn their own commission. Therefore, earlier in the day is the best time to haggle, as they are more willing to fluctuate the price in order to meet their daily goals. But, too early, and you're likely to encounter a gruff Turk who has not had time for his morning tea or to greet his neighbors.
We arrived about 9:30, half an hour after opening. This afforded us time to get acquainted with the market (it's 60 streets of chaos and cacophony) without too much hassle from the merchants or the crowds.
I was in the market for a famed Turkish rug. Long before leaving, I decided I would splurge on something special that I could keep the rest of my life. I was invited to come into a shop to "just look, miss, you don't have to buy!" Our research had informed us that we would be invited in, shown the goods, given tea, and begin to haggle. I had to inform the man that I couldn't buy one of his giant rugs that covered the entire length of the wall (now I shudder to imagine the cost), because I would be flying home with said rug. He immediately started pulling out the most luscious hand-knotted silk rugs. When silk is used in both the warp, weft and the knots, it changes colors in the most magical way. I'm afraid the poker face I'd been cultivating completely evaporated when presented with these creative masterpieces. I attempted to casually ask how much a rug was, as I hadn't come across any hard-and-fast rules about the cost. It went something like this:
Him: "1500 Turkish Lira." (approximately $750)
Me: stunned silence.
Him: "How much do you want to spend?"
Me: stunned silence.
Me: "Oh." Quick calculation, realization that I can't do math when in sticker shock. "Um, 200 lira?"
Bad move. I low-balled him right out of negotiations. He started to pull shitty wool rugs and start throwing them at me. Not literally, but literally at the ground at my feet. I'm sure, in the presence of less remarkable rugs, these would have been pretty. Beautiful, even. But, in the given environment, these looked like the sad, ugly, spinster step-sister of the glowing bride.
I awkwardly excused myself, told him we would think about it and be back, and bodily dragged Kristina out of the shop.
Out in the light of day, I started to reevaluate what "splurging" meant and how much was too much. We got a quick bite to eat, I steeled myself, and reentered the market.
The second shop we went into was much smaller, but felt much better. The keeper was much more polite, gave us a magnifying glass to look at the knots (shockingly regular and meticulously knotted). This time, with a better outlook, negotiations went much more smoothly. I had read to expect somewhere from 30-50% off, but usually closer to 30%. Which, considering the rug started at 1550, I was more than pleased when we settled for 1100 lira.
The big purchase out of the way, I relaxed into the cadence and noise of the market. We wound our way through the winding, ever-more crowded streets. The market is covered and blissfully cool in the humidity and heat. Men yell from their shop doors, step in front of you, waving their wares in your face and imploring you to, "come, look!" "let me help you buy something you don't need!" and, in Kristina's case, "are you angel? Please, stop!" It's very overwhelming, but easy to get lost in the crush of people and colors and movement. Around two, we started to feel overwhelmed but the noise and heat and smell of so many people. Kristina read somewhere that 250,000-400,000 people might visit the Grand Bazaar on any given day.
We exited into the hot Turkish sun, feeling exhausted but happy. Just how I like to feel.
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