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Martin’s advice on buying a Kurdish carpet was simple: You can’t win. That’s it. Just one rule; one that drove the proverbial nail in the coffin for a competitive girl like myself. I can’t win, huh? He explained further: men have been selling carpets here for thousands of years. They are Carpet Selling Supermen and I was just one in a long line of carpet-seeking suckers.
Alright then, what could I do if I still really wanted a carpet, because clearly I wasn’t going to bamboozle the Carpet Supermen. That was simple as well. In order to leave Turkey with a carpet in my hands and feel good about it, I would have to take myself out of the game. The trick would be to set a figure in my head, an amount I would be unwilling to exceed. When the negotiations get heated, I would have to remember that amount and insist on paying less than it. When the shop keeper threatens to throw us out, I would have to remember that number. When we’re both stomping our feet on the ground in anger, I would have to remember that number. He would inevitably make me pay that amount (and maybe more) but that’s the way it works. They’re just that good.
This theory was put to the test on our second day in Turkey, in the southeastern town of Diyarbakir. As Martin explained in this post, we were led on an impromptu walking tour by a nice local man. The tour ended, surprise-surprise, at his uncle’s carpet shop. An offer of tea got us through the door but the beautiful carpets kept us there for the second, third and fourth cups.
Seeing the interest we tried to hide with sidelong glances, the shop keeper began to leisurely fold out various shapes and sizes. Before we knew it we were oohing and ahhing our way through his inventory. We settled on a beautiful semi-antique kilim, a traditional Middle Eastern woven carpet (a detail is shown in the photo below). We had absolutely no need for the piece, but fell in love with it instantly. The “very, very cheap” price quoted was $375. Well, that would obviously not do. We’re poor backpackers, after all.
A detail of our beautiful new Kilim
My next move was to panic. I hadn’t settled on a price ceiling, as instructed, so I was swimming with the carpet sharks. We hurriedly thanked the guide and his uncle and left, promising that we would return the following day. To ensure our return our guide insisted on an appointment time the next morning for breakfast. We weren’t getting off the hook that easy.
Armed with some internet research up my sleeve (take that, Carpet Superman!) we made our way to the shop the next morning. The negotiations began much the same way. Tea was served. Pleasantries were exchanged, then the slow unfolding of carpets began. I feigned indifference, though clearly we had returned because we wanted that beautiful kilim. I complained that we had no space in our backpacks. I pointed out every tear, hole and slight imperfection. I explained that the kilims on the internet were in far better condition than the junk he was trying to sell me. I tried all the tricks, which were countered with a smile and an offer of more tea. This guy was good.
After twenty minutes of this, the negotiations got heated. I was hopped up on caffeine, was feeling jittery and sweating profusely. He kept folding up the kilim and throwing it into the back of his store, making me insist that I wanted it before retrieving it again. I was being played, yet couldn’t do a thing about it. At this point the kilim had become the thing I wanted most in the world.
His next move took me completely off guard. He told me the price he paid for the kilim. I didn’t believe him, of course, but to call him out would have thrown him into a tantrum. He was already red-faced and throwing his arms around furiously. He had me backed into a corner and we both knew it.
I eyed him through my veil of face sweat. He glared back at me with a knowing smile. He told us that we were doing very bad things, coming here and trying – shame of all shames – to negotiate. I told him that his inventory was crap and that he was lucky that we had any interest at all. Our negotiations reached a fevered pitch just before we settled on a price that was just below our ceiling. Five minutes later we were sipping tea (more tea!) while exchanging love stories like old friends.
Oh, so we're friends now?
We were one kilim richer, for the (overpriced) amount of $230, which was $30 under our ceiling. So in effect – I won! But don’t tell the Carpet Superman that – he’s a little moody.
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This entry was posted on Sunday, May 16th, 2010 at 6:54 am and is filed under Turkey. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.
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About Us
You know the saying, “to fly by the seat of your pants?” Well, that's been our philosophy for most of our adult lives – before and after meeting, falling in love and marrying. We're now taking that idea on an extended round-the-world trip. Follow us as we share the good, the bad and the downright nasty of life on the road.
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