The Wild midWest
Some people backpack the globe to find themselves. I moved to Wisconsin.
Granted, camels aren’t that prominent (and are definitely non-existant in the bumping metropolis of Istanbul) but that happened. My friend Cliff and I were exploring the Grand Bazaar; an absolute maze of shops and stands and touristy souvenirs. While the offerings may have been campy and junky and most likely mass-produced at some sweatshop, I couldn’t help but feel trapped in a time warp.
The bazaar itself was opened in 1461 as a common marketplace to sell spices, jewelery, pottery, and leatherwear. Goods were brought from all over the Ottoman empire, and today its use remains unchanged. Occasionally you would come across a shop that sold fabrics, or home goods, and were clearly catering towards actual istanbulus, rather than crazy tourists such as myself.
While I was of course searching for souvenirs and the elusive bargain, the real spectacle was the shop owners. I have never come across more persistent or gruff salesmen. While the majority of them could be brushed off, Cliff and I came across one shop keeper that we simply couldn’t ignore. When he wasn’t wheeling and dealing with Cliff over how many camels I “cost”, he was sweet talking me into buying souvenirs for my grandparents…my newly acquired bargaining skills be damned.
After robbing us of a number of Lira, Cliff and I were swept into the neighboring carpet shop. An elderly gentleman guided us upstairs into the attic of his shop, and immediately began telling us tales of his trip to Cleveland Clinic for heart bypass. His kilims (a lighter tapestry used most commonly as a carpet) were the best in the bazaar. Or so he said. 20 minutes later, Cliff and I were frantically trying to find a way out.
The shop owner continued to push us, telling cliff that I really liked this particular kilim, and that it would look great in our house (*note, cliff is my good friend and boyfriend of my pal Ali, and we both look like we’re 12 years old and clearly unmarried) When we attempted to leave, he shoved a decrepit copy of national geographic magazine into our hands. “Look, we were featured in an international publication! We are known worldwide as the best shop in Istanbul!”
Sure enough, the shop was featured in an article on the Istanbul carpet trade. Just to prove it, he dragged his employees up the stairs who had been photographed for the spread. Because that would totally convince us to hand over 300 lira for a carpet we couldn’t actually use.
Finally, we pushed our way out, claiming that we needed to “look around” and that “we’d be back!” Then we bolted for the door and into the opposite end of the bazaar.
