Shopping in Istanbul

Istanbul in the 1600s was probably the closest a shopaholic could get to paradise on earth. It was the seat of a major empire that encompassed regions stretching from Morocco to Hungary and over to western Iran, and which laid claim to all the treasures of those regions, and also situated perfectly between Europe and Asia, right along the path of every major trade route in the world, where merchants from all areas of the known world could gather in a central location to trade. And the grand Mecca of world shopping centers was the Grand Bazaar, a labyrinthine covered bazaar built in 1461 by Sultan Mehmet "The Conqueror", which today still boasts 58 streets with over 4,000 shops selling anything you could ever want to buy and more. Gold, silver, meerschaum pipes, antique paintings, hookahs, Turkish carpets, hooded sweatshirts, colorful scarves, scented olive oil soaps, wind-up toys, marble chess sets--there is no end to the variety of merchandise in this market.

The ability to haggle over the price of your purchases isn't the only thing separating this building from the Mall of America. As with anything else in Turkey, shopping is an intensely social experience, for the vendors as well as groups of shoppers. There are plenty of merchants hawking tourist goods near the front entrance, who are clearly interested in selling as much overpriced junk to foreigners as they possibly can, and the incessant shouts of "Hello friend! Yes please! Here! Bonjour! Where are you come from?" drive me absolutely crazy.

But if you can survive the initial wave of harassment, it's more than possible to sneak into some of the back corners, where you can meet shop owners whose lifestyle flies in the face of my American Protestant work ethic in a way that makes me wonder if efficiency and productivity are really worth the hype. To these people, business is not simply about liras and moving inventory off the shelf, but about hospitality and the opportunity they have to meet people from all over the world who come to this place.

In the bazaar, a visitor's eyes might pass over tiny shops on the corner where men load up trays with small glasses of tea to deliver to every shop in the market. But these tea distribution teams represent the heart and soul of the bazaar, the hot beverage without which Turkey would probably implode. An offer of tea is a gesture of friendship that signifies your worth to a vendor is more than the dollars you might give them.

The first time I visited Istanbul in September, I visited the Grand Bazaar more as a way to kill time while waiting for a friend than to accomplish any shopping. This is a far better place to hang out than a mall, because I think at least half of the three hours I spent within the vaulted walls of the bazaar was spent sitting in shops drinking tea and chatting with merchants who were more than happy to help a solitary traveler pass the time.

This visit proved to be similar in that I think we spent more time sitting and chatting than browsing through merchandise. My friend and I initially wandered into a carpet shop because he was hoping to pick up a handwoven kilim, but I don't think he could ever have anticipated that we would spend close to an hour and a half in this little store. The owner, while appreciating Chris's interest in his carpets, acted as if closing a sale was the last thing on his mind. He immediately sat us down in his shop, brought us tea, and talked our ears off about a wide variety of topics. Occasionally other customers would wander into the shop and he'd excuse himself to take care of them, or more often to call his assistant to take care of them. But it was clear that he was enjoying our company, and that his daily work life was as much about these moments as it was about the profits.

The same held true later in the afternoon when serendipity led us into a small, dimly lit art studio where every square inch of wall was covered by paintings and Arabic calligraphy. The artist himself sat in the back, hunched over a piece he was working on, but he did not seem in the least put out by an interruption, even when it was clear that we weren't looking to buy anything. He invited us to sit and join him for a few cups of tea as well, and he and Chris chatted about art and business while I helped the artist's assistant with his English homework. Later another friend of theirs wandered into the shop for no particular reason other than to hang out a bit, which also bothered nobody. The whole atmosphere was so relaxed and pleasant, with these men knowing that they earn their livings and therefore feeling free to enjoy their day instead of killing themselves over a few extra dollars. Our new friend even pulled out some scrap paper and wrote our names in calligraphy as a gift.

This is certainly not a typical Turkish shopping experience, as most of my forays into retail resemble American shopping so much that it's not worth blogging about. But I can get the sense that back in the day when markets were dominated by these small, family-owned enterprises, time for gossip and tea with friends was half the point of entering a shop. And the Turkish sense of hospitality shines strong here in the bazaar when merchants are given the opportunity to run their businesses in a way that allows them the flexibility to turn prospective customers into prospective friends.