Shopping in Marmaris

As we bounced along the narrow, dirt track, just outside of English Harbor, my mind went back to a section on Turkish drivers in my "Let's Go" guide. The guide, however irreverent, had been a pretty good judge of things we'd see and problems we might encounter. In this instance, I was reminded of their adamant disapproval of Turkish drivers and their disregard for human life, even going so far as to recommend alternative modes of transportation. We didn't have much of a choice, though, so we actually paid the driver for the privilege of disobeying our faithful guidebook.

It turned out that the driving was not so bad. It was the road that left a lot to be desired. Like guardrails. We sped along twisty mountain roads, occasionally letting another vehicle pass going the other way. I didn't think long on our impending demise, though. My mind was distracted by the beautiful countryside. Large, leafy things, the likes of which were not to be seen in Greece, covered the hillsides (except for the areas that had obviously been clear-cut). Farms, each with it's own mosque and minaret, peppered the valleys. The day was warm and beautiful and after 45 minutes we'd managed to keep all four wheels on the ground (if not the road) and we arrived in Marmaris.

Marmaris is a fairly good sized city on the southern coast of Turkey. It gets some tourism and a lot of navy visitors. On more than one occasion my friends were mistaken for sailors. I don't know if that was supposed to be good or bad, so we chose not to affiliate ourselves with them. In fact, we tried hard not to look at all like we could be categorized. More on that later when I talk about salesmen and their hooks. Marmaris could have been the most beautiful city in the world with golden fountains and free ice cream for everyone, and we would not have noticed. We were there to shop and that's what we did.

The bus dropped us at the edge of a large labyrinth of covered alleyways. Each alleyway had a different colored tarp propped high above it, casting shades of sunlight onto the masses of people below. The alleyways were perhaps 20 feet wide from storefront to storefront, but that was cut in half with the assortment of good pouring out from the shops. The people moved down these aisles, pausing to look at one thing or another and then moving on before they were sucked in, either by their own wants or by those of the very persistent shopkeepers.

As we entered the market I was struck by the life and energy of the place. Everywhere people were wheeling and dealing. It was like a controlled chaos where people seemed to run in every direction, but with purpose. It was like Pike's Place Market in Seattle on a Saturday afternoon, but more so. I could not fathom that this amazing energy existed here every day. We were there on a Wednesday or Thursday (one kinda loses track after a while) but it seemed like the whole city was crammed into this 25 square block area.

The first store we passed was a candy store and we lost several of our friends to the calls of the shopkeeper and the promise of the best candy in the world. It turns out that there were dozens of shops just like his in the market, but we didn't know that and so we dropped our lira.

Munching on newly acquired Turkish Delight we opted for a divide and conquer approach. I went with a couple friends down the left aisle, because it seemed like the one that had fewer people piled up at the entrance. Walking under a green tarp we saw restaurants, leather shops, T-shirt shops, CD stores and, the object of our searching, rug shops.

Dax had decided that he wanted a silk carpet. I had every intention of buying some sort of Turkish carpet (after the disappointing Turkish bath incident (another story) I was determined not to leave this country empty handed). We passed a couple stores where the proprietors tried everything from guessing our nationality to offering us shaves to get us to stop.

This is where our non-categorization initiative took effect. A favorite opening line for these clerks with their hooks is to say, "Are you Australian?" "Are you Canadian?" "Are you English?" Never "Are you American?" as if that would be some sort of insult. The idea was that if they could just get your attention and get you to say just one word they'd have you hooked. I, for one, felt very rude not answering such a simple question. Fortunately, Mike taught us some Chinese and this made it a little easier to defy categorization. A bunch of white boys, wearing American clothes speaking Chinese in Turkey was sufficient to cause just enough confusion to let us walk by unmolested.

One restaurant owner guilted me into shaking his hand as he said hello. And then he wouldn't let go. Finally, he did let me go, but only after I took his card with my other hand. The card had the name of the restaurant on one side and a map to it on the other. Having just entered this maze with still a full pocket of breadcrumbs it was hard for me to imagine that I'd need the map. Perhaps I should have given it to some of the more navigationally challenged members of the group who managed to get completely lost later in the day. (Another story.)

After some significant wandering and a little shopping Dax saw a silk carpet in a window and decided it was time to make his move. We asked about the carpet and the sales guy (obviously not in tune with the mentality of Bellevue salesmen that are cautious because any young punk might just work for Microsoft) laughed at us and took us inside to show us another, cheaper, carpet.

This was a really nice carpet. It was a hand-woven silk, maybe 18 inches across and 24 inches high with a picture of a flower pot on a blue background. Taking the carpet in his hands, Dax turned it around and watched the colors shift and change intensity. The shop happened to have two similar carpets and the salesman laid them out next to, but oriented 180 degrees from, each other. This really showed the contrast between the blues of the two carpets. It is amazing how just the weave of the silk could make one look pale baby blue while the same silk turned a bit can produce a deep navy color. Dax stared at and played with the carpets for a while. Kicked the tires, so to speak. Then we left. As beautiful as the carpet was Dax wasn't rushing into anything.

A few more minutes of wandering ran us into another group that had just come from a different carpet store where yet a third group shopped on. We took their carpet store card, complete with map, and followed the directions to a very unopposing storefront. Strangely, there was no one outside. No pushy salesman. No little boy offering apple tea. No customers.

We pushed our way down a narrow entrance, piled high on both sides by carpets (the entrance, not us) and into a good sized open room in the back. There were all the people.

Carpets were everywhere. Across tables. On chairs. Hanging from the walls. Hanging from the ceiling. In piles along the walls. And on the floor were 8 carpets laid for presenting. A few members of our fearless shopping group studied the floor samples. A few salesmen studied the fearless shoppers. Everyone else just drank in the scene and chilled apple tea. Dave would wave his hand and a carpet would disappear, to be replaced by another one. The salesman kept a dialog going as to what Dave wanted and what he didn't want. It was like watching someone getting their eyes tested, where the optometrist says, "Now, which is better... one... or two..."

We were offered iced apple tea (delicious) and we took pictures of the whole experience. The salesman was very friendly and spoke excellent English. He'd obviously been doing this for quite a while although he only looked to be in his late 20's. Perhaps he was just gifted, but he almost had me buying a carpet and he wasn't even talking to me.

Dave stared at the carpets and asked questions. The salesman had an answer for everything. He even explained that a certain lopsided carpet and another with huge holes in it were more expensive than the others precisely because of their imperfections. I don't know about that, but I certainly wasn't going to buy either one.

One of my favorite part of the whole trip came when Dave had settled on which carpets he wanted and was into the negotiating phase. We'd been given the lecture on bartering in Turkey by our captain. His summary was that the Turks had been bartering forever. They continue to do it today. We wouldn't win. But it sure was fun trying. The moment came when the salesman wanted $900 for two carpets and Dave had offered $800. The salesman extended his hand as if to agree, Dave took it, and the salesman said, "Now, lose my hand and you lose the carpets. $850." I couldn't stop smiling at this man's brilliant technique. And he won. We bought a couple more carpets just so Dave wouldn't feel like an outsider and then left the store many millions of lira lighter.

Now Dax was ready to buy so we returned to the store with the flower pot silk carpet. A very cordial woman, almost as tall as Dax and about 9 times heavier came strolling over singing, "Hello, is it me you're looking for?" She joked with us and almost seemed to flirt with Dax. But when it came down to money she was all business. She swore she wouldn't budge from her first price, but 10 minutes later Dax had his carpet for just over his original offer. I wish I knew what the markup in places like this really was, but I suppose that would take the fun out of the game.

Finally, after a day under the colorful tarps and dodging all our new best friends, the shopkeepers, some of us shoved our purchases and ourselves back into the mini-bus for the less scary, but still thrilling ride home. I say some of us because the maze managed to capture one of our numbers and twist his mind around such that he could not return to our ride home. To make a long story short let's just say that he ended up taking a taxi the 45 minutes back (more lira than you can shake a stick at for that ride!) and he was the object of our ridicule for the rest of the evening. On the bright side, we had more room for our goodies.

Among those goodies were three belly dancing outfits, purchased by three of our more adventurous women friends. They bought three very different outfits and promised to model them for us later that day. When the time came we were docked at another port, next to a couple beautiful, wood, Turkish boats, inhabited strangely enough by Turkish people. Not to be deterred, the women disappeared below deck while the rest of us readied our cameras. Many, many cameras, all complete with flashes. Our dancers emerged onto the strobe-like deck of our sailboat and danced as the shutters flew. The men on the boat next to us obviously approved of the spectacle because they brought the speakers onto their deck, cranked up the music and came over to join us.

When they joined us they brought their own dancer. A seemingly shy dancer, dressed in towels and rags with a veil of a sheet. Once on deck with the women the sheet was lifted to reveal, much to our amazement and amusement , quite an "interesting" belly dancer. And I do mean BELLY dancer. His hairy gut danced of its own accord, like Jell-O. And we all loved it! More film was exposed, more flashes in everyone's eyes. They danced to the blaring music while we worked our Minoltas, Canons and Nikons, pausing to clap only long enough for the flashes to charge. The sun went down and the flashes could no longer hold off the night--and the dancers could only see spots--so the shorts and Teva's replaced the beaded dresses and we headed for dinner. Belly dancing is hard work.

All in all, Marmaris was quite the experience and I don't think I could capture it here no matter how many words I wrote. I highly recommend seeing the bazaar for yourself some day, even if you don't plan on buying anything. Take advantage of the free apple tea. Talk to some clerks that would like nothing more than to see you. Walk around a silk carpet a couple times. Get a free shave.

And when you get back, write and tell me about it. I want to hear everything!

Back to Greece & Turkey '97

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