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Published: July 26th 2015
"I'll give you tea."
This was the first salesman.Before I came to Istanbul I practiced saying no. “No, thank you.” “No, I’m just looking.” “No, I’m not interested.”“No, it’s too expensive.” “No, stop it.” “NO!” I learned to say no in Turkish as well as English. So how come I ended up in a rug shop drinking tea?
I’m an early riser, and I like to get out and about. My first full day in Istanbul I just wanted to walk around and get my bearings before it got too hot and there were too many people around. I was in Sultanahmet Square headed to the Information Center. The bad part of that is that as a single woman who was obviously a visitor, I was a target for every carpet salesman in town. And since there aren’t a lot of tourists around yet, it was like throwing chum into shark-infested waters – with me being the chum.
He seemed like a nice guy, if a little pushy. “Hello! How are you? Where are you from?” I said I was from the US. “Oh! Where in the US?” I admitted to living in California. “I have a cousin in California!”
“Where are you going now?” he asked.
“I’m going to the Information Center.”
“They’re closed. You want to see my shop?”
“No. The Information Center will open in a few minutes.” I wanted to get a better map, and I figured that ducking into a government office would get rid of my pest.
“I’ll wait for you. Then you can come see my shop. I’ll give you tea.”
“No. Don’t wait for me.”
I set off walking toward the Hippodrome and the Obelisk of Thutmose III (which is pretty amazing in its own right) but my guy didn’t give up so easy. I walked over to the German Fountain, pretty much ignoring him, and then to the Walled Column and the Obelisk of Thutmose III with him at my heels.
The Information center was open now, so I said goodbye to him.
“I’ll wait for you.”
“No. Don’t”
The Info Center was good for getting a map, and not much else. The bored staffer waved me towards a map and went back to his paper. I took a
seat, hoping my follower would find another mark and go away. While I was there, a couple of German tourists came in and, since it was a holiday weekend, asked about the opening hours of some of the popular sites. The staffer pointed her to a list taped to the counter. She asked if she could have a copy. He said no, that was the only copy. She started to laboriously copy every word of the list, asking questions along the way.
After a few moments of this, the staffer handed her a copy of the list of site closures.
“For me?” she asked, pleased.
“No, for me,” he replied. “You talk too much.”
Guess what? My shadow was waiting for me when I left.
“Now let’s go see my family’s shop.”
“No. Give me your card and maybe I’ll stop by later.”
“I don’t have a card on me. We’ll walk over to my shop and I’ll give you my card. It’s not far.”
He had worn me down, and I figured it might be quicker to just see his shop and then split.
We went to his shop where I was introduced to his “cousin” just a teenager, really, who was dispatched to get me tea. An older “cousin” came in and the heavy sales pitch started. I was told they came from a poor village, the carpets came from families in the village, the carpets were all handmade, the carpets came from the dowries of the families, and on and on.
Eventually the older cousin gave up on me in disgust and left, my original shadow had left earlier, presumably to find another tourist. I was left with the bewildered teenager. I took a card, said good-bye, and left.
The name on the card (and I’m not making this up) was Bozo.
The second guy got me in about the same way. I was in Sultanahmet Square in the morning before most of the tourists were about. He too had a cousin in California – what a surprise!
“The Blue Mosque is closed now,” he said. “How about you come see my family’s restaurant?”
“No, thank you.”
“It’s just over there,” he pointed to a café.
“I’ll give you a glass of tea.”
This went on for a few more minutes; I said I’d have a glass of tea, but nothing more.
When we went past the café he had pointed to, I balked.
“You told me your restaurant was here.”
“No, it’s just there,” he said pointing half-way up the block.
We walked a few more paces when he stopped me under a sign and pointed to it.
“That’s a good name, right?”
The sign said “
Why Knot Carpet Shop.”
“NO!” I said. “I’m not going in your shop. You told me your family had a restaurant.”
There were a couple of men sitting at a table outside drinking tea.
“Sit here with my uncle,” he said. “I’ll bring you tea.”
After several minutes of high-pressure sales pitch, he got so disgusted with my refusal to buy a carpet that he picked up my glass of tea and left.
I realize that these folks are just trying to make a living, so I am always truthful with them, and that truth is that I don’t want nor
need a carpet. Walking the long block between my hotel and the tram stop I generally get three or four men trying to get me to buy a carpet. Now I just laugh and keep walking.
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D MJ Binkley
Dave and Merry Jo Binkley
No
Sometimes no means no. I hate the high pressure and lies. Sad really. They'd sell more with a softer approach.