‘Welcome’
Both feet are barely out of the taxi before we are approached.

‘Where are you from?’ Asks the man who is now hovering by the car door.
It has been a while since I have been hassled in a foreign country, and I have somehow forgotten the rituals that come with being a tourist, so I am not as fast as I should be with my polite refusals of help or goods.

‘I am not a guide; I want no money’ he says as Claire and I emerged onto the streets of Istanbul for the first time. ‘Please, this way’

I have stopped listening to the man as I gaze at the minarets around us. We are close to Hagia Sofia; a huge mosque with faded red walls. Opposite are the six stunning minarets of the Blue Mosque, partially hidden by the trees and fountain of the gardens in front of us. The man is walking alongside us as we make our way through the park. ‘You go to the mosque, slowly, slowly; after I show you my shop’ ‘Only Mecca has more minarets’ he continues as we take in the views around us and enter the courtyard of the Blue Mosque.

So we go, slowly, slowly in the Mosque and admire the splendour of this ancient building dedicated to God. As we are leaving, another man approaches us: ‘welcome. Where you from?’ Claire is catching on quick and mutters a polite ‘no thank you’ as our original guide appears; a short, apparently heated, exchange of Turkish takes place before the second man disappears.

‘You like the Mosque? This is where the stables were’ he continues before we have a chance to reply. ‘These chains were put here to remind the Sultan to wave to his visitors’ he goes on as we are lead past an alleyway with pottery, paintings, clothes and jewellery displayed in the windows. ‘This is the market. Very expensive’; he gestures towards some of the carpet shops.

Just across from the market, on the corner of a quiet street we are lead into his store.
‘This is not expensive?’ I ask. ‘No, just the market’ he replies, sharply ‘I am direct seller’.

The room is covered in carpets and rugs, hanging on the walls and laid on the floor: large rugs are piled in the corner and smaller ones are rolled up and stand against the opposite wall. We’re lead upstairs to a similar sized room, filled with even more rugs, large and small. We sip tea in small tulip shaped glasses, as Resul, as he now introduced himself as, begins to roll out carpets of different size and quality. ’This is wool, silk mix’; ‘this is pure silk’; ‘this took three women four months’; he adds an appropriate comment as he unrolls various rugs, which begin to cover the wooden floor.

He rolls out a medium sized rug, perfect to place under the coffee table in Claire’s living room. ‘How much for this’ I ask, sure that, being the smallest he has shown us, I will be able to afford it.

‘This pure silk, made in Marmora, took a woman 6 weeks. You want Lira, Dollars, Stirling….’ ‘Dollars’ I say before he can continue with more options.

‘This $800’ Surprised, I looked at the rug on the wall, which had first caught my eye when I’d walked in. ‘This took 18 months; three women, a wool, silk mix, very beautiful’ How much you think this worth?’

‘A few thousand’ ‘Sir, this is 18 months work, three women, very beautiful’ he repeats
I believe I have underestimated just how much work has gone into these rugs.

‘This $20,000’ Claire, who had been looking slightly bored up to this point, looks even more surprised than me. Even the best bartering skills in the world would not even get a welcome mat down to a price we can afford. We sip the last of our now luke-warm tea and thank Resul for his time as we get up to leave.

I spot another rug I like hanging by the door; it is about the size of a hand towel. In a vain attempt to gain a nice souvenir I ask how much.
‘Pure silk, $400’,says Resul, with a lot less enthusiasm than before; clearly knowing he isn’t going to make a sale.

‘Lira’ I ask, with a smile on my face.
‘For you sir’, he says deadpan ‘dollars’.
We leave the store carpetless, and walked back towards the market.
‘Welcome, Bonjour, where you from?’ comes the call from a doorway close by.
‘Hi’ I say in return as I look through the window at a store full of rugs.
‘You like carpet?’

‘Love them. Have anything for under $100?’ Ah you want student size carpet. I make you a good price’.

Knowing we can only gain another tea, and would leave without a rug under our arms we decline his offer. Instead of shopping, we walk back towards the Blue Mosque and the rest of Istanbul.