When shopping in Istanbul,
even the pitch is worth it
A burly man unfurled a room-size Turkish silk carpet with a snap, flipped it in the air above his head and twirled it with one hand like pizza crust. It hung suspended for a nanosecond, floated briefly as if it were a magic carpet, then settled gently, diagonally on top of dozens of others.
Buying a carpet in Turkey is a lesson in super salesmanship.
Capture the customer’s attention. Educate her about the product. Develop her desire for quality. Compliment her on her taste. Launch a gentle sales pitch. Check frequently as to how you are doing. Answer her questions.
Bingo. Close the deal. It’s Dale Carnegie squared.
During a recent visit to Istanbul, our tour guide took us to the Istanbul Handicraft Center, a shop near the Grand Bazaar deemed by the tour company to be owned by honest and reputable people. We were slated for a short lecture about Turkish carpets – how they’re made, how to judge quality, what to look for, how to buy one.
What we all got was a lesson in salesmanship. What I got was a gorgeous Turkish carpet.
The demonstration of sales technique was nearly worth the price of the rug.
We sat on upholstered benches around a large, open area, a gleaming polished wood floor. Huge carpets woven in colorful intricate designs hung on the walls behind us.
Drinks were offered: apple tea, plain tea, bottled water or Turkish coffee. I chose apple tea, which was served in a small curved glass nestled in a small colorfully decorated bowl accompanied by a miniature spoon.
The talk was delivered by a charming Turkish man with a charming Turkish accent. He talked about carpet quality. Four or five big men, carpet rollers, hovered around the doorway to an adjacent room, which was piled waist-high with hundreds of beautiful rugs. Thousands, according to the Istanbul Handicraft Center’s website. Some were folded and stacked. Others were rolled and lined up standing on end. The smaller ones were stacked in piles of about 30. Two by two, the rollers selected and unfurled these works of art on the open floor before us while the lecturer talked. The floor was soon covered with runners and rugs of all sizes, colors and patterns.
Carpets piled up, layer upon layer. By the time he finished his talk, the floor was crisscrossed with 40 or 50 carpets. All gorgeous.
He showed us the high quality stuff first, of course, so we developed an eye for the best, a taste for expensive. Good plan.
The talk was short and sweet, with excellent visuals. We got important and useful information about knots and weaves and natural dyes and fringe and materials: wool on wool, wool on cotton, wool on silk, silk on silk. We learned a bit about the weavers and about how to judge the quality of a carpet.
The atmosphere shifted, however, when I rummaged through my purse for a small piece of paper. The dimensions of my office were scribbled in pencil. I said I was considering the purchase of a rug for this floor.
Full disclosure – considering is not the right word. I was ready to buy a Turkish carpet. In Turkey. I was really ready.
The lecturer zeroed in. The sale began.
We (my three traveling companions and our tour guide) were directed to another, private room. A new salesman was introduced, Mr. Yakup Ceki Karmona, one of the presidents of the company. Another charming Turkish accent.
We conversed. He asked what colors I was looking for, what kind of design, the size of my room, whether I wanted wool or cotton or silk. He showed me the best first, of course.
He showed me several gorgeous designs before I asked about price.
Way too high.
We conversed. He complimented me on my excellent taste and my desire for authenticity, quality and workmanship. I felt powerful and special and smart, even though I was fully aware I would be the one forking over money.
He brought out some less expensive rugs. The rug rollers were pressed into service again and again. (Nice muscular shoulders, by the way. Rippling, even.)
I find the carpet of my dreams.
“I’m not prepared to purchase a carpet today,” I said. I meant it.
“I never buy on impulse. I’ll be in Istanbul for two more days and I would like to consider this price and this rug and perhaps purchase tomorrow.”
I actually said that.
He smiled. “We like to strike while the iron is hot.”
He actually said that.
I demur.
He has a special offer for me. He names his price.
We talk.
He asks me to name my price. I do.
We split the difference.
Bingo. The papers arrive. Sign here. Sign there. Please fill this out. He takes my credit card. I sign.
Free delivery? Of course.
Margie Reins Smith lives and writes in the City. For more about The Istanbul Handicraft Center, visit their website.
