The Grand Bazaar

A cacophony of noise, aromas and colour bombards the senses as you wander aimlessly through labyrinthine streets. Merchants shout impossible deals as you walk past to get your attention and reel you in. Make eye contact and you're doomed to make a purchase. Waiters Buzz past with trays full of glasses of Turkish chai - tea - that seem to defy gravity as they weave between the crowds not spilling a drop. Small mountains of spices can be purchased around every corner and their smell is intoxicating. Rugs and carpets of all shapes and sizes - each one a masterfully woven unique piece of artistry - decorate the walls and floors. Antique trinkets and temptations lurk around every corner, and one gets the feeling that you have stepped from modernity into the world of Scheherezade and the Arabian Nights.

This, of course, is Istanbul's Grand Bazaar. Once a major hub on the Silk Road, it is place where business has been done for centuries and the act of selling has been honed into something of an art. In recent years, tourists have been irresistibly drawn into this wondrous place, looking for bargains, entertainment and a glimpse of the past. As I was to find, however, this place is not without its pitfalls.

We had come here to purchase a backgammon board, and immediately upon entering the place were overwhelmed. Statistics put the scope of the Bazaar into context: over 3000 shops spread over 60 streets, catering for almost half a million customers per day. This is one of the busiest venues in the entire world, and you can buy almost anything. Lamps, furniture, designer clothes, fake designer clothes, fake fake designer clothes, Turkish delight, toys, jewellry, books, hummous! Imagine if Amazon.com was pulled out of the internet and its contents dumped in a giant maze, and you have some idea of the chaotic brilliance of the place.

Anyhoo, I digress. We were hunting for backgammon boards. Backgammon is wildly popular in Turkey and the rest of the Middle-East, and with good reason. Sat at a cafe with a friend, playing this ancient game (50% luck, 50% skill) and supping tea whilst watching the world go by is a great way to pass the time. Thus, what better place to buy a decent board than the infamous Bazaar?

It wasn't long before we were lured into a cramped shop stuffed with treasures by a typically charismatic Turk. He gave us a glass of chai each whilst making small talk and showing us various backgammon boards. No mention of a price. I, being English, was too polite to ask. He, being a merchant well versed in this ritual, was softening us up. Alarm bells!

Eventually we got on to the subject of payment. It is a kind of ritual in Turkey that when a seller names his price, it is too high. It is the part of the buyer in this pantomime to then act shocked and state a price that is too low. If all goes well both parties will meet somewhere in the middle. However, if the merchant knows you covet something you are in trouble. It is, however, incredibly difficult to act like you don't desire something that you really want. In these circumstances, the most powerful weapon in the buyer's arsenal is what I call the 'disinterested eyebrow flick and walk away.' My mother-in-law is a master of this, and often barters merchants down to prices I can only dream of. Unfortunately she was not present and I possess none of the aforementioned skills.

Needless to say, we agreed a price for a beautiful Syrian board that was reasonable, when things took a turn for the bizarre. I was challenged to a game of backgammon. If I won, the board would be heavily discounted (he would still make a profit im sure). If he won, I had to buy something else. Moron that I am, I accepted. More tea was brought out and the game began.

He was a skilled salesman but a poor backgammon player. I felt my confidence rising. I was playing well and the dice were on my side. Sensing defeat (and monetary loss) my opponent played his trump card. His son, who had been watching the shopfront, was summoned and became his advisor. He was good. Suddenly the tables were turned, and as so often happens in backgammon, the dice seemed to turn on me too. A stream of 1s and 2s. I tried to enlist the help of my advisor Natasha, but the merchant quickly snapped that that was cheating. He had the home advantage, and I realised I was playing a game I was never going to win.

Upon my defeat we purchased a tea set. 6 glass tea cups decorated with blue and gold. 'Good price, good price,' we were told. We said our goodbyes and stumbled back into the hubbub of the Bazaar. 5 minutes later we walked past a store that had an identical teaset for a fraction of the price. We had been well and truly swindled! Red-faced with indignation we tried to backtrack to the store and give this Turkish Del-Boy a piece of our mind. It was a hopeless endeavour. The Grand Bazaar is a maze, and we would never find him again.

I still have the tea-set, gathering dust in a cupboard, and whenever I see it I recall my folly with a grimace. The backgammon board, however, has pride of place in the living room and has hosted many a game in which I did emerge the victor.