A few weekends ago, Brian and I went to the Grand Bazaar with two of his French teammates. The ladies are very fashionable and heard there were terrific shopping spots. It's a really fun and bustling place. Before we went, I had assumed it was like a flea market and I was so wrong! It's this incredibly large building with alleys that stretch in every direction. I'm not sure how big is it, exactly, but I felt like we walked for miles! You can definitely spend hours there and we love every excuse to go back. There are actual store fronts, open stores, tea places, and stuff everywhere you look.
One thing about the Bazaar is you get to haggle. I say 'get to' but to be honest, it made me a little uncomfortable. Everyone said if they give a price, offer half (or less) of what you'd be willing to pay and work your way up. Frankly, I don't know too much about a lot of the products and I didn't want to be insulting. Brian was terrific at it and was a great negotiator, so I'd defer to him.
There are men beckoning for you to come to their establishments every few feet. I think they paid young men (or maybe it's the nephews' job) to say "oh you like leather? I'll take you to this great store! A friend of mine owns it and he'll give you good prices!" We were told it may be best if you wander until you find the store that you want rather than following a runner. Well, that was the plan, anyway.
One girl really loves purses and was told you can buy fabulous imitations. I'm not really familiar with Gucci and Prada, so I can't tell the difference to begin with. They were talking animatedly about their shopping vices, saying they could spend thousands on purses and shoes. They asked me what I'd spend thousands on and I enthusiastically replied "Ooh, books!" They just stared at me...I was out of my league with these French fashionistas. Ah, priorities.
So we enter shop after shop of purses, then one of the girls decides it's a better idea to walk up to one of the runners and ask him. He takes off through the crowd and we take so many turns. A lot of the stores look exactly alike and nothing is in English, so I start repeating in my mind "Ok, left, left, right, left" in hopes of remembering how to get back to the exit. Most of the Bazaar is inside and he took us down an alley to a small courtyard. We go into a nondescript store in between a carpet place and a jewelry store. We walk in and it's a tiny place full of knock offs. Purse lady was enthralled and they start explaining to me that you have to find a really good fake, because otherwise, customs will seize it and you get into trouble. She brought a Prada card from another purse to put into her fake so it will pass. (They say this is a real, licensed bag, etc)
Naturally, I start to get nervous. Brian and I step outside and we agree it totally looks like the kind of place that customs agents will swarm at any moment and again, I'm terrified of Turkish prisons. We mill about for a bit and then I notice the cardboard covering the second floor windows. I say "oh great. That's where they keep the poor women who have to sew those fakes." Just about then, Frenchie number two bounds out of the door and says "Guys! You have to come in!"
Brian rushes in, fearing that they stole Frenchie number one, when they move the wall. There is a hidden staircase and Brian grins at me before following them upstairs. I think "oh good lord, please don't let me die here, they'll never find our bodies." Of course, this is where the really good stuff is and the girls are thrilled. Brian and I look around a bit before finding seats, where we nod at options with glazed over eyes. I finally understand the hell husbands go through in dressing rooms, poor things. An hour and hundreds of dollars later, we finally leave and everyone is happy. Especially me, because that meant it was lunch time!
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