Sharm Al-Sheik—The Art of the Barter

It is not without irony that most of the Palestinian and Mideast peace talks have taken place here in Sharm Al-Sheik, Egypt. This is Barter Central. The home of the so-called give-and-take. Nothing is sold in Egypt without a spirited discussion involving a lot of fake indignation, eye-rolling and head shaking on the part of both sides. When we first went into the market (here it’s called a “souk”) we were overwhelmed by the pushy salespeople and their relentless pursuit of our trade. We couldn’t simply walk into a shop and look around. It wasn’t allowed. Five seconds of even passing glances at the goods warranted a rather aromatic fellow attaching himself to our side extolling the virtues of his wares as if they were fenced items he was desperate to be rid of before the cops show up. We’d ask a price and he’d say something absurd, usually in the range of $50-75 US dollars (for something worth no more than $10-20). Then we’d try to turn on our heel and leave the shop. “Not-so-fast, Sweetie,” he’d say in Arabic (or at least that’s what it sounded like to me.) He’d whip out a calculator (they always have these humongous size calculators, as if only semi-blind people shop there) and start punching numbers. It was like watching an IRS agent on crack. He’d thrust the calculator into my face and watch my expression go from placid to horror. Then, he’d snatch the calculator back, and smilingly (with tobacco-stained teeth) offer me a substantial “discount” because I was a pretty English? Australian? American? lady. At first, this whole dance of commerce flipped out both Tom and I to the point that we avoided going shopping at all. Then we figured it out. What we figured out was, to paraphrase Paul Harvey, “the rest of the story.” After the “big discount” it’s our turn to dance. We start by acting really perturbed that we’d wasted our time in his store. Obviously this merchant wasn’t serious about wanting our business. We sniff and put back on the shelf whatever “excellent” item he’s thrust into our hand (it’s usually already in a bag by now). At this point the salesman gets glowingly irate and demands to know what we are willing to pay. He also usually asks our name (all the better to beseech you with, my dear). We don’t give him our name, but we allow him to know we’re from Arizona, USA. Then we give him a silly price, like five American dollars. He gets flaming-mad and starts screeching about the value of the selected item—its many superb qualities, its fantastic gift potential, and so on. Then either Tom or I (we traded off since this is a tough role to play) starts heading for the door, acting as if owning the aforementioned item would be the death of him or her. We appear to be in disagreement—one trying desperately to obtain the item at a fair price, the other wanting absolutely nothing to do with the item, the salesman, the other spouse, this market, or all of Egypt itself. The “good cop” spouse smiles apologetically at the merchant and says he/she is sorry they can’t do business today. The “bad cop” spouse is standing at the door, glowering at “good cop” spouse. The merchant sees the whole transaction slipping away. He is NOT happy. He barks at “good cop” “How much can you spend?” Good cop gives him a fair number (not a ridiculous price but a fair one he/she is willing to spend). Merchant practically spits on the floor and thrusts the bag at good cop and says, “Okay” in a tone that you reserve for kids caught stealing candy but you’ll let off just this once. Good cop then wheedles the money out of bad cop (this is an interesting move, a rather advanced step in the process that we thought up all on our own) to show no hard feelings between good and bad cop. Then, with Mr. Storekeeper throwing us a really Oscar-winning “man who has been cheated but who wants to take the high road” glare we leave and go on to the next market stall. All in all, it's a truly edifying experience.