Street vendors of all types ply their wares where they please. Shortly before this was taken, this fellow swapped one of his sweet pastries for a banana from another vendor. Makes sense to me.

Our friend Colin has been pes­ter­ing us to show “the truth” of the places we visit, rather than the stuff you can find in “any art history text book.” He wants to see the gutters, poverty, depriva­tions of every kind. Mostly that’s just his own twisted per­son­al­ity, but it presents some prob­lems. Turkey is simply not that depraved. Yes, there are issues. There is unem­ploy­ment. There is poverty by Western stand­ards. But in a country that is 99% Muslim, there is a def­in­ite lack of depravity.

This isn’t Vancouver’s East Side. There are no overt drug or alcohol addicts. Even young Turks prefer to drink tea or juice when they go out to hit the down. Crime is minimal, and tends to be of a mild “fleece the for­eign­ers” variety. On the whole, Istanbul has presen­ted the type of warm hos­pit­al­ity Turkey has long been known for, blighted occa­sion­ally by the fact that every­one is trying to sell you some­thing. Sure, some­times this hos­pit­al­ity is more sincere than others (our hostel staff for instance, have been hon­estly helpful and wel­com­ing, even cooking us dinner one night). Often it is little more than a remnant of a simpler time or an act meant to fulfill vis­it­ors’ expect­a­tions. After all, in a country that gets over 30 million vis­it­ors per year, it’s simply not prac­tical for the average Turk to treat every one he meets as a “visitor from God.” Unfortunately, with tourism on this scale, the authen­ti­city of tra­di­tional Turkish culture and hos­pit­al­ity is bound to wane, at least in major centers like Istanbul. That said, we have had mean­ing­ful exchanges with a number of Turks already, learn­ing some­thing about them, sharing some­thing about us. This doesn’t happen in most coun­tries, where for­eign­ers are treated politely but distantly.

I did mean it lit­er­ally when I said that every­one is trying to sell you some­thing. In a country with unem­ploy­ment issues, an influx of foreign tourist capital, and extremely lax reg­u­la­tions on busi­ness deal­ings, every­one is an entre­pren­eur. Turkish free-market entre­pren­eur­ship makes Alberta look like a com­mun­ist state. Old ladies in tra­di­tional dress sit in the public squares hocking packets of tissues or bowls of bird seed to feed the flocks of pigeons. Each morning, old men care­fully lay out dis­plays of their mer­chand­ise (old leather shoes, rotary dial tele­phones, ancient cal­cu­lat­ors, circuit boards), setting up shop where they please and moving it when the grass looks greener else­where. Younger men might become “touts,” the charm­ing but aggress­ive sales­men who hang out in busy places implor­ing pass­ersby to follow them to a nearby carpet or leather shop. Don’t need a carpet or leather jacket? That’s fine, they also know a a great hotel, the best Turkish bath, and the perfect place to find an authen­tic hookah.

This man is selling razors. Try to imagine a street vendor in Calgary or Vancouver trying to sell razors or bars of soap. I can’t imagine it either.

These touts get a kick­back for bring­ing cus­tom­ers in the door, and who can blame them for trying? Indeed, that state­ment sums up the Turkish atti­tude to a lot of things. If a man can make some money by selling junk on a street corner, why should anyone care to stop him? If a tout can waggle a sale out of a naive tourist flush with cash, why shouldn’t he?

Bargaining and prices are based on the same prin­cipal. While it can be off-putting to a Westerner, used to firm, clearly-established prices, the Turkish need to haggle is firmly rooted in both tra­di­tion and common-sense. Discussing and agree­ing on a price is not just a way to show mutual respect, it is a tacit acknow­ledge­ment that the trans­ac­tion involves mutu­ally com­pet­ing interests. It is a way for both sides to per­son­al­ize the trans­ac­tion, and to come away from the deal feeling each got a fair shake. It’s not a way to swindle, but rather a way to push for a better deal. If a Turk can take advant­age of a Westerner, inex­per­i­enced in this type of trans­ac­tion, and get a bit more for their product or service than they would from a fellow Turk, why shouldn’t they? This has already happened to Laura and I a few times, although we are getting more savvy about the whole thing.

Lamps for sale in the Grand Bazaar. Largely geared to tour­ists and vis­it­ors, the Grand Bazaar is non­ethe­less not to be missed. With over 4,000 shops under one roof, it appar­ently has more “stores” than any mall in the world.

In Canada, this type of truly free market street com­merce would be com­pletely reg­u­lated, requir­ing expens­ive permits and driving many of these people out of busi­ness. Those who could afford a permit would face the inev­it­able ‘not-in-my-backyard’ men­tal­ity so pre­val­ent in North America, being driven into spe­cific loc­a­tions far away from the actual dollars and cents of their poten­tial customers.

Meanwhile, well-to-do Turks might actu­ally own a store­front, where they will typ­ic­ally spe­cial­ize in one type of mer­chand­ise, or try to sell any­thing and everything. Whole neigh­bour­hoods are ded­ic­ated to a single ware; we’ve walked down a street where every shop sold types of scales (digital scales, ana­logue scales, bath­room scales, indus­trial scales), another where every store­front was stacked with safes. There are shop­ping dis­tricts for camera gear, art sup­plies, cloth­ing, shoes, leather goods, fresh produce, and spices, among other things. Of course, tourist trinkets and souven­irs are both found in ded­ic­ated areas and sprinkled through­out the city. The ubi­quit­ous kebab stand, with its rotat­ing spit of chicken or lamb is dotted through­out this land­scape as well, selling tasty meat and veggie sand­wiches for about $1.50 CDN.

Turkey’s answer to Home Depot. Shops will either spe­cial­ize in one type of product, or try to sell any­thing and everything.

Istanbul is Turkey’s largest city (though not its capital, as many believe; Ankara is), and cer­tainly the most visited place in the country. We are staying in Sultanahment, Istanbul’s old city center, which is also its most touristy neigh­bour­hood. I guess we’ll have to wait until we get out of the city to see how well these impres­sions hold up for the country as a whole. Turkey has a pop­u­la­tion of over 70 million; twice the size of Canada. It is also far more eth­nic­ally and geo­graph­ic­ally diverse than a person would at first assume. Give us a month here, Colin, and I’m sure the picture will change.

Mosques dot the Istanbul skyline, and are a much more vibrant and integ­rated part of Muslim life than churches tend to be in Christendom. With prayer five times a day, the Mosque is a social space as well as a spir­itual one.

Ablutions before prayer.

Tea break: Turks drink tea vir­tu­ally in lieu of water.

Istanbul’s notori­ously con­ges­ted traffic.

The main thor­ough­fare of Istanbul’s Grand Bazaar.

Major his­toric tourist sites are part of “the truth” too, Colin. Aya Sofia.

The “Egyptian” Spice Bazaar and its environs are far more authen­tic­ally Turkish than the Grand Bazaar. We passed through here on a Saturday after­noon and it was com­pletely thronged with people picking up food, spices, and other meal-related things. The crowds were thicker on an average Saturday than I’ve ever been sub­jec­ted too at the Calgary Stampede. This was taken once we escaped the crush.

Related posts:

1. Everyday Istanbul
2. The Basilica Cistern in Istanbul, Turkey
3. Finally heading east from Istanbul
4. Istanbul Eats Photo Competition
5. Aya Sophia: up close and personal
6. Second Home Hostel, Istanbul, Turkey
7. The Turkish Bath Towel Was Too Small