There’s nothing like travelling in four different countries as a reward for/celebration of finishing one’s master of arts in comparative literature. Hoo wee! Little did I know I was to be preyed upon by carpet salesmen.

Turkey is culturally more conservative than we are, but economically they are mercilessly mercenary. It is impossible to walk more than a half-block in any direction without being harassed by someone who wants your money. They have no shame, no scruples, no qualms and know no limits. Ooh, such fun is it to navigate Istanbul’s tireless mass of merchants, tables, and blankets all offering you untold volumes and varieties of bewildering junk.

One day I decided to go to the world-famous Grand Bazaar (a.k.a. Kapali Carsi or "Covered Market"), an ancient market that haphazardly grew and grew until the authorities decided to put a roof over it, and then it still kept growing. It’s very cool. I meandered through the lanes and alleys, baffled by the curb at my feet and the roof above me, finally grasping the extent of the age-old Turkish passion for trade and commerce.

Merchants hovering outside the doors of their shops engaged in various levels of salesmanship with me, from eye contact to hand gestures to outright yelling in Turkish. They toss out whatever English they may have acquired ("My friend! Where you from? Come in! Good prices!"), reminding me of a Kids in the Hall sketch ("I am sorry, I do not speak English. I have memorized the sounds of the words I am speaking, but I have no idea what they mean.").

One guy addressed me in reasonable English and asked me where I was from, made small talk, then asked if I wanted to buy a carpet. I said no. He informed me that coming to Turkey and not buying a carpet is like going to France and not drinking wine. I acknowledged the wisdom of his insight, and continued to exist happily, carpetless. After more badgering, he finally tried to teach me about Turkish carpets. I repeated that I didn’t want to buy one. He agreed and invited me to his shop simply to look at carpets as we chatted over tea. "You are from a different country and I can teach you about our carpets." Fine, I said, but I am not going to buy one.

So we went into his shop, sipped tea and he slowly and insidiously got me to pick a couple of carpets that I liked. Finally, I told him I might buy one, but I would have to come back with my Turkish friends so they could help me. I just lied. I mean, he wasn’t totally honest at the outset either, was he?

Later, I left the Grand Bazaar and walked towards the Aya Sofya, a huge mosque/museum. A Turkish guy saw me looking a bit lost. He pointed me in the right direction, then asked if I wanted to buy a carpet. I told him I had one reserved at the Bazaar. He told me they’re blatantly overpriced for tourists there. "Do you know the rent they pay there?"

Later a team of an older guy and a teenaged guy approached me. The older man addressed me and the younger guy told me he liked my earrings and bandana. He called me "darling." I expressed a non-aggressive confusion. The older man told me that the younger one used to be a homosexual. "That’s right," the apparently recovered teen added, "but now I’m a lesbian; I like girls."

"Yeah," I replied, "me too." The young one expressed surprise. The older one invited me to his carpet warehouse down the street. "Just come for a visit. I will tell you the truth about carpets . . . and if you see a girl you like, you can have her too." An appealing offer, anyone must admit. But alas, I had a mosque to visit.

After the mosque, I encountered the young guy again. He seemed embarrassed about having flirted with me for a sale. They just don’t understand the idea of "gay" in Turkey. One guy even took off my sunglasses, asking why I hide my beautiful eyes.

In this part of the world, they’ll do anything to get your money. Some people even put their fingers in my wallet when I pulled it out to give them cash, as if it were water in the desert.