Held Hostage in a Kashmiri Carpet Showroom

Travel

The man, sounding very authoritative yet friendly and helpful, told us that the mosque was closed for prayer and that we would have to come back in a couple of hours. In my blissed out state the streaming hoards of obviously non-Muslim people in and out of the mosque didn’t register as a sign that this guy was full of crap. He struck up a conversation with us, as so many of these extremely charismatic Turks seem to be able to do with the greatest of ease. It was the normal program – designed to open a person up to the possibility of buying something – without sounding like this was what was going on. We were buying it hook, line & sinker. It wasn’t until I heard those words that I snapped out of my peaceful state of mind and went immediately on the defensive. The most primal response was triggered by two simple words. Two words that when strung together will forever launch me into fight or flight.and all because of an earlier experience.

About two months earlier at the end of a ski trip to Kashmir I was literally held hostage in a rug factory in Srinagar, the capital city of Indian Kashmir. It all started innocently enough. As part of the ski package I was to stay at the beautiful Butts-Cleremont houseboats on Dal Lake. The driver suggested we stop on the way to the houseboats to have a look at some local industry. I was anxious to get a glimpse in to the local culture so I agreed. The driver led me in to a courtyard – pointed out the privy and showed me where I could get some drinking water. He told me that he would be right back and that I should have a look around. The first thing I noticed was the weaving loom display. It was shown much like you would see in a museum – surrounded by posters which gave accounts of the history of weaving rugs. My driver re-emerged in the courtyard with a cheery middle aged man in tow. The man introduced himself as Bashir and launched in to a rodomontade of his knowledge of Kashmiri carpet. He talked endlessly about the superior quality and workmanship of these rugs. He summoned a young boy to go fetch some chai tea, the rather enjoyable customary drink in these parts. He took me on a tour of his “museum” which was really quite informative and enjoyable. The last part of the museum tour was the showroom. As we entered the showroom, the tea boy arrived with cups of tea for all. As the tea boy left, Bashir closed the doors to the showroom. It was at that moment that it occurred to me that I was in for the long haul.

Bashir continued on about the quality of workmanship and started in on the investment value of these rugs. I wanted to make it very clear at the beginning that I was not in a buying mood, but Bashir, having heard it all, simply wasn’t going to be dissuaded by my insistence that I wasn’t buying. He had all the bases covered. For those who might say that they had no room in their luggage for carpets, Bashir had his very own DHL shipping center. For those who might say they couldn’t afford it, he had carpets in many sizes and of varying quality and price. For those, like myself, who simply said “no, I’m not interested” he had a whole warehouse full of rugs that in his mind you would surely be interested in. He simply wouldn’t take no for an answer without first exploring every avenue that might eventually lead to a sale. After two cups of tea and an equal number of hours, Bashir had exhausted every technique that he knew of and I was finally able to escape rug-less.

When Marsha and I got to Istanbul, we were both in a blissful state that is an indication that we were truly “away from it all”. This state of mind is what I am usually trying to attain by traveling, and to have finally attained it in the chaotic city of Istanbul (not Constantinople) seemed unlikely but I wasn’t about to question it.

As Marsha and I approached one of the most famous mosques in the world, an icon of Istanbul, the Blue Mosque, we were approached by the aforementioned authoritative sounding man. He seemed so genuinely interested in helping us have the best experience that we could in Istanbul. His ploy would have worked too had he not ever mentioned the words “carpet factory”. When I heard those words I turned and nearly ran away – not saying anything to Marsha even. I just turned and left with great haste. Marsha soon followed and I told her my story.

We continued on to the Blue Mosque where we had a thoroughly enjoyable time. We both got a hearty laugh when we exited and saw our former nemesis corralling another unsuspecting couple, who had apparently never been held hostage by a carpetmonger.

Will @ June 8, 2008