Mixed Feelings at Istanbul’s Grand Bazaar.

Mixed Feelings at Istanbul’s Grand Bazaar.

September 2020.

When people think of Istanbul, there is invariably a handful of snapshots that spring to mind. Perhaps the bulging dome and ostentatious minarets of the Blue Mosque. The sparkling waters of the Bosphorus and the rich array of Islamic art at Topkapi Palace.

Moreover, we tend to conjure up romanticised images of the city’s vibrant, colourful markets. Those labyrinthine streets and alleyways packed with quintessential Turkish sights, sounds and smells. Of all the city’s markets, the largest and oldest is the Grand Bazaar.

We had mixed feelings about whether or not we could be bothered with the Grand Bazaar. On the one hand it is one of Istanbul’s most historic sites. A place that’s been around for 560 years and what historians have described as “the world’s first shopping mall”.

The Grand Bazaar, Istanbul.

However, I’ve also had enough experience with monster markets around the world to know that there’s usually a lot of tack and hassle involved. In truth, Sladja and I had little appetite for shopping. And even less interest in being harassed by lira-thirsty vendors.

But of course we ultimately decided to take a look. Because, we figured, it wouldn’t be right to leave without at least a cursory stroll through Turkey’s most famous market.

Furthermore, we had hopes that the general mayhem of the place would be dampened by reduced foot traffic during COVID times. Thus we rolled up our sleeves one morning and made our way through Fatih district until we reached the walled city and its network of outer market streets.

Dominated by clothing stalls, there wasn’t a great deal to see and things were eerily quiet. Nobody approached us. Soon, we came across Gate 9, one of the Grand Bazaar’s 22 flaky entrance arches. We entered by passing through the security scanner, which didn’t make a sound. The security guard who manned it proved equally mute, not even looking up from his mobile phone.

Exploring Istanbul.

The moment we entered it was impossible not to be charmed by the beauty of the place. Especially the ceilings with their painted Islamic motifs and mosaic tiles. These original decorative touches, recently restored by all accounts, date back to the 1770s.

But let’s rewind to the very beginning. Sultan Mehmed II ordered the market’s construction in the winter of 1455. Not long after the Ottoman’s gained control of Constantinople. The sultan wanted to stimulate the economy by building a Bedestan (covered market), focusing on textiles and jewellery.

Six years later, in early 1461, the market was finished, with much of the generated profits going to support Hagia Sophia Mosque. In the centuries that followed, the bazaar grew and grew, while sub markets sprang up all around the main network of covered streets.

Eventually, the original structure was rebuilt with stone and brick. A result of too many fires. Known as Turkey’s “great survivor”, the Grand Bazaar also refused to die at the hands of devastating earthquakes in 1766 and 1894.

The Grand Bazaar, Istanbul.

Today’s giant complex comprises over 60 covered streets home to around 4000 stores. Even at the height of COVID its major passages were awash with people streaming in all directions. Definitely busier than we’d anticipated.

Not wanting to get drawn into any sales pitches, we kept to the centre of the streets, admiring the art as we went. I certainly appreciated the info boards scattered around offering titbits of history. One sign details how craftsmen initially laid the domed roofs with sheets of lead. Then, later, with fancy clay tiles imported from Marseille. Another board explained that back in its heyday there were five mosques serving the bazaar district, though only one remains today.

There are countless jewellery stores peppered around the market. Nearly all owned by elderly gentlemen who, mercifully, had no interest whatsoever in calling people over.

In fact, several storekeepers had retired inside where they drank tea delivered to their desks from a nearby cafe. I loved this aspect of Grand Bazaar culture, where tea-men darted around dropping off and picking up glasses.

Adventures in Istanbul.

In stark contrast to the jewellers, sweet store vendors were onto people in a flash. They called and waved at passersby to come and take a look at their delicious, beautifully presented Turkish sweets. Some sent out young men and women to woo folk with free samples. Those who accepted a bite found themselves quickly ushered inside with a gentle arm around the shoulder. Mm.

We didn’t get sucked in, but I’ve read numerous stories of ridiculously overpriced bags of baklava and lokum. Some jiggery-pokery, if you will, taking place during the weighing process. As it was, I managed to grab this shot of an empty sweet shop after the owner hopped away for a toilet break.

Things were much sleepier on the main rug street. Turkish rugs are such stunning creations, but I guess these stores are not places for casual browsing. Indeed this was one of the quietest sections of the market that day. According to several online articles, those serious about buying a high quality Turkish rug will nearly always be better off making a purchase outside the Grand Bazaar.

The Grand Bazaar, Istanbul.

Apparently, monthly rental prices for Grand Bazaar store owners can reach as high as $7000 per month. Which seems insane. As such, rug vendors are famously pushy and shady. Pedalling low quality rugs for sky high prices is the norm. Claiming machine-made items are handmade. Not following through on express shipping services. We didn’t get to meet a rug salesman that day, which was perfectly fine with me.

I believe it’s almost impossible not to get dragged into an irritating situation while exploring the Grand Bazaar. And so it proved even for us, despite our cautious approach. Basically, we found ourselves so wowed by the beauty of some Turkish lamps we had to stop for a brief look outside one store. Within a second, the owner was in our faces.

Of course we should’ve walked off immediately. The thing was, we really liked a number of the lamps on display. And were genuinely tempted to pick up a pair of bedside table pieces for our future apartment in Belgrade. Having settled on two lamps we liked, but not in the colours we wanted, the man insisted on walking us outside to a nearby outer street where he had the desired models.

Exploring Istanbul.

Along the way he was pouring on the so-called charm with over-the-top compliments and disingenuous chitchat. Inside the second store, he invited us to sit and brought tea, not taking no for an answer.

Naturally, the final costs quoted felt inflated and he got even pushier. “Ok, so you wanna buy?” Finally, we decided to walk away, but only because he was so damn desperate and assertive. Needless to say he was not impressed as we exited with mumbled apologies. It’s still amazing to me to think that he couldn’t understand how he’d sabotaged his own sale.

A short while later we made another boo boo by stopping to look at a stall of absolutely gorgeous handwoven (supposedly) Turkish bags. Again, there was genuine interest on our part. But unfortunately, the guy operating the stall was a major asshole.

He just refused to let us take a moment to look at the bags we liked. He pushed bags we didn’t want into our faces and then complained when Sladja politely declined. With the situation getting more and more aggressive, we simply walked off and left him to it.

The Grand Bazaar, Istanbul.

Frustrated, we retired to a nearby cafe for a pot of mint tea. The owner, a slow-moving gentleman with a seen-it-all-before demeanour, took our order with a respectful nod and served us wordlessly with a warm smile. That’s more like it.

With the last mouthfuls of our tea dispatched, Sladja and I decided we had seen enough. The goal had been to simply soak up the atmosphere. To enjoy all the art and its sense of history. Yes, we’d had a few crappy encounters. But nothing too awful, plus we had succeeded in not getting ripped off. Hence we took one last stroll through the bazaar, following the signs to the nearest exit.

We passed a few more jewellery shops, a branded jeans store and a large mobile phone cart stuffed with every accessory under the sun. “You want Turkish delight? We have the best!” assured a wily sweet vendor. “No thanks”. 

Then came a t-shirt shop with the tackiest designs imaginable. Next to that, a cosy looking toiletries booth with scented soaps and bath bombs. Right beside one of a zillion currency exchange counters found throughout the market. Because they’ll pretty much accept any currency you wish to pay in.

The Grand Bazaar, Istanbul.

And then we exited into an outer street, stopping to get our bearings outside a sprawling dress store. There were rows and rows of frilly princess dresses in all manner of garish colours and designs.

“Yes sir, Elsa dress for you?”… “uh…. no thanks” …. “For your daughter? They love the Frozen!” …. “I don’t have a daughter, sorry”. “For your wife?” I didn’t even answer that one. Rather, I gave him a smirk and shook my head, resisting the urge to tell him to “let it gooooooooooooo”.

Like this? Take a look at my series of articles on Istanbul.

I’ve been living, working and traveling all over the world since 2001. So why not check out my huge library of travel reports from over 30 countries.