The salesmanship of the Moroccan spice trader was something to behold. Sensing my weakened state of resistance, hungover as I was from the strange liqueurs in the bar last night, he lured me into his shop with promises of a glass of restorative mint tea and a comfy cushion. I collapsed in the corner gratefully, loving his tender and paternal care.
The tea poured, he began to tell me about the wondrous herbs, spices and crystals that filled his shop. Cardomon, star anise, grains of paradise and ajwain seeds to make delicious couscous and spicy tagines. Thyme to use as an antiobiotic, marjoram to combat rheumatism. The aphrodisiacs ash berries and monk's peppers to tempt my lover when I returned home. Lavender to soothe (my hangover). and a white crystal to stop the bleeding when shaving.
My senses drunk with the wonderful aromas and the delicious tea, and my hangover beating its revenge behind my forehead, I knew I would soon be spending some money. He asked me which herbs and spices I was most keen on. I weakly selected four at random, and he began to pour my selections into bags. He put the bags on the table. They were full. I began to feel a bit scared. How much was this going to cost? He reached for the scales and started weighing, then wrote down the price for each of my selections. They totalled £68.
Despite the fog filling my brain, I knew I was in trouble. How had I got here? I didn't actually want to buy any spices at all, but how was I going to extricate myself whilst not offending him and still retaining my dignity?
Perhaps he could see my fear. Or just felt sorry for me. But whatever it was, he realised that I was a bit shocked, so took pity on me and said I could just choose two if I liked. So I chose the lavender, which I thought I would need to relax after my experience, and a strange herb which you mixed with water to make a weight-loss drink - well, it was worth a try. The total now was £32.
I knew I had to haggle. But it doesn't come easy to an English girl of Cotswold origin. I shyly said it was too much, and his eyes lit up as the game began. With the gentleness of a child and the sales techniques of a City trader, he gradually broke down my defences as I struggled to stay strong and keep up the bartering. I reduced the price whilst he threw more ingredients into the deal.
Finally, we reached an agreement with which we were both happy. I handed over the money, and finished my tea. I stood up, and we exchanged a warm and friendly handshake - he was happy with a good sale, and I was happy that I'd escaped with all of my dignity and most of my money intact.
I returned to my hotel and fell asleep, the effects of the unexpected adventure and the remnants of the hangover combining to provoke some colourful dreams. On waking, I looked into the bag that he'd given me. For just £11, I ended up with the lavender, the coriander and the weight-loss herb, and he'd thrown in free of charge the shaving crystal for my boyfriend. Plus an indelible lip balm which turned lurid pink and couldn't be removed for eight hours, making me look like Coco the Clown in my holiday photos.
Many more seasoned travellers will probably now be laughing at my inexperience, my gullibility and my weakness. I'm sure that it was a high price to pay. But the memory of the scent-filled shop, the colourful cushions, the delicious flavour of the tea and above all, the skilled and respectful shopkeeper are worth every penny, and the lesson in haggling meant that two days later I bought a wonderful leather bag at a great price!
Now where did I put my tagine?
