The Unwritten Rules

The first rule is that there are no rules. The second rule is that there are actually several, and everybody knows them except you.

The shopkeeper names a price. This price is fiction. It is a number chosen to leave room for the conversation that follows. Your job is to have the conversation. His job is to sell you something at a price that makes both of you feel clever. This is not a confrontation. It is a social form, closer to jazz than combat. He improvises. You improvise. Somewhere in the middle, a price forms that did not exist before either of you spoke.

Start at roughly half his opening price. Not a third — that is insulting. Not 80 percent — that is surrendering. Half gives both of you somewhere to go. He will look wounded. This is performance. You will feel guilty. This is also performance. Counter. He counters. The price settles somewhere around 60-70 percent of the opening number. This is where most things land.

Never name your price first. The person who speaks first loses range. Let him open. Always.

Walk away once. Politely, slowly, without drama. If he calls you back, you have leverage. If he does not, his last price was already fair, and you should go back and pay it. Do not walk away from a price you are willing to pay. That is not bargaining. That is being difficult.

Tea will be offered. Accept it. The tea is not a trap. It is hospitality, and it does not obligate you to buy. Drink the tea, look at the goods, and say no thank you if nothing interests you. He will survive. He has been doing this since before you were born.

Here is the most important rule: bargaining applies in the souk, for crafts and goods, in markets. It does not apply in restaurants, cafés, pharmacies, supermarkets, or any establishment with a printed price. It does not apply to petit taxis with a running meter. It does not apply to the man selling bread. Knowing when to bargain is as important as knowing how.