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Secrets of the Souq:
On avery windy day, they say that you can stand at the entrance of the ancient Damascus Gate and hear the sinuous whisper of the wind as it rushes through the labyrinth of streets and alleys of the souq, or Arab market, that is the heart of the Old City of East Jerusalem.
People swear the souq has a spirit that beckons them to enter.
Yet inside are the more powerful souls, the vendors who for generations have followed the same routine day in and day out, through peace and through conflict, through plague and through good fortune.
The 40-foot-high wall with ramparts and turrets around the Old City shelters the souq itself. It was built in 1538 by the Muslim conqueror Suleiman the Magnificent upon remnants of the wall that dates back 2,000 years.
The streets of the souq, paved with yellow and brown cobblestones smoothed by centuries of foot and cart traffic, reflect what may have been the original street plan from the fourth century. At that time, Emperor Constantine and his mother Helena, both converts to Christianity, began building memorials to their new religion, including the first Church of the Holy Sepulchre in 335 A.D.
Today you make your way through the narrow passageways and shadowy alleys of this ancient marketplace usually through shoulder-to-shoulder throngs of tourists or locals. They might be there to retrace the steps of Jesus along the Via Dolorosa’s 14 Stations of the Cross, but more than likely they are shopping for souvenirs.
In the souq, the only thing that is important to the 800 or so shop owners and street vendors is to make the sale. It’s the ultimate marketplace where junk and jewels pass from hand to hand, and where tradition is handed down from father to son, over and over again down through the generations.
One of the traditions is haggling. No price is the real price or the final price or the wrong price, and anything can be bought or sold. In these shops are some of the most clever salesmen (and an occasional saleswoman) in the world. And it is the unparalleled excitement of buying, haggling and negotiating a sale in the souq that is the real prize.
Haggling and hard-edged bargaining stand between you and the many glittering silver, gold, Arab embroidery, mother-of-pearl and olive wood objects that cover nearly every possible space in this seemingly never-ending labyrinth. Patience is the key that unlocks the mysteries of this shopper’s haven.
The crenellated Damascus Gate is one of 11 entrances to the Old City. Only seven are open. Steps lead down into a plaza which, during the day is filled with seasonal vendors who carry their wares piled high in crates and boxes, on their shoulders and heads.
All of the gates require you to turn a sharp 90 degrees, a strategy used by conquerors of the past to prevent other invaders from charging into the Old City on horseback. You quickly pass moneychangers and silver and goldsmiths and then turn to the right into a cramped open-air boulevard of more shops and restaurants that continue down a slope of steps and stone ramps.
The air is filled with Arab crooners singing about lost love or about pride in their religion and, five times each day, with the melodious call to prayer of the muezzins from nearby mosques.
Carts of fresh pomegranates, tomatoes, limes, lemons, dates, just-baked bread and large balls of falafel dazzle the eye and perfume the air. Standing on a platform of crushed boxes behind his vegetable cart, a peddler cries out, “talata al-ashara,” three for ten in Arabic. (Ten shekels is worth about U.S. $2.50.) Nearby, men suck on the hubbly bubbly, or sheesha pipes (nargeelas in Arabic), which you can rent as you sit down in a small café to enjoy falafel sandwiches, chicken kabobs, various pastries and thick, bitter Arabian coffee. Nearby, you’ll hear the slapping of heavy chips on shesh besh boards (backgammon) and the arguments in Arabic over who has won.
At the bottom is a junction. To the left is El Wad Street, and on the right is Khan el-Zeit where centuries before, vendors made olive oil from crushed olives. Khan el-Zeit slices through the old city. To the left is the Muslim Quarter. To the right are the Christian and then Armenian Quarters, where the souq spills out into mainly open-air malls that offer many of the same wares. The street name changes, and you soon find yourself in the Jewish Quarter, with its more modern, fixed price and elaborately decorated retail stores.
The store owners love to talk to you. It’s a part of the game of haggling and selling. They’ll probe to find out if you are a Jewish tourist, Christian pilgrim or visitor from any of hundreds of countries. If they think you may be from the most likely places such as Italy, Germany, France, Canada or the United States, they greet you with a hello in each language until you respond.
Once you make eye contact, the sale begins, even if you don’t know you are about to buy something.
About 100 feet into the market is the shop of Said Talhami, filled with silver, brass, tablecloths, dresses and religious icons, including mother-of-pearl inlaid images of “The Last Supper.”
“We’ve had this shop for more than 60 years ago. It’s from my grandfather,” Talhami says in his labored English. “Because the business is so bad and the life tough in Jerusalem, we have to wait outside of the shop and talk to the customers friendly. And to let them come in. And to give them good quality. We be kind to them and give them the real price that will fit the mind. We don’t ask high prices that will make our customers run from our shop.”
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