Do You Really Need That Camel Saddle?

                                         By Judith Blake West

           DOES YOUR CAMEL REALLY NEED THAT SADDLE?

     Every tour group has them. They're those otherwise rational and frugal people who just can't pass up a chance to buy the latest rage in local trinkets and objects d'art. They're the ones carrying musical instruments and camel saddles by hand through five cities for two weeks because they wouldn't fit in their suitcases and they just couldn't pass them up (they'll be such nice conversation pieces). Sometimes they even buy extra suitcases on the trip to accommodate their purchases. Their motto is, "Shop 'till you drop!"

     These compulsive shoppers aren't normally a problem to anyone but themselves until it comes time to get back on the bus. They seem to lose all concept of time. On a recent tour through Turkey and Greece we had that happen just too often. Our group was a very congenial one, having been organized by our local minister and comprised of church members who had known each other for many years, and assorted friends and family. We were well aware of the different personalities and were generally quite tolerant of each other's foibles. But the shoppers got to us. It seemed each time we were ready to leave, at least one of them would keep us waiting, sometimes for what seemed to be an unreasonable amount of time.

     I, for one, began to become impatient. I felt it was inconsiderate of them to act like that time after time. Enough. I finally spoke up. I wasn't alone. Several others felt the same way. We had a discussion and a vote. Everyone had 15 minutes to get herself back to the bus after the appointed time. If they didn't make it, the bus would leave them behind and they'd have to make their own way to the next destination. We all agreed, and the Notorious Shoppers were on their best behaviour for several days.

     Then we hit Istanbul. We thoroughly enjoyed our tours of the museums and mosques and views of the city. Then one morning we went to the Spice Market. What a place! It was a small city in itself, with aisles and aisles going off in all directions with hundreds of shops full of the most wonderful things. Brass. Beads. Spices. Huge bags of dried fruits, vegetables, and nuts. Candy shops full of that wonderful "Turkish Delight". We had two hours there, then we were to meet to go for our boat ride and city tour. Watches synchronized, we were off!

     Most took off in pairs or small groups. I made my assault alone. I had specific things in mind that I had planned to buy here. Brass. Oh, yes! There were wonderful pepper mills, complete with little jars of different kinds of exotic peppers. I bought six (gifts for the family). I also bought two coffee grinders and a teapot. I found a stand with the most beautiful beads, just right for my macrame' projects. I nearly bought the man out. But after all, when would I ever get the chance to get these again? The final touch was the brass tray. I had always admired them in other people's homes and envied their stories of exotic places. Now I could have one too. Never mind that it was too big for my suitcase. I'd carry it. We had only a week to go on the trip. I also found the cutest brocade shoes with the toes curled up, some dolls, saffron, nougat candy, and some genuine Turkish coffee beans for my mill.

     I checked my watch periodically, and reminded others in the group as I passed them about the time. With 15 minutes to spare, I started back, loaded down with treasures, and happy. But, wait a minute! I started passing shops I hadn't seen! Well, maybe I was looking the other way when I passed them before. A few more minutes of mad dashing and I had to accept the truth. I was lost! Well, this was a self- contained market. Certainly I could find my way out. More walking. Where did I take that left turn? Or was it a right? I hurried on.

     The Spice Market has nine exits. I finally came to one. It came out right next to the huge mosque we were to use as our landmark...or was it? They all looked alike! No. There are no fruit stands nearby. I was on the right street, there was water just opposite the exit as before, but I had no idea if I should go north or south to find our group. The brass was getting heavy. I walked one way a block. No bus.  I walked the other way. Success! There was the correct mosque, complete with flower and fruit stands. I had made it.

     The bus and my group were nowhere to be found.

     I, of course, was mortified. I prayed that no one would worry needlessly about me. I was actually was grateful that they had not waited so long for me that they would miss the boat ride. I stood there holding my heavy bags and pondered the next move, but it wasn't difficult.

     Rather than go right back to the hotel to just sit for the rest of the day, I bought an expandable suitcase, the kind with the little wheels, to hold my things, and marched right back into the market. The next few hours were delightful as I meandered through the maze of little workshops where they were carving wooden handles and hammering metal. I ate unrecognizable foods, took pictures, and bought a few more treasures.

     The taxi ride back to the hotel is a story in itself but needless to say, I got back intact. I unloaded my purchases, wrote apologies to everyone, placed the notes in their mailboxes, and set off for more adventure.

     The day had a happy if a bit embarrassing finish. Some of our group were quite concerned about me, but most weren't. They knew I'd travelled in many places in the world alone and have been able to take care of myself. They calmed the others and enjoyed their day. A few were still quietly concerned anyway. When we all met for dinner, I took my due of good-natured teasing. Apparently our Turkish guide was the most concerned about me, and when he finally was able to call the hotel, they told him I had arrived and gone back out again. Everyone relaxed and enjoyed the day.

     For the next eight days and five cities, every time we got on the bus, and I mean every time, someone would call out, "Where's Judy?"