Ineffective Shopping Is Ineffective.

Go figure.

See Also: There Is Still Decency Left In The World.

Let’s get something straight: I hate shopping. I hate shopping with a vengeance. My mother can attest to that. (Hey, Mom, remember the Kohl’s Christmas Earring Fiasco? Yeah, you definitely shoulda known that something was up.) I hate shopping in the States, and I’m not particularly fond of it here, either. (Though at least if I don’t like the price, I can demand it for something less, which is definitely not Culturally Acceptable in the US. Amendment: I love walking around the souk; I don’t mind bartering, which can be quite fun; I hate feeling like I have to buy things for other people. As in souvenirs.) Which brings us to my problem.

My shopping list doesn’t appear to be getting any smaller, folks. And that’s not cool. I go into the souk and buy things…and come out feeling like my pre-departure shopping list is still as long as ever.

Here’s the one nice thing about Moroccan souks: they’re relatively inexpensive, especially compared to some American prices. Perfect example: the other day I bought a leather bag (we’ll get to that story in a moment) for $1.66 less than my plastic looks-like-leather-but-isn’t-even-leathery-enough-to-be-called-pleather bag that I bought for this trip at Target. Score.

Anyways, here’s the story. I wouldn’t know fake leather from real leather if they gave the leather some Veritus Serum and I got to ask it some questions about itself. There, I said it. I mean, I know that some leather stinks to high heaven, but you can also spray non-leather with the leather smell to make it, well, smell like leather. It is also not in my nature to trust people. Therefore, I went in the souk to buy leather, expecting to be ripped off or sold not-leather. (So then why go buy leather, you ask? Because it’s so much cheaper here, duh!) Anyhoo. After looking around, and—you guessed it—not being able to tell if things were real leather or not, I decided that there was a bag that I liked, even if it wasn’t real leather. So the bartering process began (and good lord, it’s so much nicer in Rabat!) and of course the guy said it was real leather. But I’m the aforementioned skeptic. Eventually, he brought out the cigarette lighter (not to ax-murder me, guys) to show that the leather would singe, instead of melting, as fake leather would. (I actually knew this tactic! Yippee!) I bought the bag, after knocking 50DH off the price (don’t get too excited; that’s only about $6), but, being me, I was still skeptical as to whether or not it was real leather, because the singe was so tiny that I actually couldn’t tell if it was singe or melt. (Looking back, the guy probably wouldn’t have even brought out the lighter if he thought that I might see the bag melt. But that’s hindsight. Oh well.)

So what’s a girl to do?

Go and ask other people in the souk, of course! 

The first person that I talked to didn’t speak English (I asked. In Arabic. Success!) and he referred me to a shoe guy across the way who did. Now, he was not a bag-seller (Obviously. He was a shoe guy.) but he probably does work with leather. A quick glance and he said it was real. I offered to pay him for his trouble, but he said no. (Decency, folks, decency.) So real leather, right? 

But see, I was still feeling skeptical. This guy had no reason to lie, but he also had no reason to tell me the truth if it was fake, on the chance that I would get super upset and accidentally make him look bad by losing it in front of his (I’m sure very nice) store. (*Skepticism Alert* if you haven't noticed.) So I went to another vendor; this time, one actually sold bags. He, too, told me it was real, and he too refused money for his trouble. (And I figure that he could have had something to gain by lying. If he’d said it was fake, he could have pointed me to his own shop with "better" products.) Anyways, I’m pretty sure that my bag is real leather. I’m not going to be 100% confident, though, until I get home and make my dad look at it. (Funny, I actually do trust him. What is this?) 

But yeah. Turns out, people are basically good. Even if I don’t seem to want to believe it. Everyone was (surprisingly) happy to help, though I was not buying from their store. That's Morocco for you. (Or at least Rabat. Doubt you could get away with that in The Lovely Medina Of Murrakush.) 

***For all of you concerned about my sanity: 1.) Yeah, I am too, and 2.) Since my Ineffective weekend, when I first began writing this post, I've had some mildly more productive shopping excursions. Not by much, but just enough to keep me from going totally insane.

And since we're on the topic of the souk, I'll provide a fun fact. Just for you, personally. The entire internet. Huzzah. 

Fun Fact Of The Day: Vendors tend to speak to non-Moroccans in French. Even if asked a price in Arabic, they will respond with a French number. Now, funny story. This gives me a lot of trouble. I go in expecting Arabic, and I get French. It’s funny, because the Moroccan-accented French and my own faulty French skills just don’t jive, meaning that half the time I can’t understand a word, and the other half of the time it takes me faaaar too long to figure the number out (like, say, three times as long). Let’s face it: the Arabic numbers have become easier. Now, sometimes, they will say both. But the other day I actually had to ask one of the vendors for the number in Arabic, because I couldn’t figure it out. And then he said the number (40) and it was like, “Oh! 40! Gotcha.” I was amused at myself and my inability to comprehend quarante. 

Good times.