Backstory: 'Don't break my heart!'

Moving one step upward, are those salesmen - and they're always salesmen - whose basic tactic involves stopping the shopper in his tracks, even for a split-second, with a question: "Hello, excuse me, where are you from?" "You like Turkey, sir?" "Do you have time, madam, to peruse my humble collection of goods within?" "Can I ask you a question?"

Further again up - or down - the evolutionary sales ladder, is a distinct breed: Young, confident, with slicked-back hair and tight jeans, these are the type that concentrate on the females in the crowd, with tactics based on flattery. "Please don't walk by," cries one, clasping his chest, "You break my heart!" "A beautiful necklace for a beautiful lady?" purrs a second. "I wish I were a fish," says a particularly suave seller, "so I could swim in your deep blue eyes." Of course, there will always be those who take this technique a step too far: "Would you dance with me?" woos one young man, reaching for a female wrist, only to be batted off with a stuffed toy camel. "What are you doing tonight?" asks his friend, "Coming to disco with me?" "I'm a great lover," boasts another, "All tourist ladies agree. Bargain of the century - don't miss out!" "I know what you need," says a fourth, "You need me ... No charge."

After this is the territory of the tailored pitch, seduction through a distinctly personal approach. If, for instance, you're eight months pregnant while tramping around the market, you may hear these choice attempts: "The baby looks cold: come inside and buy him a pashmina!" "The baby looks hungry: Come inside and buy him a kebab!" "It's a boy, Madam, I'm sure: Buy him a T-shirt!"

At the end of the day and the periphery of the market, however, is a final category. These young salesmen, tired, worn-down or desperate, have dropped the banter for a more self-deprecating approach. Their shops sell the same wares as their more brazen comrades, but they simply don't have the wherewithal to compete on their level. Deep in the heart of the market, the bold, brash salesmen are already heaving mountains of carpets back inside their stores and shuttering up shop. But here, on the outskirts, stalls are still open for business.

"Need a way to get rid of your hard-earned cash?" smiles a tired-looking young man sitting outside a store piled high with woven cushions. "Step inside, and take a look at my rubbish," grins his friend, waving toward his inlaid backgammon sets and bright red fezes. "Do you want to buy some things you don't need today?" questions another near an exit arch framing swallows flitting in the approaching dusk. "We're still open!" another calls to tourists, laden with shopping bags, hurrying to their air-conditioned bus.

But it's here, on the fringes, that it's best to make a purchase. Sellers seem beyond desperation, and won't bother browsers; most are happy simply to have someone inside their shop.

"I've got everything," remarks a smiling spice merchant. "All I'm missing is some customers." And for that - be it brutal honesty or the most cunning sales pitch of all - he's rewarded with a sale. Half a pound of pistachio Turkish delight, apple tea, a bunch of cinnamon sticks, and a package of bright red seasoning for kofta kebabs all disappear fragrantly into a paper bag, and his cash register rings up perhaps his only, perhaps his final sale of the day, while the strains of Istanbul's many muezzins echo the evening call to prayer through Kapali Carsi's emptying halls.

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