good deal

"Fifty quid", my friend said when he had come to the conclusion that he wanted to sell. "It's yours for fifty quid."

The quid is a curious creature. No one knows how it made it into the English language. Hateful of the letter s, it objects to being followed by one, or preceded. There's not much it does; mostly is just sits there, impassively, in the place of a pound or of pounds, giving meaning to numbers.

"Two hundred quid", I said. "There's no way you're getting away with less. I've seen auctions on ebay start at that. I'll pay you two hundred."

Bargaining is an essential component of successful business transactions. Fuller, Smith & Turner wants to buy Capital Pub Company, a rival chain, and submits an offer of 175p per share. Capital deems the offer without merit, tears it up and flushes it down the toilet. The bargaining has started. Fuller makes an improved bid of 200p, which is rejected again, but in the near future the two will meet at a point where both are happy.

In the interaction with my friend, something similar is happening. "This is ridiculous", my friend says. "It's a good camera, but it's been used. Give me a hundred if you must."

Shops in the West have done away with bargaining for convenience and speed, and to be able to advertise not only the quality of an product but also the price, thus highlighting value. In the Arab world, however, bargaining is still part of the everyday fabric of life. You check out the shops at the bazaar and peruse the wares on display, feeling their quality and comparing. You might ask the shopkeeper for an opinion and he'll dish it out with flourish. When you find something you like you ask for the price, thus indicating that you're going to buy it. After inspired haggling, you and the shopkeeper will shake hands over a deal gone well.

My friend is no Arab, and neither am I. Bargaining is not engrained in our culture, and an observer would be baffled by our interaction. But however we're approaching it, our intention is orthodox. We want to arrive at a price that we're both happy with. "Hundred fifty is my last offer", I say, following the established protocol to the letter, even if not in spirit.

Despite my inexperience, I can sense that we're getting somewhere. I have never bargained before, though I came close once. It was in a carpet shot in Tunisia where, over two glasses of mint tea, I felt baby lamb carpet with my hands and eyes. So soft, so beautiful! But I didn't need one and I didn't want to buy one. Without asking for a price and certainly without making an offer, I walked out of the shop, empty-handed but happy. The shopkeeper waved at me without ill feeling.

This time around, I want the deal. I'm looking for a compact camera, for something to replace my heavy SLR when I travel light. My friend's Canon fits the bill and has proven its worth on recent extended trips with some spectacular shots. I realize that what I and my friend want is not that far apart.

"A hundred and twenty, can we agree on that?" my friend suggest after some hesitation. "I fear I'm overcharging you, that you're going to regret it, but if you insist, if you really want it..." His voice trails off. Our eyes meet. There are two nods.