The last time I was in Austria, my acquaintances kept asking me if I had visited the Naschmarkt. Naturally, I had no idea what they were talking about since my German is limited to “Guten Morgen” and “Wedersehn” (which is really only the shortened form of good-bye). But I was able to deduce that we were talking about some sort of market because let’s be honest “market” and “markt” aren’t so different.
It only happens on Saturdays, but it happens EVERY Saturday.
A ride on the U-bahn U-4 line will take you to Kettenbrückengasse. Take the stairs up, and find yourself in the antique and junk paradise.
Walk from one end of second hand things to the other end filled with foods, spices, and other wonders. People pushing past. Food scents assaulting your senses. Attractive young men calling to you from behind their tables and holding out food samples, “Beautiful lady, stop!”
It’s enough to make you forget everything, except the colors and smells and people all around. Total immersion of the senses.
Finger tips running across colorful fabrics from India and genie pants billowing in the slight breeze, anchored only by their hanger to their clothing stall. If you tarry too long admiring, you’ll be approached by a man ready to bargain and barter for a price.
As an American, haggling is a struggle. I’m used to the price being unchangeable, but here, all games are a go. Being the potential customer gives you the trump card, you can walk away at any moment. Even hint at this possibility, and the vendor will knock off a couple more euros.
My eyes lingered on a pair of blue genie/hammer/ harem pants. Whatever you want to call them! In moments, the vendor stood before me, taking the pants of the hanger. “For you, I will give these for thirty euro.”
My eyebrows rose. “Oh, no. I really shouldn’t purchase anything.” Despite what you may be thinking, I was absolutely sincere in that statement. The vendor didn’t know that.
“How much you give me?” He held the pants in front of me, like a carrot before a rabbit.
“Ummmm.” I just couldn’t spend more than ten euros. “Ten euros.”
The vendor tried to raise the price, but I wasn’t budging. I allowed my eyes to wander to the other stalls.
“Okay. I give it for ten euros.” He already had the pants into a bag.
In that moment, I wondered if I even had ten euros! I opened up my wallet and saw a bill for fifty. It felt wrong to make the vendor change the fifty, but he quickly did it. The feeling of accomplishment that flooded me made that purchase absolutely worth it.
[please ignore that weird carpet stain!]
So when you do go to the Naschmarkt, don’t be afraid to play the haggle game. They’re likely still making a fair amount of profit off of you! And if you decided that you love the Naschmarkt, make it official by liking their “We Love the Naschmarkt” page on Facebook.
