I swore I’d never fall for a rug salesman pitch again. I failed

Have you ever regretted a purchase you’ve made while in a travel stupor?

I once returned from Vienna with a pair of small deer antlers I’d found in an antique store.

What was I thinking? Not much at all, clearly, because once I’d solved the problem of how to bring them on board the plane (fortunately, they were small enough for a shopping bag) I then had to declare them at the border in Sydney.

I’m not immune from making silly purchases overseas, as much as I try to stay away from souvenirs. It’s human to be dazzled by trinkets and curious objects in bazaars, boutiques, antique shops and souks of an unfamiliar location.

Among a few other disasters, I have two feather pouffe cushions from Fes that stank out my luggage so badly they had to go on the lawn to fumigate for a year.

I could have bought a Moroccan leather pouffe in a homeware shop at home, of course. But what inspired me to lug them home was that I was buying directly from the family who tanned and dyed the leather in the souk.

My advice to travellers wanting to bring back something from their travels has always been to put your money into one thing you love.

My shopping has always been driven by the desire to buy something from the place I’m visiting that’s of the place.

And while I might occasionally have buyer’s remorse, non-buyer’s remorse is worse – not buying something and kicking yourself later that you missed the opportunity.

I’m thinking about this today because I’m standing on a wool rug that has just arrived from Turkey.

I hadn’t intended to buy a rug on this trip – or any trip. I have rugs. And while you probably can’t have too many of this practical item, a good one can involve a considerable outlay.

Unfortunately, I have a very low resistance threshold to rug merchants.

Years ago, I was talked into a silk rug by a salesman in Jaipur. The experience still stings. He was aggressive, and I was so dazzled by the array of styles and materials on display that I dithered far too long, annoying my companions to the point that I felt I had to buy one.

Under pressure, I chose the wrong one. It was a terrible colour that clashed with everything at home. I’d bundled a cheaper rug in with it, so when it arrived it took me over the import tax threshold, and I had to pay a whole lot more in duty.

So, I resolved never to buy a rug again, especially when in the state of dislocation from reality that travel sometimes induces.

But I didn’t count on the charming rug salesmen of Cappadocia, where I recently visited a large and impressive factory.

Over cups of apple tea (and more dangerously, Raki), the owner spun marvellous stories about the history of their rugs, while women artisans demonstrated the process of making silk and the astonishing skill and patience involved in the hand-knotting technique.

Salesmen kept unrolling rugs, each more beautiful than the next, some costing thousands of dollars.

I noticed that the elegant factory owner was wearing a gold Rolex, which suggested these might not be the cheapest rugs in Turkey, but they were certifiably genuine (not like the Chinese knockoffs in the Grand Bazaar, he warned) and besides, the price included all the shipping and taxes.

When I was shown a pretty little tribal rug, woven in a local village for a dowry, my FOMO kicked in.

I was unlikely to be in Cappadocia again and have this opportunity. The rug was something local, made by regional women who lived in the cave houses I’d visited. It was a tradition that was dying out, but the rug was likely to last forever. These were the justifications I made to myself.

After some gentle haggling, I handed over my credit card.

And, miraculously, weeks later the rug arrived, in less time than expected, and it is the perfect size and colour for the room.

My advice to travellers wanting to bring back something from their travels has always been to put your money into one thing you love. Don’t fritter it away on little things (apart from gifts, of course).

It can be more meaningful if you buy it directly from the maker, but not necessarily.

As long as you can’t walk away from it because you love it, it has to be right.