Knowing that Marrakesh had it’s fair share of carpet shops, we headed down the Atlantic coast roads and turned inland at Essaouira. From there it was a picturesque drive through lunar-like landscapes up into the Atlas Mountains, through the red-walled city of Taroudannt and onto Marrakesh.

We searched for suitable lodgings, settling on the Hotel El Atlal. Our second floor room was indeed exotic. We could open colourful inlaid glass windows and look down into the street below. The entire room was lined with blue, yellow and white tiles. We left our car in an alley nearby, hoping it would be there when we went to leave a few days later.

That evening we began our carpet odyessy. As with all visitors to Marrakesh, we were drawn to the Djema El Fna, or central square. As the sun sets, the place comes alive with snake charmers, fortune tellers and old women chasing you to draw intricate henna patterns on your hands. Walk through the food stalls and juice sellers you will reach the souk.

The souk is a heaving mass of bodies, tourists and locals, moving in a wave thorugh the tight streets and past stalls of colthing, food, souvenirs and furniture. We followed the river of people and veered off onto a side street when we saw shops with carpets hanging from their windows. This signalled the

In our trusty Peugeot 205 hatch back we drove from France to Spain then caught a ferry across the Straits of Gibraltar from Algiceras to Ceuta.

On arrival at Ouarzazate I thought I had reached 'carpet-heaven'. The otherwise plain red mud bulidings are decorated with colourful kilims and carpets of all sizes, hanging from windows, doorways and rooftops. This seemed to be a town where carpet selling was a major industry. Not surprising, considering that Ouarzazate is close to the desert and shopkeepes can trade directly with nomadic tribespeople. The desert-dwellers come in from the desert every few months to sell their carpets and trade for essential goods.

After a filling meal we wandered up the street until we were called into the 'Boutique des Hommes Bleus'. We were met by the smiling faces of Ali and his cohort, Mohammed. Expecting the white-robed men of Marrakesh carpet shops, I was surprised to see that our hosts wore jeans, t-shirts and runners.

'Bonsoir', Ali called to us in a tentative voice, hoping that we could understand French. Although English is spoken by many traders, French is widely understood and taught in schools, so your chances of a good conversation and a fair transacton are enhanced by even a basic understanding of French, especially numbers.

'You are looking for carpets, no?' he continued. Ali could immediately see through my fiegned air of disinterest. My eyes kept darting to the piles of colourful kilims in the back room. The front room was a treasure trove of decorated Berber silver daggers, chains holding little silver cases for small copies of the Koran and elaborate earrings. Small tables were laden with scarves, ceramics and fossils. It seemed that every taste was catered for at 'Les Hommes Bleues'.

We were ushered to the inner room where kilims covered the floor and walls, as well as being folded into piles to form portable seats. I sat on one such pile and the sales pitch began. 'So you are after kilims?' asked Ali hopefully. 'Maybe' was my evasive reply. 'Let me show you my best kilims. These kilims are from the deserts of Morocco.'

He laid out kilim after kilim, openiing them in front of us as if turning the pages of a colourful book. The kilims displayed an array of colours but red and blue were dominant. Patterns were always geometric and usually made from wool. I chose two kilims that appealed and asked how much they were.

Ali and Mohammed whispered to each other and then insisted that we negotiate the price by writing our offers on a notepad. After checking what currency we wished to negotiate in (we decided on Moroccan Dihram), Ali wrote '10,000' - about AU$1700. I grabbed the pad, crossed out '10,000' and wrote '3000'. Ali and Mohammed both fell onto a pile of carpets, their faces twisted in looks of horror. They proceeded to further explain the virtues of the kilims, demonstrating that they were made from genuine wool by attempting to burn a hole in the weave. Indeed, the threads resisted the flames of Ali's lighter.

Ali took the pen and wrote another figure on the pad. This time he asked for 7,000. I countered with 3,500, Ali with 6,000, me with 4,000. Half an hour had passed and the negotiations stopped abruptly for a tea break. A few words of Arabic were shouted out the front door and shortly thereafter a little boy came in carrying a tray with glasses of mint tea.

After the tea we continued until finally we reached the point of 'no further negotiation'. I had reached 4,500 and Ali had reached 5,500. Thinking that we had wasted an evening, we got up to leave. Ali asked us to stay and enquired whether we had anything else we could, looking longingly at my new Colorado boots.