Scheherazade's slippers

What is that springs immediately to mind when one thinks of shopping in the exotic souqs of the Middle East? Turkish delight? Dates? Filigree lanterns, Oriental carpet? Gold?

For me, it was these slippers: the quintessential souvenir of Arabia.

Of course now that I have strolled through a dozen souqs in Dubai, Sharjah and Oman, I know what will forever evoke colourful memories: the eternal cry of – no, not the muezzin, but: “Pashmina, pashmina?”

X was more often subjected to “Watch, sir? Rolex?” Once he thought to baffle one such merchant turning his own question on him. At the next opportunity, he responded, “Pashmina?”

“Yes, yes, we have pashmina!” was the instantaneous reply.

I went off into a peal of laughter that is not often heard in the marketplaces, and we hurriedly moved on, avoiding the disapproving looks.

I know what will forever evoke colourful memories: the eternal cry of … “Pashmina, pashmina?”

As for these slippers I left it until my last night of shopping in the markets to purchase them. In the textile souq of Bur Dubai I pounced on this exact pair. Though I tried on black, and grey, I ultimately returned to the pink – that colour seemed to emphasise their frivolity. (Plus they would contrast nicely when paired with my black and silver belly-dancing outfit, I decided.)

When X pointed out it looked like I had slipped them on the wrong way round, I was amused to learn that they do not come in left and right: they just are. The heel of one is malformed, so it has become the right by default. The sizing also is nominal: I merely found a pair that fit.

I adore them.

As for the pashminas – I did succumb, not once, but twice. But I’ll save their stories for another day.