The Grand Bazaar of Tehran: Lost in the Labyrinth

Life is bustling at the bazaars. Daily shopping is done, gold and jewelry are traded, men sit together conspiratorially and haggle over something. Iran is a country of men, no wonder, and women are not always a part of it. I adjust my headscarf, we stand uncertainly in front of the bazaar entrance, it is inconspicuous and dark. The street is full of people, we stand out, foreigners in Tehran, a rarity.

Welcome to Iran

Welcome to my travel blog

Hey, I’m Tatiana and I’m the blogger behind The Happy Jetlagger. Since 2014, I’ve been sharing my personal travel stories on this blog. I don’t have a big team behind me, so I’m pretty much a one-person show: I’ve researched and tested all recommendations myself.

A woman approaches us at a brisk pace, and I am startled. Have we done something wrong? The questions bubble out of her, where are you from, oh Germany!, very nice, wonderful, I have a brother in Düsseldorf, do you know Düsseldorf, do you like Tehran? And then what I should hear more often in Tehran, usually accompanied by a warm smile, arms outstretched and from the bottom of her chest: Wel-come to I-raaaan!

She shyly grabs my young colleague, who could be her daughter, in her bright blonde hair, you are so beautiful, she says with a smile, and can’t tear herself away from us. She wants to know more about us, somehow keep the conversation going, just spend a moment with us. My heart warms. I get a premonition that Tehran will probably do more to me than just provide beautiful photo opportunities and the ever-annoying struggle with my headscarf.

Secret confessions

Behind her back, she whispers quietly to me in her broken English: “Iran is wonderful country, but politics no good. Too much religion, too much, you know. I’m surprised, we are standing on one of the busiest streets in the middle of Tehran, here and there people in uniform, I have the wildest scenes in my head, surely you can’t just say that here? Nor can you, her whisper suggests, and I am touched that it was nevertheless important for her to let us know.

How many camels does a young girl actually cost?

The Grand Bazaar stretches over several blocks of houses, divided into individual sectors, with gold dealers in one corner and household goods and food in the other. The aisles are dark and follow no system. It is a labyrinth. We split up into small groups before we get lost anyway, and I end up at a nut stall with two very young colleagues. I’m excited, I’m always cautious at markets, the bag, the camera, and then I’m such a stranger as a woman. You hear a lot of things. The nut seller senses a deal and perhaps more, and lures us into his store. Two more men appear out of nowhere and look at us with wide eyes. The door closes behind us. I instinctively turn to face the door and the window, who knows, maybe someone will be able to save us if the situation turns sour.

But it doesn’t tip over. I’m a bit ashamed that I’ve already worked out how many camels we’re being sold for, how silly and stupid, while the nut seller pesters us with questions: where are you from, oh Germany!, nice, wonderful country, I worked for a German company, do you know BMW, do you like Tehran?

Incidentally, the nut seller invited us to dinner. At home with the family, very civilized. I’m still a bit annoyed that I turned down the invitation back then.

Caution when traveling is good, but throwing one’s prejudices to the wind is even better.

All about Tehran:

• The Grand Bazaar of Tehran: Lost in the Labyrinth