{"id":162234,"date":"2020-05-01T14:33:43","date_gmt":"2020-05-01T12:33:43","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/thehappyjetlagger.com\/grand-bazaar-teheran\/"},"modified":"2026-01-08T21:14:00","modified_gmt":"2026-01-08T20:14:00","slug":"grand-bazaar-tehran","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/thehappyjetlagger.com\/en\/grand-bazaar-tehran\/","title":{"rendered":"The Grand Bazaar of Tehran: Lost in the Labyrinth"},"content":{"rendered":"\n

The bazaars are a hive of activity. Daily shopping is done, gold and jewelry are traded, men sit together conspiratorially and barter something or other. Iran is a country of men, who would be surprised, and women are not always a part of it. I adjust my headscarf, uncertainly we stand 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. <\/p>\n\n

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Welcome to Iran<\/h2>\n\n

A woman approaches us at a brisk pace, and I am startled. I wonder if we did something wrong. The questions bubble out of her, where are you from, oh Germany!, very nice, wonderful, I have a brother in D\u00fcsseldorf, do you know D\u00fcsseldorf, do you like Tehran? And then what I was to hear even more often in Tehran, usually accompanied by a warm smile, outstretched arms and at the top of my lungs: Wel-come to I-raaaan! <\/p>\n\n

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She shyly grabs my young colleague, who could be her daughter, in her bright blond 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. It warms my heart. I get a premonition that Tehran will probably do more to me than just beautiful photo opportunities and the eternally annoying struggle with my headscarf. <\/p>\n\n

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In the middle of the bazaar: A mosque.<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\n

Secret confessions<\/h2>\n\n

She whispers to me quietly in her broken English: “Iran is wonderful country, but politics no good. Too much religion, too much, you know. My eyeballs are falling out of their sockets, 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, you can’t just say that here? Nor can you, her whisper suggests, and I am touched that it was nevertheless an important matter for her to let us know. <\/p>\n\n

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How many camels does a young girl actually cost?<\/h2>\n\n

The Grand Bazaar stretches over several blocks of houses, divided into the individual branches, in one corner sit the gold dealers, in the other there are household goods or food. The corridors are dark and follow no system. It’s one big maze. We split up into small groups before we get lost anyway, and I end up at a nut stand with two bloody young colleagues. I’m excited, at markets I’m always careful, the bag, the camera, and then so strange, as a woman. You hear a lot of things. The nut seller senses a deal and maybe more, and lures us into his store. Two more men appear out of nowhere and look at us with wide eyes. The door slams shut behind us. Instinctively, I turn to face the door and the window, who knows, maybe someone can still save us if the situation here tips over. <\/p>\n\n

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But it does not tilt. I’m a bit ashamed that I’ve already calculated how many camels we’ll be bartered 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? <\/p>\n\n

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By the way, the nut seller invited us for dinner. At home with the family, quite civilized. I’m still a little annoyed that I turned down the invitation back then. <\/p>\n\n

Caution when traveling is good, but throwing one’s prejudices to the wind is even better. <\/p>\n\n

All about Tehran:<\/strong><\/p>\n\n

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