A forgotten alley in Tabriz Bazaar.

21.

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I made it to Orumiyeh at some ungodly hour in the morning. But even at that time, people were eager to help me find the right bus to Tabriz, which was relief. And I was in unusually high spirits after a small man with a peculiar gait came running over from 100m away yelling "taxi? taxi? taxi?", and when he reached me, now wheezing the words "tax, ta, tax-i", I just said "nah, auto-bus" and chuckled. I don't like taxi-drivers.

The Unesco listed bazaar in Tabriz is, I think, one of the biggest in Iran. The best way to deal with the sheer size of the labyrinthian network of alleyways is to just forget about where you are headed. You'll usually pop out onto the street accidentally a few hours later.

And, unlike the Grand bazaar in Istanbul, which is a wretched world of repetitive rip-offs, in my most humblest of opinions, it's actually pleasant to stroll around the bazaars in Iran. No-one bothers anyone and you're addressed with "hello, welcome mister!" every other second, without the added "yes, please" as you're ushered into a shop that sells exactly the same stuff as the one next door, and the one adjacent, and the one next door to that.

I sought out the carpet section, as Tabrizi rugs are famous for their iconically intricate design (in fact if you conjure an image of a Perisan rug in your mind, it's probably Tabrizi). Saying that, that's as far as my knowledge goes and I'm worried that I've even got that wrong, and any of my Iranian friends reading this my be spitting at their computer screens screaming "WRONG!"

What I do know, though, is how to check the quality of a rug- I read it on Wikipedia. Apparently you have to lay it out flat, check for bumps, turn it upside down and count the knots per square cm; the more the merrier.

So I did this in a shop today. I made my movements as mechanical as possible, to give the impression that I as well versed in the art of ruggery. I turned the rug over and vaguely thumbed at the knots, losing interest pretty quickly. Then prices got involved and I had rug after rug thrust on top of one another in front of me.

My brain was yelling "abort mission! abort!" but my pride wouldn't let me lose face. I continued to stroke the piles of pile with a furrowed brow.

mmn, yes. Good. Oh no, that's machine made.

I slowly backed out the shop, smiling, and the prices dropped for every metre I retreated. I made my eyes as glaikit as possible, slowly turning on my heels and walking round the corner. Close one, I thought, close one.

I came upon that shop again five minutes later, and then again twenty minutes later. The merchants must have assumed I was just a bit of simpleton and kept getting lost around the corner.

Which was, in fact, the truth.