By
Heidi Noroozy
A
couple of years ago, I started out a blog post with the statement that Persian
culture is not for the socially lazy. At the time I was writing about taaroff, the Persian practice of extreme
etiquette, but my observation also extends to shopping In Iran. Especially when
it comes to the bazaar, where prices
are negotiable and vendors keen students of human nature. At a glance, they can
tell which customer will be an easy sell, which a tough bargainer, and when
they can squeeze yet another few thousand rials out of an exhausted
foreigner unused to the rigors of a typical Persian business transaction. You
can read about my adventures in buying carpets here.
That
shopping trip was an early lesson in the fine and often confusing art of
Persian bargaining, which in Farsi is called chaneh zadan. Roughly translated, this means to "hit
with the chin,” a reference to the way person's chin moves up and down while
talking—or negotiating a business transaction. Naturally, I wanted to practice
my new skills. The number one rule: Never let the vendor suspect that you are
in the least interested in his wares. Even if you have spotted an item you
simply know you can’t live without, the proper attitude to assume is one of
distain. Pretend that another shop two doors down carries far superior
merchandise. Otherwise, the price will soar into the stratosphere.
Rarely,
though, do I get a chance to practice chaneh zadan. My husband’s Tehran
relatives consider it a serious breach of hospitality to let me do my own
dickering at the bazaar. What’s more, they know I would crumble in the face of
a seasoned bazaari’s far superior
skill. And when I watch the locals engage in this fascinating Persian ritual, I
have to admit they are right. I lack the requisite finesse. But that doesn’t
stop me from studying the art on every trip to Iran.
On
a recent shopping venture, this time to find a pair of earrings at the Tajrish
gold bazaar, my sister-in-law and I trekked through its dazzling halls for
close to four hours before we settled on the right pair of danglers. It really
does take that long to shop for gold, which is why we leave the men at home.
They lack the stamina needed to do a proper job of it.
We
popped in and out of postage stamp-sized shops, examining various styles and
models, holding them up to my ears (careful not to dislodge my headscarf and
reveal too much hair). Each time, my sister-in-law would thank the merchant and
drag me out of the store.
“But
I liked that one,” I’d protest.
“That
man would never give us a good price,” she’d reply. How could she tell? Had I
missed the demonic gleam of greed in the man’s eyes, or had he spotted the
longing I couldn’t quite keep out of mine?
When
we finally found the perfect combination of gold filigree earrings and bazaari
to sell them to us, the chaneh zadan could begin.
The
vendor named his price.
“Gerooneh (that’s too much)!” my sister-in-law
said, the upward lift in her voice conveying just the right amount of mild
outrage. (I need to practice that.)
The
bazaari typed a number into his digital calculator and pushed it across the
counter.
My
designated negotiator cleared the screen and entered a slightly lower number in
return.
The
two of them pushed the calculator back and forth a few more times, adjusting
the numbers up and down. Finally, they reached a figure both could live with.
It was only about 30,000 rials lower than the original price, a difference of
just a few dollars, but that had a lot to do with the way gold is sold. It has
a two-tiered price. The larger, non-negotiable portion, is determined by weight,
based on the global market price of gold on the day of sale. The variable
portion is the cost of workmanship and the merchant’s profit.
They
both turned to me to approve the final figure, which I did with a mix of admiration
and relief. To me, an American used to fixed prices and quick sales
transactions, the slight price reduction hardly seemed worth the effort that
went into the deal, fascinating as it was to watch.
Which
brings me back to that statement from my earlier blog: Persian culture is not
for the socially lazy. Even a shopping trip is an opportunity for lengthy
social interaction. Without the give and take of chaneh zadan, neither party
can feel completely satisfied with the deal they’ve struck. I have some lovely
new earrings to prove it.
Oh, those ARE lovely, Heidi! Congrats too on getting sis in-law to let you buy them!
ReplyDeleteThanks, Supriya! I should mention that chaneh zadan usually requires a stop at the bazaar cafe afterwards for a glass of restorative tea.
ReplyDeleteI love the stop afterwards for tea. When I lived in Pakistan, we often had tea served while negotiating with the vendor. I miss that sort of social interaction.
ReplyDeleteThanks for stopping by, Jenni! I've never been offered tea by a vendor, though they do it in Iran too. I was once given a nice tall glass of cold water during Ramazan, when I was wilting with heat and thirst and too law-abiding to be seen drinking or eating in public. One nice result of the social interaction, is that you remember the person who sold you the merchandise.
DeleteLove the earrings. I hate bargaining, though I did it some in Indonesia. I never understood the rules.
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