Late Night at the River

Sometimes it's good to give yourself a reality check.

It's midnight in Esfahan at the Zayandeh Rood (Life-Giving River) and I'm sitting on the ledge of the Si-O-Se Pol (33 Bridge, named for its number of arches) listening to ten young Iranian men telling me their opinions on everything from G.W. Bush to Googoosh. I would say I was alone, but within minutes I felt like one of the boys.

I need a reality check, don't I? What's a single American woman doing unaccompanied in Iran, strolling the bridge at midnight (with a limp and a cane), then ending up shooting the breeze with a bunch of hungry Iranian boys?

Not that I suggest every tourist should head to the bridge alone after dark - it's not encouraged by Iranian authorities - but before you discount me as a fool, let me offer my reality. If this had occurred at the beginning of the trip, I would have called on my British mum's upbringing and politely excused myself from their company, but by now the ingratiating hospitality of Iranians has seeped into my sensibilities. After having so many open conversations with locals from Tehran, to Yazd, to Shiraz, and now Esfahan, every Iranian city I've experienced has made me feel welcome and safe to roam the streets, approach strangers, and sometimes even go into their homes for a cup of tea. Hospitality and respect is the modus operandi, and I couldn't have felt safer, even on the dark bridge at midnight with a crew of curious young men.

The Mullahs in Shiraz

Last week I watched a mullah walk down the street in Tehran. The bottom of his skirt just touched the sidewalk as he glided through the people with a body language that whispered calm and superior. I made a snap decision that mullahs aren't in touch with the people.

Then I got a lesson in mullah behavior at the Theological University in Shiraz. I am now enlightened.

As our group learned about the history of the mosque and the university, a plain-clothed cleric-in-training approached and shook down some mulberries from the tree for myself and another American. A sweet gesture, we chatted in sparse English as he produced a little-black-book from his pocket. The page I saw had English-Farsi translations for: "Are you married?" and "How long will you be here?" So, mullahs can marry. I am enlightened.

We also had the fortunate circumstance to ask some questions of a revered rouhani (aka mullah or cleric), Agha Ansari.Born in the south of Iran and coming from a long line of mullahs, this good-natured 30 year-old man stood tall and relaxed as he spoke. Given that we were spontaneous guests, we did not cross-examine nor dig into any complicated issues.


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Q: Since all women are mandated to wear hejab (head and body coverage), religious women cannot express their devotion to Islam and differentiate themselves from the crowd. Why isn't there a choice in deciding to wear hejab?


A: Women have a choice. Some women wear full chador expressing their dedication to Islam, other women wear shorter scarves of any color and design expressing their individuality. We see our religion as a social connection that protects our culture, bringing us all together as Iranians, making our nation stronger. Hejab is part of our religion. It is an obligation to Islam.

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Q: What is your opinion of the current situation between U.S. and Iran?

A: The levels of uranium being enriched are only a small percentage of what is needed to create a nuclear bomb. The U.S. knows that Iranian bombs cannot reach the states, therefore they are using Iran's minimal nuclear involvement to create fear so they can change our way of life with force.

The age of force has left us. Force is from the middle-ages when we had slaves. We now must use logic and intellect, not weapons of war. No country will go on with force as their agent.

The current U.S. leaders aren't able to see this logic. Our goal as clerics is to bring more intellectuals and academics to the table so we can work on our communication with the U.S. and other countries. It's your job to go back to the U.S. and tell of our intentions for discussion and peace.
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Watching his unassuming body language and hearing his logic, I felt guilty for having that earlier prejudicial opinion of mullahs. I'm sure it takes all kinds, and mullahs are no exception, but I wish I could've found a way to tell him in Farsi that because of him I was enlightened.

As the conversation wrapped up, he announced his email as ...@yahoo.com - it's not often you hear the voice of an Islamic cleric speaking in capitalist terms!

As it turns out, "Yahoo!" is actually a way that Suffi mystics call on God. So maybe there is an existing link between our two cultures after all.

Well, Yahoo!

Paris Is Burning In Iran

It’s difficult to keep up with current events when you’re on vacation. Thank goodness for satellite television. How else would I know that the anti-talented Paris Hilton is now a (post-produced) singer with a salacious black and white music video that screams sex.

Sitting on the sofa watching this with three well-educated young Iranian women, I was pretty embarrassed when they asked me what American women think of her. I don’t mind the Barbies of this world – they fill a basic need – but I don’t want this Barbie representing American culture to Iranian women. She has empty eyes and such an aura of selfishness. Why can’t this ditz belong to some other country?

It bothers me to think of women in other cultures assuming that this half-wit is what Americans idealize. Her empty-headed beauty is so yesterday and not a worthy representation of sexy women in American culture today.

They Might Be Smarter Than You

I take it all back. You should be afraid of Iranians - especially if you're an engineer.

Walking through a small park near Vale Asr Street (back in Tehran last week), we passed groups of young men and women studying in circles on the grass or sitting on park benches - books open and pen in hand. There was an aire of total concentration about them - even a crew of 12 Americans walking past didn't phase them. Eyes to the sky, a young man was committing a page to memory. Under a tree, a group of girls were deep in discussion. The Concoor exams are about to be taken; a chance to be granted a subsidized university education for those who test in the upper percentile.

Engineering is the hot ticket with Sanatee Sharif University's worldwide reputation for turning out top-level engineers.

So, what's to be afraid of? These engineers are leaving Iran en masse - it's called the Brain Drain - and they could be coming to a town near you. Well-educated and passionate about knowledge, you'd better buck up if you're in competition with an Iranian. Movaffagh bashid (good luck).

The Welder of Yazd

I have a friend named Wolf who is a metal sculptor and fine appreciator of life, so when I saw the welding spark glowing inside the dark neighborhood shop last night, I felt compelled to snap a pic of his Iranian fellow artisans. Barely taking a step in the door, the welder instantly turned up the flourescent lights to verify that this strange-looking lady was actually in his workshop. The ambiance of the moment ruined, I wondered if a worthy picture was even possible now.

I ended up getting a lot more than a picture.

Within minutes I'm sitting on a Persian rug in the backyard of their home surrounded by their entire family of ten or more. Smiling face after smiling face kept emerging out of the house - I lost count. The proud pedar (father) introduced me to everyone with such care. He wanted to be sure I understood exactly who everyone was and we pronounced each name in detail together. One daughter took my hand so tightly and kissing me on each cheek let me know how happy she was that I was there. "Amrikari," (American) she kept saying in disbelief. They served me fresh cantaloupe juice and homemade bread while everyone rolled around on the rug laughing at my attempts at Farsi. Who needs the Comedy Channel?

So thanks, Wolf. If it weren't for you I wouldn't have met this incredible Iranian family nor thought to take the pictures... which by the way, you're going to love.

Ashk e Khoshal - Happy Tears

Inside Tehran we received long stares and the occasional smile, but outside Tehran is another story - welcome to Yazd. My heart hurts watching the locals wave at our bus as we drive by, as if we were someone important - I'm so ashamed. They are the royal ones with their open hearts. Walking through the bazaar last night, we couldn't get very far without an exchange of smiles, handshakes, and people saying "hello" in English. These people couldn't be more elated to see Westerners, but they're even more delighted to find out we are Americans.

Bizarre Bozorg

Oh, what a day this was. If only I could upload pics from my outdated electronica you could hear, taste, see what I mean. Mota'assefam (sorry), it will have to wait until I return. Here are the pictures - and some pictures I wish I had taken - for you to envision in the meantime:

Aks #1: Back of the bus chock full of chadored women in black - and one 6' tall American woman dressed in white. I accidentally pointed my cane at one of them on my way out. Let's just say, a huge smile makes up for a lot. Bebaksheed, you know? (excuse me)

Aks #2: A pink ice cream cone held by a woman in full chador standing at the curtain of the woman's entrance to Masjede-Shah Mosque in Bazaar Bozorg. Khoshhal (happiness) comes in many flavors around here, but I didn't expect it in the mosque! Hey, maybe it was Baskin Robbins' "Pink Bubble Gum" flavor.

Aks #3: Young smiling man in the Bazaar Bozorg with scabs and scrapes on his face and arms. After we talked I found out he had a motorcycle accident too! I can relate.

Aks #4: Having chaee with the young hip carpet vendors, Ali and Mehrbad, at their wall-to-wall, floor-to-ceiling Persian carpeted office. There's an interesting backstory on this picture to come.

The list goes on, but there's a line forming for this computer so I must say khoda hafez (goodbye). Off to discover the beauty of Yazd, Shiraz, and Esfahan...

Ghaza ye Iranii & Iranican Food

I've been here five days and have now eaten my fair share of traditional chelo kabab: saffron rice, semi-spicy broiled meat, a few carrots and beans, and a broiled tomato or two. At this point, "khoshmaze" (delicious) unconsciously rolls off my tongue every time I reach for a sip of dugh (yogurt drink) or refreshing tap water from the still snow-capped mountains. The best meals have been in people's homes (such as Babak's secret recipes), but Darband came in second with its elegant outdoor dining and soothing fountains on a hot afternoon.

There it is, exactly what you'd expect me to say regarding classic Iranian food - I can almost hear the background Persian setar music (which by the way, sounds amazing too).

Since I am away from home however, my radar goes up every time I cross paths with something that reminds me of it - and I have been reminded often. Hold on, here we go:

STARCUPS - one of these is in a mall near the Bazaar Tajrish.
This Iranian answer to Starbucks is a classy French bistro-style cafe with a menu offering "American Coffee" right next to "Turkish Coffee". Maybe they should serve this brew at the United Nations.

PALM PIZZA - on an upscale street in Northern Tehran.
The logo of a palm tree against a skewed yellow checkerboard square is an exact replica of California Pizza Kitchen. Just cut and paste the name - actually I like the name Palm Pizza better.


BASKIN ROBBINS - on Vale Asr Street, the Champs Elysees of Tehran.
Whoa. I thought this was a U.S. owned company, but after reviewing Wikipedia.com I learned it changed hands to the British awhile back. Baskin Robbins, Togos, and Dunkin' Donuts are now under the umbrella of Dunkin' Donuts, Inc. Baskin Robbins is a part of my American childhood and now it sits on one of the most trafficked streets in Iran. I wonder if I have "Pink Bubble Gum" flavor in common with any Iranians.

STAR BURGERS - near Vale Asr Street and Parque Melat.
Is that a Carl's Junior taking up space on one of Tehran's most coveted pieces of real estate? The happy-faced star logo is flying through the sky with a lot more personality than Carl's stamped-on look. Still, I hope the fast-food trend slows down. In my experience so far, long lunches and dinners with family and friends are one of the things that make Persians who they are, and that means happy, content, and fed by more than just food.

BURGER MADAM & SIR - also on Vale Asr Street.
This one speaks for itself. They should've called it Burger Shah.

U.S. & Iran: The Importance of Slowing Down

Last month I made a little faux pas getting off my motorcycle while parking on a San Franciscan hill. SV650s can be exhiliarating, but they don't feel very good when they're pinning you to the asphalt. For a month I had to take it easy with a cast and crutches, moving at the speed of pathetic and being forced to have longer than usual conversations with EVERYONE. (Read: the pain was not in my foot). Little did I know this was the ideal preparation for my trip to Iran.

Walking to the beat of a newfound slower rhythm, I'm taking more time than usual to engage Iranians, find a common ground to discuss and build upon until their eyes are comfortable to reveal what's behind them. By shedding my American pace of going-nowhere-fast, I'm going further and realizing others on a deeper level.

Why am I sharing this? Because it's made me fully believe that a slower approach is the key to successful negotiations between the U.S., Iran, and the world when it comes to the issues being faced today. There is not one perfect strategy, there is only method, and with a slower negotiation method we can all understand each other's cultures and perspectives more wholly before making world-altering decisions too hastily (as we did with Iraq and Afghanistan).

On the other hand, what do I know? I'm now wearing this black moonboot and using a cane to cross the streets of Tehran - and you'd better believe that slow ain't my method - it's all strategy!

Northern Noses

The northern mountain region of Tehran is where the toman (money) is and with that comes designer clothes and plastic surgery.

Within 15 minutes of strolling through the Bazaar Tajrish, a semi-upscale multi-tiered mall, I encountered four nose jobs: three female and one male. Each one I passed wore their bandages like an award with their heads held high and a long confident stride in their step. Los Angeles has nothing on them. Anyway, I'm sure they're only adjusting their "beeneeha" to inhale the fresher northern air.

The shops of Tajrish included the ever-popular Zara with its stylish little tank tops and high-cropped pants (to be worn by women anywhere but in the general public). Gucci, Ralph Lauren, Versace, and Louis Vutton were all there (I'm not a knock-off expert, but I highly doubt it). I was a little surprised to see a Playboy t-shirt proudly displayed in a shop window however. It's obvious that bending the rules is an unspoken right in Tehran, but I didn't expect to see virtuous women in chadors walking past shop windows displaying American soft porn icons.

The "British" School - Tehran

To kick off my quest to find young English-speaking penpals in Iran, I met with the wonderful melting pot staff at The British School-Tehran http://britishschooltehran.com. Located in the lush green garden compound of the British Embassy and sharing space with the German School, Italian School, and French School, they are dedicated to offering a full curriculum for the children of expatriate workers up to the age of about 14. From music to math and most subjects inbetween, these international kids are taught in English with all the amenities, including computers for every child. Students learn about cultures across the world and receive ample attention from qualified teachers recruited in Australia, Britain, Canada, Iran, Poland - and I thought I heard an Irish accent too.

In contrast to it's Tehranian surroundings, The British School is an international island unto its own with the protection of the British Embassy location and the "British School" name maintaining its ability to operate through waves of political change. Unfortunately, due to that national categorization, the school is not able to offer attendance to any Iranian children, but it seemed clear to me that if it were possible they would welcome them with open arms. Indeed, their motto, "British by Name, International by Nature", almost rings true within the school's walls, if only Iranian children could be accepted.

The continual presence of The British School-Tehran maintains hope for keeping communication open with Iran, however after speaking with the headmaster, Peter Yates, and P.A. operations manager, Azar Azarnivar, their words told of the culture shock for recruited teachers, expats and their kids acclimating to the outside social structure. The turnover rate for their students is high due to the usually transient nature of their expat family's employment and the stress of maintaining a wise low-profile and limited social engagements while in Iran. One of the new teachers from Britain offered an interesting perspective stating, "It's a good fit if you're an introvert, but more challenging if you're an extrovert." The culture lends itself to the studious types, but is less fulfilling for expats seeking their usual social life or conspicuously crossing over into the Iranian lifestyle.

With regards to setting up the CultureKicks penpal program, it of course makes more sense to offer Iranian penpals to American kids (a work in progress), however this unique school of more than 145 children living in Iran offers another slice of reality worth knowing. After American kids interact with kids of various nationalities living and going to school in Iran, I believe they will feel Iran is not a fearful place completely shut off from the world - and we'll be another step towards the goal of communication.

First Impressions: The Chador Dance

I know I'm supposed to tell you that my first impression was one of apprehension and culture shock, but no. And I'm glad to report that the AK-47s, fearful glances, and cold shoulders were missing from the scene - yes, I'm being sarcastic. Instead it went like this:

Standing next to me in a short line at Iranian immigration, a Muslim lady in a head-to-toe black chador is overwhelmed by the weight of her luggage in one arm while trying to keep her newborn baby content in the other. Next thing I know, I'm entertaining the little one with silly faces and helping the woman with her bags as she talks to me in an English accent about how glad she is to bring the baby home to Iran. I still can't decide if it was the beautiful baby or the mother's toothy smile that was more disarming. So much for apprehension in a strange new land.

Passing through the customs gate, which looks more like a door meant for kindergartners, I'm whisked away by the friendly Bahman, our Iranian tour guide arranged through Global Exchange. As Bahman explains that his name sounds like "Batman", I almost don't mind that my bags are lost (ok, I'm not always lucky). We pass through Terminal 2 full of happy faces greeting their loved ones and walk out into the hot 7AM sunshine to grab a taxi to Grand Ferdoosi Hotel in Central Tehran. In the words of a Californian, I was getting "good vibes".

Driving out of Mehrabad International, the thumbnail image in the windshield of the Azadi Monument becomes larger and larger until its presence towers over us, letting me know I have now arrived. It is the Freedom Monument with an open, airy, yet stable appeal, built in 1971 to commemorate the 2500 anniversary of the Persian Empire.

And so begins my first entertaining traffic experience in Tehran. It should have been unsettling, even a little scary, but from a simple American's perspective I couldn't help but think someone just shouted "lights, camera, action". Swishing and jerking the taxi through throngs of pedestrians - the very young, old and seemingly ancient faces at times - we'd dodge a body here, near-miss a motorcycle there. Driving deeper into the city, it seemed the long black chadors came out in droves dancing with the traffic. Flowing long black images suddenly darting across a car-length, then a pause, a set of eyes searching for an opening, and another wave of long black cloth darting again. No one was hurt. Everyone flowed. It was like music.

Man doost doram enja ra. Enja kheyli khoub ast.

To Err In The Air

I'm inherently lucky - always have been. So when my Air France flight through Paris was cancelled I called on lady luck and played the "Iran" card, dramatizing a very important meeting in Tehran on Tuesday that could not be missed. The wide-eyed booking agent gave me the once-over finding it in her throat to say "Iraaan?". Twenty minutes later I'm resheduled to land at 6AM Tuesday in Mehrabad Int'l as the other passengers make their way to a comped hotel for the night. This is fun already - the mystery of Iran can come in handy.

My next exchange was a little more disappointing however. Of all people, I thought airline employees couldn't be phased by the novelty of a less-traveled destination - but more importantly, I would've guessed they could pronounce the name of major cities. According to a seasoned agent at Delta, I am now waiting for a flight to "TI-ran". Yes, he has now been corrected and will not make that mistake again!

"Why Are You Going To Iran?"

A few months ago I decided to join a Reality Tour with Global Exchange to Iran. Since then, I've been asked the bewildered question "why?" by Americans and Persians alike. Associating Iran with the media headlines, my misinformed American friends tell me to look out for terrorists and that I'd better brush up on some basic Arabic (not Farsi). My new Persian acquaintances, on the other hand, are at first a little confused but warm up quickly as they tell me how hospitable everyone will be since I'm a Westerner - not a trace of worry or fear in their eyes. By Monday night, I will touch down in Tehran and make my own opinion.