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.