Iran Part 1: The People
I still don't have all my Iran pictures uploaded, but I'm working on the most important ones: the pictures of all the lovely people I met there. Islam has a strong code of hospitality that stresses the importance of treating guests well and though I have visited several Muslim countries, I have never seen hospitality and friendliness on par with that of the Iranians.
More pictures Iran itself will follow but for now, here are the people.
I met these two girls in Yazd. They're from Tehran, which is apparent from their manner of dress - dyed hair, more colors, and a bit brighter in general. Yazdi girls dress more conservatively - all black clothing (like me in this pic, but I swear I didn't plan it that way!) and more of them wear the chador than in the capital.
What is a chador?
Here. The girl in this picture with me is wearing one. Chador is the Farsi word for "tent," but when used in the clothing sense, it means an all-encompassing veil that covers the body from forehead to floor. It's usually black, and not normally worn open like this. Women hold it closed beneath their chin or opt for the "hands-free" mode by shoving it between their teeth. They do have clasps and zippers in Iran, but chador-wearing women shun all these add-ons in favor of being more traditional. It's not a burqa, it's entirely optional and when a desert headwind picks up, it can be a mysterious and beautiful sight.
What I'm wearing is called a manteau. Now that's French for "coat," but it means a long tunic when Muslims use the word. Mine was made of lightweight, gauzy fabric. Wearing it wasn't bad at all, but mind you, neither was the weather! I'll wait to sing the praises of Islamic dress until I go back in the middle of summer!
I cannot overstress the amount of interest and curiosity we generated as westerners in Iran. When the locals found out we were American, they flooded us with even more attention and inquiries. Everyone had two questions to ask before they moved on to any other inquiries: why did we come to Iran, and what did we think of their country? Most everyone who approached us spoke at least a few words of English. Some of course spoke more fluently than others, but everyone was trying to convey the same message: Iranians do not hate Americans. No matter what kind of sabre-rattling has transpired between the U.S. and Iran, it is between our governments only, not our people. We heard assurances along these lines over and over again. Some exchanges were so beautiful and heartfelt, they left me a bit misty-eyed. Though we did have some candid dialogue with certain people about their thoughts on the American government, not a single individual said anything negative about us as a people.
This is the only picture of me with an Iranian man. Our group was a good mix of men and women and we all found out as we traveled through the country that, according to Iranians and among themselves, men associate with men and women associate with women. This is true when asking for directions, riding the bus (they're all segregated), and hanging out with friends in public. Of course there are exceptions: couples go out in public together (but married or not, they don't touch) and Iranians hang out with family members of the opposite sex, but there isn't the same level of gender-neutrality as there is anywhere else, even in other Muslim countries. So when this man asked if he could take a picture with me, I reacted a bit warily. This was already two weeks into the trip, and all my interactions with locals (women), had trained me not to expect this. Still, he was very gracious, and he even gave me a little gift from his shop. The Iranian custom of taraof dictates that one must refuse a polite offer three times before accepting. Just to be sure, I refused about six or seven times before I finally agreed to take the colorful miniature painting of a hunting scene he insisted I have. It's now on the mantelpiece.
The schoolgirls all looked so sweet in their uniforms. Most of them wore pink, but there were schools here and there who wore lavender with gingham trim. So cute! I have a great picture of an entire school full of girls pouring into the entrance gate at Persepolis. They're quite a sight in a big group like that. Many of them weren't shy at all to speak with us, shouting "HELLOHOWAREYOU?" at us and either running off and giggling, or staying to exchange a few more words. The boys attend school separately, but they don't wear the cute pink uniforms, or any uniform at all - just ordinary clothes.
On our way to Yasuj, an out-of-the-way town midway between Shiraz and Esfahan, we happened upon this wedding party of Qashgai nomads. We were asked not to photograph the bride and groom, but everyone else chatted with us for a while and let us admire their clothing and take a few pictures. We did catch a glimpse of the bride, who was wearing a white dress and a ton of makeup.
These two nomadic women danced for us before the entire party piled back into their cars and hit the road again. We all felt very fortunate to find some nomads who, if only for a moment, were not on the move.
I love this picture. We found this group of teenagers under a bridge in Esfahan having a late-night jam session. The guys with guitars were singing some kind of call-and-answer rap song while the girls in back gossiped, took pictures and giggled. It seemed like they were having a great time and it was such a familiar scene, it could have been anywhere. I saw this evening as one more reminder of our similarities to Iranians, which is the feeling I took away from the whole trip.
Uh, oh...getting trite now. Gotta go. There's more to come. But for now, I have grocery shopping to do. My next photo post will be more about the sights. Maybe in a few days... :)