It was my first full day in Isfahan. As I was wandering the magnificent Emam mosque, two young Iranian girls came over to talk to me. They were maybe 14-15 years old and their lovely, smiling faces were framed by their black chadors, that all-encompassing garment that most woman wear in Iran. "What's your country?" they ask in halting English. When I answered they exclaimed, "America! We love America!"

Questions came as quickly as they could find the correct English words: "What city do you come from?" "What do you think of Iran beating America at soccer?" "Do you like Iran?" After a few minutes they exhausted their English and, I thought, their interest in me. They headed off but didn't get more than 20 paces before they came back with one last question: could they take their picture with me? So we waylaid a passing tourist to work the camera and the three of us stood together smiling.

As I walked off, I contemplated what this encounter said about women in Iran. The young, at least, weren't shy. I was delighted because I had feared I would only meet men on this trip - how lopsided that would have been.

A little later as I was crossing Eman Khomeini Square, the tourist center of Isfahan, I noticed a busload of schoolgirls. I didn't make the connection until the same two girls got off and said, "Come to the bus, the children have questions." As I stepped closer, all the windows went down. First, they would consult among themselves to get the proper English words and then someone would shout a question to me: "When did you arrive?" "Where are you going next?" "Do you like Isfahan?" They went on like that until the bus driver, who didn't look too happy, blew his horn to get everyone back on the bus. I stood there as they drove off, all waving at me. What a wonderful introduction to Iran!

Isfahan, Saturday, April 10
My seatmate on the flight from Tehran to Isfahan was a computer-networking specialist. As I also work with computers, we talked a little shop. When he found out that I had just arrived, and that this was my first trip to Iran, he insisted on getting a taxi and taking me to my hotel, the Abassi. After making sure I was ok, he headed off to work but said he would try to return later. I had a feeling he would too.

I was so excited to be in Isfahan, a city I had dreamed of visiting for years, I just dropped my bag in my room and headed off. In the street I consulted my map and walked toward Emam Khomeini Square, about 10-minutes away. It's a huge open area, an ex-polo field, full of pools, flowers and grass. At one end is the unsurpassed, Emam mosque, built in the 17th century and covered with magnificent blue tile. Around the sides are loads of tourist shops, another mosque and a palace: plenty of things to see. At the north end is the entrance to the bazaar. That's where I headed. I just wanted to stretch my legs: the mosques could wait until tomorrow.

I entered the winding lanes, thick with people, carts and motorcycles. The shops near the entrance were mostly aimed at the tourist trade selling jewelry, carpet, pottery and Persian miniatures. Father back there were the standard array of shops selling fabric, plastic pots, car parts and various hardware items: all the things of everyday Iranian life. I walked slowly and for the first time since I had left home, I felt that incredible rush of excitement that comes with visiting a new place. "I'm in Iran," I said to myself, "I really am in Iran."

In many ways this busy bazaar was like many others I have visited, but the frequent pictures of Ayatollah Khomeini, so revered in Iran and so vilified in America, made it clear that this bazaar was in Iran and nowhere else.

I walked the full length of the bazaar - about 3 miles - and came out the north end in a little market area. I walked over to a busy street and stood there looking for a taxi to take me back to my hotel. A cleanly groomed man in his middle years rode over on his bike and asked, "Do you speak English?" When I said I did, he looked at me intently and said, "We threw the British and the French out, all those who didn't believe in God." He paused, still looking directly at me. He then pointed at the sky and asked, "You think the sky is blue?" When I answered yes, he pointed down. "We think the ground is brown, very brown." He nodded his head several times and rode off. I stood for a few minutes trying to digest what he had just said.

Eventually I flagged down a taxi and, after a little bargaining, got a ride back to my hotel. I kept thinking about what that guy had said. Was there some message hidden there? Finally after a few days I decided he was simply a street-corner nut. My hometown has a few and I could imagine someone coming from abroad and, after hearing some of their rants, trying to make sense of it. I got a good laugh out of that. You can't take everything people say seriously.

Back at the hotel I took a nap: I was pretty tired. I had arrived in Tehran after midnight and then flown to Isfahan first thing the next morning. As I lay there before I fell a sleep I noticed something unusual, a marker on the ceiling pointing the way to Mecca - the direct Muslims face when they pray.

I didn't sleep long and woke up hungry. As it was 3:00, to late for lunch, I headed to the hotel café. Along with my food I had the first of many Delster, the non-alcoholic beer that is widely sold in Iran. This was probably the only downside to traveling in Iran: absolutely no beer and after a day in the dusty bazaar I sure could have used one. This wasn't the last I would lament the lack of beer.

As soon as I was done eating, I headed back over to Emam Khomeini Square. As it was raining a little, the only time it happened while I was in Iran, I decided to walk the tourist bazaar that surrounds the square. I wanted to check out the quality of the carpets and other tourist items. I also talked to a few of the touts, mostly guys wanting me to visit their shops. I found them quite pleasant: they always took a simple no to mean just that.

I got back to the hotel just after dark and found Mohsen, the computer network guy, waiting for me. Did I want to go for a walk he wanted to know? I was getting pretty tired, but yes, I would love to take a walk. The night was very pleasant and we strolled for a while in the nearby park. He then asked if I would like to meet his cousin, who had a camera shop. The word shop made me a little wary, but I said sure. His cousin, it turned out, was very friendly but spoke no English. Instead he showed me some pictures taken by his grandfathers who apparently was one of the first photographers is Isfahan. They looked to be turn of the century pictures and were very interesting. Mohsen translated the little stories that went with each.

Being in a shop, I was still waiting for the pitch. When it came it was quite subtle. "Do you need anything for your camera?" Mohsen asked. Before I thought I said, "No, I brought all the film I need with me." After that there were several long silences. Finally I realized it was time to go and said my good-byes. Thinking it over later, I wished I had bought a roll of film as a sort of thank you to Mohsen who had shown me such kindness. I think it would have been a more appropriate response.

Back at the hotel I stopped at the gift shop to get some postcards and stamps. I figured I had better mail early if I wanted them to arrive home before me. A young woman dressed in the standard black chador waited on me. As she was getting the stamps, I listened to the music playing softly in the background. "Hey," I said, "That's country music." "Yes," she said looking at me, "I love country music." "Well, so do I," I replied.

I had fantasized about bringing a George Jones tape and listening to it while I drove across the desert. I decided against it because I was worried it might cause complications at customs - so I never expected to hear country music in Iran.

Isfahan, Sunday, April 11
After breakfast I headed out to look for a place to exchange some money. The street rate is significantly better than the official bank rate and my guidebook suggested an exchange office that was nearby.

On the way, just around the corner in fact, was theological school I wanted to visit, Madrase-ye Charar Bagh. It was the pictures of its twin minarets and blue dome than inspired me to make this trip. I could see the dome from the garden of my hotel, but I had heard the school was closed to visitors. I had already walked by the previous day and found the door barred - still I hoped to get in somehow.

As I neared it I saw two tourists coming out and I hurried up to see if they had been lucky enough to get in. They told me they had opened the door, but then had been stopped by a guard. I took a deep breath - oh well, I'll try again later.

Up a few blocks I found my exchange office and exchanged $20 US for 152,000 Rials - that's fifteen 10,000 Rial notes, the largest bank note I saw, and some odd change. It's quite a bundle to carry, so it makes sense to cash only a small amount at a time.

Next I walked over to the Emam Mosque. It was the second reason I had come to Iran. I had seen pictures of its soaring blue-tiled domes and iwans (entrances) and wanted to see it in person. Pictures just don't do it justice: it was magnificent.

As always, I was eventually drawn to the bazaar. It's a wonderful place to wander, view Iranians at work and to meet people. I walked the full length again and this time stopped to visit the Jama mosque. While not as outwardly spectacular as the Emam mosque, it has a great central courtyard surrounded by four tile-covered iwans. (An iwan is the half dome entrance that Iranian mosques are famous for.)

I decided to take a taxi back to the hotel again. I stood out on the street in the same spot and looked around for one. As I was standing there, a car pulled up next to me. It had two men it in. It was a regular passenger car with no markings on it. The passenger said something to me in Farsi, the Iranian language. I didn't understand and replied in English. As we were trying to talk, a pedestrian came up and translated for us. They were offering me a ride and as soon as we established a price, I got in and off we went to the hotel. You go out in Iran and you never know who will bring you back.

I was unhappy with my hotel room. It was in the front on a busy street and quite noisy. I had asked for a different room before I left in the morning and when I returned I was given a new one. This one overlooked the quiet, central garden. I was very pleased and to celebrate I took a nap. Afterwards I had lunch at the hotel restaurant and then headed south to the river. I had read about the bridges and teahouses there: I was thinking about finding a nice place to sit and do a little writing.

To get there I had to walk down a busy commercial street where shops sold everything from Iranian music CD's to computer supplies; from fashionable clothing to appliances. As always I was surprised how friendly and curious everyone was, especially the women. Oh for sure, the more conservative were covered in black literally from nose to toes but many had some of their hair showing and/or were wearing makeup. I was beginning to think Iran was more liberal than I had heard.

The first bridge I can to was the Si o Se (Bridge of 33 Arches) and one of the loveliest in Isfahan. It's closed to motor traffic and a great place to stroll and watch Iranians. I saw a little teashop at the foot of the bridge, but the day was so nice I decided to walk west along the river a little more. I had read that there were more bridges down that way.

Not far along I saw a group of middle aged men siting in a row waiting to have their picture taken. One called out to me as I passed, "Where are you from?" When I told them I was from America, they insisted I sit and have my picture taken with them. They spoke very little English so I never found out why they were posing, but we had a good laugh together anyway. The Iranians I met were all good company even when we couldn't understand each other. When I got up to leave they all shook my hand good-bye.

Farther down at the Chubi Bridge I decided to have some tea. Out in the middle of the bridge, on one of the supporting pillars at water level, was a small teahouse. You could either have tea inside or outside on little carpet-covered benches. I went inside, ordered a pot of tea and then took a seat on one of the benches beside the water.

At the same time, a group of young men, university students I was soon to find out, sat down too. Of course they were as curious about me as I was about them and we had a lively conversation. They were standing and sitting all around me asking questions. One of the guys, he called himself a "laugh-man" because he told so many jokes, acted as translator. Some of his jokes were in English and some in Farsi. I suspect the ones in Farsi were sometimes at my expense, but it was all well intended. We spent a half-hour talking and then they took off. I stayed and wrote some.

Isfahan, Monday, April 12
I wanted to make one last attempt to see Chahar Bagh. On my way out in the morning I walked by again. There was no one around but the door was ajar. I pushed it open and stepped inside. I found a guard sitting there and he just looked at me. I walked over and asked if it I could look around. He motioned that I could walk around the entrance and look from there. That was fine: I could see the dome, the minarets that flank it and the pool in the center of the courtyard. There were lots of boys and young men walking around. Now I understood why it was closed to the public: it was a working school. I stood there drinking it all in. I took a few pictures and then left. I was delighted.

I had decided to enter the bazaar from the west side today. Here I found a busy industrial area. There were men sitting in a courtyard repairing carpet while others transported huge piles of carpets on hand trucks. Down a little lane I saw a cloud of steam coming from a huge vat. A man standing next to it motioned for me to come in. As I got closer I saw he was dyeing fabric. I watched for a while and when I left, he waved good-bye. No one seemed to mind me nosing around taking pictures.

As I continued my walk, an Iranian fellow approached me and asked if he could come along. We talked a little and then I saw something in a shop that interested me. It was a small world globe, about the size of a grapefruit, with all the country names written in Farsi. It looked like a great souvenir so I stepped in the shop and asked the price. After the owner answered in Farsi my companion picked up the shopkeeper's calculator and entered something. Then he showed it to me: 10,000 Rials. Not a bad price, but something didn't seem right.

I left the shop with the guy in tow. We walked a ways down the lane and then I stopped. I held my hand out and said, "It's been real nice talking to you. Good-bye now." He looked a little disappointed that our conversation had ended so soon. After I was sure he was gone, I returned to the shop and asked the price of the globe again: 4,000 Rials. Although it was not a lot of money, I hate it when people try to cheat me.

I had already decided I wanted to buy a small carpet or kilim in Isfahan. On my many walks through the bazaar I had been checking all the shops. Most of what I saw looked to be of poor quality, but I did find one shop that had lovely old carpets and kilims. It was on the north east side of Emam Square and called Nomad. I found a little salt bag there I really liked, but couldn't get them below $120 - I offered $100 and, when they refused, I walked out thinking that might get a lower price. It didn't and I spent the rest of the day debating with myself about that $20. These are debates I always loose. I really wanted that bag and later that evening I went back and bought it.

After lunch I decide to walk south, past the Si o Se Bridges, and try to find the Vank church. I wasn't all that interested in seeing it, but it was somewhere to go. Once past the bridge, the walk got real boring as there were no shops to look at. Getting close to where I thought the church should be I saw a traffic policeman. I had a picture of the church with me and I showed it to him. He just pointed in the direction I was already walking. He then thought for a moment and waved that I should follow him. We walked a few blocks together and then he pointed to a building, the church. He waved good-bye as I stepped inside. Just as I got there a small group of tourists arrived, so I just followed them around and saw the church. The paintings on the inside of the dome are quite impressive, but probably not worth the walk.

I then headed back to the Si o Se Bridge again. On the south side I saw a different teahouse. This one was under the bridge between the pillars. At the entrance there is a stand where I ordered a pot of tea. You can also get a water pipe there, if you wish. I then walked from pillar to pillar until I found an open table. At first there were little wooden gangplanks between the pillars over the river. Father back there were only little stepping stones. The river was rushing between the pillars and I had to concentrate to keep my balance. Finally I sat down and noticed that once again I was the object of great interest. "Where are you from?" I was asked. "Oh, America! Welcome!" I was told over and over again.

This teahouse was the single most interesting place I visited in all of Iran: the tea, the friendly people and the relaxing sound of the rushing water. It was completely unique and delightful. If I could go back to Iran right now, that's the place I 'd want to go.

As I walked back to the hotel I thought about tomorrow. I would be leaving for Yazd. I was sad to go and would have been happy to spend a few more days in Isfahan. The many tree-lined streets were interesting to walk and surprisingly clean. The people looked prosperous and the shops were full of goods. In fact,the only sign of the US embargo was the lack of US brand.

Traffic, always the bane of the pedestrian, wasn't that bad either but it did take me a few days to get the hang of crossing the street. Iranians just cross anywhere and simply walk slowly and let the car move around them. I never had the courage for that, I preferred to wait for a break in traffic. In general I found Iran to be more orderly, less hectic than other Middle Eastern countries I have visited.

That evening I received two phone calls. The first was from Mr. Rowshani, my travel agent in Tehran. He wanted to know how I was doing and to tell me I would be hearing soon from my driver. The second was from the desk clerk: the driver had arrived and wanted to know what time I would like to leave in the morning. We settled on 7:30.

Money Matters
For the western tourist, Iran is a cash economy. While I did hear rumors that you could use a credit card (I believe they said Visa was accepted) cash is still the preferred method of payment. I was also told that traveler's checks could only be cashed at banks. I took only cash so I have no personal experience with either plastic or travelers checks.

The official bank rate (April '99) was 6,800 Rials per US dollar. At exchange offices I got up to 7,900 Rials per dollar. Outside most exchange offices there were groups of men standing around with huge wads of 10,000 Rials notes: they can also do exchange for you. They will make themselves known - believe me. When the exchange offices were closed, I used them without any problem.

I rarely exchanged more than $20 at a time. I didn't want to carry a huge packet of Rials around and I didn't need that much money either. I had prepaid my hotels and found I spent very little: lunch/dinner never seemed to be more than $3; a taxi rarely more than $1; a Delster was usually $0.50 - and how many non-alcohol beers can you drink in one setting? For higher priced items, such as rugs, I bargained in dollars - but be careful. In some shops, those that deal primarily with Iranians, they will simply convert the price from Rials to dollars using the unfavorable official rate. In those situations it's better to bargain in Rials. By the way, I never found a shop that wouldn't take dollars.

The exchange offices and even shopkeepers seem to prefer newer US bills. I had one shop keeper refuse a 10 dollar bill I had been given as change at another shop because it was dated 1977. It was in good shape and had no rips or holes. I couldn't get the guy to explain why, but he was willing to lose the sale over it.

I found buying things in Iran was often confusing. First, the prices are always written in Arab numbers. You can ask that the price be shown to you on a calculator, but it is better to learn the Arab number - that way you can browse unaided.

Second, prices are almost always verbally quoted in tomans, but written in Rials. To get from Rials to tomans remove one zero from the Rials price, i.e. 10,000 Rials equals 1000 tomans. This was endlessly confusing to me and I found the best approach - for small purchases, at least - was to have the amount in question in my hand in Rials. I would ask, "How much?" They would say, "One Thousand." I would hold up a 10,000 Rials note and they would say, "Yes."

Only tourist items need to be bargained for - rugs, jewelry and the like. Other goods, such as snack food and goods in stores that deal primarily with Iranian, are fixed prices - and bargaining, as I found, only seemed to confuse the clerk. Imagine walking into a 7-11 and asking the clerk if he will knock 10 cents of the price of a can of pop.

Ann Arbor, Michigan
May 1999

Part Two: Yazd, Kerman & Bam
Part Three: Shiraz & Tehran
How I got my vias
Hotel reviews

Read more of my travelogues

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