Iran Q&A

My British friend Chris and I in Isfahan

If I ever get to the point in life where I have an online mailbag, I’ll be elated.  For years I’ve read sports columns in this format...while envying the writers question by question.  So for my blog about Iran I’m getting to give the mailbag a shot...I hope you enjoy! (if anyone wants to send me emails about my sports opinions I could make that a mailbag too. What’s that? Nobody interested in that? Crickets...crickets....

Ok for real...

  

What was the most endearing aspect of Iranian culture? - Jordan and Lee Anne Johnson (Narok, Kenya)

Perhaps it's simplistic, but to me it still comes down to the people.  Nearly everyone we met took a genuine interest in us and warmly welcomed us to their country.  Those I met were keenly aware of their country's less than stellar global reputation, so it was important for them to show Iran as a friendly, welcoming place.  Just like any other country, the citizens don't necessarily agree with their government's decisions and policies, thus they're eager to help change that perception.  Regardless of their motivation, I saw Iranians as people who warmly welcome visitors...which is pretty endearing to a visitor.

As you already stated, the people are generally very nice compared to the "general consensus" or the politics of any country. Did you find that to be true, and who was the one person or personality that you met in Iran that really sticks out? Also, what was the one God thing that happened in Iran, because it seems that you got a Visa for a reason. -Scott Tageson

The average American doesn't have the most favorable view of Iran, and much of that is due to their political situation.  I as partially answered in Jordan's question; I did find the locals to be very kind and nonjudgmental.  One person who stands out to me is a man by the name of Amin, a man around my age, who I met in Isfahan.  He walked up to me and politely asked if I would have a conversation with him.  We talked for fifteen minutes or so about our countries, our jobs, our opinions, and our families.  At one point he asked me what I thought of the Iranian people and he seemed genuinely surprised that an American man spoke kindly of Iranian citizens.  Later he said, "You don't think that all of us are terrorists?"  "Of course not" I replied. He asserted (as did a variety of others that I met throughout my time there) that the negative opinions of Iran are the fault of American propaganda.  I assured him that the vast majority of Americans don't consider all Iranians to be terrorists and told him that it's a shame extremists can end up defining their home countries.  After we finished talking, he asked for a picture with his camera phone so that he could tell his friends that he met an American.  With a smile he departed and said "please greet your family and friends back home...pleasure to meet you." 

I would have liked more time to talk with Amin so that I could ask his opinions on his own government.  Even so, he was very engaging, kind, and intelligent, and I'll choose to remember Iran by Amin and people like him instead of their government.    

Did you have tea with anyone? If so, I'd like that story. -Michelle Arnold (Nashville, TN)

I actually didn't have tea with anyone, though I was invited.  On our last morning in Tehran, I stood on the elevator with a man and who told me he was in Tehran to take his wife to the hospital and we had the following conversation:

Iranian man: I came from far to take my wife to the hospital...she is a little unwell but should be ok.
Me:  Well I hope she gets well soon and is seen quickly today
IM: Yes, yes, thank you.  Do you have a wife?
M: No, I sure don't
IM: haha...oh, you see for me two wives, three wives...no problem!
M: (chuckles) yea, that would definitely be a problem for me
IM: Please...for tea?

So I did successfully get an invitation for tea, but I had to turn my new friend down because we were leaving for the city of Isfahan a few minutes later.
Another interesting elevator story...
In the same elevator several days later (we returned to Tehran to fly out), a man asked my friend Bev and I where we were from as we entered the elevator.  I've been a bit reluctant to divulge my nationality considering the tension between the US and Iran so I replied "Our group is from England." (I thought that was a clever response since I avoided the question without lying)  He said "I am from Iraq, why did you come destroy everything? Tony Blair destroyed everything!" I didn't really know how to respond to that and since he had a smile on his face I knew that he had no ill intentions toward me so I just said "If it were up to me, that wouldn't be."

How does Iran compare to the rest of Africa? –Adam Griffith (Ft. Myers, FL)

Sunset in the Iranian countryside

Funny question, Adam (he's joking about Iran being in Africa fyi).  My African experiences are isolated to Kenya and Uganda, and those countries are vastly different from Iran. For one, Iran is certainly more developed than eastern Africa.  The infrastructure is fairly good and modern convinces are readily available.  Kenyan roads are comically bad (but getting better...that new road from Nairobi to Narok is glorious!), whereas in Iran we enjoyed miles and miles of well paved interstate.  Perhaps the only way that Iran reminded me of Africa was in the scenery.  Like parts of Kenya, desert with sparse vegetation extend to brown mountains on the horizon.  This makes for beautiful sunrises and sunsets but little else. 
                Culturally, however, Iran and eastern Africa (and pretty much everywhere else I've been) are completely different.  In Iran, everything operates within the confines of the restraint of the Islamic government. Media is closely controlled; every newspaper and TV broadcast (at least all I saw) extols the government for its competence, lauds the national military strength, and portrays the west (specifically the USA) as arrogant aggressors intent on keeping Iran from prospering.  The most obvious way to see Islamic law is within the dress of the women.  At all times while in public, ladies must keep their heads, legs, and arms covered.  In Kenya and in maybe other parts of the world there's certainly a cultural dress code that should be observed, but this one felt different.  I think part of it is because there's a lack of color...everything is black, brown, or (if you're really getting flashy) dark blue.  In Eastern Africa you often see women in vibrant colors, and that's not the case in Iran. 

Hmmm, questions... here we go. On the whole how would you describe the demeanor of the people you encountered? Was there a consistent military presence? Did you ever feel/were you ever followed? Love you buddy be awesome. –Mike Sheagren (Ft. Myers, FL)                           
                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                      

Demeanor of the people:  Overall, I'd say people are friendly and helpful in Iran. With the few exceptions of people being sullen and grumpy (like anywhere else), the Iranian people are wonderful.  Smiles are universal and I saw a lot in Iran.

Military: I actually didn't see much of a military presence.  Aside from a few bases and the like that we passed, I didn't see anything.  I did expect to see guards and men with guns everywhere but that was not the case. 

Were we followed:  When we got to our tour bus, I thought it was strange that we had 2 drivers plus one tour guide.  We were told that we had a backup driver for when our regular driver was tired. Our backup driver never touched the wheel and was as always careful to do a headcount each time we loaded up in the van.  He never said much and constantly kept a watchful eye on everyone.  He didn't speak a word of English but seemed like a nice, helpful guy. His presence may have been merely for security purposes, but regardless, we were monitored.                              

OzBus friends in Isfahan

Alright, that's it for the Iran mailbag...if you're interested in knowing more about my time in Iran, feel free to ask more questions. Also, if I have posted a ton of new pictures on Facebook...check em out here. I'll be posting about Nepal and the rest of my time in India in the next few days.  Thanks again for reading/supporting...

More India and turning 27

After leaving Armristar, we made a stop at a small town on the way to Jaipour.  We didn’t know anything about this location and didn’t have much time to discover it, so six of us left the hotel just to explore.  We made it about 200 yards off the premasis when a man my around age approached and started talking.  Unfortunately, I’ve become suspicious in India because conversations often start as friendly and enjoyable and quickly turn to a sales pitch or a not so subtle ask for money. However, my friend here seemed much more interested in discussing Richard Gere, the US, and the various downtown London department stores than trying to sell me postcards.  After walking for a while he asked where we were going, and I told him we were just exploring-looking for a park, palace, or temple.  He then told me the location of a local temple and volunteered to show us the way and give a tour…what a great guy!  Along the way, we passed a veterinary university where our friend was enrolled.  He explained his studies and the activities that take place on campus and that one of the main forms of recreation is basketball. My eyes lit up on hearing that, and I told him how much I love to play.  “You want to play? Come now,” he said.  Sure enough, the school had a fabulous outdoor full court where a dozen or so guys were playing, so we walked up and asked to join in.

After Awal and I each took a few practice shots (both firing up glorious airballs on our first attempts), the guy who seemed to be the ring leader asked us to play 2 on 2.  Of course we did. (Asking me if I want to play basketball has always been about like asking Dwight Schrute if he’d like a little more authority…the answer is always yes, even if I don’t know what I’m doing).

The two best players jumped out to play us and the rest formed a small crowd along the baseline. Initially, it looked bleak for the Americans.  Before we could shake off the rust we found ourselves down 4-0 (playing to 11 by ones and twos) when I decided I’d be better off playing barefoot instead of playing with flip-flops.  The change seemed to help and we brought it to 8-4 when our tour guide came over to tell us it was time to go to the temple.  Our basketball buddy told our guide “Please do not disturb us as we are having great fun,” so our group headed on to the temple and we stayed to finish up. (pretty nice way for our buddy to tell the others to go away)  We weren’t about to go down quietly, so Awal went back to his roots and started playing fundamental Indiana basketball (sharp passes, solid defense, strong rebounding, quick cuts), I found my quick-fatboy low-post game (jump hooks, head fakes, put backs, spin moves), and we pulled out an 11-10 comeback victory.  Go us.

We high fived a few people and briefly talked the guys there when our opponent offered to give us a ride back to the hotel.  Three sweaty (and not so small) guys hopped on his little Honda motorbike and rode the mile or so back to our hotel.  What a kind and generous gesture from our new friend.

Awal and I got to play pickup ball and the rest of our group received a free tour of the local temple, all thanks to the generosity and hospitality of the Indian people.  I’m learning that many citizens here treat foreigners as their own personal guest; it’s quite an honor to be their guest.


Jaipour, India

Jaipour, I learned, is one of the most visited cities in the country for its forts and other historic monuments.  The city itself is the first place in India where the crowd and poverty truly struck me.  Jaipour is a fairly compact town, so I was shocked to find out that the population is over 3 million (about half the population of the entire state of Tennessee).  The vast amount of people in a small space is perpetually evident.  Each street is bustling with cars, buses, rickshaws, livestock, dogs, pedestrians, salesmen, and children.  Even the side streets are packed.  We rolled into Jaipour in the late evening on the 5th so all there was to do was find dinner and go to bed.  Awal and I weren’t too crazy about the idea of hotel food so we decided to go for a walk until we found food. Our friend Frankie came along with us, so she ended up being dragged into a guys night out.  After stumbling into some rougher parts of town, we backtracked to a main road when I spotted a familiar sign: Pizza Hut.  Since it would be my 27th birthday in a few hours, what better place to be than in a Pizza Hut? (Anyone else remember the Pizza Hut Kids Club? You’d get a free personal pizza on your birthday and a lame Land Before Time toy or something like that…I much preferred the crappy basketballs they gave out every March)  We all enjoyed a western treat and headed back to the hotel to hang out on the roof. (By the way, considering my affinity for the night sky and cool breezes, I love rooftops…especially if I have a cold drink and a guitar)  We sat around telling stories, playing guitar, and singing along for around an hour.  Suddenly, I noticed a solitary firework explode in the distance.  I looked at my watch and there it was: 12:00 midnight…my 27th birthday.  In celebration, Awal ran around and danced a ridiculous jig while saying “happy birthday” over and over.  We then decided that it would be a good idea to jump off a nearby 2 foot ledge and take a take a picture in the process (if done correctly, it would look like we were jumping off the side of the building).  Initially, Awal and I jumped while Frankie tried to get the picture.  Our first few takes didn’t turn out so well, so Awal and Frankie switched.  We took another jump, and though I landed just fine, Frankie did not.  Instead of landing nicely on her foot, she landed on its side, severely spraining her ankle in the process.  Being the fine young men we are, Awal and I took good care of her and since each of us had dealt with severe sprains before, we knew what to do.  I’ll never forget that I spent the first few minutes of my 28th year searching for ice in Jaipour at 12:15AM…not so easy. (side note, she is recovering nicely)

The next day, we had a full day of sightseeing scheduled.  We explored a palace which possessed an encircling 9km wall as well as a few other monuments.  I know there were plenty of nuggets of cultural significance throughout the day, but I can’t say that I remember any.  Though I enjoyed it all, nothing really stood out to me.  Most likely the reason for that is that I spent much of the day lost in my own personal reflection.  For me, every birthday is a reference point for where I am in life, so I thought about where I’ve been, where I am, and where I’m going.  A large part of the reason I’m on this trip is that I wanted to take time just to think and write.  So on the 6th, I did a lot of thinking to myself.  No talking, just sorting out changes, chaos, excitement, and tragedy of the past two years.  As this grand journey continues, I hope to continue to make time to think, write, and listen.

I still have some catching up to do for India (we went to the Taj Mahal and caught one night of the Commenweath Games in Dehli) but I’m most excited to talk about Nepal.  My next few updates should be more interesting…full of rhinos, elephants, water, adventure, and my answers to questions about Iran.  As always, thanks for reading

Amristar, India

Amritsar, India

After our semi-stifling week in Iran, I anticipated India being a refreshing change…it was.

When we arrived at the Tehran airport, I expected a bit of an ordeal going through customs and immigration.  As I learned from my border entry experience, the guards don’t see many US passports come through and considering all the “random” screenings given to middle eastern people in an American airport, reciprocity seemed certain.  However, I received a nonchalant passport stamp and passed through the second most lax airport security system I have ever seen without a single interruption. (The most lax I’ve ever seen was in Liberia, Costa Rica where I threw my bags on a cart that passed through something that resembled a drive through window more than an x-ray machine and walked through a metal detector that was supported on 3 sides by cinderblocks) 

We flew directly from Tehran to Amritsar, India, a small but significant town near the India-Pakistan border.  Our first afternoon we drove out to the border where every day the two nations engage in an elaborate ceremony.  Soldiers from each country assemble outside the government building within their respective national boundaries and demonstrate their marching techniques to an energetic crowd of roughly 3,000 people.  We sat on the Indian side and it was difficult to see what was going on behind the Pakistan border, but it seemed like each group of soldiers were doing the same sort of marches.  The ceremony culminates with each side opening the gate to their country and soldiers lowering the flags of their respective countries while saluting one another.  Perhaps the most entertaining part of it all is before the actual ceremony begins.  Loud, upbeat music plays as women take turns running the Indian flag up and down the street and then joyously dance together (men aren‘t allowed to run the flag…after seeing some teenage boys down there getting in line to run I thought I‘d give it a shot…nope…”Gents not allowed“).  After spending a week in Iran where at best women have to live in cultural restraint and at worst are an afterthought, seeing women honored and appreciated here was refreshing. The pageantry is fun, but the atmosphere is what makes the border ceremony so enjoyable.  If you’re not dancing, chanting, clapping, waiving a flag, or cheering, you’re at least smiling.  Maybe I was just enjoying the moment, but I felt a sense of great  national pride all around me without an ounce of nationalism.

After the border ceremony, we made our way to the Harmandir Sahib, or Sikh Golden Temple.  By the time we arrived, night had fallen and the temple was beautifully illuminated.  I didn’t know a thing about Sikhism, but I learned much by the atmosphere of the temple and the attitudes of the people.  An enormous marble entryway (one of four to signify openness to visitors) led us into the temple where a golden structure sits in the middle of a football field sized lake.  Though not crowded, the temple was most certainly full when we entered.  In every direction people prayed, meditated, slept, sang, and bathed.  The temple is open 24 hours to anyone, and they even feed thousands a day…all for free.  While walking around and taking it all in, my friend and fellow Oz-Bus tripper Frankie asked me “I know this isn’t your religion, but do you feel close to your God in here?”  To which I replied “Ten times out of ten I feel closer to God in nature…at the mountains or the beach.  Structures don’t do much for me.  However, I cannot help but appreciate these people who believe in something bigger than themselves and warmly welcome all comers.  They even feed them and give shelter if it’s needed.  I definitely feel God in that.”

My feeling of welcome was soon confirmed.  On a peninsula in the center of the lake stands the part of the temple that gives the namesake. Awal and I wanted to check it out, so we proceeded up the walkway to the golden building and ran into a long line.  At this point, we decided to turn back and pass on going inside the main part of the temple.  First of all, we weren’t sure if it would be disrespectful for us to enter, and second we thought the line would take a long while.  Seeing that we had turned around and started back the other direction, an older man in traditional Sikh dress gently snagged my t-shirt as I was passing by. “Why are you turning back?” he asked.  I replied that the line was long and I wanted to remain respectful.  With kindness and sincerity in his eyes he said “Please…please come inside.  The wait is not long, and you are most welcome here…please.”  This man knew good and well that I’m not Sikh, but he not only welcomed me, he urged me to go inside.  I smiled, thanked him and Awal and I turned back to enter. 

The entrance was packed, so we walked through in a semi-hurried crammed mess, but a respectful semi-hurried crammed mess nonetheless.  We passed through so quickly, that I struggle to remember may details aside from the fact that everything is ornate and either gold or red and in the very center, the Sikh holy scriptures sit with dozens of men and women sitting in worship.  Mostly I admired the devotion of these people and understood that likely someone near me was making their once in a lifetime trip to this holy place…a landmark life moment they’d never forget.  As we exited, two lines formed where people receive free food from one of the Gurus.  Initially, Awal and I walked past, again fearing we’d be disrespecting.  One of the Gurus made eye contact with me as we skipped around the line and to the exit…he smiled and motioned with his hand for us to get in line…so we did.  I approached his station (sort of a massive wok with a mound of mysterious brown mush) cupped my hands and received, from my new friend’s bare hands, my portion.  I’m still not entirely sure what it was I ate…something like cornmeal with brown sugar…but the makeup and taste of the food isn’t important…the act of giving and providing, however, is.  Departing from the temple that night I realized that like the people making their once in a lifetime pilgrimage, I too had an experience that I’d never forget.

More updates soon to come, including answers for the Iran questions.  My apologies for my lack of updates and pictures. I've not been able to update pictures because the connections have been painfully slow.  I hope to have good internet soon...but who knows?

Thanks so much for reading

Where Americans Can't Go: Iran

After Cappadocia, we spent two days driving nearly non stopped, and two uneventful nights in smaller Turkish towns on the way to the Iranian border.  Before I left for this trip, nearly everyone who saw my itinerary said something to the effect of “Iran…woah…be careful there…aren’t you nervous about that?”  To which my reply was something like “There’s no way I’ll get a visa to Iran anyway, so it won’t be an issue.”  Lo and behold, two weeks before our trip departed, I received an email stating that my visa had been approved.  Americans simply don’t get into Iran…the only time any of us do is if the traveler is with a tour group, and if the visa is obtained in Istanbul.  So on our first morning in Istanbul, I went to the Iranian Embassy and picked up my visa.  If you know me well, you know that I don’t really get nervous or unsettled about much, but I must admit…going to Iran made me a little uneasy.

I’ve been enough places to know that regardless of government policy and prevailing stereotypes, the people you meet and with whom you interact are almost always friendly and helpful.  So even though I was a little unsettled,  I felt that once I got into the country all would be well.  The process of getting in, however, could get hairy.  *One additional note: Although I received an Iranian Visa, Awal did not.  Apparently it was merely a clerical error, but either way his application was not in Istanbul and he (with two others) stayed behind in Turkey, so I was the only American making this journey.

The Turkish-Iranian border is a beehive of travelers, guards, officials, guys trying to make a buck exchanging money, and kids who have nothing better to do than watch it all transpire.  I passed through the Turkish side with little incident, entered the no-man’s land, and approached a gate bearing a massive Iranian flag with the images of two of Iran’s leaders and the greeting “Wel come to the Islamic Republic of Iran.” Moving forward, I handed my passport to the boarder guard who gave my blue passport (which stood out among the 20 some red ones) a double take.  He gave me a half grin-half chuckle as he returned my passport and said with inquisitiveness in his voice “America…ok, go.”

I spent the next two hours or so waiting on paperwork, getting fingerprinted, and as my British friends say “fretting” over the whole situation.  Eventually, my visa was stamped and my blue fingertips and I were sent into out of the building where a gentle mist and distant storm clouds greeted me as I stepped onto Iranian soil.

I have so much to say about Iran…so much that I’m struggling to write it all.  I’d like some help on this one.  Please send me a question about my time in Iran…any question at all and  I’ll answer each of them in an upcoming post.  All I’ll say at this point is that I learned a great deal, met plenty of wonderful people, and remained safe throughout.  So please send me your questions and I’ll give a good and thorough answer…maybe sprinkle in a story or two.  Thanks!