Teheran and Isfahan – Sept.

Teheran:

We arrived in Teheran amid a yellow cloud of pollution and appalling traffic. The traffic and pollution were my first impressions of this city, and they will be my last. There are 12 million people who live in Teheran, and they all seem to be on the streets at the same time. The traffic is chaotic, disorganized, and unruly. Drivers look right and turn left, make U-turns in the middle of the road, and back into reverse at high speeds into oncoming traffic. Traffic lights seem somewhat of a novelty, and when they do exist, they’re hardly paid attention to, as “Might makes Right” still seems to be the rule of the road here. Motorcycles, bicycles – and even cars – ride the wrong way down one-way streets. Pedestrian walks are practically non-existent. Generally, you must simply step off the curb, close your eyes, and hope that traffic will stop. It usually does; we saw several crashes and one pedestrian thrown over the hood of a speeding car. A taxi ran into Stephane. Traffic police stand alongside the streets and nonchalantly watch it all go by without even blinking an eye. Accident rates are one of the highest in the world. It’s not hard to see why.

The one good thing about this city is that even in all this chaos, the horn is rarely used, cutting down considerably on noise pollution. Another good thing is the lack of trash. Teheran is a very clean city, and Iran is a very clean country, something that is very much appreciated after seeing the trash of eastern Turkey and Syria.

Along with the heavy traffic comes heavy smog, which lies low over the city, sometimes completely obscuring the not-so-distant mountains. The fumes are such that I had a migraine since the moment we set foot in the city. Seven days in Teheran, seven days of migraines. Other travelers had headaches and sore throats. Some people wear facemasks in the streets to protect their noses and mouths. On bad days, the radio warns those with heart conditions to stay at home. It’s a real nightmare. What with the constant migraines and traffic, I hate this city. God’s forsaken city.

Even without the traffic and pollution, Teheran is without interest. The only color that adds some interest to the otherwise yellow smoke of pollution and mass of black chadors is the Barbie-pink of the public buses. It goes without saying that there is absolutely no nightlife. The city is deader than dead after a certain hour, as if the fairy godmother’s magic has turned everyone into pumpkins. There are only two interesting things to see in the city: the National Jewels Museum and the U.S. Den of Espionage.

The Jewels Museum houses some of the world’s greatest treasures, including the world’s largest uncut diamond, a pink one weighing in at 182 carats. Also, 24 of the world’s 127 best diamonds, nine of them weighing over 100 carats, are in the Museum. Plus, a 75-lb. Globe of Jewels, made of over 51,000 stones – emeralds, rubies, and diamonds. One of the most impressive pieces is the Peacock Throne, a splendid, bejeweled throne, over which several wars have been started. Some of the best pieces were the tiaras, the crowns, and the necklaces. There were also jeweled water-pipes, gowns, daggers, swords, guns, and snuffboxes.

The U.S. Den of Espionage – the old American Embassy – was interesting in another way. It is where students held Americans captive for 444 days just following the Islamic Revolution. There is a small, “Down with the U.S.A.” sign near the front door and a wall full of murals showing the government’s hatred of Israel and the United States. The most creative was a picture of the Statue of Liberty, her face replaced by a macabre skull.

I should write about the Teheran metro, as it was an experience in itself. It is like the Paris metro during rush hour and during a strike – only it is like this every day. There are separate cars for men and women and when the doors open, people push as hard as they can to get inside the cars without waiting for people to descend first. It’s a zoo. You get elbows in your chest, shoulders in your throat, the air literally squeezed out of you. I ended up with only one foot on the ground, my back twisted in painful, unnatural positions. The knot of the headscarf around my throat seemed to have me in a tight grip of strangulation; I had difficulty breathing. I was glad to be in the women’s car; the men’s looked even worse – as if they were all involved in an intense rugby match!

Aside from that, we spent way too much time at the Indian Embassy, begging for our visas. We go them not a minute too soon – in the last minutes of the last day before our plane left Iranian soil.

Isfahan, Jewel of Iran:

We escaped the fumes of Teheran to the relative peace and tranquility of Isfahan. Beautiful bridges cross its river and green parks border its riverbanks. It was a real pleasure to bike along the river. We had tea along the steps of the Khadjou Bridge, where men rested on the bench recesses in the arcade running down the center of the bridge and where old men and young boys fished. It was very peaceful, especially with the sound of the running water.

Isfahan being known for its teahouses, we tried several. One of them was located in the center of a small bridge, and what an ambience there was! A crowd of people, both men and women, drank tea and smoked water-pipes. Maybe there isn’t the taboo here of women smoking in public, like in Syria (as long as it’s in a teahouse and off the streets). It was funny to see all these young women in black chadors, smoking the pipes. We sat in an alcove by one of the windows, sitting on cushions Indian-style, listening to the sound of the river as it flowed by. Teapots and bright lights hung from the ceiling, an aquarium lit up the center of the room, and rugs and knick-knacks decorated the walls. I wondered if these teahouses were like the old opium dens of old.

Ali and Resoul, 18-year old students who were ecstatic to practice their English with a native speaker, joined us for tea in another teahouse by the Emam Khomeini Square. They wanted me to read paragraphs from “Animal Farm” for them – “with a real American accent.”

We shopped in the bazaar. Handicrafts, especially miniatures, were big in Isfahan. We found camel bone boxes, paintings, and perfume and mascara jars. We visited the Rose Garden of Martyrs (from the Iran-Iraq War), whose graves had photos of the deceased and which was especially sad when you saw how young those faces were.

The Emam Khomeini Square is the center of Isfahan, a square bordered by a palace, two mosques, and the shops of the bazaar. A large fountain and green park make it peaceful. The shops of the courtyard used to be the living chambers of the Shah’s 400-odd wives and concubines, and the courtyard used to be the playing grounds for polo matches for his Highness’ royal pleasure. Then there are the women’s mosque and the men’s mosque, the larger of which is reputed to be one of the most beautiful mosques in the world. They are painted in the stunning blue and turquoise colors for which Isfahan is so famous.

The Emam Khomeini Square forms part of the Isfahan UNESCO site, which you can find more information on by clicking on the section entitled “UNESCO sites” under the Iranian flag.

The International Children’s Film Festival took place in the big square while we were there. The police wouldn’t let us enter the square, and it took us a minute to figure out why. A 30-something man walked up to us and in front of the police officers, exclaimed, “Can you believe that in this crazy, f—– up country that men and women have to use separate entrances?!”