An American Woman in Iran:

By Janet Larsen

Last May, Janet Larsen traveled to Iran to join representatives from around the globe for an environmental summit. In the last of a three-part series, Larsen describes the beauty of Iran. From the architectural wonders of the city of Esfahan to the welcoming nature of Iran's people, Janet Larsen was exposed to a side of Iran not often seen by Westerners.

Esfahan nesf-e jahan. Esfahan is half the world. This half-rhyme just begins to sum up the grandeur of Esfahan's blue tiled domes and minarets, endless labyrinthine bazaars, fragrant spices, secret gardens and ancient palaces.

Because there are so few tourists, foreigners tend to stand out and are remembered.

The Iranian Department of the Environment had arranged the trip there for three associates and me. They all were at the May 2004 United Nations Environmental Programme conference and hailed from New Zealand, Canada and the United States. I was eager to soak up the city's charms.

The Safavid monarch, Shah Abbas the Great, moved the Persian capital to Esfahan at the end of the 16th century. He rebuilt the city around the Naqsh-e Jahan "Pattern of the World" Square, now known as Iman Square.

Today, horse-drawn carriages carry people past the dancing fountains in the center of the square, the world,s second largest after China,s Tiananmen Square.

The center of Esfahan

The shops on the square,s perimeter were filled with tapestries, miniature artwork, confectionaries, enameled copperware and piles of Persian carpets. The secret of the carpets? distinctive reds, blues and golds was revealed to me when one kind shopkeeper led me down a set of stone steps to a cavern-like basement room.

A single sunbeam shined through a hole cut in the ceiling, hitting a giant circular stone in the center of the room. This wheel was rolled over pomegranates and other natural items to coax out their brilliant hues.

The holy sites

In the nearby Jameh Mosque, Iran,s largest, I saw such carpets put to use by turbaned men at prayer time. Religious activity in this site dated back at least as far as the Zoroastrians in the 11th century. I walked in silence through the courtyards and arcades and among the imposing columns supporting perfect domes high above.

"Yes, I am a carpet seller. But I am not here just to sell carpets. You are a visitor. You are here for a good time. And I want you to have beautiful memories."

At the Zurkhaneh, "House of Strength," boys and men gathered together for a sort of religious gymnastics designed to keep up sound mind and body.

As a foreign woman, I was happy to be allowed in as sort of an honorary man. The champions of old sat in a line against one wall and photos of others from years past covered the high walls of the square room from floor to ceiling.

A drummer and chanter seated on an elevated platform rang a large bell to signal the participants to descend into the sunken ring. With his first slow drum beats, the men began doing pushups.

Gymnastics

Over the next hour, the pace escalated until the men were tossing heavy clubs made from tree trunks high into the air and spinning around in a blur, interspersed with recitation and chants.

An English-speaking Iranian explained on our exit that men had been calling out for peace and goodwill among peoples and nations.

Art and culture

I continued to make my way between holy sites and palaces. The paintings in Chehel Sotun ,40 Pillars, Palace, originally built for Shah Abbas II in the middle of the 17th century, were quite impressive, both for their artistry and for their depictions of musicians, dancing girls, lavish feasts and parties.

"We want you to have beautiful memories, because beautiful memories for you means no bombs for us."

I later learned that invading Afghans had covered some of these paintings with whitewash in the 18th century and that they only survived the 1979 revolution because diligent caretakers stood ground between the artwork and the fundamentalists keen on destruction.

In the entryway of the late 16th century Ali Qapu "Magnificent Gate" Palace, I met an Iranian woman who showed me how I could stand facing one corner of the entryway and hear perfectly her quiet voice across the room.

"It's like a telephone," she whispered into the opposite corner. She introduced me to her parents, sister, and nephew, who through her translation invited me to come to their home.

The Sheikh Lotfollah Mosque

Together we climbed to the Palace,s six-story terrace and admired the painted ceilings and the sparkling dome of the Sheikh Lotfollah Mosque across the square.

We ventured to the mosque, where my new friend pointed to where the turquoise and gold tiles that covered the interior walls spelled out verses of the Koran or the words Allah and Mohammed repeated in geometric script.

The realm of the divine

She explained that unlike in the palaces, the decorations of religious sites generally did not showcase human or animal forms, as their creation, even in symbolic form, was restricted to the realm of the divine.

On an English-language news show was prominent religious leader, translated as saying, 'America hates Iran because we love freedom.'

And so it went for the rest of my stay in this city filled with students of English, students of the world. I traded snippets of life stories with a group of female students in their first year studying English. Many had on dark lipstick and wore blue jeans under their trendy manteaus.

The most outgoing of the group, a trained midwife in her thirties, married and with a child, bought us all pineapple juice to sip as we discussed our common stories.

I shared my appreciation of the artistry of Iranian filmmaker Majid Majidi with one film student and she confessed her admiration for Stanley Kubrick.

Beyond pleasantries

Another woman said she was one-year away from earning a doctorate in mathematics. She proudly informed me that in universities in Iran female students outnumbered the men.

As with many of the other people I met in the country, our conversation moved beyond the basic pleasantries and the burning question came forth. "What do Americans think of Iran" Some went a step further. "Do they think we all are terrorists."

The American opinion

It was easy to state my personal opinion, but much more difficult to serve as a spokesperson for nearly 300 million people in a country of 50 states, half of which I have never visited.

How many people in the United States understand Iran beyond the unfortunate "Axis of Evil" moniker? I don't know. For better or for worse, many of the Iranians with whom I spoke with understood all too well that the views of a country's figurehead do not always represent the sentiments of its citizens.

Late one night, as we were flipping through the television channels, my New Zealand friend and I came across an English-language news show. If she hadn't been there to assure me that I had heard correctly, I might not have believed my ears.

There on the screen was a prominent religious leader, translated as saying, "America hates Iran because here we love freedom."

The weekends

When Thursday night came, the start of the abbreviated weekend, the city was filled with energy. I grabbed a quiet moment at sunset in a window seat of a teahouse set beneath the Chubi Bridge.

Dozens of bells and lanterns and colored lights hung overhead, the water of the Zayandeh River rushed by and the mildly scented smoke from the water pipes that graced many a table filled the room.

Iranian way of life

After the sun made its descent, I walked along the river passing several other bridges, marveling at the number of strollers silhouetted by the lights shining through the bridges, many arches.

Today, horse-drawn carriages carry people past the dancing fountains in the center square in Esfahan ? the world?s second largest after China?s Tiananmen Square.

I walked over to the Armenian quarter with its large Christian cathedral and enjoyed a warming stew and good conversation with the restaurant owner.

After eating their late dinners, families congregated in the public parks and gardens, spread out Persian carpets and set up elaborate teapots to converse well into the wee hours, children and all.

My New Zealand friend recounted trying to convey to one family, who had invited her to tea, that it probably would not be prudent for a woman to go to a park alone in the middle of the night in many major cities of the world.

A safe place

It was hard for her hosts to comprehend reasons why that would be so. "You could even sleep here if you wanted," they explained, gesturing around the grassy expanse. "Really." was her incredulous reply. "Well of course. It is warm enough now."

In sharp contrast to the worries of my own friends and family before my trip, it is hard for me to think of another place where I have felt safer. Other than a brief incident of being tempted with illicit playing cards from the inner pockets of a smuggler's coat, the few international travelers I did meet in Iran were without complaint.

Women travelers

I ran into my carpet seller friend again on my last day in Esfahan. By then, I had nearly gotten over the surprise that even in the city of some 1.6 million I still seemed to be recognized everywhere.

Because there are so few tourists, foreigners tend to stand out and are remembered. He approached me in one of the dusty and winding halls of the bazaar and asked if I was looking for my husband.

"My husband." I exclaimed, thinking of my husband far away in Washington. "Yes, your Canadian husband. Because he's around the corner buying some plates." A wave of concern passed over his face. "Oh, but maybe they're for a surprise. I shouldn't have said anything. I'm sorry!"

My laugh dissipated his concern. "No, it's okay," I assured him. "He's not my husband. Just a friend, probably buying an anniversary present for his wife."

Beautiful memories

His confused expression reminded me that traveling with a man other than my own husband was something of a novelty for those who could understand it and practically a scandal for those who could not.

I apologized that I had not bought any carpets on my trip. "Oh, no, no, no!" It was his turn to reassure me. "Yes, I am carpet seller. But I'm not here just to sell carpets. You are a visitor. You are here for a good time. And I want you to have beautiful memories."

A desire for peace

I nodded, another habit that seemed odd to the Iranians I met, but one I couldn't turn off, but before I could open my mouth to assure him that I most certainly had accumulated many beautiful memories, he continued. "We want you to have beautiful memories, because beautiful memories for you mean no bombs on us."