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A Bridge to Iran
February 03, 2009
 Montanans work to build a bridge of peace between United States and Iran
It's 4 a.m. and I wake to the sound of singing.
Somewhere outside the hotel, the voice of a man
singing the daily call to prayer floats over the city,
which in a few hours will be teeming with millions
of people.
I'm in Esfehan, a beautiful city deep in the country
of the Islamic Republic of Iran, and I'm in a
different world. We've traveled far from Montana
to visit this distant place, to witness a culture and
a country that Americans seem to know very little
about.
"You're going where?" people asked me as I was
preparing to leave for Iran. "Why would you want
to go there?" they asked.
Good question, on the surface.
But I and the other 18 people from around the
United States, including five from Whitefish, who
ventured to Iran in April 2008, wanted to find out
who these people are that the U.S. government so
adamantly wants to be enemies with.
And somewhere over Holland I realized the U.S.
has got it all wrong.
It was in the Amsterdam airport, the last leg of the
trip before flying into Tehran, that I first started to
get a sense of what kind of people Iranians are.
At first, though, I was anxious and uneasy. Sitting
in a crowded airport waiting area with about 200
other people, most of them Iranian, the looks from
the Iranians did little to assuage my concerns;
many regarded me from afar with a bit of distant
bewilderment; after all, what would an American
be doing boarding Iran Air?
But that was where the preconceived notions and
ill-conceived prejudices toward Iran vanished.
Upon boarding the airliner, I was promptly
welcomed to the party. Iranians, old and young, approached me, wanting to practice their
English or learn about America, a faraway place
where many of them will never have the freedom
to venture.
Throughout the entire six-hour flight from
Amsterdam to Tehran, my traveling companions
and I were besieged with questions, conversations
and small talk from the Iranian people. While
Europeans and Americans are content to hide
themselves in a book or movie on an airplane, the
Iranians are all about the conversation. It was like
a cocktail party at 35,000 feet (although Iranian
Muslims are forbidden to use alcohol, and you
won't find it on an Iran Air plane, or anywhere
legally in Iran.) There were people standing in the
aisles and people milling about; it was as if
everyone knew everyone, or at least was
uninhibited enough to introduce themselves.
Here, on the plane, all defenses were down for
the Iranians and me and we talked openly about
our governments, our countries, our way of life.
When we landed in Tehran, the capitol of Iran that
our government would like to denounce as that
denizen of militant Muslims, the courtesies
continued, even by the customs officers who
detained us for almost two hours at the Khomeini
Airport.
We were fingerprinted and sat waiting in a stark
hallway of the airport, but when we were released
by the customs agents, they were actually
courteous and they even apologized for detaining
us. "We have to fingerprint Americans now
because the U.S. started doing that to Iranians,"
one customs agent told us, apologetically.
That sincerity was extended to our group
throughout our two weeks in Iran.
Getting to Iran is not simple. Each visa application
from Americans is scrutinized by the Iranian
Interests Section in Washington, D.C., and it takes
months to get a visa to travel in Iran. Our visas
appeared only an hour before our flight departed
from Kalispell. Two people who had hoped to
travel with us were denied visas entirely.
I was traveling with a plaid mix of young activists,
retired hippies, a socialist, Quakers, a carpenter, a
yoga teacher and a few scholars and professors.
They were among a group organized to try to build
peace between America and Iran.
The trip was spearheaded by Sam Neff and Ruth
Neff, a Whitefish couple. The Neffs are strong
believers in world peace and they have led trips to
Cuba and the former Soviet Union to help build
relations between the United States and those
countries.
"I was concerned about what George Bush was
saying about Iran," Ruth Neff said. "We just felt it
was important for America to open its doors to
Iran."
We braced ourselves for the worst: kidnapping,
torture, any number of things that could happen to
American tourists in Iran at least that's what
people warned us about. After all, nearly every
American I spoke to before I left for the trip
harbored some kind of prejudice toward Iran.
What most Americans likely remember about Iran
is the hostage crisis of 1979, when American
students were held captive in the American
embassy in Iran for over 400 days. When you think
of Iran, most people like think of chanting, flag-
waving Muslims shouting anti-American slogans.
But that's the farthest from the truth you could ever
be about this country. In fact, we were told that
those types of demonstrations that you see on
television are usually choreographed by the Iranian
government.
During our stay in Tehran, our hotel was just
around the corner from the U.S. embassy where the
hostages were held. It's been closed since the
hostage situation and there is no longer a U.S.
embassy in Iran (although the Obama administration is considering opening an Interests Section in Tehran). The best you can do is work
through the Swiss government if you need help.
The U.S. Embassy is an eery place sprawling over
several blocks, its tall brick walls emblazoned
with anti-American slogans. That was the only
place in Iran where we saw any kind of anti-
American propaganda. Our tour guides, in fact,
seemed openly ashamed that we had to even see
it.
We spent three days in Tehran. The capitol is a
bustling city of more than 17 million people, with
crowded bazaars, quaint sidewalk shops, beautiful
historic mosques and polluted air you could
practically walk on. That's because with gas prices
at about 30 cents a gallon, everyone drives.
In the bazaar, miles of tiny shops face long, narrow
alleys, where motorbikes compete with pedestrians
and pushcarts, and vendors hawk everything from
carpets to spices, watches to underwear. The
bazaar, where Iranians do most of their shopping,
is a fast-paced mix of people, sights and sounds.
At noon, the shops close down, and the workers are
given a break to attend prayer. At this time, the
beckoning call of the prayer floats above the noisy
din of city life, and the shops become quiet.
Americans must have tour guides in Iran, and for
good reason. When Hillary Clinton, during her
election campaign, made a remark during a speech
in the U.S. about bombing Iran to protect Israel, our
tour guide informed us that we were, in fact, being
watched by Iranian secret service. Other than that
incident, after which we were told to not go out at
night, we felt completely safe and welcomed in
the country.
One of our fellow travelers, from Seattle, said it
didn't take long after being in Iran that her
preconceived notions began to vanish. Still, she
said, "It's amazing what an impact those messages
that you've been seeing about Iran since you were
a little kid have on you."
IRAN IS A COUNTRY of rigid custom, due in
large part to its theocracy and worship of Islam.
On Fridays, Iran commerce shuts down completely
for Friday prayers. This is also the day that people
drive, en masse, to local cemeteries to pay
respects to the deceased. On this day, on busy
highways four lanes wide, buses, cars and
motorcycles stream to the cemeteries with roses
draped around them and vendors line the highways
selling their rose bundles.
The strict demarcation of males and females in
Iranian society is evident not just on the streets
and in public, where the women must cover their
heads and not wear tight clothing, but also in
cemeteries. The women are buried in one section,
the men in another, and neither can enter the area
where members of the opposite sex are buried. One
Friday we saw family members huddled over a
grave, sobbing and pouring rosewater on the
headstones. One large cemetery in Tehran has over
300,000 graves.
The bodies of the dead are never cremated. On the
first day after the bodies are buried, the spirit is
said to remain with the body for two days, so on
the third day, family members return to the
gravesite to pray for the departing spirit. On the
seventh day, the family prays at the grave for the
returning spirit, and on the 40th day, a large
ceremony begins at the gravesite for invited friends
and members of the family. Only until then can
final preparations for the dead's estate be settled.
From Tehran we traveled by bus south, to the old
village of Kashan, where we toured a palace set
among the scrubby foothills of the Alborz
mountains. Kashan is an ancient town, set along
the old Silk Route. But rather than trading in silk,
roses are one of the predominant products made
here. The roses are made into rosewater, which is
used for holy water.
Further on we traveled to the tiny mountain village
of Abyaneh, a 14th-century village that clings to a
rocky hillside dotted with rectangular, red-clay
houses. There was snow on the high peaks, and a
tiny river twisted its way through the village of
Abyaneh. Far in the valley below us, the dust of
the desert and urban life settled into a brown haze,
but here the air was fresh and clean, almost like
Montana.
Here we found relics of past civilizations. A castle
perched on a mountain bench crumbled into the
sand, and fortified caves with strong wooden doors
were dug into the hillsides. Next to the crumbled
castle is a satellite dish: another juxtaposition in
this land of never-ending contrasts.
We stayed at the Hotel Abyaneh, a new hotel that
sits above the tiny village. At night we sat on large
carpets to smoke the kalyan, a Turkish-like water
pipe, savoring lightly flavored tobaccos and
sipping on tea.
The village of Abyaneh is inhabited by herders and
farmers in a deep, green valley bordered by tall
scrubby mountains. The people of this village had
a charm all their own. In Abyaneh there were strict
customs of language and clothing. The women
wore brightly colored hijab, similar to Peruvians, a
tradition for this mountain village. (Hijab is the
name for the covering that all women must wear in
Iran.) This village is a stark contrast to Tehran,
some five hours away. As night falls, the sounds of
10 million city people in Tehran were replaced by
the wail of a lone coyote high in the rock outcrops
above the village. Across the street from the hotel,
a goat bleated from inside a stick hut that was
tucked into a gulch. Here, a man lived in a small
circular hut with no roof and only a bed made of
leaves.
ONE WAY IRAN is like Montana is that the cities
are distant and far flung. You don't get anywhere
without a significant drive, and the one from
Abyaneh to Esfehan is a long arduous one through
high, barren desert.
Leaving Abyaneh, our bus passed a military
fortification in the desert where anti-aircraft tanks
were lined up, their long gun barrels pointed west
toward the horizon of the Alborz mountains. A
nuclear power plant was said to be nearby, and we
are told strictly not to take any pictures around this
place as we travel through. (This is common in
Iran when we are near military installations or
government buildings: no photos.)
Along the highways, families picnic here and
there, huddled under a single tree or in the shade
of their car. Iran seems to be a society that consists of two
classes: lower and middle. From my interviews with shop owners, business people and college students, the middle class shares a frustration of restricted economic and personal freedoms. "Some day our country will be a museum that I will take my children to see," said Hossein, a
young man who ran a carpet business in Esfehan.
"It is a bit difficult to explain the real situation
here. The Iranians are a very talented people, if
only they had the self confidence. It is a country
based on two emotions: joy and fear.
"We are living in a very lovely prison."
The joy, he said, arises from the proud history that
all Persians share, dating back thousands of years.
The fear, he said, comes in part from knowing that
you could be arrested for drinking alcohol or being
with a woman who is not your wife. Stress also
comes in the form of 17 to 30 percent inflation,
stagnant wages and high cost of living. The
American economic embargo with Iran has hurt the
country also, Hossein said.
"We are not asking for simply a change. We are
asking for real change," Hossein said. "The U.S.
offers many things to the world, as we offer many
things."
With their strong history and their keen sense of
who they are as a culture, many of the Iranians I
spoke with were looking toward the West and
seeing things they themselves might like to have:
things like freedom.
Time after time we heard Iran people tell us they
admired America, that they wanted to share in
economic prosperity, that they wanted freedoms
that we all take for granted in the United States.
The problem, they said, is between our
governments' leaders, not between the people of
the two countries.
Indeed, Iranians are proud of their historic heritage
that dates back thousands of years. Iran has a rich
history that dates back much farther than anything
America can boast of. Near the city of Shiraz,
birthplace of the Shiraz grape of which great wines
were once made, we toured the ancient city of
Persepolis.
Here, a ruined city stands among the sandstone
foothills outside Shiraz. It was here that Alexander
the Great, the Roman conqueror, sacked the
palace of Xerxes and Darius. The ruins are
incredible to behold. Tall stone columns pierce the
blue sky, and intricate carvings decorate stone
walls that once were homes for families and
servants.
"Muslims have to visit Mecca one time in their
lives," our friend and tour guide Amir Arbaban told
us. "I believe people should visit Persepolis at
least one time in their lives."
Beyond the palace walls, the green valley of
Shiraz spreads out against the gray mountains in
the distance. Outside Shiraz, city sprawl gives way
to farmland and tall mountain ranges.
We drove four hours from Shiraz to Margoon, a
deep canyon of red rocks where 300-foot waterfalls
crashed down. Families sprawled out on blankets,
cooled by the mist of the falls. It's a long, winding
drive here from Shiraz, but very interesting. We
pass two ski areas, which amount of a couple of
ski lifts set among the hardscrabble rocky
mountainside. There are no trees.
Dropping over a pass into the Ronage valley, we
descend through fertile valleys where tall grasses
blow in the high mountain air. Here, nomads
worked their sheep and goats in the areas where
the spring grasses were still green. The nomads
tend to their flocks, but also work on their intricate
carpets, which are sold in the cities.
For Will and Tammy Randall of Kalispell, Mont.,
the trip to Iran was an eye-opener.
"I never thought I would have said Æ'...some day I
want to go to Iran," Tammy Randall, a yoga
instructor in Whitefish, said. "But now I'd love to
come back and lead tours. It's so beyond any
experience I have had traveling the world. Where
else would you get the kind of reception you do
here?"
With an open and congenial disposition, Will
Randall, a carpenter, was frequently besieged by
hordes of Iranian children. He got the feeling of
what it was like to be a rock star. But in Iran, you
only have to be American to get the rock star
treatment.
"You don't have to apologize for being an
American," he said.
Tammy Randall, who had to adapt to wearing the
ever-present head coverings, was amazed at the
reception the Americans got wherever we went.
"Who would have imagined you'd have swarms of
people walking up to you, saying hello," she said.
"They want conversation and they want to know
what we think of Iran. They totally care about what
we think and why we're here."
Will Randall, too, said he was blown away by the
friendliness of the Iranian people. "It's an amazing
place," he said. "We have more in common down
deep than I thought. I figured the people would be
gloomy or oppressed, but it was the opposite. The
political climate does not hold these people
down."
The couple, married 27 years, found Iran so
enchanting that they renewed their wedding vows
in an impromptu ceremony at the Imam Khomeini
Square under the golden dome of a beautiful
mosque.
"How do you describe Iran?" Tammy Randall said.
"It's a feeling, a sensation. And I just keep
thinking what a huge waste it would be to bomb
this place. It would be unforgivable."
Despite the confines (or perhaps freedom) of a
nation ruled by religion, there is order.
The Islamic Republic of Iran is a nation of proud,
joyous people who want the same things
Americans want: prosperity, peace, and a future.
"We love America," one young man told me on
the street in Esfehan. "We love all countries. But
America, it does not love Iran."
They do see hope for a better relationship with
America, while holding on to their unique
culture.
"This is the beginning of a bridge between our two
countries," Amir Arbaban, our tour guide, said.
"American people are great people with good
hearts. We are at a new age. The time of fighting
and bullying is over."
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