"Few things are stronger than the Mind's need for diverse Experience." - Hafez
The first day in Tehran always seems to begin with a visit to the Shah's palace complex. We are in North Tehran, where the weather is pleasant, and the wealthy live. The grounds are full of greenery and trees. There are many tourists here, and a lot of them are Iranian.
We see soldiers, and groups of school children. Bring on the Jelly Beans. These are the little school girls dressed in bright colors and hijab, who travel in packs and are intensely curious about us. They swarm over me in a sea of giggling, starring and chattering. Their teachers stretch out their arms like like black crows trying to usher their wards back on track - until they too stop and stare. The teacher smiles wide at me, and says something in Farsi. I take a guess as to her question and say, "America." She shakes her head in bewilderment, and strokes my arm, then takes my hand. This is a place where touching, at least within your own gender, is accepted and freely given.
Women come up and want a picture, and slip their arms around me waist, or snuggle in close. They hold both my hands and stroke my arms. It is a familiarity that we don't practice in America, even within our own families. There are requests for pictures and selfies from the girls.
Inside the Shah's palace the is a guest dining room. The red leather Italian ceiling hides the very modern speaker system embedded above the table that seats twenty. There are field trips in the palace, and the little boys seem most interested in the Shah's former decorations - the big cat sculptures win out over the huge beautiful carpets, though.
Lunch is in a nice restaurant far under street level. It's decor is Native American. There are paintings of Native American women with feathers in their hair. There seems to be some fascination with the whole "cowboys and Indians" Americana scene here.
We see soldiers, and groups of school children. Bring on the Jelly Beans. These are the little school girls dressed in bright colors and hijab, who travel in packs and are intensely curious about us. They swarm over me in a sea of giggling, starring and chattering. Their teachers stretch out their arms like like black crows trying to usher their wards back on track - until they too stop and stare. The teacher smiles wide at me, and says something in Farsi. I take a guess as to her question and say, "America." She shakes her head in bewilderment, and strokes my arm, then takes my hand. This is a place where touching, at least within your own gender, is accepted and freely given.
Women come up and want a picture, and slip their arms around me waist, or snuggle in close. They hold both my hands and stroke my arms. It is a familiarity that we don't practice in America, even within our own families. There are requests for pictures and selfies from the girls.
Inside the Shah's palace the is a guest dining room. The red leather Italian ceiling hides the very modern speaker system embedded above the table that seats twenty. There are field trips in the palace, and the little boys seem most interested in the Shah's former decorations - the big cat sculptures win out over the huge beautiful carpets, though.
Lunch is in a nice restaurant far under street level. It's decor is Native American. There are paintings of Native American women with feathers in their hair. There seems to be some fascination with the whole "cowboys and Indians" Americana scene here.
We head to a museum that is new to me, the Reza Abbasi Museum. On display are artifacts from the 2nd millennium BC to the early 20th century, but the best part is the big collection of illuminated manuscripts, calligraphy and pages of illustrated poetry.
We arrived back at the hotel and I decide to check out the former American Embassy. This was a huge turning point for our relationship with Iran, I want to go see it. The girl working the hotel's front desk, upon giving us directions, says she hopes we can have embassies in each other's countries soon. I agree with her.
There isn't much to see of the embassy. The guards tell us that the museum is closed, and even though people are coming in and out, we are spot allowed in. I opt for pictures of the exterior walls, and this is the first times I've felt conspicuous taking pictures. People seem to be thing, why would she be taking pictures of that?!
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