Things are coming full circle. It is time to go back to Tehran. We have a stop planned in Abyaneh. Just a short few hours, which is probably for the best. This place, this little town on the slope of the Karkas mountain, this place is a magical place to me. This is where I started to change. Where I realized I had much more to offer, and that I meant something to someone - without even meaning to.
The memories of our walk up the hill back to the hotel, the conversations. That night we went to dinner in the hotel, the owner told us that this was her home, she owned it, and so we did not have to wear our headscarves to eat in the dining room. When the ladies in our group removed our scarves, we turned to look at each other. "I forgot that you had such a cute haircut!" So much laughter that night at dinner. So many photos taken with (and without!) hijab. We had gifts for our wonderful drivers and their families that night. Abdi had asked us to bring a few things for them, and we had fun that night watching them unwrap them. In the background, I could hear the hotel parrot singing out, "Salaam! Salaam!" Such a wonderful time last time. This time there was just me. I had always meant to return here, but not alone. Things don't always work out as planned, and here I was.
This ancient village has an unique pinkish orange hue around it. The villagers try to sell you dried fruit and crafts, the men wear unusual balloon pants - very wide legs. Today, however, it is full of tourists, who are here, just like I am, to see the town...and the other tourists. I always wonder what kind of shot the lady in the back got of me.
There are many memorials to those who died in the Iran / Iraq war...they always look so young.
Inside one of the courtyards, there is this powerful memorial.
On the way into Tehran, we stop at Ayatollah Khomeini's tomb complex. There is really no other word for it. It is huge, with a parking lot that would service Disneyland. It has been under construction for some time, with an estimated two billion going towards the building. To get in, a man drives an extended golf up to the parking lot, and everyone piles in. Then you are shepherded down a long concrete corridor to the security check. You have to leave your shoes at the entrance, but cameras were allowed in...or so I thought. The female security officer declined my entry. She made me check my camera along with my shoes.
We stopped at for a bathroom break, and I realized where we were, right next to the Behesht-e Zahra, the cemetery where many of the victims of the Iran / Iraq war were buried. I literally ran around the cemetery in the dark, while other people took a restroom break.
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