[FREE IRAN Project] In The Spirit Of Cyrus The Great

[cyrus]

Iran: A close shave connected traveler to people eager for answers about US
Source: http://www.sun-sentinel.com/travel/print/sfl-iranmay08,0,1310800.story?coll=sfla-travel-print

By Matt Mossman
Special Correspondent
Posted May 8 2005


I was at the bus station in Shiraz, slumped in an orange plastic chair. I'd been in Iran for a week and was getting frustrated. Few locals wanted to talk to me, let alone offer the hospitality that I'd heard about from other travelers -- whisked off to family dinners, thrust into wedding ceremonies, or even offered someone's daughter to marry. None of that for me.

I had four hours before my bus left, so I trudged over to the barber to get a haircut. I decided to lose my scruffy beard, too, and that's all it took for things to change.

Just steps from the barber shop a man came over, smiled, and pumped my hand like he was at a job interview. He had me autograph his day planner to memorialize his encounter with an American, and by then a few people had crowded around.

A student practiced conjugating English verbs, and a janitor nodded and smiled because he spoke only Farsi. Mohammed, an engineer, wanted to exchange pens "to remember our friendship." The one he gave me had the address of a burrito shop in Longmont, Colo. Three hours later, the departure lounge at the Shiraz bus station seemed like a farewell party just for me.

Iran may be part of the Axis of Evil, but you'd never know it talking to a typical Iranian. The Average Jelal wants to be friends and hang out with you at his favorite teahouse. But first he needs to make sure you understand that he and practically everyone else he knows hate the country's religious leaders more than you could ever imagine.

Beards are a sign of piety in Islam. Once I ditched mine, Iranians felt free to show me around, invite me to dinner, vent about politics and ask about life in a free country. I chatted into the night at the teahouses, exchanged e-mail addresses and snapped pictures of strangers who just wanted to be in an American photo album.

I knew before going that Iranians like us more than we think. Now, it's hard to exaggerate the point. Iranians pine after American freedoms and mimic our culture. They're like a self-conscious teenager hero-worshipping an older friend.

In the capital city, Tehran, "The Ultimate Fried Chicken Joint" is a popular restaurant. In Yazd, a southern desert town, a street advertisement for an optometrist shows the cartoon Charlie Brown holding an eye chart and his sister Sally in an eye patch. People wear stars-and-stripes shoes and stars-and-stripes shirts. There are achingly bad Iranian versions of American pop music.

Iran's government can't be happy about all this. Its anti-U.S. propaganda is easy to spot in public spaces: "Down with the U.S.A." painted on parking blocks, slogans on billboards, speeches and rallies. In Tehran, murals cover one side of the brick perimeter walls of the former American Embassy, where Iranians scaled the gates and kept American hostages for 444 days beginning in November 1979.

"We will make America face a severe defeat," the wall predicts. "On the day the U.S. praises us we should mourn."

The Statue of Liberty is a few murals over, with a skull and blacked-out eyes replacing Lady Liberty's face. Elsewhere on the wall a hand reaches out from a satellite dish and holds a lit match to a Persian floral design. The message seems to be that American television is ruining Iranian culture. Graffiti artists have disputed the point by adding the logo of the rock band Metallica, a peace sign, and the word "rap."

A tour guide named Ali told me the government hopes the anti-American propaganda will shift the focus away from domestic problems, but Iranians won't fall for that. So if the leaders demonize the United States, the people will do the opposite. As the saying goes here, "the enemy of my enemy is my friend."

This doesn't mean all Iranians agree with all U.S. policies. They just don't think Americans must answer for their government's actions. People assume that if Iranian leaders ignore popular sentiment, then the same must happen in other countries.

The truly anti-American types are a minority. In Esfahan, a city of stunning mosques and a massive public square, I saw a rally of the local religious police -- volunteers of all ages who scold people for doing un-Islamic things. They approach women and order them to dress more conservatively, or break up conversations among people who might be flirting.

I stood with Babak, a 23-year-old carpet salesman friend, as a screeching leader rambled over a loudspeaker and the volunteers with their banners and slogans filled the square. A merchant from the surrounding bazaar peered out of his shop, made a disapproving "tsk, tsk, tsk" sound with his tongue (Shame on them!), then retreated. People passing by sped up. Babak was there only because I was curious. The voice got louder and more excited, so I asked for a translation.

"It's better that you don't know," Babak said. "It's that bad."

The volunteers have plenty of un-Islamic behavior to guard against. Alcohol and western music are banned, and men and women are segregated when possible, including on buses and at beaches. Dress codes prohibit exposed flesh. The bare minimum for females is a headscarf and a form-obscuring overcoat. Brave ones push their headscarves back to the top of their heads to expose some hair. They compensate for their limited fashion options with overdone makeup and carefully manicured fingernails. Devout women wear the chador, a black drape that covers everything but the face.

They looked to me like a homogenous mass of overcoats and headscarves and chadors, but Babak was constantly spotting women he thought had nice figures. Iranian men have either developed a keen eye or are accustomed to guessing.

Contact with women seemed off-limits to me. Could I talk to them? Shake hands? Make eye contact? I wasn't sure how to handle this. I wondered how they felt about the costume, but wasn't going approach strangers and risk an encounter with the religious police. I hoped someone would approach me instead.

One evening, a pair of dark female eyes scrutinized me as I was boarding an overnight bus. After most of the passengers had nodded off, the bus attendant tapped me on the shoulder and led me to the back. The girl wanted to talk. I asked her about the dress code and got an hour-long rant.
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