"Do you even know who Bart Simpson is?"
There are Jewish members of the Iranian Parliament. Read that again.
We pass by a "Down with Israel" stencil and I turn to H2 and tell him, "You know, I have a lot of Jewish friends in America."
He says what appears to be a standard line in Iran, "We don't have a problem with Jews, we have a problem with Israel."
Jews, like everything and everyone else, have a long history in Iran. Its said that the second largest Jewish population in the Middle East after Israel is in Iran. Its also said those numbers are dwindling. Before my trip, I was advised not to seek out the synagogues I know exist.
*
One of the hotel clerks tells us he's also a driver and will take us around today. He says it will be $8-9. H2 negotiates, then turns to me.
"I have helped him to decide on a better price."
*
Vank Cathedral is an Armenian Christian church in a neighborhood of Esfahan. Beautiful frescoes painted 350 years ago remain vibrant, telling stories of the Old Testament, St. Gregory's torture and the life of Christ. Photos are not allowed, but the man in charge allows me to use my video camera. An Iranian who lives in San Jose is there, along with his son who has just completed his studies at MIT. The father says he tries to get back to Iran every couple years. Its his son's third visit.
Young M and her friend F join us again. I'm twice their age, but they just like hanging out with an American. They're very sweet religious girls with colorful scarves, wearing winter jackets over their chadors, despite the beautiful weather. They have brought us gifts - a pistachio cake and a drawing M made herself of Bart Simpson. We tour the Vank museum which features, under a microscope, a verse from Proverbs written on a single strand of human hair. There's an exhibit dedicated to the Armenian genocide. Though they live in Esfahan, M and F have never seen the interior of the cathedral. I explain the pictures of the life of Jesus as best I can.
Shia Moslems believe that at the End Times, their 12th and last Imam - who disappeared into a cave and was never seen again - will return with Jesus to lead the world to righteousness and salvation.
M and F have to leave and I give them a postcard and a stuffed Clifford the Big Red Dog doll. We're in a public square, so we're not allowed to shake hands as they bid us adieu.
*
We cross paths with a carpet tout who insists that he loves Condoleeza Rice and wants to marry her.
*
Doesn't seem to matter where you go in this world, as soon as you get to a site you want to see, there will be scaffolding. Such is the case at Chehel Sotun, a reception palace near Imam Square. Next door, we visit the Natural History Museum and a center for Islamic Arts.
From there we go to Hasht Behesht, located in a well-manicured park, but I'm mostly interested in a group of boys playing football. They start showing off for me, asking me where I'm from. "Tell Bush not invade Iran!", they laugh, kicking the ball around.
They finish their game and join us on the pavement, continuing to horse around. They want me to tell them American jokes and bait me about who I like better - Esteghlal or Persepolis.
Then the soldier arrives.
He's dressed in full fatigues, has a serious look on his face and starts interrogating everyone there, including and especially H2, who he asks to prove that he's a tour guide. H2 produces his license, but the soldier wants to know why our hotel has not complied with a new law in Esfahan requiring it to register foreign guests with the National Foreign Police office. H2 doesn't know. The soldier wants to know my nationality and if I'm a journalist. More negotiation. The soldier hands H2 back his license and disperses the kids. He turns to me and speaks in English.
"You're an American?"
>"Yes."
"I know American... literature. Beat Generation. Kerouac. Ginsburg."
*
All men in Iran must complete compulsory military service.
This soldier is a really nice guy. He apologizes and explains that its his duty to look out for foreigners and wanted to make sure the kids weren't harassing me and that H2 was on the level. H2 explains that the three stars on the soldier's uniform indicate he has a master's degree. I tell H2 that I'm not sure anyone in the *American* military has read Kerouac and Ginsburg. The soldier shakes my hand and wishes me a great trip in Iran.
We pass by a "Down with Israel" stencil and I turn to H2 and tell him, "You know, I have a lot of Jewish friends in America."
He says what appears to be a standard line in Iran, "We don't have a problem with Jews, we have a problem with Israel."
Jews, like everything and everyone else, have a long history in Iran. Its said that the second largest Jewish population in the Middle East after Israel is in Iran. Its also said those numbers are dwindling. Before my trip, I was advised not to seek out the synagogues I know exist.
*
One of the hotel clerks tells us he's also a driver and will take us around today. He says it will be $8-9. H2 negotiates, then turns to me.
"I have helped him to decide on a better price."
*
Vank Cathedral is an Armenian Christian church in a neighborhood of Esfahan. Beautiful frescoes painted 350 years ago remain vibrant, telling stories of the Old Testament, St. Gregory's torture and the life of Christ. Photos are not allowed, but the man in charge allows me to use my video camera. An Iranian who lives in San Jose is there, along with his son who has just completed his studies at MIT. The father says he tries to get back to Iran every couple years. Its his son's third visit.
Young M and her friend F join us again. I'm twice their age, but they just like hanging out with an American. They're very sweet religious girls with colorful scarves, wearing winter jackets over their chadors, despite the beautiful weather. They have brought us gifts - a pistachio cake and a drawing M made herself of Bart Simpson. We tour the Vank museum which features, under a microscope, a verse from Proverbs written on a single strand of human hair. There's an exhibit dedicated to the Armenian genocide. Though they live in Esfahan, M and F have never seen the interior of the cathedral. I explain the pictures of the life of Jesus as best I can.
Shia Moslems believe that at the End Times, their 12th and last Imam - who disappeared into a cave and was never seen again - will return with Jesus to lead the world to righteousness and salvation.
M and F have to leave and I give them a postcard and a stuffed Clifford the Big Red Dog doll. We're in a public square, so we're not allowed to shake hands as they bid us adieu.
*
We cross paths with a carpet tout who insists that he loves Condoleeza Rice and wants to marry her.
*
Doesn't seem to matter where you go in this world, as soon as you get to a site you want to see, there will be scaffolding. Such is the case at Chehel Sotun, a reception palace near Imam Square. Next door, we visit the Natural History Museum and a center for Islamic Arts.
From there we go to Hasht Behesht, located in a well-manicured park, but I'm mostly interested in a group of boys playing football. They start showing off for me, asking me where I'm from. "Tell Bush not invade Iran!", they laugh, kicking the ball around.
They finish their game and join us on the pavement, continuing to horse around. They want me to tell them American jokes and bait me about who I like better - Esteghlal or Persepolis.
Then the soldier arrives.
He's dressed in full fatigues, has a serious look on his face and starts interrogating everyone there, including and especially H2, who he asks to prove that he's a tour guide. H2 produces his license, but the soldier wants to know why our hotel has not complied with a new law in Esfahan requiring it to register foreign guests with the National Foreign Police office. H2 doesn't know. The soldier wants to know my nationality and if I'm a journalist. More negotiation. The soldier hands H2 back his license and disperses the kids. He turns to me and speaks in English.
"You're an American?"
>"Yes."
"I know American... literature. Beat Generation. Kerouac. Ginsburg."
*
All men in Iran must complete compulsory military service.
This soldier is a really nice guy. He apologizes and explains that its his duty to look out for foreigners and wanted to make sure the kids weren't harassing me and that H2 was on the level. H2 explains that the three stars on the soldier's uniform indicate he has a master's degree. I tell H2 that I'm not sure anyone in the *American* military has read Kerouac and Ginsburg. The soldier shakes my hand and wishes me a great trip in Iran.
posted by s. at 6:54 AM
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