The Friendliest People on Earth

A warm welcome in a beautiful land

It began with a belt. I’d flown in via Dubai. Long flight with a long transit in that incredible First Class lounge they have there. Long story; another time.

I have long since given up on style for long flights. Comfort and convenience is what it’s all about. Long flights in the good cabins, you get pajamas and sometimes slippers, and nobody cares about how you look in baggy grey gear.

But going through security, walking around terminals, taking off various bits and pieces to put in the bins for x-ray, well that gets real old real fast, and I’ve developed the perfect kit for flying.

Nylon top and baggy pants — get them from any camping store — woven nylon belt with a plastic buckle, slip-on shoes and flight socks. Leave it to the movie stars to wear heels and a skinny black dress. I couldn’t wear that stuff where I was going anyway.

Land of the long black shroud

Tehran. There was a discreet announcement made as we began our descent, and all the women in the cabin slipped into the facilities, emerging a few minutes later in headscarves or chadors.

I put my headscarf on. I’d practised this at home, but this was for real and people would be looking at me, and maybe there’d be consequences if it came undone. There was also a light jacket to wear; something to cover my hips.

In the terminal I looked around with curiosity during the wait for our bags. Iranian women certainly dressed a lot more stylishly than any of we tourists, but it wasn’t that long a flight from Dubai. Some of the older women wore chadors, long black robes held closed with one hand, but the younger women pushed their scarves way back on their hair, their jeans were skintight, and they had thin jackets with sleeves that began just below the elbows. We’d been told that we were to wear modest clothing that concealed our body shape, but either the message hadn’t gotten through to the locals, or the rules had evolved.

Tourists were all over the shop. Some were in turbans, some wore tight-fitting headgear that wrapped around their face, but most, like me, were wearing scarves.

The problem with the belt

I’d brought along jeans and slacks for everyday wear, consigning the nylon trousers to the bottom of my bag on the first day, but I’d forgotten to bring a good solid belt. The first day of walking around museums and parks in Tehran saw me continuously hitching myself up as the plastic buckle slipped and the nylon stretched. I wasn’t going to put up with two weeks of this.

We had an internal flight the next day, and the nylon belt came in handy going through security. Men to one side, women in a screened-off area where burly ladies in uniform scowled at us.

Shiraz was three nights. More museums, more excursions, but we got to visit a bazaar in the middle of the city. Here was a chance to buy a leather belt to hold my jeans up.

We were told to stick together, but just in case, here’s the tour guide’s telephone number, the name of the hotel, and don’t get lost. But we’ll be waiting for the bus in the park, you can’t miss it.

Iranian bazaars are bewildering affairs, I have to say. I got lost in short order. So much to look at and photograph!

I was looking out for a ladies clothing shop, but they didn’t have anything that I could recognise as such. Maybe there was a women's’ section down one of these side alleys…

Artisan leatherware, while you wait

But here was a leather shop. Boots, pouches, and belts. I greeted the young man and announced that I wanted a belt.

“Salaam,” he replied, and raised an elegant eyebrow. God, but he was gorgeous! None of that now.

“A belt,” I said again, and pointed to the display.

Obviously he spoke no English, and I had no Farsi, but he looked at me and pulled one down. Way too skinny and long. I pointed at my jeans and held my fingers apart to indicate I wanted something more robust. And shorter.

Eventually we found one that would fit through my belt loops, but it was still miles too long and had a buckle but no holes.

“Um, something shorter?” I asked, feeling that I really needed the tour guide about now.

He handed me a tape measure and I raised my arms so that he could measure my waist, but no, that wasn’t going to happen. I measured myself and glanced down for the length.

Uh-oh. No numbers, just squiggles. Later on I worked out how to read numbers, but for now, I stuck my thumbnail at the right spot and held out the tape.

I looked up, and caught him perving at me. Not at my chest, but at my blonde hair. Wow, it’s a different world here!

Our hands touched as he took the tape measure from me, and I swear there was a spark of electricity. He was ridiculously handsome, and I admired his jet black curls against olive skin as he took the belt to a work bench behind the counter.

He measured the leather strap, made a mark, picked up a hammer and a punch to make a series of holes, then a wicked looking tomahawk to chop the end off. Another couple of swipes to slice off the corners, and then he punched some sort of monogram into the end.

Now, how much was it and how did I pay?

He punched some numbers into a calculator and held it out to me. Hmmm. Enough for a sports car.

I dug out my purse and hauled out some Iranian riyals. Inflation had added strings of zeroes to the values, and I had a couple of million for walking around money.

I handed him half a million, and he gave me several years’ salary back as change.

I indicated that I would put the belt to immediate use, but no, it had to go in a plastic bag, which he handed to me with a smile and a nod. Transaction over. I smiled back, and then thought about the meeting place.

“Ah, park? Garden?” I asked. Eyebrows shot up. I mimed trees. Flowers. Birds. I think he got the message immediately, but he still wanted to watch me make a clown of myself.

He pointed down one of the halls, and held up fingers. Third on the left, can’t miss it. Right.

More smiles.

Scarf lesson

I found the park. Eventually. A pleasant green area full of locals eating snacks, children running around being cute, a hundred curious eyes, and twenty Aussie tourists standing out like the proverbial, with a worried guide looking around.

His face lit up when he saw me. “Just waiting on two more,” he said.

“The Browns,” someone said helpfully, but I didn’t know them. Two weeks later, we’d all be best friends, but for the moment we were a bunch of strangers in a strange land.

Our hijabs were all over the place, and one older lady was trying to get hers just right.

A local saw her struggles and moved in to help, deftly tugging the thing into place and pinning it securely with hair clips.

The rest of us leaned in to see how it was done. Head coverings were important here, none of us wore headscarves on a regular basis, and evidently if one came loose and fell off, it would be the Persian equivalent of losing a bikini top at the beach, judging by the hungry eyes feasting on glimpses of blonde ponytail.

There were smiles and giggles all the way through the lesson. This Persian lady was having a whale of a time with the tourist. And vice versa.

She may have been wearing dark clothing, but this was by no means the norm. We’d see colours and patterns everywhere. In mosques, not so much, but for shopping, women put on their best clothes, and bright silks were popular.

By the end of the trip, all we women had gathered a wardrobe of scarves. Don’t want to wear the same one two days in a row, don’t you know?

And friendly!

Some of us had arrived expecting a land full of dour religious types. Amish on steroids, wary of outsiders.

Nope. Everywhere we went, there were smiles and welcomes. Any decent education includes English, and schoolchildren were always keen to try out a few phrases. Easy way to make friends: count to ten in English and indicate you want to learn the Farsi numbers.

Girls would cluster around we women tourists, chattering and giggling and posing for selfies. We felt like rockstars.

Never let it be said that Iran is unfriendly.

The people are friendly, and the land is beautiful. Maybe not in a Switzerland chocolate box way, but it has its own rugged charm. And the cities are full of art. Mosques decorated in intricate patterns and fabulous tiled calligraphy. Whimsical public artworks. Everywhere parks and gardens, channels of water running through cool green.

I loved it. I went back for another go the following year to see some of the north of the country.

I might talk later about the relationship Iranians have with their religious government, but all you need to know on that score is that Iranians are about as religious as Australians i.e. not a lot.

They wear the clothing and attend mosque for special occasions, but the Sabbath (on Friday) is a day for holiday and having fun.

If you get the chance, take a look at a tour. Or even solo travel. Iran is opening up to the outside, there are huge hotels going up everywhere, and although we saw tour groups like ourselves all over the country, we also ran into travellers doing their own thing.

Trust me. Follow the rules, and you will be made welcome. You'll love it. I do.

Britni

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