Mister Tourist en el país de los persas. Crónicas de Irán (II)
At dusk the Jame Mosque in the city of Yazd lights up and the blue mosaics of its facade glow like neons of Times Square. At this point I can say that the Iranians are probably the friendliest people on earth. Families stop to care where I come from, they offer me sweets and they go out of their way to help me with anything. Girls take the opportunity to practice English with foreigners closely watched by the worried gaze of their parents. Five hundred selfies later I continue on my way, the mosque authorities have allowed me to take pictures inside provided that Farshid accompanies me, one of the temple guides.
We walk barefoot around the complex, among kneeling worshipers and long-bearded clergymen. A television camera and a presenter are recording live, stop Farshid for a moment. This translates for me, they are from national television and are doing a report on the holiday period and would be interested to know the opinion of a foreigner about their country. The presenter plugs me in the camera and shoots questions in Persian. "What do I think of Iran?, What religion do I profess?, What opinion do we Westerners have of your country?”That my companion translates into English for Mister Tourist to answer a handful of vagaries as diplomatic as possible. My answers are concise, but Farshid extends much more in the translation, sometimes several minutes, As she gestures and everyone stops to look at me.
Sometimes slide English expressions like “Not Terrorist”, y “Muslims bombs”
Sometimes slide English expressions like “Not Terrorist”, y “Muslims bombs”. The matter begins to take on a disturbing look and I begin to wonder how many millions of Iranians will be seeing me now and what would Ayatolah Khomeini think of all this.. But at the end of the interview the presenter shakes my hands affectionately and says goodbye with a "Welcome to Iran". Farshid does the same, and he gives me a brochure written by Ayatolah Khamenei substitute for Khomeini and currently in office. Unlike the previous one, his appearance is that of an endearing old man with glasses. The brochure is titled "Letter to the Youth of Western Countries" and it begins like this: "Dear young people, I hope that now or in the future you will change your way of thinking, induced by the hypocrisy and manicheism of your governments…”.
Day 8
The Iranians have baptized Isfahan Imam Square as "The Center of the World". The place of almost unreal beauty and majesty could well deserve this label, however many of them maintain that the center of the World is anywhere where they can spread a carpet. They do it anywhere, in gutters, parks, medium, squares and temples, families gather on them and organize improvised picnics that can last for hours between snacks, ice cream and tea cups. The best rugs in the country are found precisely here, in Isfahan where, from a symbolic price to thousands of euros, sellers in your bazaar receive buyers from all over the world. I walk into one of the best known stores run by Amir, the fourth generation of salespeople in business. He confesses that he loves Spain and to prove it to me he shows me the photo with the Minister Moratinos who presides over his wall. “A lovely man who bought me some great rugs. Surely he is a good minister not like the ones here ”.
"Are you crazy? We are non-Persian Arabs ”-says.
In the store he drinks a tea dressed as a Bedouin, intrigued I ask him where he comes from. He introduces himself as Ali, He tells me that he is Iraqi and that he spends long periods between his country and Isfahan trading in carpets.. I have seen memorials in all the Iranian cities dedicated to the soldiers who died in the conflict who consider themselves as martyrs and I ask him how are the relations between the two countries currently?. "Good, I have no problem with people, it's more a matter of governments ”. I say goodbye wishing you good luck in business and I ask you if you will also use the carpet you just bought to celebrate picnics with your family. "Are you crazy? We are non-Persian Arabs ”-says.
Neda is the receptionist of the hotel where I stay, She has beautiful honey-colored eyes enhanced by makeup and the shadow of long lashes.. Let a piece of blonde bangs show under a purple hijab and wear jeans like many girls here. Also like many girls here she has a completely bandaged nose, as if she had an accident and was just out of the hospital. In Neda's case, it was exactly four days since he left the clinic where he went to have a rhinoplasty. He looks forward to her taking off the bandage and enjoying her perfect new nose. Las rinoplastias están causando furor en el país desde hace un par de años, en especial entre la clase media alta. Por apenas mil euros, eliges una nariz a la carta que en el caso de la mayoría de chicas suele ser la misma, larga y rectísima para realzar las facciones. “En Irán las chicas no podemos mostrar mucho de nosotras, así que lo que puede verse, queremos que esté perfecto”, confiesa Neda.
Since I came to Iran I have seen female taxi drivers, medical, shop assistants and teachers, bandaged noses abounded in all professional bodies. And Neda does it bother to wear the handkerchief?, What there are separate cars for men and women in the subway?, What is it like to be a woman in Iran? "Of course I would like to wear dresses and show my hair. Although not all think like me and many like to follow the tradition and wear black ... in any case if you ever wear the scarf far behind, it is the women of the moral police who patrol the streets who come to scold you or even to fine you. I imagine that one day the situation will change, but I do not know when". Neda interrupts the conversation to attend to a client who has just arrived, behind her Ayatola Khomeini looks at me reprovingly from a photograph.
Day 10
My wad of money is in the last, absolutamente famélico. At the airport I spend the last few rials in a can of pistachios. Iran is the largest producer, consumer and exporter of pistachios in the world and forms an essential part of the country's gastronomy. On boarding an employee reminds me that if I plan to enter Israel, I will not be able to do it with the Iranian visa. I feel chills just remembering the airport Ben Gurion, I tell him it doesn't matter and I accelerate towards the ladder. We took off with a bang and flew over Tehran for a few minutes as the hostesses announce that lunch will be served soon. It is then that the handkerchiefs slowly fall while the plane is suspended in the sky.
