Iran Hearts America (in Private)

Hiya Joanna:

Once I met this rather good-looking and plucky Swiss adventurer who kept trying to convince me to travel to Iran.

He said he was treated very well there, and that as an American like me who has traveled pretty much everywhere on the planet, that they might in fact actually be interested in meeting me. He said, in so many words, “Jah, of course dey party,” but then paused with an appraising look and suggested that I “get my haircut first.”

“What if I tied my hair back into a pontytail,” I asked glumly.

“It just isn’t polite,” was his unsatisfactory explanation.

“Hey, can you drink and stuff there?” I asked hopefully.

“Uh, alcohol? I think there are some discreet establishments.”

Anyway, seized by the powerful mythos of Ancient Persia, I came this close to actually going. I’m sorry, but it’s almost impossible to sustain pretending to be Canadian that long while playing “The Pathfinder” abroad. I thought it indeed lame that the two American drifters, with overt personality disorders, lying on the deck of the Mediterranean cargo ship we were on, had actually sewn Maple Leaf patches on their packsacks.

Ah, you ask where we were heading on this Mediterranean cargo ship seemingly bound for nowhere? That would be telling.

Come on, I’m a proud American citizen. Even my blood is red, white, and blue. Although I’d love to down nice cold, and ldemoestically produced, imitation cokes in a souk somewhere with a bearded gentleman in rapture, playing Parchesi amidst the ulululating whine of the muezzin, in the back of my mind I would ultimately wonder whether I could land upon a private party of gorgeous veiled woman, shyly flitting about me like harem flies.

My breath redolent with the heady incense of frankincense and myrh, I would think about Barbara Eden from “I Dream of Jeannie” and that strange made-for-TV movie she was in, where she is a painter canvassing an alien landscape and speaking in tongues, ready to instruct me in the art of Oriental angle bumpy—before the dream fades and the suddenly grim-faced locals flat out find out I’m American.

“So you are American are you, and what are you doing here, and what do you think of your mean president Mr. George Bush the second?” my private bodyguard and translator might have whispered what he had just said in a strange dialect of Farsi.

“Uh, I’m here on vacation,” I guess is always the best response.

Anyway, Alexander the Great dug it.

Joanna, tell you the truth, I found the comment above by John more interesting than your post. :) Still, you do have a point. The Iranian people are the same as others. They love coke and MacDonalds and jeans as much as anyone else. And it might do a global tourist some good to get to know one of the oldest civilizations in teh world.

Hi Ling:

Thanks for sticking up for me in public.

I promise you I am really a nice guy.

I went to Iran in May 2006. Here’s a report I did for friends:

My whole trip was blustery but exhilarating. The group of 23 American peace activists, me included, landed in Tehran and took a whirlwind tour—five cities in 12 days of an Axis of Evil country on the verge of acquiring nuclear reactors.
    First, let me say that the Iranian people send you their love. Everywhere I went, people greeted me with warmth. (They would try to guess my nationality: “Russian?” “British?”) When I told them I was American, they lit up a wonderful smile and either said how much they liked American culture or that they had a relative living in the States, usually Los Angeles.
    Seventy percent of the country considers themselves secular Muslims and they say they voted for their latest president to stop corruption and improve the economy (this from our able guide, Pashman). When we arrived, their president had just sent a letter to our President outlining his grievances but offering a chance for dialogue. This hit the news as we were coming into the Tehran Hotel.
    Our little group, sponsored by the oldest pacifist organization in America, was consistently asked three questions by the Iranians: “What do you think of President Bush?”, “Will he read the letter?” and “What do you think of our nuclear power program?” I told them that I apologized for my president, I doubt that he would read the letter, and nuclear power is too expensive, dangerous, and they shouldn’t trust the government to keep it safe. I also suggested that the United States must stop producing nuclear weapons, and the rest of the world, instead of trying to acquire them should abolish atom bombs.
    We were well received wherever we went, and we went to
    - Shiraz, the home of wine-making (though there was none to be found) and poets and beautiful women;
    - Isfahan, the home of poets and bridges, and beautiful women, where we were told “if you build one bridge, we will build 30;”
    - Qom, the Vatican of the Shiite Muslim world, although it looked more like Las Vegas in Arabia (most of the women here were wrapped up, but I am sure they were still beautiful);
    - Natanz, where we visited an orphanage and saw (from afar) the most-targeted nuclear facility surrounded by anti-aircraft artillery;
    - and, of course, Tehran, the capital: that looked like Chicago, San Francisco, and Denver all rolled into one, with 7 million frenetic drivers. And very beautiful women.
    Our group had individually spent hard-earned money to get there, but it was well worth it. The BBC, CNN, Reuters, and AP interviewed us throughout the trip. We met more mullahs and high-ranking government officials than we expected, and on the last day we were invited into a private meeting with the Vice President of Culture.
    Most meetings began with a religious litany that sounded like an exhortation to become Shi’ite. Those guys are more evangelical than Billy Graham!
    But when the vice president turned and asked us individually our opinion of the tour and how he could invite more Americans to visit, there was a stunned silence. It didn’t take us long to open up. My suggestion was to stop rattling swords so that we could hear each other speak. Afterwards, he bought us dinner at the finest five-star hotel in Tehran. You can catch the full report at http://www.forusa.org.
    On the way home, I heard that Secretary of State Condoleezza Rice was going to “hire more Farsi-speaking experts” (does that include the gays they fired?). It’s about time! Our government hasn’t had diplomatic relations with Iran since 1979, except for a short stint at trading arms for hostages and using the illegal gains to fund the Contra war against Nicaragua, but that is another story. So I will give my five-CD collection of “Basic Farsi” to Condi Rice. It’s the least I can do to get my government to stop rattling their swords and to begin to talk peace.