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Iran
text and photography by Ed Bachrach

Some places are so distant it’s nearly impossible to imagine they truly exist. Countries, such as those located in the vast, open area of Central Asia, seem more like ideas than places — almost analogous to the edge of the universe.

I had always felt this way about the Caspian Sea. But three years ago, I found myself on its shore in Northern Iran. I traveled with my son, Ted, and my close friend, Kristen Fligel.

Venturing to challenging places is a passion for our family, and the idea of going to Iran had been Ted’s. He had read of the reform party’s victory in the 1997 nationwide elections, and it appeared the repressive and stridently anti-American regime was about to end. We were in a hurry to get there to experience what was left of the totalitarian theocracy before it disappeared.

The people of Iran are not poor. Seventy million strong, well educated, and industrious, Iranians enjoy a combination of wealth, industry, and ancient heritage. Iran also is a major oil producer. The observable results are a modern, clean, organized country with well-paved roads, solid buildings, and full markets. We expected a rugged, poor country, but Iran was a traveler’s delight with comfortable accommodations, delicious food, and safe passage.

Iran is Persia. The ancient Persian Empire dominated the world until it was defeated by the Greeks, shifting the center of power west. The capital of the powerful Persian Empire was Persepolis. Now a ruin, this palace complex was once a splendid world wonder both admired and destroyed by Alexander the Great.

We traveled to Persepolis from the southern city of Shiraz. Known for its poets and its famous grape, Shiraz is the provincial center of the culturally important Fars region. We visited a mosque in Persepolis, and our guide took us to the caretaker’s home.

We enjoyed tea on a roof top patio overlooking the city and surrounding mountains and, through our guide, slowly talked with the weathered old caretaker. He was cordial, yet not very curious about America. But when he started talking about the corruption and cruelty of the Iranian government, especially former president Rafsanjani, he became agitated and bitter. This was our first hint that even the faithful in Iran felt profoundly betrayed by the Islamic revolution.

From Shiraz we drove north to Yazd and then west to Esfahan. Yazd is currently the home of the ancient Zoroastrian religion. Zoroastrianism is perhaps the world’s oldest monotheistic religion, and remnants of its heritage are part of our culture today. The wise men at Christ’s manger were Zoroastrians; Nietzsche wrote about and Strauss immortalized Zarathustra; and the swastika was originally a Zoroastrian symbol. Zoroastrians worship fire in temples, and in Yazd we viewed a wood fire which has been kept burning by the faithful continuously for 1,530 years.

While lingering in a men’s clothing shop one evening, Ted and I were surprised to make eye contact with a young woman wearing a chador, the typical black robe that exposes only the face and hands. We said “hi,” and the woman asked if we spoke English. When we said we were Americans she turned, left the store, and waited on the sidewalk. Intrigued, we left the store and followed her to a quiet spot near a busy bridge. We struggled to make conversation and learned she was studying English and wanted to practice with us. While we talked, she looked nervously over our shoulders and had difficulty concentrating. Our guide later explained that, had she been caught, she could have been questioned by police and hard-line vigilantes would surely have made her life miserable.

We next flew north to the Caspian Sea coast and spent the night in the coast town of Bandar-a-Anzalie. After dinner, we strolled the brightly lit streets and the crowded market. Women were everywhere but also invisible in their chadors. The men had a weathered look and busyness about them, but would drop everything to ask where we were from. When I told them “America,” they always responded the same way: “Merika, Persian people like Merika very much.”

From the Caspian coast, we drove south into the foothills and hiked a few miles to Roukan, one of a dozen or more castles built 1,000 years ago by followers of Abal Hassan. Hassan recruited young men to martyr themselves in suicide assassination missions against their cruel and capricious Turkish rulers. Brainwashing assassins involved getting them high on hashish to the point of unconsciousness, and then taking them to secret castles where they awoke to find food, drink, and beautiful women. They were told such delights awaited them as their permanent reward if they died carrying out an assassination. These martyrs were called “hash asheem,” or men of hash, which over the years came to be called assassins.

At Roukan, we enjoyed a delightful overnight of balmy spring weather, starry skies, and delicious Persian food.

Driving into Tehran the next morning, our guide learned the publisher of a popular reform newspaper had been assassinated. His usual restraint was replaced by anger at the regime and foreboding for the future. Despite Iranians’ dreams of living free “like Americans” and their overwhelming support for reform, reactionary Mullahs and thugs maintain tight-fisted control over personal freedoms.

When we checked into our Tehran hotel, we noted the entrance sign stipulating Islamic dress code for women. Guards, posted on every hotel floor, enforced this custom.

That evening, we went to dinner with our guide and his wife. Through her broken English, we learned how much she and most women abhorred their chadors and the deprivation of rights they symbolized. She was pregnant, and cried as she told us she hoped to leave Iran so her child would not grow up in such misery.

Today, the world is far different. The Islamic movement in Iran has hardened. Tourism isn’t growing, and Iranians are not traveling freely.

For us, Central Asia no longer seems so far away. But for Iranians, the place of their dreams is so distant it is hard to imagine it will ever exist.

Lifelong Decatur resident Ed Bachrach is president of Bachrach Mens Clothing and travels regularly with his three grown children.

This is an online supplement to an article which originally appeared in the June/July 2003 issue of Decatur Magazine.
It may not be reproduced or redistributed in whole or in part without the publisher's consent.
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