In the stuffed Peugeot we ride with Farhad and Golnoosh to Esfahan, the historical city in the center of Iran. The only big city we pass on the way is Qum. Qum is the home of many mullahs, and my brother-in-law expresses his disdain for this city. The rest of the trip is through dusty desert landscape with here and there a forgotten town or a few roadside vendors.

When we enter Esfahan the greenness of the city strikes me. There are flowers and trees everywhere. It is also strikingly crowded. Iranians are very fond of Esfahan and many have come to spend their New Year’s vacation here. So many of them that it is hard to find a hotel room. We spend the next few hours driving around town unsuccessfully. In the end Farhad decides to try his luck by calling his contacts at air traffic control where he used to work. Golnoosh and I go and take a walk over the Si-o-seh Pol. This brick (pol) bridge, named after its 33 (si-o-seh) arches, is one of the best known buildings of the city. It is crawling with people on the bridge. People look at the two of us because we speak English together. I hear "Hello", "okay" and "dollar" whispered around me. At the end of the bridge stands a lady in a black chador with a little card pinned on it. I wonder if she is from some kind of public decency committee. She commands Golnoosh to cover her hair, which is peeping out from under her scarf. I hear her tell Golnoosh to tell me to hide my hair in my coat. All of a sudden, and this was the only time, I get very scared. The woman in chador, the whispers, the memory of the angry words on the American embassy; I do not want people to think I am American and I am really scared.

Farhad has succeeded to find a nice hotel room for us in downtown Esfahan. When you lie down on the bed and look at the ceiling there is an arrow which points in the direction of Mecca, in case you need to pray. When we go for a walk at night I decide to wear the maghna-eh, the black Islamic headdress that covers my entire head and shoulders and fits snugly around my face. Keyvan borrowed it from Mamy, anticipating this situation. From now on I am no longer being stared at.