I was in a teashop having a lunch of spiced eggplant and toasted pita bread when Naslee sat down and introduced herself. Many people introduce themselves to me here in the super-friendly country of Iran, but I really hit it off with Naslee from the start. I think it because she's an artist-she works with color and so tries to find color in her day-to-day life. She talks and dresses colorfully, is attracted to the colorful and the eccentric and intertwines it into her being. Perhaps that's why she talked to me in the first place; I was a foreigner-different and a splash of color in the gray that can sometimes tinge on a landscape that is seen day after day.

Which is hard to believe in the colorful city of Esfahan. The old capital of Iran, Esfahan is full of palaces and gardens and turquoise-tiled mosques. It is a breathtaking city, but because not too many foreigners come here, its treasures remain unknown to the rest of the world. The next day Naslee took me around to all these palaces and gardens, places that she assumed a foreigner wanted to see. And of course they were beautiful, but after the first couple of palaces and gardens, they all start looking the same. Sitting in front of a fountain that spurted pink and purple light, she asked if there was anything else in Esfahan that I wanted to see. I asked if there were any art galleries in town. She enthusiastically piped up there were several, and that as a matter of fact, one of her friends was showing at one that night. But would I want to leave this beautiful garden to see paintings and sculptures from a local and unknown artist? Maybe I would find it boring, she worried. The lights in the fountain changed to yellow and orange. Muzac suddenly started to play from hidden speakers. Yes, I said. I could stand leaving the garden to see a local art show.

Because it's just lights, plants, and chlorinated water in the gardens. Cropped and trimmed and made all pretty for the tourists to see. Art can be ugly. But art can show the underside, the realside of a country, a culture. With Naslee, I had this opportunity.

The works did not disappoint. Colors splashed, scratched, and thrown on canvases, sculptures reaching up to the sky. Titles like "Trapped", "No Escape", and "Taste of Freedom" made me think these pieces had an anti-government tone to them. Maybe I was reading more into the work than the artist had intended. Anti-government, anti-establishment, the lure for freedom and the cure from domination. What else was I supposed to think when practically everyone I met told me that's what they wanted?

I've never been to a country as friendly as Iran. And I've never been to a country as frustrated as Iran. This frustration was all the people talked about. After background civilities: “Where are you from? What is your job? What do you think of my country?” were done with what they really wanted to talk about came out: “So you like my country? I don’t. No, I love my country. But I hate my government. It is horrible and no good for the Iranian people.” They shake their heads. “And we can not stop the government; anyone who tries disappears. It is horrible.”

I don’t know what to say. Of course I want to agree. Yes, your government is horrible. Yes, you need a new government. But what other options are there? And who am I, as a foreigner, and what kind of position am I in to give them any advice? All I can do is sit there and nod. I find myself nodding a lot in this country.

The Iranian people have had it tough the past thirty years. In the 1970’s, unsatisfied with the Shah’s-leader Mohammed Reza-mismanagement of the economy and alignment with the USA, the hard-line Islamic opposition retaliated with bombings, assassinations, and other acts of terrorism. Paranoid, the Shah started clapping down on anyone that he suspected of opposing him: people were jailed on false pretenses and even disappeared. Tension grew and finally exploded in a series of violent demonstrations that made the Shah flee the country. Ayatollah Khomeini- the leader of the opposition-returned from exile, and proclaimed himself Supreme Leader of Iran. Because he promised reform and change, he was welcomed back by a majority of the population. Announcing that an Islamic Revolution was sweeping over Iran, his clergy-dominated government was met suspiciously by some, as they feared it would halt modernization of the country. It was welcomed by others, however, for they saw any alternative better than the hard-line antics that the Shah had adopted before fleeing the country.

Shortly after Khomeini returned, Iraq-supported by the USA-invaded Iran, plunging the country into a war that lasted almost ten years and killed hundreds of thousands of people. Naslee’s family moved from the Southwest of the country to the northern city of Esfahan to escape the war. She told me how as a child, she’d have to run to fallout shelters to escape the bombs, and how the war gives her nightmares even today, twenty years later. The country was plunged into chaos and many people who had the financial means to leave Iran, did.

When Khomeini died, former president Ayatollah Ali Khamenei took the position of Supreme Leader. Angry over the exodus of Iranians, the devastation of his country from a war that was supported by the USA, and the belief that Israel was a symbol of Western imperialism that would eventually creep east and take over Iran, he closed the country to Western influence. Proclaiming Iran an Islamic Republic, he banned dance, non-religious music, and passed a law that banned women from going to University and demanded they always have their heads covered in public, as well as be fully covered down to their wrists and ankles with the cloak-like garment called the chador. Heavy censorship was enforced to keep any “evil”, or Western, elements out of the country. The idea of modernizing Iran was done away with as law was dictated by the Quran, the Islamic holy book written 1300 years ago. This new Islamic government was welcomed by traditionalists, but there were also many people who had more progressive ideas for Iran, and believed that the new government would impede growth and modernization, plunging the country into a Dark Age.

Protests were quickly stamped out, with dissidents jailed, and some even executed. It was made clear that no tolerance would be given to anyone who spoke out against the government. Fear spread as people who were suspected of disobedience to the government disappeared. Support from the West waned because of these draconian measures and alleged sponsorship of terrorist activity such as hijacking of airplanes and bombing of Western interests. The American Hostage Crisis, assassinations in Germany sponsored by the Iranian government of dissidents that had fled Iran, and a death warrant on British-Indian writer Salman Rushdie??? on the grounds that his book, The Satanic Verses was blasphemous towards the Quran, caused the West to shy away from Iran even further as the USA put a trade embargo on Iran, plunging the country into further isolation.

Throughout history, it has always been the people that have suffered because of their governments, and in Iran’s case, this is no different. I saw a people hungry for modernization, and laws that were more in line with the twentieth century instead of the seventh. Though the chador has modernized into a headscarf and a button down, tailored coat, and women are allowed to go to University, things are still tough for them. In modern-day Iran, Naslee told me, a man, by law, can have up to four wives, or women that he has sexual relations with. But if a woman is accused of adultery, even if the circumstances are rape, she is stoned to death.


There wouldn’t be so much public unrest, she told me, if the government took better care of the people. The holy men, or Imams, take the majority of money from oil sales, money which is needed for public works, schools, and other needs of the country. Essentially, many Iranian people are poor, but they don’t have to be.

Iran was more open and progressive before the Islamic Revolution. The majority of people were Muslim, but in big cities like Tehran and Esfahan there were nightclubs where people could dance and listen to music, shops where women could buy the latest fashions, and uncensored broadcasting on radio and TV. Though many people didn’t drink alcohol because of their Muslim faith, it was still available and legal. I’ve heard Iranians say their country used to be what Turkey is now; Islamic but looking towards the future.

“There were even places to go dancing?” I asked Naslee.

“Yes, many places!” she said. She looked around, and then lowered her voice. “Would you like to go to a dance party with me tonight?”

“Dance party?” I stepped back. “But I thought dancing was illegal in Iran!”

“Yes, yes, it is,” she said. “But in the homes it is ok. Just as long as the neighbors like you and,” she grumbled. “they don’t report you to the police. My aunt is having a party. Will you come?”

The thought of going to a dance party in Iran was too irresistible to resist, so I enthusiastically accepted her invitation.

We left the gallery and after stopping by her house to pick up her parents and sister, went to the party. This was my first time in a local’s home, and I was surprised to see how modern it was. I was even more surprised to see that once inside, Naslee took off her headscarf and shed her coat, revealing an outfit of tight jeans, and a fashionable low-cut top. Her mother and sister also were wearing fashionable clothes under their coats, as were the other women in the house.

I stood gaping at them, my headscarf and coat still on. Having been in Iran for two weeks, and being told that I could only take off my coat and scarf in the privacy of my hotel room, I felt as though everyone had just gotten naked.

“It’s ok,” Naslee laughed, unbuttoning my coat. “You are in a house so do not need to follow the dress code. Besides,” she giggled, hanging it up. “Did you really think we wear these things all the time?”

I guess not. Still, the legal antics of Iran must have sank in a bit deeper than necessary, for when I took off my head scarf, I felt like I was doing something wrong. Still, I must admit, it was a nice feeling after being so covered up after two weeks of traveling through the country.

Naslee took me into the living room that was filled with about forty guests who were all fashionably dressed, lounging on couches and sipping drinks. The surroundings made me feel as though I could be in any Western country. Everyone stood up when Naslee introduced me and she took me around to family members and friends, the men shaking my hand, and the women kissing me on the cheeks three times. Everyone was really excited to meet me, as I was the first foreigner many of them had ever met.

After the round of introductions had finally finished, Naslee sat me down on a couch. “What would you like to drink?” she asked.

“An orange juice would be nice,” I answered.

“Ok,” she giggled, “but what do you want in it?”

“I don’t know,” I stammered. “Maybe a few ice cubes?”

“No!” she laughed. “Vodka, gin, maybe whiskey?”

I was shocked. Alcohol was strictly banned in Iran, and anyone caught drinking it could be arrested, including foreigners. I looked at her with wide eyes. “But isn’t that illegal, Naslee?”

“Yes, yes, of course it’s illegal!” she laughed. “But we are in a home, and because the neighbors like my aunt, the police will not come.”

“But where can you find alcohol in Iran?”

“My uncle makes it himself! My grandfather was a liquor brewer and he was taught the secrets of the business before the Revolution. Don’t worry! No police will come! Have a drink if you’d like! But if you want just orange juice, that’s no problem either-“

“No, no,” I started, not being able to resist a cocktail in a dry country. “A bit of vodka would be great!”

As I waited for my cocktail, I looked at the people lounging on the couches, and realized that they weren’t just drinking juices and cokes, but drinks filled with liquor. Though Naslee said there was nothing to worry about, I couldn’t help but feel nervous that the police would barge in any minute, and break up the party; arresting everyone for consumption and sentencing me, the foreigner, to torture, as I was probably the evil Western element that instigated it all……

Naslee shook me out of my paranoid little daydream when she came back with our drinks. After a few minutes the music started, Arabic-sounding, electro pop, loud and furious and completely different from any of the soft, chant-like music I had heard in Iran up to that point. People started to tap their feet, and a couple got up to dance, twirling their arms in their air and kicking their legs out. It looked like an energetic hybrid of Greek and Russian dancing. Within minutes, half of the guests were up dancing, stamping their feet and getting down on the dance floor.

Naslee shotgun her whiskey and grabbed my hand. “C’mon!” she enthused. ”Let’s go dance!”

I hesitated, sinking down into the couch. I was already getting enough attention just sitting there as it was. I could only imagine what kind of attention I’d get once I got on the dance floor and tried to bust some Persian moves.

“Oh, no thank you Naslee,” I said. “I really don’t feel like it, and besides there’s so many people and-“

“Don’t be shy!” she practically shouted, pulling me up from where I was trying to sink deeper into the couch. “Just do what I do!” She pushed me into the crowd and twirled her arms in the air, stepping back and forth with a vigor that I found difficult to keep up with. Everyone cheered when I came on the dance floor and within a couple of minutes, there was a circle of people surrounding me, clapping their hands to my stomping, two left feet. I guess there was nothing to do but follow Naslee’s suggestion and try to keep up with her dance moves.

I’m not sure if I managed to get the gist of Persian dancing, but I got the hang of it enough to stop stepping on Naslee’s feet. Someone handed me a shot of whiskey which made the dancing a lot easier. I had been scared of making a fool out of myself, but everyone was kind, and I assumed, they didn’t expect me know how to dance like them; they seemed to appreciate my efforts and got a kick out of a foreigner trying to dance like them. Almost everyone danced with me; even Naslee’s eighty-year-old grandmother came up and bumped hips. I seemed to become the hit of the party. Every time I sat down to rest, someone would come by within a couple of minutes and pull me back on the floor to dance. I was eager to please because I was a guest, but it was getting to be too much.

“Naslee!” I called out to her, as her seven-year-old cousin tried to pull me off the couch and spin me around the dance floor. “I really can’t dance anymore. Can you please tell everyone I need a break?”

She laughed and gently scolded her cousin in Farsi-the language of Iran. He blushed and went to go dance with his grandmother who obviously had a lot more energy than I did.

“No problem!” she smiled. “I told him that he had to stop trying to pick up foreign girls!”

Relieved that I got a break from being everyone’s party favor, I got comfy on the couch and checked out everyone else getting down. They having such a good time; this was the first time I had seen so much laughter and smiling the whole time I had been in Iran. Naslee’s mother sat down next to me, and proceeded to-surprise-surprise- complain about the government, namely how it banned dancing.

“It’s in our blood,” she explained. “It’s part of our heritage. Our ancient religion, Zoroatrinism, said it was necessary to have seventy days every year of celebration, for celebration and happiness are what brings one closer to God. But today, our government says that too much celebration and happiness keeps us away from God but,” she shook her head, “I don’t think this is true. Because,” she laughed, standing up and twirling around, “I feel so happy when I am dancing with my family and friends. How can the government say it is forbidden?” she twirled around. “Nights like this remind me of what Iran was like before the Revolution!”

If the dancing, the singing, and the laughter are any indication of what Iran was like before the Islamic Revolution then it must have been a vibrant country indeed. It saddened me that people weren’t allowed to openly do this, to enjoy life in this way because it was forbidden by the government for being “evil.”
The music stopped and Naslee said it was time to go, explaining that her Aunt didn’t want to upset her understanding neighbors by playing the music too late. As we said goodbye to everyone, I felt my heart get heavy as all the women who were just dancing a few minutes earlier, where pulling on their headscarves and hiding themselves back in their coats. It was time to go back out in the world and, once again, face the iron-clad dictatorship that is Iran.

Still, boozing and boogying it up was the last thing that I was expecting to do in Iran. Though it made me sad to see that these people had to hide out to enjoy simple pleasures like dancing and singing, it was reassuring to know that these pleasures hadn’t completely died out, no matter how hard the government tried to assure that this happened.