Iran on a bike

The first time I became aware of being in a very different culture as a woman, was while riding a bicycle amidst beautiful crop fields in Amasya, in the North of Turkey.The way the menlooked at me was quite odd, to say the least. Whether they were riding in their cars or walking by, all showed a hard, disapproving look. At that point, the reasons escaped me: was I doing or wearing something inappropriate? I just didn’t know. What my intuition told me was that I needed Carlos very close to me.

The experience in Amasya was a pale foreshadow of what would happen in Iran.
The first thing I will say is that we had noticed a few young girls and teenagers riding bicycles, maybe a total of 20. However, we had not yet seen old women like myself

Since our experience in Turkey, when we first arrived in Iran in the small town of Soltaniyeh (A), I paid special attention to clothing before stepping outside. My ‘gear’ included: black pants, a black and white dress past the knees, stockings, tennis shoes, a tied veil that covered neck and hair, gloves, a cap on top so that the veil would not be blown off, and lastly, dark shades.

Happily, we started pedaling on a fairly lonely road, complying with the codes: Carlos went ahead and I, right behind him. After a few minutes, motorbikes started appearing in the opposite direction. The first went by quite quickly and we continued to enjoy the beautiful landscape until a second man past us and as soonas he saw me he put his hand to his eyes at full speed on his bike!

After this one several more went by and the same thing happened: they couldn’t look at me!Fear overcame me and I started playing a movie in my head: what if they came back for revenge and ran me over? Would any of them identify us and come reach us at the caravan?! Fortunately, I can always count onCarlos to bring me back to reason and we returned to the caravan without further inconveniences, but with a mix of nostalgia, anguish, and pain for womenkind.

Our next attempt was motivated by a comment made by a tourist guide in Isfahan (B), who assured us that citizens there were a lot more open and receptive to
foreigners. At7 am, Motjavo, or guide, who by the way was quite protective of us,picked us up at the caravan.

With a population of about 2 million, Isfahan is a beautiful city. Its famous landmarkis Naqsh­e Jahan square, the second largest in the world after the Tiananmen Square in Beijing. In it lies the Great Mosque, the Chehel Sotun Palace and the entrance to the bazaar. The Zayandeh river crosses it, and to complete its beauty the park there has a bike track that runs by the riverside. The setting was perfect and for an hour and a half we had one of the most enjoyable bike rides of our lives!

Our last ride was in Persepolis. When we got there we found out that the next day was anational party so we calculated that in the early morning hours no one wouldbe around. So we got up early, and went to the complex. They did not let us advance much, but we got glimpses from the outside, we visited a nearby town andwe returned to our parking lot after pedaling for 26 very pleasant kilometers. Looking at our next itinerary we decided not to ride again since it was quite clear that women in Iran did not ride bicycles; it is not forbidden by law, but it is simply not done. In fact, the bikes we saw all had bars.