As I was cycling into Marand, I was a little nervous. Anyone who remembers this story can understand why. All the way from Croatia I had been on a mission which would succeed or fail here. I was entering Akbar’s hometown. Would he find me? And if not – how could I find him?
With another 10 km or so to the actual city, yet another car stopped me by the side of the road.
‘Helloooo! What is your name?’
Inside the car sat a small family of three, with kind faces smiling from ear to ear. One minute of conversation and it was settled, I was about to have my first Iranian homestay. Escorting me the last 10 km of uphill back to their house turned their 10 minute drive into an hour long one. But noone seemed to mind as they all were smiling and waiving to me though the car windows.
Then – of course – he was there.
Sure, this unknown man standing with a bicycle by the side of the road could in theory be anyone. But I instantly knew. That’s Akbar – waiting for me. Some of his 100 of so truck driver scouts had tipped him off, and he knew I was coming. What he didn’t know though, was that I had a delivery for him. Like every other cyclist, he invited me back to his shop, but as I was already taken we made plans to meet up again before I left Marand.
Yey. Mission Akbar was a success! (Well, almost. I still had the coin).
On this trip countless people have showed me absolutely amazing hospitality. But this family – taking an hour to personally escort me instead of just showing their house of my GPS – was a first. By now I’ve learned that this really is how things are done here. Hospitality and kindness is showed to a degree can sometimes drive you crazy, and probably would if it wasn’t for the fact that you know it comes with the best of intentions.
Another typical example of this came just as we’d finally made it to their home. For everyone’s sake, they let me jump straight into the bathroom. Mid shower – I hear a firm knocking on the door.
‘Fika? (my nickname) Fika?! FIKA, OPEN!!’
What’s happening’s going? Is the place on fire?! And what about the dress code? Quickly I wrapped myself in my way to small towel, opened and peeked out the door. Outside is Leila, the mother of the family, yet again with a huge smile on her face.
‘Fika. COLA!’
Before I knew it, she had shoved a class of Cola Cola in my hand and quickly closed the door again. And there I am. Soaked, with tears running down my face because of all the shampoo I have in my eyes – holding a huge glass of coke I have no idea what to do with.
Only in Iran.
The next couple of days were absolutely amazing – probably the best ones I’ve had so far on the trip. I’m not even gonna try to tell the stories from them here, but I will share a few photos.
First night, on our way to the family garden for iftar
Puja. The most charming little guy I’ve probably ever met
Neda. Puja’s awesome big sis.
See the scarf? This is one of the coolest things I know. Whether they want to or not, women in Iran don’t have a choice but to wear the hijab or chador, and conform to the rest of the Islamic dress code. But they are pushing it, slowly but surely moving the boundaries. Showing off the most incredible hair styles, wearing open mantaeus, and refusing to be to anyone’s victim.
There is so much so be said on and around this matter. And meeting girls and women in my own age, listening to their stories and struggles, have made a way bigger inpact on me than I was ready for. More than feeling fortunate and greatful for being born in a country like Sweden, I just feel so incredibly sad and heartbroken about the fact that they’re not.
I’ll write about this after I’ve left Iran. But please. If you haven’t already joined the ActionAid fundraiser – please consider doing it. This is important.
New day. New garden.
Sahar. Strongest girl I’ve met in my entire life.
We spent a long day hanging out in Sahar’s family garden
Some with more energy…
… and some with less
Yet another crazy thing. Someone had just found out that the Samsung phones most Iranians use are being sold tapped. With a small add on to the battery, the authorities keep track on the activity on the people’s phones – all without the owner knowing.
Those with Samsung’s of course checked their own phones, and sure enough. Underneath the battery sticker they found something that for sure wasn’t supposed to be there. Scary.
Evening fell, and more and more people showed up at the garden. In the end we were totally between 40 and 50 people, and soon enough I found out that most of them were there to ‘see the tourist’. Haha.
After iftar (the breaking of the fast during Ramadan) the night turned into a big party. Music blasting from the cars and everyone laughing and having a good time, no matter if we were sharing a language or not. Soon enough the rain was pouring down, but that didn’t stop the dancing and singing one bit.
Finally we came home and fell asleep Persian style. Carpets and blankets all the way!
I really miss these people.
Before leaving Marand I passed by Akbar’s shop to officially deliver his coin of luck, which I had been carrying with me all from Croatia. And man, this dude is cool.
I was Akbar’s cyclist No. 599
Now this is what we call a Trail Angel. Perhaps the biggest one of them all
Akbar decided to ditch the shop for a while and join in for a stretch
So. What do you say?
Fredrika