Iran > Having tea in the park

A taxi drops us off in the Armenian quarter of Julfa, south of the Zayandeh River. It’s Friday today, and many mosques and shops are closed. Friday is a day of rest for Muslims, but not for the Armenians. Therefore, this is a perfect base for sightseeing today. We get out at Vank Cathedral. The cathedral is one of the first churches built by Armenian immigrants in Iran and is beautifully decorated inside with colorful frescoes, especially striking are the bloody scenes. Next to the church is the Armenian museum, which devotes much attention to the 1915 genocide of Armenians by the Turks. Particularly emphasized is the incomprehension over the Turkish denial of the genocide. Nearby, the Armenian Bethlehem Church is still undergoing full restoration of its frescoes. The third church in the Armenian quarter is the Church of Mary. We can visit the courtyard, but the church itself is not accessible.

Iran - The Armenian Church of Bethlehem in Esfahan

In a teahouse in Julfa, we order tea with biscuits. When we check the bill, it seems unusually high. After we comment, they recalculate and reduce the amount by 30,000 rials. The final amount is still steep, but we pay it anyway. We walk back toward the river. A police officer helps us find the right direction. The streets are quiet today. At a fruit shop, we buy some fruit for lunch and head to the park to picnic among Iranians. After about half an hour, we reach the Zayandeh River at the famous Si-o-Seh Bridge. This 33-arch bridge was built around 1600. Around the bridge and in the park, it’s noticeably busier. Families picnic in the park, and young couples stroll along the bridge. We adapt to the local custom and lay a sweater down as a blanket for our picnic. We arrange our fruit and sit in the slightly damp grass, likely watered earlier in the morning. We quickly attract the attention of passersby. I nod politely to the left and raise my hand to the right. Soon, the first question comes: where are we visiting today? This is, of course, why we are here. We soon start chatting with an older man who worked abroad a lot before the revolution and has also been to Amsterdam. About ten meters away, his family observes the conversation. His daughter translates our origin and travel route for her parents. The father gestures for us to join them on their blanket because the grass is wet.

Iran - Invited to drink tea in the park of Esfahan

After initially declining politely, we move over for a second invitation. Nuts are immediately offered, along with tea. The father is very proud that his daughter can speak English with us. Our first host occasionally helps translate questions as well. After a while, we politely take our leave and continue walking through the park. There’s a cheerful and relaxed atmosphere. Sometimes I ask to take photos of people, and often people approach me to take photos of me. Everyone is curious about our origin. Even though I don’t speak a word of Farsi, the first answer is almost always “Holland,” which brings broad smiles. I regret that the language barrier prevents deeper conversation; gestures alone make it difficult. With a larger family picnicking behind a hedge, it’s different. From a distance, four girls call out “hello,” asking if I can take their photo. I am introduced to the entire family, spread over three blankets. They ask if I can take a photo of their grandfather too. I am offered tea and show them my photo album from the Netherlands. I lose track of time. We were supposed to meet at the bridge, so I rush through the park.

Iran - Until recently tea houses were located under the arches of the Chubi Bridge but these were closed by government order

It’s tricky—I feel like I’m in a Dutch fairground on King’s Day. The Chubi Bridge is also a beautiful bridge over the river. Until recently, teahouses were under its arches, but these were closed by government order. On the shaded side, it’s crowded. Many people sit with their feet in the water, and street performers entertain under the arches—a delightful scene. On the bridge, a boy approaches me. He introduces himself as Hoesein and asks if I can take a photo of him and his friends. Two friends wear military uniforms. Is it really okay? I ask several times if I can take the photo. They agree, but I hesitate to leave the image on my card. After a quick snack, a taxi drops us at the Chehel Sotun Palace. Contrary to the Lonely Planet guide, the palace is closed today, but we enjoy walking through the palace garden. Families picnic everywhere on the grass. Back at the large Ali Iman Square, we meet Mohammed again. Yesterday he showed his travel companions some beautiful carpets. Since the teahouse is closed, he invites us for tea at his grandfather’s. The bazaar is also closed on Friday, and Mohammed opens the gate, letting us in the quiet market. In a caravanserai, a courtyard in the bazaar, we visit Mohammed’s grandfather. He doesn’t speak English but immediately shows several carpets. Mohammed translates the warranty arrangement: if anything happens to the carpet, his grandfather will pay for a new trip to Iran. The carpets are beautiful, and I decide to buy a table runner. We move to an open part of the bazaar to drink tea with his uncle. In the evening, the entire travel group dines at a restaurant. It’s a bit cramped on the largest daybed in the place, but with some careful positioning, it works—though eating with legs pulled up remains a tight fit.