'Hopeful Hospitality'

It's a bit risky to start writing about Iran because there's just so much to say—I could probably fill a book. Deciding what to include and what to leave out is no easy task. But maybe the best place to begin is with the fact that I drove to Iran in a 1984 Toyota Land Cruiser HJ60. Shiny blue. And big. This was back in 2017, and yes, I have to admit, I thought that was pretty cool. 

I started my journey in Utrecht, my hometown, and drove through Eastern Europe, making my way to Ukraine. After spending a few weeks exploring there, I took a boat from Odessa to Georgia. That boat ride was three days and two nights with not much to do but wait. It was on this trip that I met my partner—now ex-partner—who was traveling in a Fiat Panda. Green. And small. Ok, this was a small sidestep. 
 

Meandering through Georgia, Azerbaijan, and Armenia, I finally set my sights on Iran. I had arranged everything beforehand online, including the carnet de passage for my car—a necessary but ridiculously expensive document, costing around 800 euros, just to drive my Land Cruiser into Iran. Essentially, it’s a passport for your vehicle. But, as with all things, you never know if it’s going to work until it actually does.

I drove to the border, spending my last night in a small Armenian hotel, where I left behind my Georgian chacha and Armenian wine. You can’t bring alcohol into Iran—well, you can, but you’ll regret it. 

And there I was, in Iran, driving through this majestic land that so many people seem to have strong opinions about. I drove and drove until I reached Tabriz, my first stop. Finding a hotel was tricky, but some kind locals pointed me to a good place to stay. The hospitality was warm, though I quickly realized I was in a place where only men seemed to frequent. They were kind but firm in suggesting that I might want to reconsider my choice of headscarf—it was a bit too modern for their taste.

The next day, one of the men from the hotel accompanied me to the bazaar to help me find a more appropriate headscarf and show me around. I’ll never forget how everyone greeted me with a cheerful "Welcome to Iran." It filled me with joy. As I continued my journey, I passed through numerous toll booths. Each time, the guards would look at me in surprise and call out, "Where are you froooom?" I’d answer, "From Holland!" and they’d wave me through without charging a toll. This didn’t just happen once, but several times.

In my car, people waved at me, and when I walked down the street, many would stop me for a chat. The heat was intense, almost unbearable, and there was one occasion when I forgot to put on my headscarf. Just as I was about to leave a hotel, the receptionist urgently called out to me. I panicked, thinking I’d done something wrong, but then he pointed to my head. I had forgotten my headscarf. I was so grateful for his quick intervention.

During a meal at a restaurant, I met two incredibly kind men. One of them insisted on seeing me off the next morning, even though I told him I’d be leaving early. True to his word, he was there, and as I was about to depart, he performed the traditional Iranian ritual of pouring water on my car to wish me a safe journey.

I could go on and on with stories like these—the hospitality in Iran is truly out of this world. People invited me for tea, shared their smiles, and made me feel welcomed in ways that still warm my heart.

I really hope you'll enjoy my photography of this amazing land. To be honest, it was one of the best decisions I've made during my life. Visit this land and tell people about the beauty of it. The beauty of its people. When I feel bad or in despair, I think about these days. It brings a smile on my face and hope in my heart. 

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