"The people are so nice and helpful. They are really glad to see Europeans. The smocks and scarves don't really bother us. And the city is just beautiful."
The gate with the gigantic ornamentation is open, and I walk in. An older man badgers me with stories of the building's past, and his constant "Befarmaid, chanum - By your leave, madam" annoys me.
"Thank you! Very interesting, sir."
Suddenly I feel like an ordinary tourist, and I don't enjoy the role. His endless chatter in a mixture of Farsi and English distracts me and sounds suspiciously like tip hustling like I have never before experienced in Iran. Someone parked a bicycle in the mosque, and the careful glance my self-appointed guide casts at it indicates the two are closely related. Despite his barely intelligible words, I am not fully distracted, but the feeling of not comprehending this scene irritates me. It doesn't seem to be the right moment for visiting this particular mosque. I am far too wound up and do not dare to fully appreciate the sparkling turquoise faiences above me. How lucky that I have a lot of time and can come back here frequently. Here, next to the water basin, we took a group picture back then: with Mural who gave me her little hand and Keshwar, draped in her chador from head to foot so that only her glasses poked out of it. I cannot shake my would-be guide until I flee into the hubbub of a class of girls.
The twelve- to fourteen-year-old schoolgirls quickly forget the historical walls around us and instead bombard me with questions.

questions. In their jet black chador they surround me and listen to my answers incredulously. They are from Yazd and are elated that I know their lovely city. I tell them of my visits to the Dakhmeh, the Towers of Silence, tell them of the holy fire, the Friday Mosque and the fascinating wind towers.
"You find that interesting?"
"You bet! I traveled several thousand kilometers to see it."
"Aren't there any wind towers in Germany?"
"No, we don't need any. It's only hot for a few months a year. Mostly it's pretty chilly, and it rains a lot."
The girls from the desert city want to know more about that.
"The country is very green, at least in the spring and summer. The forests, fields, meadows, parks and gardens don't need any qanats. Enough water comes down from the sky."
"Do they also have chador in Germany? What do people eat? Do they go to mosque? Are you Moslem? Married? Do you have children?"
My life story, and especially my eating habits, deeply mystify them. For fun I tell them about pork and delicious roast rabbit. The concept of a daily helping of potatoes makes them shake their heads and believe I'm trying to pull their legs. They think my not having a husband and travelling the world alone is a joke. Finally we take each other's pictures, and they ask me for an autograph with a dedication. "In memory of a wonderful day in Esfahan - Bruni from Germany," I write in German on at least twenty hastily produced scraps of paper. The teacher