7 Tales of Iranian Hospitality

Iran is a wonder in terms of sightseeing, but there’s a reason that time and again, it’s the people and their hospitality that take center stage. Whether it’s a simple offer, a full meal, or a glass of tea, Iranians are most gracious hosts and give the best of what they have to their guests. While this is nothing new to me, there’s always a side of me (and I think of it as the American side- don’t get me wrong, Americans are very nice too, and I don’t mean to offend, but this is just different) that is overcome with a sense of amazement at these small gestures. It’s these acts of kindness that make my heart grow three sizes, the sole commonality between the Grinch and me. What follows are a few snippets of my experience with Iranian hospitality at its finest during my road trip through central Iran a few months ago.

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Âsh in Saryazd

On a pitstop in Saryazd, a tiny Zoroastrian village south of Yazd, we received not only kind hospitality from the hostel owner but from the locals as well. We dropped by unexpectedly (sarzadeh in Persian- a good word to know), but the hostel owner was more than courteous, inviting us in for tea before showing us around the accommodations. He then gave us a tour of the village, the likes of which I had only ever seen once before in Qeshm- so clean you could practically eat off the ground. And even though I think they were probably totally unnecessary, there were laminated signs advising people not to throw trash and to conserve water (replete with hashtags and everything!). I’d like to add here that this village is managed by a [super] woman.

One feature you’ll notice in Zoroastrian neighborhoods (which you will also see in Yazd’s Zoroastrian quarter) is benches. These add to the sense of community by giving neighbors a place to sit and catch up with one another. At the end of our tour, we came across three women on one of these benches. After exchanging hellos, our guide introduced us, saying we were just passing through and checking out the hostel. That’s when one of the ladies asked if we liked âsh (a thick noodle and bean soup) and scurried home to bring us a big bowl. Back at the hostel, we enjoyed this home-cooked meal with the owner while he enlightened us on Zoroastrian festivals and wedding traditions.

Saryazd may have been a tiny village, the entirety of which was the length of my street in Tehran, but it left a huge mark on my soul. And fighting for the top spot of my favorite take-aways from this pristine village is this little fact: The people here don’t use words like “old” or “the elderly.” Instead, they say jahândideh (experienced/worldly/traveled). I certainly think that’s well worth adopting into our vocabulary.

Breakfast at the bakery in Ardakan

You’ll notice Ardakan played the greatest host to my experiences of hospitality. My theory is that many travelers often overlook this little gem in favor of Yazd, so when they see a visitor, they go all out. Of course, a simpler explanation is that this is just their nature.

Either way, my first encounter took place at the bakery in the morning. The khalifeh (dough maker) was busy forming perfectly equal-sized pillows of dough for the shâter (baker) who all but danced, light as a feather on his feet as he flattened the dough and popped each one into the clay oven. As we chatted them up and took pictures, the khalifeh suddenly appeared before us with a tray of tea and cleared off some space so we could sit comfortably and drink. A few minutes later, he returned from a quick bread delivery, but not empty-handed. Container of khâmeh (heavy cream commonly eaten with bread for breakfast) in hand, he invited us to stay for a bite. Since we had growling stomachs waiting for fresh bread back at the hostel, we sadly had to decline and left them to enjoy the khâmeh. 

Veggies in Kharanaq

Behind the crumbling ruins of Kharanaq, a ghost village north of Yazd, lie vast fields where local farmers have planted various veggies- a vegan’s dream! After exploring the decrepit castle, my friends and I decided to walk toward the field where we spied landowners harvesting their crops- sacks of the largest ruby beets I’ve ever seen in my life along with pale yellow carrots. No sooner did we stop to talk to them than they dug up a couple of giant carrots, washed and sliced them into chunks for us to try, and launched into a speech about all the different ways to use them in local dishes. And in case that wasn’t enough, they gifted us one of the biggest beets.  

Random invitations in Ardakan

Ardakan’s old town is wonderfully dreamy. Standing on a rooftop will grant you views of beige mudbrick buildings dotted with bâdgir (windcatchers) and palm trees. Not to sound too stereotypical, but it looks like something straight out of 1001 Nights. You don’t need a DeLorean to go back in time. Just your feet as you stroll through the charming alleys.

And at every turn, there was a hello from a jahândideh who took a short break from chatting with his friend to acknowledge these visitors, a salute from a shop owner welcoming these unfamiliar faces, an enthusiastic befarmâid from a local passing by on his bicycle. What, exactly, was he befarmâid-ing us to? I don’t think he even knew. But I’m sure he would have thought of something had we naively accepted. 

Exclusive visits in Ardakan

One of the best things about traveling in Iran is the fact that in a lot of places, you are the sole visitor, even if it’s just for a few minutes. It feels as if that particular museum or mosque or historical house is open just for you. This is especially true when you travel during the off-season or when you go to less-frequented spots. And when you do both of those things, well, then it’s extremely true. As was the case with Ardakan. 

The combination of the aforementioned factors meant that some sites were closed. But a quick phone call inquiring about visitation sent the manager or person in charge to the doorstep of said site in a matter of minutes. And they weren’t about to rush us out of there either. In fact, they took their time in delivering explanations and answering questions, sometimes so thoroughly that we had to chime in and politely cut them off. I did greatly appreciate the pride they took in their history, though. Especially the way they accompanied us every step of the way as if it was their first time seeing the site as well.

Lunch invite on the way to Rageh Canyon

On our way to Dareh Rageh (Rageh Canyon) in Kerman province, we followed Google maps to the nearest village where we proceeded to follow a few dubious arrows spray-painted on the walls. That’s when we put our pride aside and stopped to ask some locals to make sure we were headed in the right direction. 

They told us where to go from there (since there would be no more dubious arrows- which were actually accurate) before adding, “But join us for lunch first.” We thanked them, but considering how no Iranian in the history of the universe has ever accepted the first refusal, they insisted. “Seriously. We have a ceremony in 15 minutes, and we’d love it if you could stay and join us for lunch.” Again, we thanked them, saying we wanted to get to the canyon sooner to hike it while it was still daylight. “Well, the offer still stands,” they added before wishing us a good visit.

And that’s Iranians for you. There was absolutely no reason for them to offer us to stay for lunch. But they feel a sense of responsibility for visitors. They want to take care of you, make sure that you are happy and having a good time, and, above all, ensure that you’re well-fed. 

Side note: Rageh Canyon turned out to be a life-changing experience for me personally- a story for another time. In the meantime, you can get a glimpse of this incredible wonder of nature at Iran Vegan Travel.

Rock candy in Ardakan

I had never given much thought to how rock candy was made which I now think seems so wrong. Given that, paired with a glass of hot black tea, it’s the Iranian miracle cure for near everything, I probably should have devoted more time to understanding the healing properties of these magic crystals. Luckily, a subtle sweet smell and curiosity as to what those glistening rocks in the shape of a pie crust were led me to finally discover the art of nabât making. 

As I ogled the sheets of nabât cooling behind the window, the store owner peeked his head out and invited me in to get a closer look. I took him up on his offer and walked wide-eyed into the store where I was given an impromptu nabât-making lesson before entering the side closet where trays upon trays of nabât were stacked alongside a heater. I asked a few questions and snapped a few shots, much to the amusement of the store owner who seemed pleased that someone had taken such interest in his craft. After all, the making of nabât is probably filed under the “been there, done that” category for most Iranians. 

And in the end, of course, this kind gentleman couldn’t let me leave without a pocketful of freshly cooked (crystalized? dried?) nabât, which I happily accepted. 

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