Kathy to Hilary, April 14, 1973 letter, Tehran, Iran We went to Pahlavi Dezh and watched Turcoman women working on carpets and talked to them about it. I bought a shawl—a huge black wool square with long fringe and roses—and a tool the women use when they knot the rugs. We went inside the yurts and everything.
Yurt 
On our trip back we stopped at a park that had belonged to Shah Abbas and I trooped up into the woods there by myself. No matter how far I went into the woods, I’d find a newspaper or watermelon rind and I could never get away from the sounds of people playing their radios full blast. There were trees like you would think you couldn’t find in Iran, it was a proper forest with a few dim paths and woodpeckers in the trees. It was on a hill overlooking a lake and behind it the mountains reached on, forested, green-treed and misty. And the people were sitting, chattering on their rugs spread out in the leaves.
The kids on the trip have their cassette players and they gossip as the bus inches down the mountainside. They thought the lake would be fine for water-skiing and didn’t see what a gift the lake was to all of us. I think I’ll always remember it. Everyone was so tired they passed out on the way home, so I got to stare at the mountains.
Please excuse me for writing on half-lines, but this thick-lined paper annoys me—it’s such a waste of space to print it like this. To tell the truth, I don’t have anything left to say—nothing worth reading—as if any of this other junk was—so I guess I’ll spare your eyesight and patience (how magnanimous) (however it’s spelled) of me.
Sorry for not being a good letter writer these days.
Love,
Kathy
P.S.: How does it feel to be 17?
4:51:51 AM 
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