Continuing through the bazaar, I felt a light hand on my shoulder. I turned around to see it was a university student dressed in a black chador from head to toe. She introduced herself, and just wanted to speak some English. She spoke somewhat haltingly, but I had no problem understanding her. . She asked me my name, my job, and my impressions of Iran. These were, I learned in time, to be standard questions. It was nice that we could talk so freely. I did not think Iran was the kind of country where a woman would initiate a conversation with a stranger.