This is the title page of a book left lying on a motorbike saddle in Yazd. The wind must have blown it open; the picture of Ayatollah Khomeini grabbed my attention, and when I moved closer I saw the English text that the book's owner (or a secret admirer) had inscribed. Does the message refer to the subject of the photo, the owner of the book, or someone else? I'll never know, but images like this are what make Iran totally unique.
31 December 2008
Kharanaq mud-brick village, Yazd province, Iran
After leaving the peaceful mountainside temple at Chak Chak, we drove back along the dusty deserted road that we had driven in on. Hassan was now going to take us to the ancient mud-brick village of Kharanaq.
We arrived at the village and were amazed by the settlement of mud-brick dwellings in varying states of repair. Again we were the only visitors. Hassan led us through the maze of rounded structures until we came to an archway which opened into a small garden with a table covered in a pink check tablecloth! The owner appeared with a tray of chay! Over the low walls, rounded, golden, earth plastered dwellings formed organic shapes. There was complete silence.
Soon, lunch was served - camel and potato stew, mini spinach and potato omelettes and flat breads. And then - ahhh... coffee served with milk. After a few cups of coffee and chats in the sunshine, Hassan brought us through the maze of buildings - some inhabited and many in ruins, with half-crumbled walls revealing the inner structure of the rooms.
Soon we saw a geometrically decorated minaret which Hassan said we could climb to the top of. Once inside the main door, we were faced with a small square opening which you have to climb up into before accessing the stairwell. This inner structure is very narrow and when you take the first few narrow steps and turn the corner, there is complete darkness. I freaked out a bit but Ben said that the steps became illuminated around the next bend!
You then come to a small opening which you have to heave yourself out of and up onto a narrow ledge of about a foot in diameter. Pretty scary stuff as below you is another inner opening with a huge drop below. I was shaking when I got up there but the views were worth it - the village and surrounding mountains lit up by the sun. As I sat clinging on to the ledge, Hussan and Ben disappeared through another tiny hole and up the final steps to the top. Then Hussan told me to hold on as he shook the minaret - I could feel the whole tower swaying. You don't expect buildings to move about like this - too too freaky...
We arrived at the village and were amazed by the settlement of mud-brick dwellings in varying states of repair. Again we were the only visitors. Hassan led us through the maze of rounded structures until we came to an archway which opened into a small garden with a table covered in a pink check tablecloth! The owner appeared with a tray of chay! Over the low walls, rounded, golden, earth plastered dwellings formed organic shapes. There was complete silence.
Soon, lunch was served - camel and potato stew, mini spinach and potato omelettes and flat breads. And then - ahhh... coffee served with milk. After a few cups of coffee and chats in the sunshine, Hassan brought us through the maze of buildings - some inhabited and many in ruins, with half-crumbled walls revealing the inner structure of the rooms.
Soon we saw a geometrically decorated minaret which Hassan said we could climb to the top of. Once inside the main door, we were faced with a small square opening which you have to climb up into before accessing the stairwell. This inner structure is very narrow and when you take the first few narrow steps and turn the corner, there is complete darkness. I freaked out a bit but Ben said that the steps became illuminated around the next bend!
You then come to a small opening which you have to heave yourself out of and up onto a narrow ledge of about a foot in diameter. Pretty scary stuff as below you is another inner opening with a huge drop below. I was shaking when I got up there but the views were worth it - the village and surrounding mountains lit up by the sun. As I sat clinging on to the ledge, Hussan and Ben disappeared through another tiny hole and up the final steps to the top. Then Hussan told me to hold on as he shook the minaret - I could feel the whole tower swaying. You don't expect buildings to move about like this - too too freaky...
News and weather forecast - Iranian style
I can never resist checking out the local television stations when on holidays. Japanese TV is definitely one of my favorites so far but Iran comes a close second! I was delighted when I came across a news station with the female presenters wearing the full chador! The weather forecaster was also decked out in similar garb. (No extra clothing allowance then).
30 December 2008
Aisling at Golestan Palace, Tehran
The Qajar dynasty, the last true monarchy in Iran, moved their capital to Tehran at the end of the eighteenth century. Golestan Palace is one of the palaces they built there. While it's spectacular in its own way, let's just say that earlier rulers of Persia left even more impressive architectural legacies over the previous 2,500 years.
Receptionists at Hotel Atlas, Tehran
These two glam gals are the receptionists at Hotel Atlas! I just love their air hostess style uniforms. And you can see less glamorous me in the mirror behind them.
27 December 2008
Yazdi man
Finally a snap from the 'big' camera. Everything else you've seen so far on the blog since we're in Iran have been camera phone snaps. More to come...
This lad was sitting at the side of the road with a bunch of mates and asked me to take his picture, so here it is. Thanks to the anonymous Yazdi man. Ya Ali.
This lad was sitting at the side of the road with a bunch of mates and asked me to take his picture, so here it is. Thanks to the anonymous Yazdi man. Ya Ali.
Zoroastrian pilgrimage site, Chak Chak, Yazd province, Iran
We hired a driver today to bring us around some spectacular historical sites around the desert city of Yazd. One of these is Chak Chak which is a Zoroastrian pilgrimage site.
To get here, we drove across a moonscape of craggy mountains which you can see in the distance here. The site is the source of a clear mountain spring and a tree reputed to be a thousand years old. There is one caretaker who lives here alone all year apart for the time of the Zoroastrian festival when the place is thronged with thousands of worshipers.
This is a view from inside the temple which we had to ourselves. It was completely peaceful and silent and made a lovely change to the noisy city sounds.
To get here, we drove across a moonscape of craggy mountains which you can see in the distance here. The site is the source of a clear mountain spring and a tree reputed to be a thousand years old. There is one caretaker who lives here alone all year apart for the time of the Zoroastrian festival when the place is thronged with thousands of worshipers.
This is a view from inside the temple which we had to ourselves. It was completely peaceful and silent and made a lovely change to the noisy city sounds.
Persian beefcake kitch
This guy caught my eye when we passed a poster shop in Esfahan. Not exactly my type but obviously he must set a few sparks flying under those black chadors.
Text art
If Ben is in 'Tea Heaven', then I am definitely in 'Pattern heaven'! This script which was on the bus we took to Yazd is probably a prayer of some sort but to me it is the most intricate and exotic design and I have been keeping an eye out for examples of everyday Persian text which are out of the ordinary to me!
Lady in black
We have used the taxi-sharing system a few times but this was my first chance to sit beside a woman in full chador. Ben sat in the front and with a few Farsi and English words and lots of laughs we all tried to make ourselves understood. When we got out of the car, I held hands with the woman and her final parting to me was 'Happy'! - How lovely
Phone blogging
I really didn't expect it to be this easy; Aisling takes a snap on her phone, bluetooths it to mine and I send it to Flickr and Blogger simultaneously via the hotel's wireless network. Wicked, as we used to say in the nineties.
Aisling's phone's panorama feature
Aisling's discoved that she has this fantastic panorama stitching feature built into her phone. We're looking forward to creating some modernist mosques!
25 December 2008
Iranian food
Most restaurants or teahouses have a selection of day-beds or takht, covered in rugs on which you can recline on cushions and eat your meal. Some of the dishes we've enjoyed include Fesenjun, which is roast chicken in a sauce of grated pomegranate, walnuts, aubergine and cardamon, served with rice. Another dish, Mirza Ghasemi, which is mashed aubergine, tomato, egg and garlic served with bread or rice - and one of my favourites, cooked by Nima's mum in Masuleh, was a green vegetarian dish with nuts and seasoned with lots of dill. This was served with sliced tomato and cucumber on the side, yoghurt and a bowl of crispy rice. Yum!
The entrance portal to the Imam Mosque, Esfahan
The beauty of Esfahan's mosques is truly breathtaking. This portal was built between 1611 and 1615 CE under the Safavid king Shah Abbas I.
The entrance portal to the Imam mosque, Esfahan.
I've found that most people in Iran are amenable to having their photo taken if you ask first, but in this case I'm guessing from their expressions that these two didn't mind being in this snap!
Masuleh
Another of Nima's shots - this time of his mum knitting (note the lack of veil or manteau: she's among family) and his sister Kiera Knightly. Shame she's not in the frame properly.
Masuleh
One of Nima's snaps out the window showing the end of the valley and the surrounding mountain tops.
Masuleh
Sitting on the floor in the guest room in Masuleh, nice and toasty beside the kerosene heater.
Hot beverages and lack of alcohol
The lack of alcohol hasn't bothered me as much as I had expected, although I have fantasized about chilled beer and Amaretto on several occasions. I gave in one evening and ordered a Bavaria beer (0.0%). It had a nice malty taste and I could almost believe it was having an effect.
I have rehearsed a plan for our departure day, though; I'm going to board the plane in Tehran and remove my veil once we're airborne and order the strongest drink available.
Masuleh village
Masuleh village is beautiful; after the brutalist ugliness of Tehran and the humdrum towns of Rasht and Fuman, it's a real delight to be surrounded by forests, mountains and snow. Masuleh is situated at the end of a steep-sided bowl-shaped
valley. The buses stop at the lower end of the town. From there, the town's streets are a network of stone steps and walkways snaking around and between the houses. Each of the buildings are finished in a toffee-coloured plaster
and are flat-roofed. All have wooden windows and some have balconies. What's remarkable about Masuleh is that the roofs of lower houses form the pathway in front of higher houses. Everything is covered in a substantial layer of fresh snow.
We met Nima; he led us up through the town, smiling and chatting and sometimes helping to lug Aisling's suitcase up steep, icy stone steps. After a few minutes we arrived at his parent's house, perched above a steep drop down to a ruined house below. After we'd stepped indoors and shed our shoes, Nima's mum led us upstairs via a short, carpeted passage with whitewashed walls and up a steep stone staircase into a large, bright room with high ceilings, no furniture, overlapping Persian rugs on the floor and stunning views over the valley and the town. A kerosene heater kept the room at a snug temperature, despite the gaps in the window frame. It only took us a moment to decide to stay. We curled up on the floor and while Nima's mum prepared us a light lunch of wholemeal naan, chunky deep-red marmalade and chay, Nima pestered us for "game, empee thuree" until I gave him my phone. I only got it back an hour or two later, stone dead, the battery utterly flat. He never got a go of Aisling's phone, but I'm now the happy owner of some great candid snaps of Nima, his family, shots of the town and gurning videos.
valley. The buses stop at the lower end of the town. From there, the town's streets are a network of stone steps and walkways snaking around and between the houses. Each of the buildings are finished in a toffee-coloured plaster
and are flat-roofed. All have wooden windows and some have balconies. What's remarkable about Masuleh is that the roofs of lower houses form the pathway in front of higher houses. Everything is covered in a substantial layer of fresh snow.
We met Nima; he led us up through the town, smiling and chatting and sometimes helping to lug Aisling's suitcase up steep, icy stone steps. After a few minutes we arrived at his parent's house, perched above a steep drop down to a ruined house below. After we'd stepped indoors and shed our shoes, Nima's mum led us upstairs via a short, carpeted passage with whitewashed walls and up a steep stone staircase into a large, bright room with high ceilings, no furniture, overlapping Persian rugs on the floor and stunning views over the valley and the town. A kerosene heater kept the room at a snug temperature, despite the gaps in the window frame. It only took us a moment to decide to stay. We curled up on the floor and while Nima's mum prepared us a light lunch of wholemeal naan, chunky deep-red marmalade and chay, Nima pestered us for "game, empee thuree" until I gave him my phone. I only got it back an hour or two later, stone dead, the battery utterly flat. He never got a go of Aisling's phone, but I'm now the happy owner of some great candid snaps of Nima, his family, shots of the town and gurning videos.
Arriving in Masuleh
We succeeded in getting to Masuleh the following day. We took a minibus from Fuman. Ben got 'chatting' to a Mullah - revered holy-man with turban style headgear and flowing beard and robes. I followed behind them on the street - (two steps behind), and was again so amused and impressed to watch Ben being able to communicate in Farsi!Holy man directed us to the spot where the mini-bus was and we loaded on our bags and joined two guys sitting inside huddled around a gas stove! The driver simply waits until he has enough passengers to make the journey worth his while. So after lots of parping horns and engine revving, we finally pulled off.
The bus was better equipped for the icy roads and we were soon past the place where we had to turn back the previous day. We started climbing higher into the mountains and the snow covering got thicker the further we got. Every now and then, we'd stop to pick up some craggy mountain folk who bundled in beside us.
We arrived in Masuleh and the village looked beautiful covered in a blanket of fresh snow. We started rolling our cases up the hill and soon we saw a little boy come running towards us. He asked us if we were looking for a room so we followed him up narrow stone steps and to his parent's house. His name is Nima.
22 December 2008
Our hotel room in Rasht (on the way to Masuleh)
If you think the room is grim, you should see Aisling's hair after a day under her veil! :-) Ah, in fairness the room is clean. Decor and lighting are eye-poppingly woeful though. Tomorrow, bus to Fuman and then a taxi to Masuleh.
Alborz mountins
Bus and truck stop towards dusk on the road to Rasht
Two thimblefuls of chay for 3000 rials - that's 22c. Clean, marble-lined squat loos.
Included with the fare...
...a lucky bag for each passenger containing a tea cup, banana-flavored Topi Cake, and a RAND chocolate hazelout wafer. Very civilized.
We're on the bus from Tehran to Rasht. We'll find another bus there to take us to the ancient mountain village of Masuleh, where we're planning to spend a few days before heading south and east again.
We're on the bus from Tehran to Rasht. We'll find another bus there to take us to the ancient mountain village of Masuleh, where we're planning to spend a few days before heading south and east again.
Blogging by phone with no roaming
There are no international roaming agreements between European mobile operators and operators in Iran, so I'm dependent on finding the odd open wireless network to get my backed-up mail sent. I have the email client on my phone configured to relay mail via my Gmail account, so I don't need to care about which SMTP server to use either. So far it's been working well! We'll see how it goes over the coming days as we retreat into the wilds away from modern conveniences like wireless networks.
Extraordinary welcome
I've been delighted by the help and welcome we've received in the few days we've been in Iran - but today's experience at the bus station makes me realize how pleasant travelling independently in Iran is going to be. I've made the effort to learn a few words of Farsi and this effort is making all the difference. We arrived at Tehran's Western bus station (terminal-e gharb), a vast, sprawling bus park scattered with tea and snack kiosks. Sunk into the ground in the middle of this is the terminal building itself. It's a huge concourse lined with bright shops - bookshops, chay stands, sandwich bars - and dozens of ticket counters each belonging to competing private bus companies. Normally this kind of setup is an exercise in frustration - running around trying to figure out the right place to buy the appropriate class of ticket without getting skanked or made to feel like a complete fool. Let's just say I've had a few moments like this in places like India.
Well, this time it was different - very different. At the first counter I was directed immediately to the company selling tickets to Rasht. The Rasht bus counter was heaving but I got to the top of the crush quickly and asked for two tickets to Rasht. "Ahh, you speak Farsi!" beamed the guy behind the counter (in Farsi) and moments later I had our tickets. I asked what time the bus left and was delighted to be able to understand his reply. Next question was "where is the bus?" I didn't understand the reply, but the man's hand signals indicated he'd show me. Aisling had been standing to one side with the suitcases (living out of a backpack at our age is a drag) so after profusely thanking the guy at the ticket counter, I joined her and we took our time buying some snacks for the journey and slurping some sweet black chay.
Some time later the bloke from the ticket counter joined up and introduced us to his colleague who led us a short distance to our bus, lined up with dozens of others, their destinations displayed in Persian script. He disappeared after my thanks. Everything happened at a pleasant pace - there was no pushing or shoving. People excuse themselves if they need to squeeze past one amother in a tight spot here. I loaded our luggage into the bus's belly and received two plastic tokens in return - like you would at a cloakroom. Finally, the bus driver's assistent guided us to our seats, where we settled down, relaxed and comfortable. Ten minutes later, the bus departed.
Before our journey to Iran began, I'd heard many times of the hospitality and helpfulness of ordinary Iranians. Every word of it is true.
17 December 2008
More thoughts on the hijab or chador
I am much more used to wearing the veil now and it only seems really odd when I catch myself in a mirror! It also has to be said that there are lots of stunning Persian women who manage to wear it and still look highly glamourous. The daring ones backcomb the front section of hair into almost bee-hive proportions and rest the scarf as far back as they feel they can get away with. They focus on dramatic eye make-up with layers of mascara and smoky eyeshadow. Unfortunately I don't have the hair to carry this look off!
So it got me thinking about the chador - the full-on garb is like a huge black sheet which falls from the head to the ground and is grasped at the neck or higher to partially cover the face when necessary - (to avoid strange men peering at your cheekbones or something equally silly).
So the whole scarf thing almost has an invisible cloak feeling to it - the bigger the surface area, the more invisible you are and if your friend was walking ahead of you up the street and she wasn't the only one wearing the full-size version, there's no way you'd be able to recognise her. I wonder how many times women partially cover their faces to hide their identity or avoid having to make small talk with neighbours or friends that they're not in the mood to talk to? "Nazin, I thought I saw you at the market today" - "Nah - I was having a spray tan and pedicure at Ferdosi Glamour"
Kicking our heels in Fuman
We're kicking our heels under a wall-to-wall blanket of low stratus cloud in a pokey town called Fuman, in hilly, forested rural Gilan. Today we tried and failed to get to the ancient mountain town of Masuleh.
The day started early in Rasht, after a delicious breakfast of naan, cheese, eggs, honey and multiple cups of chay. We found the minibus to Fuman with no trouble and jammed ourselves in on the back seat beside the other passengers. Seconds after I'd taken my seat (beside Aisling, who was at the window) there was a musical chairs moment because there was no seat available for another lady passenger which wasn't beside a man. I switched places with another guy, into his single seat and then vacated the seat he'd just left so that a lady in chador could take the seat. It's a funny arrangement - like dominoes, with just two types of piece - male and female. Male beside male, female beside female, unless you have a piece on which the mail end is 'married' to the female end. A culturally-imposed packing problem.
The little blue minibus rumbled to life and clambered over the bumpy, muddy road as the rain started to bucket down outside. The windows behind the tassel-trimmed, blue-and-white patterned curtains quickly steamed up. Aisling rubbed away the condensation to reveal a heavy sleet falling. Two (gorgeous) young women a couple of rows ahead of us started playing a game of 'tug the veil', which consisted of the girl on the rear bench pulling back the hejab of the girl in front so that most of her head was visible. The girl in front reflexively tugged her veil forward again, only to have it pulled back by her friend a moment later, amid giggles and shrieks.
During the journey, the sleet turned to snow, though it wasn't sticking on the road. The hilly, deciduous tree landscape was covered with a thin layer of snow and the heavy overcast meant we coundn't see the mountains at all. We arrived in Fuman after about half an hour and quickly organised a taxi to take us to Masuleh, a journey of 25km.
The taxi driver didn't have a word of English so once again I was glad of my minimal Persian. We could negotiate the destination and price with ease. The manky old Paykan car swung around long looping roads, climbing into the mountains between forested slopes as the snow got heavier and heavier, now sticking to the road. Sometime after Aisling's ears had popped, the car was struggling to make it up a straight incline. Shortly we came to a standstill, wheels spinning. The driver indicated that we should go back to Fuman (no language skills required here) and I didn't argue. The driver turned the car around and soon we were back on (wet) black tarmac. We stopped for a quick chay in a shack by the side of the road - the driver insisted on paying for our chay - and then resumed our journey. I strung together the Farsi for "Do you know anybody with a Jeep?" to which the driver replied that the minibuses which make the journey have four wheel drive, but that there wouldn't be any more today. Talk soon turned to finding a hotel and getting lunch. I didn't believe that the canned phrase I'd learnt: "We're going to go and have lunch, would you like to join us?" ...would be any use, but amazingly this was a situation which required that I reel off the entire construction a couple of times. Our driver declined. His contract with us concluded in a most friendly manner with us paying marginally more than we'd originally negotiated amid smiles all around.
Fuman has one hotel, built recently by successful local business man and concrete engineer, where we're now booked in for the night. We'll be up early tomorrow to find out if minibuses will be going to Masuleh. In the meantime, we have the rest of the afternoon and evening to kill. The family who run the hotel are celebrating Eid tonight, which is a festival that crept up on us unawares. We may get invited, but despite the fact that I'm sure we'll be welcomed by the family, I'm squirming at the thought of having to diplomatically answer questions about children (lack of), religion (lack of) and international politics.
Loving the craziness...
We've found another internet cafe so I can write some more. Ben has been writing blogs and uploading them from his mobile but I am too slow at typing - MUST learn to use predictive text! I've been remarking to Ben that I haven't felt angry at anyone since we get here and that's a great feeling! Although it's pretty crazy and in some ways like India, the people are incredibly friendly and have a brilliant sense of humour which eases every situation.
When we checked out of our hotel in Tehran, we stood at the side of a busy roundabout junction to hail a taxi. The way it works here is that you shout your destination through the open passenger window and the driver decides whether he wants to take the fare or not. If not, he just drives on. We were conspicuous because of our luggage and so it turned into a bit of a circus! - But the mood was totally light-hearted and it was then as I mentioned above, that I noticed that I haven't really felt any anger towards anyone since we got here. This might sound bad but anyone who has travelled in Asia will probably know what I mean. I actually didn't care how long it took as I was enjoying just standing there watching the mild chaos.
When we checked out of our hotel in Tehran, we stood at the side of a busy roundabout junction to hail a taxi. The way it works here is that you shout your destination through the open passenger window and the driver decides whether he wants to take the fare or not. If not, he just drives on. We were conspicuous because of our luggage and so it turned into a bit of a circus! - But the mood was totally light-hearted and it was then as I mentioned above, that I noticed that I haven't really felt any anger towards anyone since we got here. This might sound bad but anyone who has travelled in Asia will probably know what I mean. I actually didn't care how long it took as I was enjoying just standing there watching the mild chaos.
Several taxis pulled up, swerving and honking in their clapped out cars. On one occasion, a taxi stopped a short distance past us and the driver literally threw a family of women and children out of the car before gesturing that he would give us a lift. We were appalled and made it obvious that we were not going to take their place.The mother looked relieved and climbed back into the car!
Still, it was fun to watch how the taxi service works here - no queues - whoever gets their shout in first gets the lift! We found a taxi shortly after that and climbed into a dilapidated but cool car with sheepskin dashboard and exposed metal on the internal doors. Our 50-something driver was good looking in that dark swarthy way with leathery hands and a twinkle in his eye. We shared our Dutch honey licorice with him and he was fascinated with the flavour :-)
Sometimes it feel like being in a movie, (although we're only here a few days). We have literally only seen about 2 tourists since we arrived so we feel like we have the place to ourselves. Ben's going to tell you about our failed attempt to get to the beautiful thousand year old mountain village of Masuleh. Our final car journey had to turn back when we were less than 15km away due to lots of.......snow!! We'll attempt it again tomorrow.
Bye for now - khodah hafez!
15 December 2008
Stained glass light on decorative floor tiles at Golestan Palace, Tehran
Stained glass light on decorative floor tiles at Golestan Palace, Tehran
Originally uploaded by rastapopolos
yek ta moment Irani
Waiting for the lift in the hotel after breakfast this morning, two little boys ran up and hopped into the lift before me. They jumped out at the first floor, met by their dad. He pulled the lift door open fully, spotted me and smiled "hello mister." It was only then that I remembered the woman standing a few metres away as we waited for the lift moments before - she'd chosen not to get into the lift with me and the boys.
Moral of the story - don't try to get into lifts with lone Irani women.
14 December 2008
First impressions
Posted as me, but really from Aisling:
"In the queue for the toilets on the plane, a gorgeous Iranian girl struck up a conversation with me. She asked me how I felt about having to wear the hijab. I responded politely that I didn't mind too much as it is the rule here. She told me she hates wearing it. She also told me she married an Iranian with Canadian citizenship and they moved to Toronto five years ago. She used to be angry all the time when she lived in Iran and hated the regime although she loves her country. Unfortunately, she said that her husband, although well-educated, was surprisingly traditional about Islamic issues regarding women. Eventually their differing views led to them divorcing. She also said that there's a high rate of divorce in Iran, but that only men can divorce their wives and not the other way around.In our first few hours in Tehran we've found people to be open and friendly and the atmosphere in the airport was completely relaxed, with everyone smiling and greeting friends and relatives arriving.My "disguise" seemed to be appropriate; however I need to master how to secure my veil as it keeps flapping at the side of my face and I keep wanting to push it back. It's like having long hair that keeps blowing across your face. Annoying, but I will get somewhat used to it I suppose.The headscarf is something I'm continually aware of and I'm not sure I've quite got the hang of putting it on correctly - (although I have seen a few different styles, sizes and ways of customising it) I was thinking about it today and I actually don't mind having to wear a particular item of clothing. I don't feel repressed. (Although I know I certainly would if the time period extended beyond 21 days!) In fact in a way I feel like I blend in with everyone else and can become more observant of others without being so obviously different or 'touristy'. What does bother me is the fact that I have to keep adjusting it to make sure it's sitting properly. Then there is the issue of restricted vision and reduced hearing! Finally and most irritating is the fact that it is difficult to control or adjust my body temperature in different situations - for example, my wool pashmina is lovely and snug outdoors but as soon as we go into a restaurant I instantly get too hot. Today I had a brainwave - to carry my lighter black cotton scarf in my bag - and so was able to swap headwear once we went indoors (not in public, but in the bathroom, of course!)Apart from all the moans, it's just crazy fun to be here with zero tourists and in regime-ruled Muslim-land ;-) After lunch today (we spent the morning moving to a different hotel) we walked by the "Den of Espionage" - the old US Embassy. There are dramatic anti-American and anti-Israeli murals painted on the outer walls of the compound which we discreetly photographed. Then we took the Metro to the Bazaar and spent a couple of hours getting happily lost in a maze of interlocking passages, with vendors displaying colourful arrays of items from Bollywood-style bras to Persian rugs. Above us were the most beautiful brick vaulted ceilings. As I followed Ben, I felt like I was watching Tintin on a foreign adventure - Tintin in Persia! We were the only Europeans in the place and yet little fuss was made of us aside from some genuinely warm welcomes to Iran. I was swept along, wrapped in my headscarf and jumping aside to allow a constant stream of vendors to squeeze past with trollies and motorbikes piled high with goods."
That's just our first day in Iran - I have a feeling this will be a special holiday indeed. Right now we're planning on heading to Masuleh, which is an ancient village in the mountains north-west of Tehran. We'll be in Tehran for another couple of days though.
One for techies
Here's a traceroute from an Iranian coffenet to Google - the packets take a very interesting path.
Microsoft Windows XP [Version 5.1.2600]
(C) Copyright 1985-2001 Microsoft Corp.
(C) Copyright 1985-2001 Microsoft Corp.
C:\Documents and Settings\INTERNET-1>tracert www.google.com
Tracing route to www.l.google.com [66.249.91.147]
over a maximum of 30 hops:
1 1 ms <1 ms <1 ms 192.168.1.1
2 16 ms 15 ms 14 ms 91.98.88.1.parsonline.net [91.98.88.1]
3 19 ms 18 ms 18 ms 10.234.245.173
4 20 ms 20 ms 18 ms 10.234.232.157
5 23 ms 22 ms 19 ms 82.99.201.241.parsonline.net [82.99.201.241]
6 * * * Request timed out.
7 22 ms 19 ms 19 ms 10.234.249.254
8 23 ms 21 ms 23 ms 78.38.255.61
9 21 ms 21 ms 24 ms 78.38.255.197
10 24 ms 20 ms 23 ms 78.38.255.229
11 44 ms 49 ms 44 ms 212.156.90.29
12 43 ms 42 ms 45 ms erzurum_t2_1-erzurum_t2_2.turktelekom.com.tr [212.156.252.101]
13 53 ms 56 ms 51 ms ulus_t1_1-erzurum_t2_1.turktelekom.com.tr [212.156.109.25]
14 62 ms 58 ms 59 ms acibadem_t1_1-ulus_t1_1.turktelekom.com.tr [212.156.117.33]
15 670 ms 810 ms 898 ms acibadem_t2_1-acibadem_t1_1.turktelekom.com.tr [212.156.117.6]
16 152 ms 154 ms 153 ms ams_col_1-acibadem_t2_1.turktelekom.com.tr [212.156.102.9]
17 145 ms 142 ms 144 ms 212.156.102.14
18 146 ms 142 ms 141 ms 209.85.254.92
19 137 ms 138 ms 140 ms 64.233.175.246
20 119 ms 120 ms 121 ms 72.14.233.79
21 142 ms 123 ms 122 ms 66.249.94.154
22 145 ms 147 ms 149 ms ik-in-f147.google.com [66.249.91.147]
Trace complete.
"Tourism, a tool for peace and dialogue among civilizations"
Iran, day zero: Expected versus actual:
Airport passport control and customs
Expected: grim-faced, militaristic customs staff and heavily armed police all over the terminal building. Actual: Friendly passport control guy, who smiled and said "Welcome to Iran" in a slightly embarrased, I'm practicing-my-English sort of way. No police, no guns. Plenty of smiling families everywhere.
Tehran architecture
Expected: Grim concrete. Actual: Astonishingly grim, ugly concrete.
Hotel room
Expected: International quality double room. Actual: Twin room decorated in a hospital interior design style. Two singles. Hotel otherwise booked out, so no other option.
State of mind: Expected: excited anticipation. Actual: Stressed anticipation.
We got into Tehran at five to midnight and crept into our (separate) beds at two'oclock in the morning. We're here.
04 December 2008
Travel Insurance
In an earlier post I listed some companies providing travel insurance. In general, no company had any problems with Iran as a destination - they applied no extra surcharges - but did point us to the UK's Foreign and Commonwealth Office Travel Advice Unit for exclusions pertaining to Iran. In short our policy doesn't cover us if we travel to within 100km of the Afghanistan border or within 10Km of the Iraq border.
In the end we went with the VHI's annual Multi-trip policy, which cost €106 for the two of us. We already have healthcare cover from VHI, so it made sense to get our travel insurance from them.
In the end we went with the VHI's annual Multi-trip policy, which cost €106 for the two of us. We already have healthcare cover from VHI, so it made sense to get our travel insurance from them.
Life goes on in Tehran
Aisling found this wonderful photo blog on ordinary daily life in Tehran. I'll let the author speak for themselves:The whole idea behind my site is to show that Iran is not a dangerous country. To show that for the most part it's a beautiful country with kind, loving and hospitable people. If I were to constrain myself and not say everything that needs to be said then I would imply that I am afraid, and being afraid would mean that this is in fact a dangerous country and in doing so I would defeat my whole purpose! That said, if I were to be arrested or in any way reprimanded for this site, I would take back everything I just said. If I get arrested for a site that captures daily life in Tehran, then this country must be in deep trouble and suffering from an extreme case of paranoia. If this happens, I will invite all my visitors to raise hell.
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