Ta'arof fail

Tree-lined avenue in the rain at dusk, Fuman town, Gilan Province
Originally uploaded by rastapopolos

There are a few stories we didn't get to tell during the hurly-burly of travelling around Iran. Here's a memorable one from our lost day in Fuman.

Fuman's a pokey little town; not pretty, but picturesque and charming in its own way. It's got a long main street lined with motorcycle repair shops, bakeries, greengrocers and household goods stores. Trees are dotted around the town, adding to the rural feel. The centre of the town has a small open-air fruit and veg market. There's one restaurant.

It rained constantly as Aisling and I wandered around the town, killing time. We weren't hungry, but we were thirsty and bored. We found a simple chai shop near the market behind steamed-up windows. I opened the door from the street and the warm glow from the kerosene heater and the proprietor's smile lured me in. Aisling followed me and I gestured to ask if it was OK for her to join me. The grey-whiskered owner nodded his assent. In a booth near the back of the shop, two of the locals sat chatting quietly about the business of the day. They glanced at me briefly - long enough for me to greet them - and went back to their conversation with the proprietor after greeting me in return.

We sat just inside the door, near the window, on metal and plastic chairs at an unsteady table covered with a faded plastic table cloth. I asked for two teas please. "Dota chai, lotfan."

I slurped down my sweet tea in moments and the owner refilled my glass. We sucked on the boiled sweets provided and chatted in low tones. More of the locals came and went, acknowledging us warmly when greeted. The owner poked his caged bird and it sang for us.

After I'd drunk enough tea, I caught the proprietor's eye and asked for the bill. He waved me away, indicating that payment wasn't necessary. "Aha", I thought, "it's ta'arof".

Ta'arof is a bit like the way Irish people interact politely over cups of tea and cakes - "aah, you will, you will, you will - go on, go on, go on". "No you're grand, no really, I'm full, oh go on then."- but it's a little bit different too, as I was about to discover.

Ta'arof is the cultural obligation to put others before yourself, to make guests feel welcomed and treasured. I was aware that the owner of the chai shop and I were engaged in a game; he wanted me to pay and I knew I'd have to make several attempts to pay before he'd accept.

In order to move the transaction along, Aisling and I stood up and shrugged on our coats as I asked again how much we owed. It was at this stage that I made a fatal mistake - I neglected to take out my wallet. Moving towards the door, I asked again what we owed, smiling graciously for the wonderful hospitality and muttering warmly "of course we must pay, thank you thank you". The owner still refused to name a price and shook his head, smiling. It was all a little toe-curling. Some of the other men in the chai shop began to take an interest in the exchange.

"Accept graciously", said Aisling, "it was only a few cups of tea."

This threw me - maybe he was genuinely giving us a gift of the tea - surely if he wanted payment he wouldn't hold out that long? Maybe I was the rude one, making a fuss about insisting on paying him such a trivial sum when all he intended was to make us welcome. We stepped out onto the street into the rain.

The owner followed us out, his smile gone, holding out his hand. The other men in the shop clustered up against the steamy window to see what the outcome would be.

I was mortified. I pulled out my wallet and apologised to the owner. He extracted a few low-denomination bills from my hand. Slightly more than the price of a few cups of tea. I didn't mind. I laughed and shook his hand and apologised again in English and Farsi. "I'm sorry dude, Bebakhsheed, agha" We retired from the scene gladly.

So what is Shia Islam?

Imam Husayn
Originally uploaded by rastapopolos

There are two major strands of Islam - Sunni and Shia. The vast majority of the world's Muslims are Sunni. The name Shia is a contraction of Shiat Ali, the Party of Ali. Most of the population of Iran profess Shia Islam - it's the only country in the world with a majority Shia population, which isn't surprising, as this is the region in which Shia Islam emerged.

Imagine if Jesus had had a daughter and the Apostles had killed her offspring in order to retain control of the nascent Christian church; assuming you're a Christian or were brought up as such, that gives you an indication of the depth of the schism between Sunni and Shia Islam.

Despite inauspicious beginnings, the Prophet Muhammad became a rich and powerful man during his lifetime; he commanded armies and had access to vast wealth. He gathered around him a powerful cadre of followers, many of which were family. None of Muhammad's sons outlived him or reached adulthood, but one of his daughters, Fatima, did. Fatima was married to a cousin of Muhammad's named Ali and bore two sons, Hasan and Husayn.

After Muhammad's death, a power struggle emerged between his followers as to who should be his successor, or Khalifah (rendered in English as Caliph). Many of Muhammad's followers believed that the prophet's message should be passed on by his father-in-law, Abu Bakr. A smaller faction gathered around Fatima's husband, Ali.

Abu Bakr took the role of Caliph and a bitter feud broke out between to two factions, which lasted for years, Ali refusing to swear allegiance to Abu Bakr. Abu Bakr was followed as Caliph by Omar and Uthman.

Uthman was murdered in a violent uprising and Ali took control of the Caliphate after a protracted battle with Muawiyah, another of Muhammad's followers, a fierce warrior who commanded considerable armies.

Ali in turn was assassinated (and is now regarded by Shia as the first Imam) and replaced as Caliph by Muawiyah. The struggle for control of the Caliphate was taken up by Ali's son Hasan (grandson of Muhammad). Hasan was poisoned (becoming the second Shia Imam) and the fight fell to his brother Husayn, who fled with his extended family and supporters from Medina to Mecca and gathered support from the population of the town of Kufa, who had risen up in revolt against the hereditary succession established by Muawiyah and had requested Husayn to become their Imam.

Muawiyah's son Yazid had taken control of the Caliphate, suppressed the uprising at Kufa and took control of the city. Despite this, Husayn and just over one hundred of his followers started on the journey to Kufa, but were intercepted by the governor of Kufa and his army of between 30,000 and 200,000 men at Karbala, where the majority of the party were slaughtered, their remains left unburied and the women and children taken captive.

The battle of Karbala marked the decisive point at which Sunni and Shia Islam went their separate ways; the two grouping have never been reconciled since. The slaughter of Husayn (later designated the third Shia Imam) is commemorated every year in Iran at the festival of Ashura, the culmination of the mourning month of Moharram.

Flickr Collection coming together...

Hamam-e Vakil interior, Shiraz
Originally uploaded by rastapopolos

Now that we're back, we've been filtering our 3,000-odd photos and putting a selection up on Flickr. The places we visited were fascinating and often awe-inspiring, but I have to say it again: it was the Iranian people whom we met who made our trip so utterly memorable.

Abuse of power

One of the most important encounters of our time in Iran has been the hardest one to blog about. I've changed the names of the two people involved and removed all of the possibly identifying detail which I'd originally intended to include. You'll understand why.

One afternoon, Aisling and I bumped into a father and his teenage daughter. Dad was carrying a bag of groceries. After exchanging the usual pleasantries, dad invited us to have lunch with them. "That'd be lovely," Aisling replied.

We walked on together, introducing ourselves. Dad's name is Firouz, his daughter Hengameh. Hengameh's English is good, Firouz's more rudimentary.

We arrived at their house and Firouz busied himself preparing first chay for everyone and later, lunch. As we sat around drinking chay, Firouz asked, "what's your opinion of the Iranian government?"

I tried to give a diplomatic reply, along the lines that in European media we read a very one-dimensional view of Iran, so part of the reason for our visit was to talk to ordinary Iranians to find out what the real story is. Firouz saw my reply for what it was, an attempt to side-step the question, chuckled, and then began slowly revealing his own opinion on Iranian politics and describing his experiences under the theocratic regime since the 1979 revolution.

Firouz was a young teacher at the time - in his early twenties - and was politically active. When the Islamic revolutionaries gained the upper hand, he was sacked from his job. Worse things happened, but I'm not going to mention those details - they could be used to identify the people concerned.

All of this was mediated through Hengameh, who's fourteen.

Firouz didn't volunteer the information that he'd been tortured. I'd asked. Hengameh didn't know what the English word 'torture' meant, so I said "Bastinado?"

"Hah!" exclaimed Firouz and looked at the floor, then his daughter. "Yes", said Hengameh.

Bastinado is an old punishment which has been used in Iran for hundreds of years. The victim is put on their back with their legs in the air strapped to a horizontal wooden pole. The soles of the victim's feet are then lashed with whips.

While Firouz is good-humoured and stoic, Hengameh is filled with a righteous rage about the impotence of ordinary Iranians to effect change in the country.

Throughout our conversation, the television was on, murmering away quietly in the background. A newscast showed Mullahs involved in the preparations for the religious festival which was happening at the time. "Look at them, they're animals!" Hengameh exclaimed. "They're not religious, they're violent and they only want power."

Firouz served up delicious fried freshwater fish, local flatbread, rice and yogurt with aubergine and garlic. As we ate I asked both Hengameh and Firouz if they expected to see an end to the theocratic regime in their lifetimes. Firouz shrugged and said it was impossible to predict. Hengameh seemed more fatalistic: "The ones in power will do anything to keep their power. They are not the Iranian people. They don't care about anybody."

"How many journalists are in prison in Ireland?" Firouz asked. "None," I replied emphatically. "In Iran, two hundred and fifty," he responded drily, watching me for my reaction. Yes, I was shocked. Back at home, I've checked that statistic; Reporters Without Borders write in their 2008 annual report on Iran that "...the country remained the Middle East’s biggest prison for journalists, with more than 50 journalists jailed in 2007." Irrespective of the accuracy of Firouz' statistic, the contrast with Ireland is revealing.

It was three o'clock in the afternoon when we all gathered up our things to leave. I was really shaken by what I'd heard - it's one thing to read about human rights abuses, another thing entirely to speak to someone who's been on the receiving end of that abuse.

In Iran, people are subjected to brutal and arbitrary injustices. There is no free press. Anyone who dares to speak out is silenced. How galling it must be when the brutal regime claims to take its word from God to justify its exercise of power.

Tourist hejab

During the early part of our trip, in Tehran and then Gilan province, we saw not a single non-Iranian tourist. In Esfahan we spotted a handful (mostly Asians, interestingly enough) and then more and more as time went on. Must have been something to do with our timing.

I was struck by how a minority of female tourists just didn't seem to understand hejab (mandated modest clothing), or else got it but chose to try to push it to the legal limit.

Stripping away all the baggage that hejab carries and avoiding any discussion of the rightness or wrongness of it, acceptable hejab in Iran boils down to a few really simple rules:

• It's the law in Iran.
• It applies to men and women, but not equally. For blokes, the only restrictions are no t-shirts and no shorts.
• Women have to cover their hair. A bit of fringe is OK.
• Women have to cover their bums with a long top or jacket, at least mid-thigh length.
• You can take off your coverings in your own private space.

That's it. I was really surprised to see tour groups of mature adults (probably thoughtful and intelligent adults) wandering about as though they were in a European city. It dawned on me that either they just weren't looking around them to see how Iranis dressed, or had chosen to attempt to buck the system. Equally, I was surprised that the tour guides didn't pull them up on it. (Maybe they were too polite?)

I reckon the sloppy tourist dress really caught my eye because Aisling adopted hejab with as much style as possible (well, I would say that, wouldn't I?), copying the type of hejab worn by educated urban Irani women. She blended in really well; quite a few times I had to search for her in bazaars if her back was turned, because her veil and manteau (long overcoat) looked so much the part.

The thing about hejab is that although it's mandated by law in Iran, most Iranians will respect you for adopting hejab just like everyone else. Aisling was only ever treated with the greatest of courtesy; she wasn't subjected to leering, groping or inappropriate comments, even on the few occasions when she went wandering around the bazaars by herself. I have a suspicion that some of the tour group folks wouldn't have had the same mellow experience of Iran that Aisling did.

If you're resentful of the oppressive dess code, wouldn't you feel all the more annoyed if a local pulled you up because your dress wasn't modest enough? Better to treat it as Aisling did, as a necessary fancy dress, do it with as much style as possible.

Bootable USB stick: the verdict

Another one for the techies! This may fry your brain if you don't grok computers.

In an earlier post, I described that I'd put together a bootable USB stick with a complete operating system on it. I also described how to subvert the block on Flickr by using the Access Flickr Firefox Addon.

I used the stick most of the time in hotels and coffeenets (Internet cafes) and it was a life-saver. Plenty of the machines we used had all kinds of duff software on them and unpatched versions of Windows XP. The USB stick gave us excellent peace of mind. No matter where we were, we effectively had the same computer all the time - and that computer weighs just a few grams and lives in a trouser pocket.

Access Flickr worked a treat every time we tried to use it, so we could upload images to Flickr and blog them from there. We didn't have to worry about our passwords being hijacked by keyloggers.

Ubuntu always found the wired network and connected automatically; in one place I had to choose a wireless connection from a graphical drop-down and once I'd done that, connectivity was established.

I picked up a cheapo Compact Flash card reader, so between that and the bootable USB stick, I could grab files from the big camera, copy them temporarily to a hard disk for sorting, selection, editing and uploading to Flickr. At no stage did I have to care about other stuff that might be installed on existing hard disks, or worry about stuff cached by the browser.

I found that coffeenet proprieters were cool about letting me modify the BIOS on their boxes once they know I was booting Ubuntu; in hotel coffeenets, I'd just get permission from non-technical staff to insert the USB stick and help myself to BIOS config. Only one hotel had computers in which the BIOS was passsword-protected, and all of the machines I used had BIOSes which were recent enough to allow booting from USB devices.

Those were the pros; what about the cons?

The USB stick is supposed to allow changes to be persisted between boots; so for example if I install Access Flickr and say ClamAV, those items ought to be present the next time I booted off the stick. This wasn't the case - I need to understand why. In future I'll build the bootable stick using Ubuntu 8.10's built-in tool.

I found that on machines with 512Mb of RAM, Ubuntu tended to lock up after a short period of time (a few tens of minutes), probably due to hitting some memory limit. The problem didn't happen on machines with more RAM. Perhaps another reason to use Ubuntu's bootable USB creator.

Any time I wanted to use the bootable USB stick I had to go through a bit of a rigmarole:

• Power off the computer
• Insert the stick in a free USB port
• Start the machine and go straight into the BIOS
• If the BIOS was password-protected, get permission to make modifications
  
• Specify the boot order as follows: CD, USB, Internal disk. Sometimes this involved making changes in two places
  
• Save the BIOS changes and reboot again
• Wait for Ubuntu to boot up - this was slow enough on some machines
  

Firefox didn't have a functioning version of Flash installed. At any rate, Flickr's Flash-based picture rotation didn't work and nor did Picnik - though this was probably because of the Internet blocks on Flickr. Neither was Java installed.

All in all, the pros outweighed the cons for me; I'd consider getting a larger capacity USB stick or a laptop drive in a USB enclosure the next time I go on holidays and have to rely on Internet Cafes.

Iranian transport

Here's what you'll see on Iran's roads: No Mercedes or other European prestige marques, except for Tehran police cars. No modern four-wheel drives. Still plenty of Paykans. Lots of Iran-built South Korean small to mid-size saloons. Peugeots. Plenty of luxury buses for intercity travel, but quite a few 1970s-era buses with chrome trim and odd lines. Sturdy, blocky minibuses. Indian-style trucks, virtually no articulated lorries.