Shiraz; new friends and poetry

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Here in Shiraz, the city of the poet Hafez, wine, grapes and poetry, nightingales and roses; the people are even friendlier and more relaxed than elsewhere in Iran. They pride themselves on their liberal attitudes and sophisticated way of living.

Shiraz is most famous for the ancient site of Persepolis which is nearby. Someone who will remain nameless, and should know better, said ‘Oh you saw the film in Iran, I wouldn’t have thought they would show it there!’ They have shown the film a few times in Tehran apparently, so that is a small victory.

But no, I saw the ancient Achaemenid site, one of the most complete sites from this area of the world. It was started by Darius the Great in 518BC as a summer palace for ritual purposes, where the many peoples of the empire could meet and bring tribute in peace! They are all shown, Medes, Babylonians, Assyrians, Parthians all bringing a typical product from their country. The site is immense with vast columns which would have supported a massive roof many metres above the ground. Unlike the Assyrians or Babylonian reliefs where the king is shown fighting his enemies or whimsically forcing thousands of the conquered peoples to other parts of the empire, as a form of divide and rule, the Achaemenid reliefs are much more peaceful. Instead you see the king seated on a throne, with his feet comfortable on footstool, staff in hand. His thrown is often carried by the many different cultures in his empire. The steps up to the platforms are shallow and gracious, you float up rather than climbing the massive Qajar steps like a short legged child.

It is amazing however how much the Achaemenids borrowed from Mesopotamia, whether it was the winged sun disc, or the covering of the walls in relief sculptures.

I went round the site with Z, a tour guide with the Pars Travel Agency. We spoke lots and at the end of the tour she invited me to her home for food. We worked out how much we had in common, though she was younger than me. We had both studied archaeology and loved the past, we are both Sagittarians. She had been in London for a few months where her two brothers and sister live, and her English is excellent… Unfortunately she was there during winter, and missed the sun, the food and her family. She found English people unwelcoming, as indeed we are, especially in London!

A highlight for Z, even though I didn’t know who he was then, was seeing Hosein Ali Zadeh climbing the hill to the tomb at Persepolis. He is apparently one of the most famous tar and sitar players in Iran. Even though her heart had butterflies, as she explained later after chatting to him briefly, they kissed each other on the shoulder, she asked if she could have her picture taken with him. He seemed lovely and agreed. Later I was to find some CDs where he is shown playing with Shajarian, one of the most famous Iranian classical singers.

Z took me to her cousin’s house as they had food ready prepared there. They were lovely people and it was a chance for me to learn some more Farsi, as apart from Z none of them spoke English. I met her mother, father, cousin and her husband and smiling twelve year old son. In their home the furniture was pushed towards the walls and even the table was seldom used. They preferred to eat and sit on the softly carpeted floor. The family is a liberal one, Z is allowed to travel with her friends both inside and outside Iran. However during my time in Shiraz, I always saw Z with her family. Family ties seem to be much stronger in Iran than many Western countries. One reason might be the fact there is no social service system.

It was so interesting just hanging out with them and experiencing a little more of what it is like to be an Iranian today. After a siesta lying out on the carpet with pillows, the TV was turned up to an equivalent of MTV and cousin, Z and I all danced around the living room. I saw a video of Googoosh and learnt how loved she is in Iran. She was the most famous female singer in the Shah’s period and is now a young and worked on looking sixty, still beautiful after her five husbands. She was not allowed to sing after the Revolution, because of the ban on solo female singers, but a legend in her own country she still lived in Iran until 2000, when she moved to Canada.

In the evening we hung out at the shopping mall, as a family, with the father waiting patiently in the car to take us home. Thousands of young Iranians were there, dressed up and checking each other out. Z asked some funky looking girls if we could have their picture! I got forced to be in it, rather ruining the look of the styled hair and clothes! Z translated that I wanted to show London what the trends were in Iran these days!

Again I am reminded by how many women, even though covered are out on the streets, so many more are educated than in many countries in the region. Sixty percent go to university, even though according to some figures only 11% are a part of the workforce. However whether that includes part time workers etc. I am unsure.

I was invited again by the family for a picnic the next day, the Iranians really go to town on their picnics, bringing pots of food, saffron rice, chicken, bread and fruit. No one was quite happy with the private garden we had chosen to have lunch in, it didn't have any water! After lunch it was so hot that we had to retreat to the cool of the house to have a post-prandial siesta!

The other lovely family that I met here in Shiraz are Jewish, which was really interesting as I shared Shabat one evening with them. My first time, and not what I was expecting to find in Iran. I met the young wife at Hafez’s tomb a few days ago with her brother and young son, and we got talking. She is fascinating to talk to, a feminist theatre director. We spoke about so many things; art, history and culture. I loved her sweet manner, her contentedness with her family but frustration at the current regime in Iran.

Hafez tomb had a very special energy. I went by night to see it lit up with the Iranians quoting poetry to each other draped over the tomb. They often use it to divine the future, wishing their wish and then opening their copy of Hafez at random to see what he has to tell them. My friend had a special relationship to Hafez even for an Iranian, as she had accepted her husband’s proposal at the tomb. She felt that Hafez had brought her and her husband together and they read his poetry frequently to each other.

Sadly, after I wished my wish, and my friend started translating it, her young son, who up to that point had been playing with the book, threw a mini strop and wanted it back... It was easier for his mother to give the book to him, so I never learnt what Hafez had to tell me that day!

With Rita and a Belgian friend we were then invited to a picnic in a garden outside of town. Better off Shirazis all have their own gardens on the outskirts with trees, pools and running water. Many if not all of those there were part of a large Jewish extended family. As we got into the garden manteaux and headscarfs were torn off to reveal tight tops and jeans for the young women. There were beers there, proper beers rather than the Islamic ones, as well as a type of vodka drunk neat with ice. Members of the family motioned that I should down it in one! However, instead I sipped one demurely throughout the evening.

We sat around on a selection of carpets and picnic chairs. Many people came up and introduced themselves, and it seemed right and proper (though also thoroughly un-Islamic) to shake the men’s hands as well as the women. We were explained in great detail who and how people were related. This wasn’t made any easier by the Iranian tendency to mix up ‘his and ‘her’, as they don’t have these words in Iran (I think?)

After an appetizer of wonderful fruit, including my favourite tiny red grapes as large as redcurrants, no pips and so sweet, ‘Ash’, was served. this is a dish of beans, vegetables and pasta, served in large pots with crispy onion on top,. Strange as this sounds, it is actually quite delicious. Though I wasn’t sure about the sour cream. Iranians love sour food, which is slightly strong for my tastes. Z explained that because they liked sour taste so much because it is so hot, and therefore phrases using sour as in sour grapes or a sour face do not translate in Iran.

Even though it was midnight by this time, children were still running around. Iranians love their children (luckily as under-15 year olds make up almost 30% of the population). Fathers carry round their children proudly in the streets, partly perhaps as there are very few, if any pushchairs, but nothing can hide their pride in their offspring. I have yet to discover if girl or boy children are differentially loved, as in India, where, tragically, many more girl fetuses are aborted each year.

Back to the picnic, after the food was cleared away, a car was driven next to the benches by one of the young men, a good looking young Iranian, and the dancing began. The girls had some great moves, slow and sexy, eventually Rita and I were dragged to join them and did the best we could!

A couple of days later I was invited to my friend’s house for the Jewish celebration of Shabat, where the men wear those black scull caps, including the three year old, who had to be gently persuaded to wear his! The men read from the Torah while we all stood, after which bread with salt and a sip of a warm mulled wine like drink was had from a shared goblet. Just like the Christian Communion. I admit I enjoyed the taste of red wine in my mouth for the first time for about three weeks. Not for the last time, I missed the Shirazi grapes that Hafez among many others had so enjoyed.

Many of the couple’s family have moved to Israel, they are hoping to go there and visit them, though as can be imagined this involves lengthy bureaucratic wranglings via numerous countries.

They had a lovely large apartment, and their three year old son was merrily making music on his mother’s tar, a large tambourine-like instrument, with what looks like chain mail around the inside. Unlike my other friends in Shiraz, we ate at a table and sat on sofas instead of being based on the floor.

Shirazis and indeed Iranians go out late, Mediterranean fashion, seldom eating before 10 or 11. So these guys thought nothing of taking me to the Shiraz gate after the meal even though it was midnight, on their equivalent of a Sunday night! (Thursday and Friday are their weekend). Of course their young son came too, riding mostly on his father’s or his uncle’s shoulders.

Last night after a delicious dinner of rice salad and lamb kebab in the Shatar Abbas restaurant, Brice, a French friend and I, went to Azadi Park, where many Iranians were playing, we saw impromptu games of volleyball, girls on rollerblades, a massive chicken made out of turf (! This had to be seen to be believed!), and hundreds of Iranian families picnicking in the moonlight. Many had small tents set up to protect them from the sunshine and store their stuff. One family had even done all their washing, which was hanging up to dry between two trees! Z told me that this is actually just Iranians on holiday from different parts of Iran, who because they so like cooking would rather sleep outside than in a hotel. These tents can not only be found in parks but in car parks and and along the side of the road. Iranians apparently think that it is their natural right to be able to camp wherever they like! Go happy Iranian campers!

There was a funfair with a big wheel and some rides, a few people dared the wheel, but it looked from the Shah’s era, and I for one was definitely not willing to risk it!

Each family, even though only metres away from eachother, was involved in their own little world. But should you happen to catch someone’s eye, a smile and a simple salaam from you would sometimes be followed by “Befarmayin” welcome and a motion to join them on their carpet.

Brice wanted to buy a Khomeni and some-other-mulla poster from a stall in the park, what followed was typically Iranian; much laughter and where are you from? and then an invitation for dinner. There was also disbelief that he could want such a thing, as they had no time for any of the mullas as they had stolen their freedom. They only had one poster left and at first were unwilling to give it to him as it was ripped. However the men suggested that they could drop another off at his hotel before he left for Tehran the next day! We all decided that this was too complicated and an effort for them, so in the end Brice, against his will, got given the ripped mulla poster. The face of the main man we were talking to was expressive in the extreme, I almost thought he was high; however it made more sense when he told us he was an actor. His main part at the moment was that of a donkey (so am not sure whether he put this asset to use?) which also provoked much laughter.

When I got back to the Sasan hotel, the nighttime manager was there with his son. What followed was an at turns hilarious and moving conversation, which besides dealing with how much the Iranians still dislike the Arabs (because of the conquest 1300 years ago), upon which of course has been put the way the current government pushes the Koran and Islam onto everyone. The young son, who was 21, had been in a serious car accident six months ago, there was still a massive dent in his forehead, hidden by a shock of hair. He and his father told me how before the accident he had loved music and sport and wanted to study in England. Now he had had major memory loss and was not able to carry on his life as it was. He was still smiling however and hopeful for the future. His father told me how when he was in a coma in hospital he and his wife prayed to Allah. And thanks be to god, Allah answered.

The way the driving is here, I am surprised there are not more accidents, it is absolutely crazy with no rules or seeming concern for other drivers. Brice made the point that this is where Iranians can be partially free, apart from all the constrictions which govern the rest of their lives. It is also where they can date those from the opposite sex. Another sad story was another of Z’s cousins who lost her husband of 4 months to a car accident. She is now married again, but it affected me seeing photos of two weddings so close together by someone so young.

So this is almost the end of my stay in Shiraz, which because of the lovely families I have met, has been a definite highlight of my time so far, and helped me to understand a bit more about Iranian people and culture. I am off to lunch with Z and then we are going to Hafez’s tomb together.

Briefly re the hotels I stayed in, the Esteghlal was cheap but not so cheerful, at 140,000 rials a night. In fact it was so depressing, with stinking toilets and peeling walls and the manager a bit weird as well, that I moved to the Sasan Hotel, this is a lot nicer for 170,000 rials, so only 30,000 more (I am sure you worked that out, but maths was never my strong point, especially here dealing in rials and tomans. Everyone talks in tomans but the money is in rials, 170,000 rials is 17000 tomans, which is very confusing, especially when the Iranians just say 17 for this)! At the Sasan, it seems more religious than other places I have stayed, especially with all the Arabs staying here. Many more people say Asalaamu aleikum, and there is a large picture of Khomeni blessing us as we breakfast! I have been asked a number of times if I am married (of course) and how many children I have (“None as yet” followed by various expressions of pity and regret)!


Later...

I went to Zs house, which has a large central living space, softly carpted and with little furniture like her cousin's apartment. The toilet is in the yard outside. There is also a pool with some water, which no Iranian garden would be complete without. Apparently one time when the mother was away, the father, wanting to be helpful, was over zealous on the weeding and pulled up lots of flowers! The story was told with much gusto and grimacing from the dad!

We ate Zereshk polo with chicken, rice chicken and spices. I declined the dough this time. Much as I love lassi and ayran, dough is a step too far for my taste buds!

After lunch they asked me if I wanted to smoke a qalyan, or water pipe. It was great the actions the mother made to ask me! I wasn't sure if they were doing it just for me, in which case I didn't want them to go to any trouble. So after a lot of are you sure, please don't bother, I was accused or praised for out-ta' aroffing an Iranian! (Ta' arof in Iran is a formalised politeness where something is offered and then refused, up to three times). So this was high praise!

It was great smoking the pipe with the mother and father, Z doesn't smoke. My first tobacco for almost two weeks!

Other things I learnt about Iranian politeness is that it is rude to site with your feet out in front of you, at 'table', pointing the soles of your feet to an elder shows disrespect, like in Thailand. It is also bad, for the older generation to make the thumbs up sign. Which means an equivalent of go fuck yourself, or some such! I think this is changing among the younger generation, probably through the influence of Holywood films? The other thing that Z said is farting is so rude, that you might as well just curl up and die if you fart in public. The least you can do is leave and never darken that person's door again. I said that although it is rude in Britain, we might just about be able to hold our head up in public again if we fart out loud!

That evening after time spent in Azadi Park, I and the family visited Sa'adi's and then Hafez's tomb. Both are places with a special energy.Sa'adi is another Shirazi poet, who is considered more rational than Hafez who was a Sufi mystic. Sa'adi's tomb is set in a bowl of mountains on the outskirts of Shiraz.

Then, as we were kicked out of his tomb early, as they wanted to do some filming there, we jumped in a taxi to Hafez tomb.

Inscribed on Hafez tomb is the poem below

مژده‌ى وصل تو كو كز سر جان برخيزم

طاير قدسم و از دام جهان برخيزم

Where are the tidings of union? that I may arise-
Forth from the dust I will rise up to welcome thee!
My soul, like a homing bird, yearning for paradise,
Shall arise and soar, from the snares of the world set free.
به ولاى تو كه گر بنده‌ى خويشم خوانى

از سر خواجگى كون و مكان برخيزم

When the voice of thy love shall call me to be thy slave,
I shall rise to a greater far than the mastery
Of life and the living, time and the mortal span.
يارب از ابر هدايت برسان بارانى

پيشتر زانكه چو گردى ز ميان برخيزم

Pour down, O Lord! from the clouds of thy guiding grace,
The rain of a mercy that quickeneth on my grave,
Before, like dust that the wind bears from place to place,
I arise and flee beyond the knowledge of man.
بر سر تربت من با مى و مطرب بنشين

تا ببويت ز لحد رقص‌كنان برخيزم

When to my grave thou turnest thy blessed feet,
Wine and the lute thou shalt bring in thine hand to me;
Thy voice shall ring through the fold of my winding-sheet,
And I will arise and dance to thy minstrelsy.
گرچه پيرم، تو شبى تنگ درآغوشم كش

تا سحرگه ز كنار تو جوان برخيزم

Though I be old, clasp me one night to thy breast,
And I, when the dawn shall come to awaken me,
With the flush of youth on my cheek from thy bosom will rise.
خيز و بالا بنما اى بت شيرين‌حركات

كز سر جان و جهان دست‌فشان برخيزم

روز مرگم نفسى مهلت ديدار بده

تا چو حافظ ز سر جان و جهان برخيزم

Rise up! let mine eyes delight in thy stately grace!
Thou art the goal to which all men's endeavor has pressed,
And thou the idol of Hafez's worship; thy face
From the world and life shall bid him come forth and arise!

Translation by Gertrude Bell


So really the end of my time in Shiraz... After one night in Esfahan, just to feast the eyes, am on the road again to Kashan, making my way steadily northwards to the crazy Iranian capital. Luckily this time, I have offers to stay with a few people which should make the city much more fun!

A word on taxis making those b*stards easier to deal with - have the money ready and wave it at them, if they don't pick you up for that price, you soon find another who will.

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Photos

Zahra with Hosein Ali Zadeh, Persepolis
She was so excited to see one of her musical heroes, who plays with Shajarian... I was reminded of seeing Bowie in the Royal Academy - I didn't have the guts to go up to him though!

Zahra hanging in the mall, Shiraz
We were there with Zahra's mother, her cousin and her cousin's son. All these photos sadly corrupted....