The Chefs Revolution - One of my best days travelling in a long time.

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It was the Qom chefs who had enough. It was 1979 and they couldn’t take one more customer complaint about long strands of hair in their food. This frustration was the catalyst for the 1979 Iran Revolution.
The Revolution changed lifestyles overnight, with most restaurants shutting shop and females having to wear hejabs at all times whilst cooking. The few restaurants that stayed open had customer satisfaction and it would soon spread to everyday life, eventually leading to the revolt that hejabs should be worn at all times just in case long strands of hair would enter street food. To this day most Iranian cities have limited restaurants because the chefs and their children still hurt from complaints 30 years ago. Now whilst most of that may not be true it was here in Qom (pronounced Ghom) the 1979 Revolution began… (I hope I got your attention!)

My one-day covering three cities to visit Iran’s second holiest city Qom was one of the greatest days travelling I’ve had in a very long time.

Starting in Kashan I walked to the highway where I got harassed by taxi drivers trying to rip me off whilst waiting for a bus that picks up passengers at a roundabout - Eventually a bus came. Inside are no free seats and me with my two bags in the aisle, sitting on the steps at the middle of the bus. On the seat above was a simply stunning Iranian girl. Looking like that Brooke Bourke model I forgot her name. So I started talking to her. That’s one great thing about travelling Iran is that women way out of your league talk to you like you’re God (but that’s all it gets to). She said that a lot of people travel hours to go to uni in surrounding cities of Tehran.

So she would eventually be the translator for the conductor who took a fancy for yours truly. I was about to bring out sweat talking Drew on her (which very rarely comes out) but the conductor would get in the way. Inconveniently he would get in the way by trying to get me into his bed under the bus. As he started caressing my arm I would turn back to the gorgeous girl who was looking after me.

The ride was just over an hour. That bus was heading for Tehran so my melted heart needed to heal for I was in Qom. After more taxi drivers tried to screw me. A Tehran guy who was going to Uni said he’d help me. He joined me in a taxi and we went hotel shopping. Everything was pretty much booked out. So plan B took place and I left my bags at luggage storage at the shrine. Mazza (Name changed) said he finishes uni in 4 hours I’ll meet you here at 5pm.

I ate some lunch at a restaurant, where Qom chefs are slowly coming back. (It is true there are very few in Iran just fast food places.) Than I walked to the house of Ayatollah Khomeini - this is where he stayed before being exiled prior to the revolution. He is the leader who reduced the age for women to marry, to nine. He was the leader who told young soldiers that they will go straight to paradise as Martyrs during Iraq-Iran War. And sent a fatwa out for Salman Rushdie. In 1920’s he gained the title Ayatollah, which is the highest rank for a Shiite Cleric. He is also known as an Imam, which puts him as a saint. Every city and town has a street and/or square named after him.

After taking a photo of the house a guy from a nearby printer shop said did you want to come in. Usually not opened it was open for that minute and I was fortunate enough to look in. Modest size, one floor, mud covered wall. There did seem to be reconstruction happening. Two liveable sides to the courtyard. After a minute a guard came and asked me to leave.

The Printer guy then asked me to come to his work so I was at his printing shop having a chat. A mate of his was there too and they decided to join me for a couple of hours and show me around. I said “what about work?” “Ah its okay” and was given a present. A book in Arabic, hardback and the size of an exercise book. Why not a smaller book? Anyway.

We walked down one of the main streets to the shrine. And on the way I hear. “DREW, DREW!” I’m thinking who could this be and it was Lazza from Esfahan. He asked me “Why am I here?” This is a familiar question throughout Iran. Or more like “Qom? Why do you want to go there? I wouldn’t go there.”

We said goodbye once again and we headed for Hazrat-e Masumeh. It’s the burial shrine of Imam Reza’s sister Fatemah. The front entrance is of tiny silver mirrors (Copula) meaning the shrine is of importance. The first 8ft is surrounded by green tarpaulin. This is because it’s the women’s entrance and it enables for women to be free in front of the shrine.

To the right side is the male’s entrance of tiny gold mirrors. I was free to go in as I was accompanied by my personal guides. Inside I feel privileged to see males reading the Quran than moving up to the shrine. Putting their foreheads towards the silver bar cased shrine. A massive chandelier is walked under to a small room where Khomeini preyed when he was alive and where pilgrims still prey.

It was a brief stay and when we left the square we moved towards where scholars and students exchange ideas like a small university. Normally blocked off to tourists I was fortunate enough to be allowed in with my guides. Inside is a square mostly walls of off coloured yellow. The minarets of the shrine and gold dome in the background. It was here the clerics rebelled and Iran’s revolution against the Shah (Iran’s then King) began.

Since I had over an hour left we walked around the city a bit more, which doesn’t provide too much excitement. And there on the street again was Lazza. He was very excited and speaking Farsi to my guides. We than said “Horda Hafez” and we went our separate ways. He did ask me to join him. It was translated after that he was looking for a temporary wife. This confused me a bit after our conversation in Esfahan. But than it clicked - he was looking for a temporary marriage.

Called Sigheh it is unique to Shiite Islam. It permits a man and woman (who can’t be a virgin) to marry for anything from a few hours to a few months with the blessing of a mullah. It’s suggested it was originally a way for women widowed in the Iran- Iraq war to continue to have sex and now for young people to do the same. It can be classed as legalised prostitution. In 2000 an English language newspaper reported 125 temporary marriages registered in a 3-month period. A 60% increase since 99. Marriages dropped 3% in the same time. So it seems I was invited to have a temporary marriage.

It was 4pm and my guides needed to go back to work so I said bye to two guys I think out of all Iranians I got along with the most. But I felt that I wasn’t getting the Qom experience. This is supposed to be ultra conservative. Women were not wearing chadors (the head to toe clothing). And there seemed to be limited problems with my presence. So I went back to see what it is like being in the square on my own. Will I be treated differently?

I joined the locals in taking photos of the walls surrounding the shrine. I stood there for a while just about to soak up the atmosphere of dedicated worshippers… Then guys with rainbow coloured feather dusters in a suit asked me to leave and points to the left. It’s about 30 minutes till I was to meet Mazza. I walk left and it leads to a dead end so I have to go back into the square in front of the shrine building in hope to pick up my bag without being noticed.

It didn’t take too long for two ‘feather duster men’ to come briskly for me and rush me to an office where a Mullah is waiting. I greet him “Salam” and he offers me a seat. I am thinking oh no how am I going to get out of this?

He goes through the general chit chat (making sure I am not media or a spy). He said to me that they “don’t like it when people travel on their own.” They “prefer when people are on tours.”

I said that “Well if I did that then I wouldn’t be able to meet the friendly people of Iran. I started in Shiraz and they are the friendliest people I have met in the world. So helpful.” He tried to convince me otherwise and than compromised by saying I “should travel with someone else.” In which I continued to complement Iran. “If I went on a tour than I would have one person talking to me about Iran and I wouldn’t listen because I would get bored. So there are 3 options: I go on the tour and go home telling people not to come here because it’s boring. 2 - Come to Iran like I am now and go home tell people how great the country is and how hospitable everyone is. Or 3 - Not come at all and be like everyone else and say don’t go to Iran it is not a safe place. That is why I am not travelling with anyone else. No-one thinks its safe here.”

So as it hit 5pm (the meeting time.) I am thinking, whilst the Mullah is talking “Oh please Allah stop him talking.” He asked what my job is? I said I work for a bank. And than asked me to go to the International meeting room. So I put my shoes back on. He offers me the door in which I take.

He goes through some Islamic etiquette with me. Saying “Salam” first up is important so I past the first test. Than I failed the ‘no after you sequence’ in which the Mullah should have gone first. I apologised as the lights came on in the International room. Predominantly yellow with some green on the walls, it’s a dome like room with a desk to one corner and some seats facing the same direction. The Mullah is sitting behind the desk with an Iranian flag behind him and me in the seat next to the desk. It was like we were in a diplomats meeting and lining up for photos.

He was nice enough I suppose he didn’t preach too hard which is all you can ask for when hitting a religious site. My only problem was that I needed to go to the toilet and knew if he doesn’t shut up soon I won’t be able to pee till Tehran.

He tried to ask my political view of America in which I replied, “I don’t take any notice of what is happening in politics.” I was afraid he was going to ask me about my religion, which is Greek Orthodox. If he asked me what that religion is about I would only have one answer. “Ummm I can’t understand the language, my religion is spoken in Greek, sometimes ancient Greek.”

He asked me why I am travelling. I noticed previously he mentioned about the media so I used that, as it was something we could agree on. “I have come here for my own points of view not what the media tells me. I want to make my own opinion on this country. Plus I have always wanted to go to Persepolis” He than discussed about his beliefs briefly and how it is not understood in which my only input was:
“Islam is a new religion in Australia and the western world. It’s only been mainstream for 15 years or so. So new things take a while to get use to and for people to adjust. My dad was born in Greece and when he first came to Australia he was not treated well because he was different but now the Greeks, Italians and others are all a big part of our community. The same with the Vietnamese they came over and now they are accepted. People just need to be patient like my grandparents and parents eventually when there’s a better understanding Islam will be accepted better. {Yeah! You like that shit! You like where that came from Dribblers!! Whoa damn that’s good! And all said in front of a Mullah! Whao!!}

I was finally allowed to go after gaining a present from the mullah - a magazine October 2008 edition of respecting your elders. It had a candy sachet and two green strip materials, used for your fingertips when touching the shrine. He took me to where my bags were being stored and to get there we went in and out of rooms to reach the other side. Each time I entered a room I had to take my shoes off, put it in a plastic bag (provided) than when I was to exit I had to put my shoes back on and tie my shoelaces. After the fourth time I said “I think the next time I come here I will bring different shoes.” He than commented surprised. “You will be coming again?” I said “Oohh no, but you never know?”

At the baggage storage Mazza was there waiting for now half an hour. I said to the Mullah “See this is why I travel alone! I meet people like Mazza. If I was on a tour I wouldn’t have this experience.” He now classes me as his friend and has my basic details written on a piece of paper that is in a folder at the International room. There was no way of getting out of that.

After letting Mazza listen to some Aussie music on the bus - he seemed to like the Beautiful Girls - we went on the Metro where my hotel was close to Imam Khomeini station. Not long after entering the train a massive punch up between two guys was happening 10m away in a packed train. They really are quite skilful fighters. Normally in Australia a fight would be two guys yelling at each other than they’d start punching. Here they can do two things at once. The sound of yelling and connection is a sensory delight that only Iranians can perfect.

I got to my hotel absolutely amazed at how great that day was. It is easily up there with one of the greatest in all my travels. Basically within the first 5 minutes at the hotel I knew I had a travel story for the blog. And it was a hit at the foyer just moments after check-in… and my relieving pee.

***Needs to be noted that there is friction with Shiite and Sunni Muslims so I’ll give them the benefit of the doubt and need to be careful. It’s just a shame because it does spoil the Iran experience even though in a way it enhanced it.

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