Advertisement
Ararat
place witty Ark comment here. Iran - Part 1
Do forgive the brevity of this entry. Although it is arguably the most intense part of my trip so far, the Ayatollah apparently wishes that I do not open my travelblog. Perhaps the government deems it salacious? In any case, the crafty internet café guy has an anti-filter programme which now lets me send a message to you. Take that, Islamic Republic!
I finally got my Iranian visa. Apparently Canada is on the Iranian black list. Whilst the country has finally smartened up and realized that tourism can be an integral part of its economy, grudges die hard in Iran, and the Zahra Kazemi affair (wikipedia it for a refresher) many years ago has meant that you average Canadian student like me has to jump through hoops to get there. Apparently hardly any individual Canadians were being allowed through until a few months ago but the trickle has now turned to a mild flow (by Iranian standards). At least I’m not American…. They’re not even allowed in unless with a specified guide.
Border: I truly felt at this point like I was heading into the beyond. I packed into a dolmus
First glimpse of Iran.
grey. but soon to improve... with 9 other men of questionable Turkish and we trundled off past Mt. Ararat (didn’t see the Ark - will look for it again later), stopping at a concrete box in the middle of nowhere from whence a burly man with a watering can full of petrol (presumably smuggled from Iran where gas is less than 1/10 the price) emerged to fill us up. The border eventually came into sight after passing dozens of tanks and armoured personel carriers, replete with a 3-day long queue of lorries waiting to make it through. I walked through the 1km space between the countries and was greeted by a smiling Ayatollah Khamenei and countless money traders looking to take advantage of me. A smiling woman in a chador was ready to inspect my bag for anything possibly salacious (read: TIME magazine or other such debaucherous articles) but didn’t care much as I presume she thought me to be a rather wholesome guy.
ISLAMIC REPUBLIC OF IRAN Well, well, well. Could this possibly be the most wonderful country on Earth (minus the politics)? I swear that the Iranians are the most hospitable people in the entire world. I have now
been in Iran for 9 days, of which only 2 I have stayed in misaferkhunes (cheap pensions). The rest have been spent staying with Iranian families I have met along the way. Travelling alone has been the key to meeting people, and my gosh have the invitations flown freely. I will be forever indebted to this country and its people. Now on with the show……
Through my brief travels in Iran, it has come to my attention that the chador is hardly conducive to hiking, that Imam Ali (PBUH) looks somewhat like Jesus, and that Ayatollah Khomenei bears a striking resemblance to Sean Connery. For those out there who may be offended, please realize that in no way are these comments disparaging. They are simply my humble observations.
First stop: Bazargan. Savari (shared taxi) to Maku. This entire area seemed very grey (perhaps it was the weather) and I was happy to press on through. Thankfully all the stores from here to Tabriz had signs in both Farsi and Turkish due to the steady flow of Turkish truck drivers. My Turkish proved to be extremely useful thus far in Iran, even as far as Tehran. In Maku I
shah goli
Tabriz. Once again, neon fluorescence. befriended the owner of the bus company who showed me all his buses (he was Azeri and spoke Turkish), showed me their hydraulics and sound systems, and powered me up on all the orange juice I could want. Then we retreated for tea where I embarrassingly made the mistake of putting my sugar in the tea. In Iran, apparently you put the sugar block in your mouth and then suck the tea through it. I have yet to master the art but the Iranians assure me that it is far superior to the Turkish method.
The bus to Tabriz was full with 40 or so Azeris (once again, only men). The immediate circle surrounding me seemed quite fascinated by my Turkish and had many questions. We whiled away the time talking (apparently Iran has 2 years of mandatory military service - I though Turkey was bad!) until arriving in Tabriz. The scenery here is desert. In fact, pretty much the entire country is arid save the Caspian coast.
I hopped off the bus with the intent of finding a misaferkhune downtown but fate would not have it so. The genuinely wonderful Ebrahim, who I had befriended on the bus, sheltered me from the pressing taxi drivers and offered to either show me to a hotel room or come to his house to meet his family and stay with them. After much polite debating to ensure that he was not simply showing ta’arof (a Persian showing of politeness whereby you must say no multiple times to ensure that their offer is genuine and they are not simply offering something which they cannot give), I caved and walked with him to his house down an alley near an autoplant on the outskirts of Tabriz. 2 families lived in the house and I was given an immediate introduction to Iranian family life.
In Iran, most houses have one large central room with no furniture except for a few cushions lining the wall on the ground and a generous covering of Persian carpets. This is the living room, dining room, and bedroom. I quickly met Ebrahim’s wonderful family including his 2 adorable daughters Sadaf and Mujdeh. They eventually took a liking to me after I gained their trust and it was wonderful to play around a bit. Ebrahim spared no efforts in ensuring that I was as ‘rahat’ (Turkish/Azeri/Persian for comfortable) as possible. In fact he probably asked me of my ‘rahatness’ every 5 minutes or so. He was ‘at my service’, regardless of how much I resisted. I ended up spending 2 days with his family, eating great meals (my knees are taking a beating after all this crosslegged sitting on the floor) and meeting the rest of his family. The men slept downstairs (people sleep on the floor in this country…. My back is feeling it ….) and the women went upstairs (I think it was my presence that forced this as I was still an outsider and segregation of the sexes is quite formal here). Regardless of my objections Ebrahim toured me around Tabriz for 2 days, I accompanied him to his little shop where he fixed electronics, and stayed another night at his place. I wrote some English things in his daughters’ notebooks and then I ended up being the guest of honour at Muhammad’s (cousin) birthday upstairs. Much fruit, cake were consumed along with a healthy dose of illegal Turkish soap operas (Ebrahim tells me that 90% of the country has illegal receivers despite the governments attempts to stop it. This ensures a copious flow of Western sexuality, sexy Iranian music videos from Los Angeles, and, more importantly, the ability to choose between opposing newscasts and to see the outside world’s perspective on world events).The wonder of Ebrahim, and indeed many other Iranians’ hospitality is that, even after providing you with anything you could possibly desire, you leave feeling as though you did them a favour.
I hopped an 8 hour bus to Tehran (had to basically threaten Ebrahim with disavowing our friendship if he proceeded to pay for my onwards ticket) and arrived at 11PM at the Azadi station. Uh oh. Nobody speaks Turkish/Azeri here. And it’s late. My map convinced me that I could walk to the Azadi square and hopefully pick up a savari downtown. I jumped a few fences and crossed a 10 lane road (I will expand upon the ferocious Iranian traffic later)
Advertisement
Tot: 0.097s; Tpl: 0.012s; cc: 8; qc: 50; dbt: 0.0461s; 1; m:domysql w:travelblog (10.17.0.13); sld: 1;
; mem: 1.1mb