Iran, yet again (Apr'15)

My third visit to Iran and every day brought atleast one magical mesmeresing moment that touches you deep within. Sometimes there were two or more. Some of these, in no particular order, stood out:

- Sunset at the Hafez tomb in Shiraz - it was sublime watching the Iranians walk reverently towards his tomb, touching it gently, reciting some of his poetry (which all of them know very well), and then opening a page at random from his 'Divan' to connect with him. Few countries in the world can take pride in the fact that their national icon is a poet and not a warrior or a politician...

- At Persepolis when about 50-60 giggling little schoolgirls passed us by and spread immediate and infectious joy to all those around with their blushing smiles and confident "hellos". There is so much overlooked beauty and joy in the world...

- While we were being overwhelmed by man-made beauty at every step here in Iran, nature reminded us, in a fleeting sublime moment, that it is the one that has the final word in the creation of beauty and poetry. Near the town of Mesr, surrounded by sand dunes deep in the heart of the desert, we were treated to the silent magical poem of sunset and moonrise at the exact same moment in opposite directions of the sky... and obviously the Moon was full...

Chai in Iran (Apr'13)

I will not bore you with what EVERY visitor to Iran says: “Iranians are one of the friendliest people in the world. Safety? Stop reading CNN and BBC and start travelling”

My first visit (a year previously) was the classic route: Tehran-Shiraz-Yazd-Esfahan. I was so enamoured by the country that I made a second visit within a year.

This time I went north towards the Caspian Sea visiting Rasht-Anzali-Ardabil-Tabriz. At the port of Anzali (Bandar-e-Anzali), we stayed right on the shores of the Caspian.

During an evening walk along the Caspian, we spotted a man astride a horse. Picture a misty evening, the calm waters of the Caspian gently lapping on the shore, and then out of nowhere appears this horseman of apocalypse.

My travel companions could not resist a horse ride so they conversed with the horseman and settled on a rate. Please take the words ‘conversed’ and ‘settled’ with a pinch of salt.

For after both my companions had had their rather short horse-rides they gave to the horseman what they thought was the agreed sum (I will not even go into the who Rial-Toman confusion every tourist faces in Iran - http://peripateticously.blogspot.in/2012/05/getting-introduced-to-iran.html).

The horseman demanded more money - we could not figure out how much – we anyway refused to pay more. At which point he took out a knife from his pocket and started making violent slashing gestures. We could not make out if he was saying that he would cut us to pieces or whether he would slash his wrist. Either which way we did panic a bit and started wondering what to do with the mad knife-man (by now we had forgotten that he was a horse-man to start with).

After a few more minutes of this slashing motion, we decided to take him to the hotel and get him to speak with someone who spoke Farsi. Keeping a fair distance from him, and his knife, we took him to the hotel manager who calmly invited him into his room, offered him a cup of tea, and after a brief chat with him, led him out as one would someone one has just interviewed.

There is nothing tea cannot solve in Iran.

Iran Zeebast (Apr'12)

We took a couple of days to get from Esfahan back to Tehran. Stopping for night halts en route at Abyaneh and Kashan.

Abyaneh is a pretty little hill-town at around 2500 m altitude. Most of the houses are very uniform in appearance which gives the town a very repetitive kind of look. What is interesting is that on the doors of every house are two brass knockers. One to be used by males and one to be used by females. This was to let the person inside the house know as to who was wanting to enter. Our next stop was in the town of Kashan which is famous for its Fin Gardens which are a wonderful example of geometry, symmetry and the Persians love for water.

Our last stop before reaching back Tehran was the holy shrine of Imam Khomeini. This huge structure is still under construction. Closeby is the Behesth e Zahra cemetery (on the outskirts of Tehran) which is the resting place for over 2,00,000 people including a very moving section for the martyrs of the Iran-Iraq war.
So it was back to Tehran again. Where we had started from. I’d not seen much of the city on my way in as it was Novruz time and most markets and sights were closed. So I made up this time.

The erstwhile American embassy, where the Iranian hostage crisis took place in 1979-81, is now a Revolutionary Guards museum (the Iranians call it "den of espionage" or "nest of spies”). The building walls have a number of colourful, and anti-American, murals. It is strictly prohibited to photograph them and there are surveillance cameras all along. We did take our chances, though. And lo and behold, a couple of minutes later, a guard stepped in from inside and asked us what we were doing. We pretended to play dumb and said that we were looking for a café (which we knew was nearby). The guard took one look at our cameras and didn’t believe our story. Then he tried asking us whether we had taken any pictures. He asked us in Farsi and we pretended not to understand. He looked at us and gave us the ‘I know that you know that I know that you did take photographs’ look. But we continued to act so dumb that he let us off. Later we came to know that most people who are ‘caught’ taking photographs are made to delete them from their camera. Thankfully, we didn’t have to. Our dumb act bore results.

For one of our dinners we went to the Armenian Club, the only place in Tehran where a non-Muslim can legally, though discreetly, get alcohol. Getting alcohol after more than two weeks (and that too nice red wine) was a sight for sore eyes, as were the women who did not have to cover themselves or wear the headscarf (women there were in mini-skirts!).

One day while taking the metro I got confused about which line to take. I asked an official looking fellow and he took me into the control room. I was just beginning to get a bit nervous when he produced a large map and slowly explained to me which direction I should take and where I should change. Then came the usual questions – ‘where are you from?’. Then he introduced me to all those sitting in the control room. As a tourist one is really made to feel special in Iran (I think I’ve already said that many times before). He then walked with me to the correct platform and made sure I boarded the right train. How’s that for helpfulness.

Though I’m not much of a jewels person, I did visit the National Jewels Museum which is in the Central Bank of Iran building in Tehran. This museum has a number of very well-known precious jewels on display. One of them is Darya-i-Noor (sea of light) which is one of the world’s largest diamonds (182 carats). It was bought to Persia by Nader Shah after he invaded India in the 1730s. He bought it along with the Koh-i-noor and the peacock throne - the Kohinoor later went back to India and came into the hands of the British through Maharaja Ranjit Singh. Sadly, the peacock throne disappeared for posteriety. However, later Iranian thrones were also called peacock thrones and one of them is also on display at this Museum.

Another day, for coffee I met this young and articulate filmmaker at the Iranian film museum. Before catching up with her, I went round the museum. Now I don’t need to mention the rich and vibrant Iranian cinema scene with well-known names such as Jafar Panahi, Majid Majidi, Abba Kiarostami, and the Makhmalbafs. The museum, housed in a lovely Qajar-era building, was close to the Tajrish square (this area is a nice and green tree-lined boulevard).

On my way back, I first took the metro and then a shared taxi. Now I was made to believe that in a shared taxi, a man cannot sit next to women he does not know (as is usually the case in a shared taxi), but I was politely asked to sit in the taxi despite my initial apprehension. And lo and behold, the women started chattering away with me the moment they found out that I was a tourist. At every step in Iran, a tourist is made to feel really special.

Then I met up with my co-travellers and we had dinner at one of the trendy restaurants on Gandhi Street. Believe it or not the hippest part of Tehran is called ‘Gandhi Street’. This is where all the swish cafes and restaurants are. Thankfully, Iran is a dry country otherwise the aforesaid Mr. Gandhi would have been turning in his grave.

As we stepped outside after dinner, I noticed a suspicious looking character (trench coat and all) who seemed to be eyeing all that were entering and leaving the complex of restaurants and cafes. I could not make out if he was just a pervert trying to get his fill by looking at women (or men, these days you never know!) or was he from the infamous ‘religious police’ making sure that men and women don’t mingle too much or that there is no consumption of alcohol. I will never find out.

That was my last evening in Iran in what, I can safely say, was one of my best overseas trips ever.

As I sat on the plane on my way out of Tehran I got thinking that we get most of our information on Iran from the Western media and my visit there helped me understand that all that we read in The Guardian or The New York Time may not be the whole truth. Iran is an Islamic country but the people are not, by any stretch of the imagination, overtly religious. It is one of the few Islamic countries where you hardly hear the muezzin calls for prayers (anyways, the Shi’ites are required to pray only three times a day, as compared to the Sunni’s five calls to prayers during the day). Hardly anyone wears the chador and in the big cities, the trendy women wear the headscarf with panache and use it as a fashion accessory, rather than a religious requirement. You do see mixed groups of men and women, boys and girls (which I believe is a rare sight in some other countries like Egypt and Bahrain, but I need to get there to verify this!).

The Iranians, contrary to belief, are not (all) anti-American or anti-West. The man on the street wants to know about outsiders and is more than happy to strike up a conversation to exchange notes on respective living conditions. I have yet to visit a more hospitable and genuinely curious-about-foreigners nation. This Australian guy I was travelling with would, just for a lark, say that he was American whenever someone asked him where he was from. And not once did he get an intimidating or negative reaction. If anything, it was the opposite. The local would suddenly become more curious.

That, in my view, is why we all need to travel. You get to know first hand about a country and its peoples.

Aaaaah Esfahan (Apr'12)

Esfahan Nesf e Jahaan

Roughly translated as ‘Esfahan is half of the world’, is what the 16th French poet Renier said on visiting Esfahan. For me too, Esfahan *was* the jewel in the Iranian crown. I consider myself to be a very ‘positive’ traveller in that there have been very few places that I did not like (apart from Bangkok, which I visited, and Dubai, which I’m yet to visit). Even though I may not like a city at first glance, I ultimately end up liking it. As Paolo Coelho put it so eloquently, “A city is like a capricious woman: she takes time to be seduced and to reveal herself completely.”

But Esfahan was love at first sight. I am unable to pinpoint what I liked about it. Was it the immaculately neat and clean streets? Was it the beguiling mix of East and West? Was it the fact that there were beautiful women all round? Any which way, I just loved the city. Period. Very rarely do I experience a city and tell myself, “I can live here.” Esfahan turned out to be one of those.

Right next to our hotel (which was not bad in itself) was the Abbasi hotel, the best in Esfahan. I’ve been told that the rooms are nothing great but the best part of the hotel was its courtyard. It was a large garden, complete with streams, bridges, flowers and the smell of cinnamon and roses. I went there on all the three evenings we were there for some tea and (beautiful) people-watching. Ahem!

The most interesting part about Esfahan (sometimes spelt as Isfahan) is that it is a lovely mix of the traditional and the modern. There is the traditional side to the city – with the Jameh Mosque, the Imam Square, and the Borgh e Bazaar. And the modern part of the city, Jolfa quarter, with its tree lined boulevards and hip cafes, could compete with any ‘modern’ city in the world. Just that Esfahan beats others to the post with all the beautiful women!

The centre of old-town Esfahan is the ridiculously-huge Imam Square (or Naksh e Jahaan, pattern of the world), one of the largest squares in the world (if you really want to know, 512m by 163m). The Safavid King Shah Abbas ordered the building of this square in the early 17th century. This square has a number of important sights of Esfahan – the Imam Mosque, the Sheikh Lotfollah Mosque and the Ali Qapu Palace. These blue-tiled buildings, coupled with lovely lawns and beautiful fountains, gave the square impressionable colours of green and blue. The square, now merely ornamental, has served many different purposes in the past - as a polo ground, as a resting place for silk road caravans, and as a market. Now, instead of heavily robed traders, one mainly sees well-heeled locals and camera-toting tourists. The latter notwithstanding, the square is an imposing piece of architecture and is definitely one of the wonders of the world.

At one end of the square is the Borgh e bazaar, which basically turned out to be endless. We were there during the afternoon when the shopkeepers were catching shut eye after the flow of the forenoon and the ebb of the evening. Needless to say,far better than Istanbul’s touristy Grand Bazaar. Again!

Another impressive structure is the Safavid-era Chahel Satun (’40 pillars’) palace that has beautiful frescoes including some with an India connection – one shows a reception for Humayun in Zanjan in 1550 when he had taken refuge in Iran, another depicts the battle of Karnal (1756).

The river Zayandeh flows through Esfahan and there are a number of intricate and beautiful bridges on the river – Si O Se Bridge (bridge of 33 arches), Chubi Bridge, and Khaju Bridge. The latter was apparently built during the reign of Shah Abbas II in 1665. There is a lovely tea house at the base of this bridge. Just walking along the river from one bridge to the other, or on the bridges, as the Esfahanis do, is a really pleasurable experience and you could be mistaken for believing that you are in a European city (except that the women here are far more beautiful!).

On the other side of the river is the Jolfa, or the Armenian quarter. Historically there have been close ties between Armenians and Iranians and in the early 17th C Shah Abbas relocated thousands of Armenians from Nakhichevan to this quarter in Esfahan. This is one of the hippest quarters I’ve seen anywhere in the world. In the evenings, young well-heeled Esfahanis go up and down in this quarter to see and to be seen. I went there quite a few times, and this one time I got chatting with this group of very well-informed and articulate girls. Of course, when the conversation veered towards poetry I had to put my hands up.

Apart from the beautiful women, the Jolfa quarter also has a beautiful cathedral – The Vank. This cathedral, built between 1606 and 1655, has beautiful frescoes of various Christian motifs alongside Islamic tiles. There are a number of other churches in this area but I, unfortunately, did not have the time to visit them.

Further away from the centre of town is the Manar Jomban or shaking minarets. This wee tomb has two minarets, the architectural speciality of which are that if you shake one the other starts shaking. On the hour, the caretaker climbs up the tomb and gives a demonstration much to the amusement of those waiting below.

We rounded up our stay in Esfahan with a visit to an ancient (now non-functional) fire temple atop a steep hill (which needed some huffing and puffing to get upto!).
To end where I begun, I have no idea who Renier (the French poet) is.

Zoroastrianism in Iran (Apr'12)

Before entering our next stop (the town of Yazd), we visited a Zoroastrian Tower of Silence and cemetery. A bit about Zoroastrianism, that originated in Iran in the 6th C BC, based on the teachings of Zoraoaster, and is often considered to be the world’s first monotheistic religion.

Before the advent of Alexander (in 3rd C BC) and Islam (7th C AD), Zoroastrianism was the predominant religion in Iran. This religion believes Ahura Mazda to be creator and fire to be an important agent for purity. The Avesta is their holy book, and they believe, like all other religions, that good deeds are an important pillar of life. Free will is also an important concept, and thus the religion rejects monasticism. Faravahar is one of the primary symbols of this religion, and is believed to be the depiction of a guardian spirit, Fravashi. This symbol of an old man represents experience and wisdom.

A large group of Zoroastrians emigrated to India in the 10th C AD to avoid persecution by the Muslim invaders. These became the Parsi community (Parsi being ‘from Persia’) Sadly, like the Parsis in India, the number of Zoraoastrians in Iran is on the decline with estimates ranging from 20,000 to 1,00,000.

On the outskirts of Yazd, we visited this no-longer-in-use tower of silence (Dakhma) atop a steep hill. The Zoroastrians believe that, in order to maintain the purity of earth and fire, the dead should not be buried or cremated. They leave the dead atop hills to be eaten by the vultures. On our climb up, we were accompanied by a group of boisterous boys on motorcycles who insisted on going up and down on the steep path and doing “stunts”. The irony of shattered silence in the dakhma was not lost on us.
At the bottom of this tower of silence is a Zoroastrian cemetery where they now bury their dead. Unlike the Parsis in India, the Zoroastrians in Iran are no longer allowed to place their dead in towers of silence, and have to bury them.

One of Zoroastrianism’s most holy sites is also situated in Yazd – this fire temple, Ateshkadeh, apparently has a fire that has been burning since 470 AD (it was transferred to Yazd in 1474, and to its present site in 1940).

Marco Polo passed Yazd on his travels and this city was spared destruction by Mongols and Tamarlane. The old town of Yazd, where we stayed, is a virtual labyrinth of narrow streets set among simple mud houses. It is easy to, and I did, get lost whilst walking in this part of town. The city’s roofscape is a virtual forest of cooling towers (called ‘badgirs’) – these towers, which look like stylised chimneys, were built on the roofs of houses to facilitate circulation of cool air.

We then visited all the ‘must-see’ sights in Yazd. First stop was the impressive Jameh Mosque (which, with its azure tiles, reminded me of Uzbeki mosques and madrassas), Here we bumped into perhaps the most photographed caretaker in Iran. This wizened old man appears in the photo albums of all visitors to Yazd.

Another lovely, and photogenic, building in Yazd is the Amir Chakhmaq complex – a takieh (used during Muharram, the period of mourning to commemorate the death of Imam Hussein). Just across this complex is the Water Museum – an interesting museum that details how water was used in cities like Yazd. Water flowed from one house to another where they would pass through large underground pools that would keep that room cool enough to fight the outside heat, and also to keep perishable items fresh.

However, for me, the most interesting visit in Yazd was to a Traditional gym (zorkhane, urdu readers would immediately make the connection). The communal gym (almost every locality has one) is a large room with a round pit where all the ‘exercises’ take place. There are all sorts of interesting equipment (large wooden slats with chains and bells, clubs etc) used by the gym ‘members’. The exercises are done by all in tandem, and to the sound of live music (basically, a drummer who would sing and provide the rhythm for the exercises). There was a really fat man who won our heart by his attempts to stay in shape (‘round is a shape?’).


From Yazd we made a day trip to the town of Meybod about an hour away by road. We took the local mini-van where I decided to try my tooti-footi farsi with a group of college boys in the van (much to the amusement of the others). By about half an hour, I had exhausted all the words and sentences that my wee Farsi phrasebook offered by way of conversation breakers or ‘essential words to know’. Then I went through the list all over again!

At Meybod, while we were looking for something to eat and drink in one of the local shops, two guys came upto me and started speaking in Farsi. They assumed that I was the local tour-guide for my two travel companions (German and Australian). I felt flattered at being confused for an Iranian but I continued to play my dumb act with utterances of ‘tourist tourist’. Then they said, in broken English, “We are the tourist police, show us your passports.” Of course, none of us had our passports with us and we just started walking away from them (we’d read about the ‘fake tourist police’ scam in our guidebook where people pose as tourist police and try and extort money or sometimes even steal passports of the tourists). Anyway, we just ignored them and continued our way. After about a kilometre or so we noticed that they’d followed us in our car and came to us again ‘show passport, show passport’.

This time we told them that our passports were not with us but at our hotels in Yazd, they demanded to know the name of our hotel. When we told them, they had nothing to write with and nowhere to write it down (some police this was!). They stopped a passerby and asked him for a pen and one of them wrote down the name of the hotel on his palm. By now we were completely sure that they were no police. We then stopped for a while in a teahouse and we noticed that they were going back and forth in their car. That did get us a bit worried but then we didn’t hear from them or see them again. Later we found out (from one of the locals), that they *were* really the police. Yikes!

At Meybod, we saw some interesting sites – a pigeon house (where, at one time, 4000 pigeons were housed to collect their guano as fertiliser), a stamp museum (where, amongst other stamps, I saw an interesting Iranian one which commemorated Indo-Iranian ties with photos of Hafez and Kabir), a caravanserai, and another icehouse.
When we reached the highway to catch a minivan back to Yazd, no van would stop for us as all vans were full. One person noticed our predicament and asked us to wait. He went on his motorcycle to the bus-stand and instructed one of the vans to stop for us on the highway. He didn’t want anything in return. How’s that for helpfulness?

Relaxing at the Caravansarai (Apr'12)

I’ve noticed that in a holiday, the first half passes very very slowly. Suddenly you think to yourself, it has only been 3 days since I landed in this country and I have already seen / experienced so much. The initial part of a holiday in a new country, when you’re taking in the sights, sounds, and smells, every moment seems to expand. I was still at the ‘taking in the country’ stage and time was passing slowly, but I knew as soon as I got used to the ‘new’ country, time would pass really fast (as it always does when you’re having fun).

From Eghlid, we took our mini-van to get to Zeinodin Caravansarai. But en route we stopped at Abarkooh where we saw a ‘jugadoo’ icehouse. This conical structure (there are many across Iran) was used to store ice in the hot weather. This large structure has a huge pit in which ice was stored covered by straw and sand. The conical shape of the icehouse ensured that the interior of the structure remained cool because of air circulation. At this ice-house there was a group of 8-9 year old girls on a school trip. One of the was curious about me, and became very excited when she found out I was Indian (she asked if I knew Shahrukh Khan!) and couldn’t stop telling her trip-mates, “this fellow is from India.” I asked her name. Fatima.

At our next stop, a 4000 year old Cypress tree, I was invited to tea with an old couple who were picknicking under its shade. A bus approached the tree and lo and behold the school girls were there too. Fatima got excited when she saw me. When I told her that I remembered her name, she was a bit angry as I had pronounced it incorrectly (Fatimeh). She then asked me to sing a bollywood song. Fortunately, I was able to wriggle out of that one and instead asked her to sing or recite a poem. She agreed and just before she was about to start she looked at me seriously, and with big wide eyes, “don’t laugh”. She then recited a Hafez couplet. One of the more memorable moments for me during the trip.

Then, after a longish drive, we reached our destination for the day – the Caravansarai Zeinodin in the Dasht e Lut desert. This caravanserai, built in the 16th C during Safavid times, was a perfect place to relax and unwind. Shah Abbas had got 999 such caravansarais built for the ease of the traders (especially on the silk route). These caravansarais served as resting shelter for the weary travellers and as storehouses.

This circular structure, with an open courtyard in the middle and rooms all round, has been refurbished to take in tourists. Since there was nothing but the wide open desert all round, there was not much to do apart from read a book and take in endless cups of tea and a rather evocative sunset. A perfect way to get some much-needed rest.

Breathless football (Apr'12)

Persepolis is one of the most well-known of Iran’s sights. The name of Persepolis is linked to the Achaemenian empire and its kings – Cyrus, Darius, Xerxes, and Artaxerxes. Trying to conjure up images of Persepolis, I always imagined heavily-robed people walking along the bazaars of this huge city haggling with the shopkeepers over exotic items. How wrong I was! Persepolis was not a ‘living’ city – it was largely a ceremonial capital, used only for extravagant ceremonies especially during Navroz celebrations.

Construction started during the reign of Darius the great in 518BC. There are many theories about the decline of this “city” but the one most people believe is that it was burnt to the ground by Alexander in 330BC when he defeated Darius III. What the truth was, we’ll perhaps never know. In fact very few contemporary foreign records mentioned this city, which probably meant that, during its time, this city was largely kept a secret.

The ‘city’ was much smaller than what I had imagined it to be. But then apparently the entire ruins have not been excavated as yet. The main entrance was through a grand staircase - I could picture Darius entering on his horse through this staircase to crowds of swooning subjects. Through the ruins of columns, pillars, and walls, one can visualise large halls and grand gates and the grandeur that once was. These pillars and walls had elaborately carved reliefs of armies and people making offerings. What, however, was interesting was that there were no statues or reliefs of women figures – all the figures were male!!!

At Persepolis, I had one of my ‘I am here’ moments. As I was getting my photograph taken, it suddenly dawned upon me that I was amongst the ruins of an elaborate city from over 2500 years back. Travel does that to you sometimes.

Our next stop was Naksh-E-Rostam which has the rock-cut tombs of Darius I, Darius II, Xerxes I, and Artaxerxes I, These tombs are cut onto the cliff face high above the ground. Somehow this site reminded me of Petra but minus the hoardes of tourists. And obviously, it is much smaller. Besides the four impressive tombs (that seem to be hanging in mid air), there are also a number of Sassanid reliefs (2nd – 6th C AD).
From there on, our minivan took us to a wee village. We were originally supposed to go to a Qashqai nomadic village, but there was a slight change in programme. As our van was pulling into the home of our hosts in the village, we saw a group of boys playing football in the large open street. So guess where we went as soon as the van stopped? We joined this impromptu game. Of course, the boys were far better than us weary tourists – our excuse was that the village was at an altitude and we were not used to it (in our defence, we were out of breath). But nonetheless, it was a nice experience to have a game of breathless football, surrounded by snow-clad mountains.
During dinner our hosts had invited almost everyone they knew in the village (which meant everyone!) and it was fun as they all wanted to practice their English on us. Dinner was, as is the case in a large Iranian household, eaten on the floor on a large mat. Post-dinner one of the boys produced an old rifle and we all took turns toying with the rifle and a nice hookah. Warlord style!


Our next stop was the town of Eghlid. Right opposite our hotel was a wee school where we walked in – suddenly we were mobbed by a group of little boys who wanted us to photograph them and be photographed with us. Later when we were visiting one of the mosques, we were again mobbed. It is so refreshing to be given so much attention by locals who don’t want to sell you something or take your money off you (as is the case in most other countries).

We visited a couple of parks that were away from the city and as we entered one of the parks we saw a particularly photogenic building across the road with some eye-catching posters. As we started to photograph them, we heard a commotion across the street. It was a couple of Revolutionary Guards from the building telling us not to photograph it but they were smiling. We sheepishly put our cameras away.

The town also has a evocative mosque dedicated to martyrs of the Iran Iraq war. Few people realise that more than a million Iranians were killed in this war and this mosque was a reminder that those killed have not been forgotten. At the top of the hill behind the mosque were the remains of a tower of silence where we also saw the remains of a cellphone tower! (which was pulled down after a complaint was made that this was an inappropriate place to erect the tower).

Shiraz (sans the wine) (Apr'12)

Somewhere in the last post, I started talking about the women of Iran and then I lost track of the thread. Believe me, I can go on and on, but I’ll try and not get distracted again!

Ok, back in Tehran - after the Golestan Palace, we tried to do a bit more of sightseeing (Imam Mosque, Arg Square, and National Museum). But all of them were closed thanks to Navroz celebrations. However, we did manage to see one of Tehran’s numerous parks – Park Shahr with its beautiful fountain and well-manicured lawns. We followed this up with dinner at an artist’s complex that had a trendy wee coffee shop. This complex is pretty close to the erstwhile American embassy (more on that in a later post). We called it an early night as we had a very early flight next morning.

The hour-long flight was to the city of Shiraz, which is famed for poetry, gardens, and wine. Of course, Iran being an Islamic Republic now, wine is no longer produced there. Shiraz is the capital of Fars province (from which the word ‘Farsi’ is derived). Earlier the capital used to be Pasargadae (during the times of Cyrus the great). His successor Darius I made Persepolis his ceremonial capital. Shiraz was made the national capital in 1750 under the Zand rulers.

Coming back to contemporary times, our hotel in Shiraz had a cute little courtyard (as most hotels did) where I lounged around (with the free WiFi) before we started our sightseeing. A family (with two young girls) approached our group and chatted with us (not too many tourists visit Iran so the locals enjoy talking to the tourists. And the youngsters use the opportunity to practice their English. As we got talking with the family, I found out that they’d visited India because their spiritual Guru lives in Chennai (globalisation in the guru stakes?).
For lunch I ordered Kalampollo (a sort of chicken pilaf) but immediately regretted it as I saw someone on the table next to mine order an Eggplant dish. That dish looked just like our baingan-ka-bharta. Suddenly I started thinking of home and Indian food.

Our first pit-stop in the town of Shiraz was the Aramgah-e-shah-e-Cheragh. This is the tomb of one of the 17 brothers of Imam Reza (one of Shi’ism’s twelve Imams, considered to be the spiritual and political successors of The Prophet). During my time in Iran I was able to learn a bit about Shi’ism, and how it differs from Sunnism. The Shias believe Ali (whom they consider divinely appointed) as the rightful successor to The Prophet. As compared to Sunnis who are required to pray five times a day, Shias say their prayers thrice a day. Also, the Shias place a piece of stone or clay, known as "Turbah," on the ground so that their forehead touches the stone during prayers.

Anyway, coming back to the Aramgah - Sayyed Mir Ahmed (brother of Imam Reza) was killed in 835 and is buried here. A friend of mine has an interesting theory about taking photos at religious sites. As most of you know, I enjoy taking pictures but according to this friend, one should not take pictures at religious sites as they interfere with what is meant to be a place for thought and introspection. I see the logic behind that, yet I am a shameless clicker at religious places.
However, we were told that no photography was allowed at the shrine and we had to deposit our bag (and our cameras) at the Aramgah entrance. But as always happens in life, when we got in, I noticed that almost everyone was taking photos with their cellphones. Grrrrr.

The complex has a lovely peaceful courtyard where I just plonked myself on one of the carpets and contemplated life as the faithful went about their work in what is one of Shi’isms holiest sites in Iran. The beautiful blue-tiled domes with minarets and the open expanse of the courtyard made it time well-spent.At this tomb, the women were required to have more-stringent-than-normal chadors. On the streets they just need to make sure that they cover their hair and the shape of their bodies and are, of course, not allowed to show any skin (apart from the face and hands).

Right next to this complex is the Masjed E Jameh Ye Atigh – Shiraz’s oldest Islamic structure, dating from 894. As was the case everywhere in Iran, we were approached by children. Sadly, because of politicial complications, not too many tourists visit Iran. But that has an upside - whatever few tourists visit, all the object of curiosity for locals especially the children. And the most endearing part is that it is all very innocent curiosity, and typically they will offer a ‘hello’ or ‘have a good day’ or ‘how are you’ or ‘where are you from’.
Dinner that night was a rather swish place called ‘Haft Khan’. After having heard / read so much of about the ‘Dizi’ (a traditional Persian soup-stew meal), I decided to brave it - curry is poured into a cylindrical utensil, and then small pieces of bread are added to this curry - this mixture is then beaten to a pulp using a small. It tasted good but the smell was, to put it mildly, not too attractive.

Next day, did more sightseeing of Shiraz. Another to-see sight there is the Karim Khan Citadel (or Arg e Karim Khan, built by the Zand ruler Karim Khan in the second half of the 18th century). The structure has high exterior walls (as any self-respecting Citadel should have) and there is a very lovely courtyard with a pool (difficult to imagine such peace and quiet so close to the hustle and bustle of Shiraz city just outside the citadel walls).

The Masjed E Vakil and the Bazaar E Vakil are also great places to hang out. I found the bazaar-e-vakil far more interesting (and less pretentious and made-up) than Istanbul’s Grand Bazaar which is mainly for tourists and reminded me of Palika Bazaar. Anyways, it is very easy (and enjoyable) to be lost in the labyrinthine alleys of the Bazaar-e-Vakil.

Some people in my group had to get their visas extended and I was feeling pleased that I didn’t have to go to the concerned office and spend my time there. But I really regretted not going there as my companions met a French man who had walked (yes walked!) all the way from Istanbul (and Iran was not his last stop). Of course, walking thousands of miles (he started with a 1000 dollars in his pocket) was not the only eccentric thing he was doing. He was carrying his possessions (including a tent) on a wheelbarrow! Before we label him mad, we must remember what Nietsczhe said, “and those who were seen dancing were thought to be insane by those who could not hear the music”

From there on, we sauntered onto a Lonely Planet recommended restaurant called Sharzeh which apparently has a great atmosphere. Sadly, and in continuation of our bad luck, the restaurant was closed for Navroze. So we went to another one on the LP list called Govara. This restaurant turned out to be a real find – cheap and tasty food. I had a lentil soup (that could easily have passed off as daal) and a chicken dish, which was very wet (curry-ish) and spicy.

With a satiated and happy stomach we went off to see another Mosque – Nasir Ol Molk (19th century). The mosque had a lovely prayer hall which was totally empty. I spread myself out on the carpet and took a nice cat nap (remember the heavy meal I’d just had?). It was extremely refreshing!

Shiraz is known for its gardens and the most famous one is the Bagh E Eram. It was a lovely place to hang out – dotted with couples, mixed groups, youngsters among the gardens and the lovely pools. Another place to plonk oneself on the grass and take a quick nap (I’ve been taking too many of those, right?).

Next stop was the Aramgah E Hafiz which is the final resting place of THE poet of Persia – Hafiz. The Persians take their poetry very very seriously. They can quote Hafiz, Saadi, and Firdaus at the drop of a hat. Shirazis take great pride in the fact Hafiz (who lived in the 14th century) was one of their own. The atmosphere at the tomb and the nearby gardens is pretty reverential – Besides the beautiful gardens in which the tomb is set there is a cosy little teahouse where piped poetry is read out. At this tea house, I saw the most beautiful girl – dressed in all blue she had the most bewitching smile (I was able to capture her photograph to help my not-so-strong-anymore memory). Ok, now before I get distracted again and sing paens to Persian beauties let me get back to Hafez.

Many visitors here had brought books of his poetry and read out extracts. One father prompted his girl (she must have been eight or nine) to recite some Hafez. She did so confidence and poise, putting into perspective my lame and unsuccessful attempts to commit to memory ‘Daffodils’.

Getting Introduced to Iran (Apr'12)

At the immigration counter at Delhi airport, the official looked at my passport and then at my Iran visa and asked why I was travelling there. When I said ‘for tourism’, he gave me an are-you-out-of-your-mind? look coupled with a pitiful shake of his head. And then, whilst stamping me out of India, he said “ajeeb shauk hain aapke” (some strange hobbies you have). Thanks!

My flight to Tehran was via Dubai and I refused to visit the city (Dubai is one of those cities that arouses a mild irritation in me – the same way Bangkok or Gurgaon does. But then that’s for another post!). As I waited to board the flight at Dubai, I was one of the few non-Iranians and couldn’t but help notice that everyone was immaculately dressed. My traveller’s pants, it seemed, would cut no ice in that country. Time would tell…

My flight reached Tehran pretty late (everyone, including me, was stocking up on liquor in their blood streams during the hour and a half long flight). On the (rather long) cab journey into Tehran my taxi jostled for space on the choc-a-bloc highway. It was late Friday night and it seemed that all of Tehran had gone out of the city and was returning at the same time. Or was it something else? The next day, when I went for a walk around my hotel, there were no people, or cars, to be seen. Where was everyone? It was only later that I found out that because it was the Persian New Year season (21st March – 2nd April), the entire country had come to a standstill (did you read the previous post?)

Fortunately, I found one shop open and went in to buy some water and biscuits to keep my backpack emergency ready. As I picked up the stuff I wanted and handed it to the person at the counter, he gave me a look as if he expected me to know the prices - when I shrugged my shoulders, he looked quite surprised. So I could pass off as a local?
And when he mentioned the price, I shook my head (yet again), he then reluctantly brought out a calculator and keyed in the price. I was totally confused. It could not be 1,900 Rials (that being the currency) as that translated to 8 or 9 rupees (for two bottles of water and a packet of biscuits). I threw up my hands and showed him some currency Of that he neatly took out 19,000 Rials leaving me totally perplexed and feeling a bit cheated.

It was only later that I was able to figure out what had happened. The official currency is Rial but in everyday life the Toman is quoted. The Toman was the official currency till the 1930s when the Rial (1 Toman = 10 Rials) was introduced. But people still use the Toman - that explains why I was quoted 1,900 (Toman) but had to pay 19,000 (Rials). Of course, this did not make life simple. Every time I was quoted a price (in Toman), I had to multiply it by 10 to get the Rial value. That I mentally converted into dollars, before figuring out the Rupee value. If, as was usually the case, I wanted to haggle, I would reverse the process and then reconvert the rupee value I wanted into dollars to Rials to Toman. These complicated calculations got me pretty worked up and after a while I would just randomly haggle.

First stop in Tehran was the Golestan Palace. This elaborate palace was built by the Qajars. Who? A bit of Iranian history is in order?

The first major Persian rulers belonged to the Achaemenid empire (550 – 330 BC), of which the most well-known kings were Cyrus the Great, Darius the Great, and Xerxes. This empire is best known for Persepolis and the Cyrus Cylinder (believed by many to be the first ‘charter’ of human rights). This empire was followed by the Seleucids, Parthians, Sassanians before the Arabs/Turks brought Islam to Persia in the 7th Century AD. The Mongols came in the 13th Century and the Timurids ruled from the 14th to the 16th centuries, when the Safavids came to power.

Nader Shah (rather well known in India!) ruled Persia from 1736 to 1747 and the Qajars held power from 1795 to 1925 when the Pahlavi dynasty was set up (Reza Shah from 1925-41 and his son Mohammed Reza Shah from 1941-79). The infamous CIA coup and Mohammad Mossadegh need no introduction. Dynastic rule came to an end in 1979 when, with the Revolution, came the Islamic Republic.

Ok, back to Golestan Palace. While exploring the audience halls and art galleries of the Palace, I couldn’t help notice that each and every woman there looked beautiful. That was to be the over-riding theme of my two weeks in Iran – Persian women are stunning. By law, they’re required to wear head scarves (i.e. cover their hair) but women being women, they’ve taken to this constraint with panache, and have converted the headscarf into a fashion accessory. Hair peeks through the head scarves of some of the more bold ones, some of them tie up their hair in a bun under the scarf which gives their heads a very elongated and, in my opinion, exotic look. And since their face is the only part of their body which is visible, they take great care in making it look beautiful. I have been to quite a few countries and I can safely say that the Persian women definitely make it to the top of my ‘most beautiful women’ list!

Ok, I can go on and on, but I think I should end this post here. More later :)

Nowruz - Haft Seen - 7s (Apr'12)

When I went to the Iranian embassy in Delhi for my visa, I saw a large table with a beautiful table-cloth and a number of items on it including a gold fish, The Quran, some coins, a garlic, and vinegar. I wondered what it was. On enquiring I was told was the 'Haft Seen' or the traditional table setting of Nowruz (Persian New year). I was so excited to get the visa that I forgot to read up on it when I got home.

When I reached Tehran (after a rather forgettable stopover at Dubai airport) I noticed that all the shops / establishments were closed and there was hardly any traffic – that is when I realised that the Persians take their New Years celebrations rather seriously.

The celebrations start on 21st of March (first day of spring) and last for 14 days. Originally a Zoroastrian festival, over the centuries it has been influenced by Islam (which came to Persia in 650AD). Every household sets up a 'Haft Seen' table. Haft = seven, Seen = alphabet 's' i.e. the '7 s'. Typically seven agricultural edible products, whose Persian names start with 's' are placed on the table - things like Apple (sib), Garlic (seer), Vinegar (serke), Grains or Vegetables (Sabzi). However, over time many things that are neither edible, nor of Persian origin have made their way to the table. Things like Samovar, Coins (sikke), Needle (soozan), Mirror, Candles, Painted Eggs, Pin (sanjaq), Watch (sa'at) and even Goldfish (which apparently has come through Chinese New Year traditions).

Originally, it was items whose name started with 'sh' (sharab - wine, shahad - nectar, shekar - sugar, shabeh - fruits) but after the advent of Islam in Persia, the seven 'sheen' became the seven 'seen'. 'Seen' is also the first letter of the names of the seven angels in ancient Persia.

On the 13th (or is it 14th) day of the celebrations, some items of the table are taken on the top of the car and left to be blown away (signifying that evil is being rid off). Goldfish and birds are also released back in nature. The family then goes for a picnic which can be anywhere - in a park or even in a parking lot. In fact, during my time there I saw innumerable tents in parking lots (some have called Iran the picnic capital of the world - the Iranians love picnicing!).

That day, it is considered a bad omen to stay at home. That I like