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.
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.
