Day forty seven - 17 September 2009; Esfahan

Esfahan Picture Album (click here)

Today is a group tour of Esfahan organised by Ali, the carpet shop owner. We (re)visit the ancient bridges which originate from as long as 1500 years ago and visit the ‘Pigeon Tower’, a circular home for birds in the town. Here I am shat on from a height.

inside the Pigeon Tower

the culprit

Other highlights include the Vank Church and the Fire Temple, a temple on the top of a dusty and rocky hill. It’s a fun climb with excellent views over the city and beyond, although a bit too hot for the women in black.

business has dried up

up to the temple

weren't you in star wars or somat?

We also visit the Iran Iraq war cemetery in the town. Of the 1 million Iranians dead, 28,000 were from Esfahan. Everyone we have met in Iran has been friendly and welcoming, even after introducing ourselves as British. However, here we experience our first bit of hostility, with a man wondering around us whispering ’9/11’ over and over. I am tempted to point out to him that it’s actually September 17^th today, but I don’t.

Day forty six - 16 September 2009; Esfahan

Esfahan picture album

A few of us start to do the walk around Esfahan recommended in the Lonely Planet, but we only get so far as to see the Haken Mosque and a bazaar due to group mentality dawdling. We then retire to a nice hotel with a covered courtyard for more Chi, despite it being Ramadan.

Hakan Mosque

A Ramadan lunchtime

Bazaar traffic rules

We then walk around Imam Square some more, which now has posters around it advertising government organised protests against the west planned for tomorrow. ‘Down with England, down with America, down with Israel’ they proclaim. Apparently the government blame Britain for unrest surrounding the recent elections, as they say British embassy staff were involved.

shopping for souvenirs

Essex Sam, Brummie Gareth (Garth for irritation factor), Just John and others met some students. They went to the students flat, where there was alcohol (!) and something mellower (!!!). The students say that they plan to hijack the protests to demonstrate against the election results. In fact, we learn later that the demonstration planned in Tehran has been cancelled, probably to stop them being hijacked by anti-government protesters.

After a walk around the Imam Square bazaar, we stop for some Chi at Ali’s carpet shop, the UK to Oz contact in Iran. Here Caroline tries on a coat which the shop staff claim is 180 years old and we pass around a bottle in which they keep their pet scorpions.

scorpion in a bottle

In fact we are often approached by carpet sellers to buy the carpet. At Ali’s we are shown lots of carpets, but not put under any pressure to buy. James, the driver, has bought a carpet, and I think some others have as well, so they are happy just to share Chi with us. I suggest to Meg that the next time we are approached by a carpet salesman, we show them her feet, which are never too clean in her sandals.

People in Iran seem to want to talk about politics. They mostly tell us that they want change, although one shoe shop salesman asks me if I like President Ahmadinejad, whose name I long ago took to pronouncing ‘Im-a-mad-jihadi’. I say I don’t think much of him and he just shrugs. I can’t be sure if this is agreeing to disagree or if he feels he can’t say what he thinks of him.

In the Blue Mosque on Imam Square there is an echo spot under the dome where people stand and clap their hands to get the echo. Meg is told off for jumping on the spot.

Day forty five - 15 Sept 2009; Esfahan

It was a very windy sleepless night and the toilet tent has been blown over.

a surprising sight on Iranian roads

We arrive in the later afternoon in Esfahan and are taken to a pizza / burger café by the UK to Oz local contact. I have pizza, but it has no tomato sauce on the base. 5/10.

Our hotel is very basic, with four of us squashed into a double room with added beds. It does have air conditioning, but it’s rattling is quite disturbing. There are also the obligatory portraits of the Ayatollahs (the dead Khomeini and the current one, Khamenei) in the lobby.

It does have a courtyard to hang out in and there are a couple of Europeans here who are travelling by bike. We had met them in Pakistan too. These guys are Dutch and German, I think. I remember being asked by someone at the border when we went into Iran whether I was German, so it seems Iran is quite popular with them. There is also a heavy French influence, with most of the cars that don't date from pre-revolution being Peugots, Renaults or Citreons, Paris being where Khomeini had taken refuge from the Shah's regime.

At night the tiled mosques of the main square (Imam Square) of Esfahan are stunning, with pockets of light coming out of the concavities. Unfortunately my camera, the second of my trip so far, is not the expensive kind and my pictures don't capture it.

A busy Imam Square

a bazaar at night

street entertainment

Caz demurely waiting for dinner

Tonight I at last have some food new to me. Sitting on cushions around a low table in a traditional but elegant restaurant in the connecting buildings coming from Imam Square, I try the local Biryani, which is a dry sauced sweet curry served with flat bread. It’s a culinary highlight of the trip so far.

Day forty four - 14 Sept 2009; Iran, heading south toward Esfahan

Today we drive toward Esfahan, former capital of Persia and famous for its architecture. We drive past Tehran, which from the distance looks like a huge concrete smoggy behemoth of a city. The truck gets stopped several times by police to check the licence for travelling in Iran.

It’s another bush camp tonight, and the girls are getting fed up with the headscarves and chadors.

I am camped on top of the truck and in the vicinity of John and Tracy’s tent screaming loud organisms are heard throughout the night.

Day forty three - 13 September 2009, Masouleh

We spend the day exploring the alleys of the village and sipping more chi relaxing. Masouleh is a popular tourist destination for Iranians and, despite this being an ancient village, there is a sense that this is a more outward looking part of Iran. Us westerners have become a secondary attraction for locals and tourists alike. The children are especially intrigued and I have to play plastic sword fight with a 3 or 4 year old boy every time I go back to my room, as it is his family whose room I am occupying. I am rooming with Shay, the superficially serious Irishman, Joost our ever smiling Dutchman, big John, who is being separated from Tracy for the night in case the locals find out they don’t have the same last name, and Andrew, whose mental and physical state seems to be improving as the journey goes on.

Jen's paleness combined with her traditional dress sense seem to attract a lot of attention from Iranian males

The shops are largely full of local craftwork, although we do see an old poster of the England team from the 90s for sale.

There is a waterfall across the valley which some of our party explore but Meg, Dave and myself are content with Chi and chat.

I am getting thoroughly fed up with eating kebabs, although tonight’s was really good. We again spend an evening smoking sheesha practicing our blow rings.

Meg thinks she looks cool....

but not as cool as Belgian Sam

the restaurant owner...and some bloke

There is talk of us doing a firewood collection at 10pm at night, but some people are uncomfortable with doing this. Big John comes back from chatting with Lu to say that it is cancelled, but Andrew comes back to our room at midnight having been one of a group who did go. Communication has not so far been a highlight of the trip.

PS thanks to Meg for some of the better looking photos of Masouleh...

Day forty two - 12 September 2009, Iran, Masouleh

People have taken to applauding everyone who uses our toilet tent. Caroline, our quiet but frequently foul mouthed ginger girl from Bath, gets quite upset.

We drive onto Masouleh, a stepped village in a valley dating back a millenia. It has a very old world charm with narrow market alleys hidden in its crevices on its slopes. The roofs of the interconnected buildings serve as another tier of pedestrian access. Our accommodations are the top rooms of families who live in single rooms below when they have guests.

We gather for Chi and sheesha pipe smoking.

Meanwhile, Lucinda, our tour leader, had said that previously she had struggled to spend $40 in 3 weeks in Iran. I have spent that in 4 days.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Masouleh

day forty one - 11 September 2009 Iran, camping in the mist

There are hugs with Meg, who kind of apologises. I had been very curt with her the night before, and she is a little upset and tearful.

Meanwhile I piggy back Jen up the hill as James didn’t want the passengers on the truck while he got it up to the road.

On the road, there are lots of traffic jams caused by Sheep aka ‘Ram Jams’ or ‘Lamb Jams’ if you like. Other sites on the road include: Sheep packed on top rack of trucks, and bramble wood stacked up to twice the height of the truck carrying it.

Iran apparently has the highest death rate on its roads in the world according to JC. To me, the habits of Iranian drivers are governed by a kind of common sense rather than any traffic laws, although you are quite likely to find cars parked in the middle of the road. As no particular rules are followed, drivers have to be alert to any possibility.

The junction in front of our Tabriz hotel was a large intersection completely painted over diagonally as a zebra crossing. A form of madness perhaps, but at the same time quite liberating. There are certainly no ‘jay walking’ fines here.

Tonight we travel up to cloud level to camp, looking over a town and motorway in the valley below. The cloud embraces us for some time, but the weather clears later. Northern Iran weather seems to be much like England.

Meanwhile, there are cows wondering around our tents and we become a tourist attraction for many of the Iranians on the mountain for a picnic.

Some of our party think it is ironic that we are in Iran on September 11th, and they take a picture of a watch with the date on it while posing next to an Iranian number plate. Being a pedant, I point out that Iran had little or nothing to do with the events of 8 years previous, although I am sure some people in Iran applauded the occasion.

I help to put up the truck ‘toilet tent’ so that the ladies have somewhere to go. This is a bottomless tall square tent, so that a hole can be dug in the ground. However it is mostly used by men, especially as silhouettes are visible. When I go, there are a number of the lads chanting, but they stop when they see me crouching down. When I come out though, the local shepherd is looking directly at me from a distance.

Day forty - 10 September 2009, Babak Castle, Iran

Bush Camp blues part 1: We drive to a camp near the bottom of the mountain upon which Babak Castle (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Babak_Castle) lies. I had intended to climb the mountain with others, but find myself being left behind as I clean the truck, and I don’t particularly want to go up on my own. I am particularly annoyed by Meg and Dave, as I helped to put their tents up. I try to follow later, but in my red mist state, I go up the wrong valley and after an hour or two I stop. I don’t know where I am going and the sun is starting to disappear behind the nearest mountain so I go back down. Apparently, it is quite a spectacular site up there, with added charm being provided by a couple of shepherds who have taken over the castle for keeping their herds in.

At night it starts to rain, but there are some pagodas at the campsite, so we sit ourselves under these. As it gets dark one car of Iranian men arrives and then leaves soon after. It returns & departs again and repeats this a few times, and we are wondering if this has anything to do with us. Eventually it comes back and stays, parking almost on top of John and Tracey’s tent. Later, lots of motorbikes descend on the campsite making lots of noise and kicking up mud. Men start walking around our tents. We hope they are just curious. They eventually set up camp themselves and our ladies have put their headscarves back on. These men noisily leave in the early hours of the morning.

I have to get up in the night to relieve myself and find a fox hovering around my tent.

Day thirty nine - 09 September 2009; Tabriz, Iran

The truck gets stuck trying to get back onto the road.

 

 

When we get to Tabriz, we don’t know where the hotel is. We teasingly stop outside a 5-star hotel to ask for directions. I decide to take a picture of the hotel, but trip on the steps getting back into the truck, and break my camera, so this is my last picture for a while. We get guided to the hotel by a young pretty Iranian lady, who is wearing a thigh length coat over her trousers and modest top, with her headscarf lying halfway back on her head. Our ladies are feeling quite resentful of their long thick black tents now.

On arriving at Tabriz, I visit the local bazaar in which there are lots of shops selling dresses that women can’t possibly wear in public. Also, narrow though the bazaar allies are, numerous motorcycles and mopeds ride through them.

In the bazaar, we are invited to visit a mosque down one of the alleys. We are enthusiastically but incomprehensibly guided around this mosque, which is being rebuilt from an old one of which they are still excavating some remnants. We do understand that lots of people will be in the mosque at sunset for food. We are here during Ramadan, so no food or water (or cigarettes!) should be consumed during daylight.

Cars in Iran mostly predate the revolution or at least the models predate the revolution but were still being made for Iranian customers. This means that there lots of roads with long rows of mechanics’ workshops. Car that don’t predate the revolutionary period are mainly French.

For the meal, I ask the hotel staff to recommend a pizza place, so I can get my Iranian pizza test in early. He sends me to the ‘Modern Taverna’ which serves…..Kebabs. It turns out the hotel is sending everyone to this restaurant so presumably there is a link.

Lots of people say hello to us, but ‘where are you from?’ is about as far as any conversation goes.

I am looking to buy a replacement camera, but with sanctions it is improbable to find any place that will take my credit card.

Walking around, Jen, our young Leeds lass, gets lots of male attention. We agree that I will not sell her for anything less than 15 camels.

Generally the women of the truck are indeed overdressed. The younger generation of Iranian women tend to wear a tunic to thigh level. Headscarves are coloured, but not too bright and definitely not red. Big sun visors also seem to be in fashion.

Day thirty eight - 08 Sept 2009 - into Iran

We only have a 30 minute drive to the border with Iran. There is a queue of lorries several kilometres long, but JC drives past, as we don't have goods to be checked by customs. This doesn't mean the contents of the truck won't be checked of course. We have already made sure that any items that might be deemed un-Islamic by the Iran border guards have been removed, such as the naked lady shaped badge that had been on the front of the truck and, of course, any alcohol, which is banned in Iran.

It takes a couple of hours to pass through the Turkey exit controls. The truck is delayed at the exit gate by a van of which the driver has lost the keys.

Meanwhile, the Iranian guard in the interim space is having a giggle at our women covered head to toe in the thick black chadors and headscarves. They are far too overdressed according to him. Iranian women wear their headscarves showing a bit of scalp apparently.

Iranian entry controls take a couple of manic hours. Mostly it is very friendly, but Pete (Scouse retired headmaster) is treated with some mild aggression. He is asked by the border official why he thinks we are all being fingerprinted. It is done because the UK does it to Iranian citizens, says the official. Promotion of tourism is clearly not a priority in Iranian officialdom. As a group, we are then asked to go into a room to fill in a survey on tourism in Iran that we are told is a part of a study by students at the University of Tehran. We decide it is probably for the best that our responses are complimentary at this stage.

After we get through the border control, we are happily surprised to find a café serving food within the border control building, as well as a boy selling flatbread. I have potted kebab for 35,000 Rials ($4). This is probably 4 times the price I’d pay anywhere else in Iran, but it is a tasty concoction of lamb on the bone, chick peas, veg and flat bread. We are surprised to find people smoking in the restaurant too, because it is Ramadan and we thought that it was forbidden during the day.

We then have to stop for another couple of hours while insurance for the truck is sorted out, with some confrontational negotiations required on JC & Lu's part.

We are too late to get to Tabriz for the evening so we bush camp in an empty expanse of hills. JC goes a kilometre or two off the road so that we cannot be seen. I decide to sleep on top of the truck again, and I sit there observing the women wearing tents putting up their camping tents. The ladies take off their headscarves and Meg dares to walk around in a T-shirt.