April 25 continued, 2005

Qazvin: I am put to work

Qazvin is located along the famous Silk Road. Here is a view into an ancient Caravanserai, 10th Century, Qazvin

A male voice with a strong German accent replied, "Oh, hello is zis the Iran Hotel in Qazvin?"
"Yes, it is. What can I do for you?"
"Vell, I vant to rezerve a dubel room for me and my vife for two nights."
"All right," I answered, gesturing to Mohammed to hand me a paper and a pen. "What are the dates and what is the name?"
"The dates are April 29th and 30th. My name is Go-rin-gher!"
"Fine, I wrote all that down for you." Mohammed nodded yes and showed me 20 with his fingers. "The room is reserved for the 29th and 30th of April and the price is 20 dollars"

So I was put on a bus bound for Qazvin by this amazing lady, the "Security spy in black chador" called Fetemeh who took such good care of me. Qazvin, situated in Western Iran, is a picturesque, laid back city full of ancient sights. I spun away tranquil, pleasant hours while I was there. However, I was put to work as soon as I checked into the Iran Hotel! Mohammed, the receptionist was busy taking down my particulars from my passport when the phone rang. He picked up the receiver and listened for a minute. Looking really confused, then exclaimed, "Me, no understand you English" and simply handed the telephone to me.
What was I supposed to do? Tentatively, I said, "Hello?"

Today, only a small remnant of the original Caravanserai is left.

"Goot, goot! You speak very goot English."
Thank you but you see I am a tourist like you. The hotel asked me to help because they had difficulties understanding what you were saying.
"Oh, I zee. Vell, does the hotel organize zightzeeing to Almut and the Fortresses of the Assassins?"
"Yes they do, Sir."
"Vhat is the prize for zightzeeing there?"
I looked at Mohammed inquiringly. He explained that Karim, the man in charge of taking people to Alamut would not be back before 7pm.
"I do not know", I replied. "The person in charge is not here. My guide book says that such a trip organised by the hotel is $35 for the whole day. You could always call back around 7pm to confirm."
"No, I can't call back. Vhat time is it in Iran?"
"In Iran? It is ten after five! Where are you calling from? Germany?"
"No, no I am calling from ...South Africa. Thank you . Goodbye!"
I hung up the telephone, flabbergasted.

I explained to Mohammed that the man had been calling from South Africa. He looked at me blankly. Fishing out my guide book, I showed him where South Africa was on the world map in comparison to Iran. Mohammed was impressed.
"You very good, you work in hotel in Canada?"
"Well not exactly, I am a teacher"
"You very good teacher, very kind"
I do not know why people here always label me as "very kind". They are the ones with a big heart! They are the ones who always go out of their way to oblige me.

Romeo Dallaire...Click on pic to learn more

Click on pic for info

In Qazvin, I decided to break my solitude and befriended an interesting Australian couple met previously in Shiraz with whom I had visited the ruins of Persepolis. Both in their late thirties, they have travelled extensively around the globe for work as well as pleasure.

Tim, a lawyer, has been involved in several international trials. He had taken part in the investigation of the Tootsie genocide in Rwanda. He had met Romeo Dallaire whom he held in high esteem. He hoped that Canada would elect him as their next governor general. Trish, a former nurse, now working for a pharmaceutical company, had spent much time in Uganda working with African healers. Whenever, Tim and Trish have time off, they take out their backpacks to explore a new part of the world.

They travel very differently from me. Having only a short period of time, they cram a lot and, as they admit, skim the surface. Trish used a fine analogy when she compared it to getting a whiff of a steak being barbecued two blocks down the street while I enjoy the full flavour! This time, they had a little over three weeks and were spending 10 days in Iran, 6 days in Morroco and 5 days in Cuba!

Nevertheless, they have seen and experienced a lot. We exchanged anectodes galore.

They are my kind of travellers: mature, humble, positive and always aware that they are mere guests in the country they visit. Tim is super relaxed, with a Miami vice look and the slow walk of an orangotang while Trish is tall, blond and willowy constantly flashing a dazzling smile.

The day of my arrival, the 25th, we found by chance an unsual restaurant. Had I been on my own, I would not have dared entering it. Dark, with red lights, it looked somewhat dingy and kinky. The only woman was the owner, matronly looking despite her exaggerated make up. Mostly men were attending, sipping tea and smoking water pipes. It looked like an oriental lupanar without female escorts! Anyway, we enjoyed a tasty meal while listening to a young boy beautifully singing a sad song, accompanied by percussions and a violin.

April 26, 2005

Qazvin and The mountain village of Masuleh

The next day, the 26th was a special day, commerating the death of the 6th Imam. There are twelve imams in the Muslim religion, all descendants of the Prophet Mohammed. They succeeded to him as religious leaders. It was a day off for everybody. All shops and offices were closed. Nevertheless we decided to do some sightseeing. Many of the sights were unmarked but there was always a kind soul to put us on the right path (without even us asking!) or to take us to a door and knock on it for us. We often interrupted a family lunch or a siesta but every time the keeper would oblingingly let us in to visit!

We visited several Mosques of course- am beginning to feel "mosqued out"!- and a superb ancient water cistern, extremely well preserved. To acceed to it we had to go down a long flight of stairs. At the bottom , the cistern with a dome shaped roof, looked enormous and felt very cool. Our voices sounded hollow in it. Upon climbing up the stairs we were invited by the friendlyyoung attendants to enjoy some tea.

The peak moment of the day came when we found the Imamzadeh-ye Hossein shrine. We had "lucked out" to see such a place on a Martyr day.

A poster commemorating the decendents of Muhammad who became Imam

The place was teeming with people who had come to celebrate in their own ways the death of one of the Imams. I had a feeling of "deja vu". I felt back in India, in Varanasi in the middle of the crowds. With a difference, there were none of the bright coloured saris but a sea of black chadors. In the crowds, I quickly lost Trish and Tim but was not worried, we would meet later on. I filmed an incredible sight of people praying, doing their ablutions in the fountain or sharing a family meal under one of the arcades. Toddlers, elders on sticks, groups of youngsters.

Just as I was going to enter the Mosque, a young girl grabbed me, put a gilded book in my arms (The Koran?) and then snapped my picture. I was so speechless that I did not even have time to smile!.

Upon ascending the stairs, I was allowed to go in but on the condition that I would wear one of the chadors available on loan. I wrapped myself in it rather clumsily but must have looked like a highly comical camel with my daypack sticking out as a hump underneath the thick cloth! Some elderly women who were praying silently, spotted me and started chuckling in glee. One, in particular, was practically slapping her thighs! The she-camel that I was tried to maintain my dignity as much as possible in the middle of all the mirth she was creating.

After exiting, I found Tim and Trish. We all sat down in the shade to "people watch". It was really fascinating. People were approaching us offering us delicious sweets and pastries. At one point, we heard a scream. A little boy who had been plaing too close to the ablution fountain had fallen into it. Trish, a former life guard was just about to jump in when the father fished out his son, wet as a rat and choking between two sobs! Fortunately no harm had come to the child: he had only been badly scared.

We had a wonderful lunch in a little place off along a quiet street. The owner took us to the kitchen so that we could choose what we wanted. The food was superb and the chef, who dropped in on us later on, received many compliments. He was so happy that he brought us another brochette each of fresh juicy broiled tomatoes. At the time of paying the bill, it came to a ridiculously low amount for the three of us: less than 5 dollars. We protested. They assured us there was no mistake. I suspect that we were again the objects of another big discount "Iranian style."

Then Trish, Tim and I said our farewells. They were heading back to Tehran the same evening to catch their flight to Morroco via London the following morning.

A Persian Feast with safron rice, kababs, salad, breads and more

April 27, 2005

Municipality of Rasht and statue of
Mirza Kouchek Khan-e Jangali

The next day, I woke up Mohammed the receptionist at dawn to check out. A long journey was ahead of me. First I caught the 7h45 am bus to Rasht, a 3 hour trip. Once in Rasht, I took a mini bus to Fuman, a colorful little town. On the minibus, I became friends with all the women on board, in the back half of the bus. They were disappointed that I would not stop in Fuman; they all wanted me to go and visit them in their homes! I circulated postcards of Vancouver as well as a picture of Harvey, my boyfriend, and of his two grown up sons! All the men ostracized in the front were looking at us with a mixture of curiosity and envy.

This picture of Harvey and his sons is a gold mine, a real ice breaker and I will be forever grateful to Harvey for giving it to me! From Fuman, I caught another minibus to Masuleh. The scenery became prettier and prettier as we were gaining altitude. First vast expanses of rice fields , then gently sloping hills and finally majestic mountains. The bus was climbing along a sinuous road, higher and higher. Many lush shades of green. Finally the village appeared completely shrouded in veils of diaphanous mist!

When I got off a man oblingly grabbed my back and I followed him up the stairs to the bazaar. I finally checked in a hotel overlooking the valley.

I had a whole apartment to myself with a kitchen, bathroom, two bedrooms with a total of five beds and three love seats, a TV, a fridge and a wooden balcony with reclining chairs all for 20 dollars. In brief I had the perfect premises to hold a cocktail party!

In late afternoon, I strolled through the village totally wrapped in an eerie fog, gorged with humidity. For the first time I felt cold. Sat at a nearby open air tea house to be quickly surrounded by thirty teenaged girls out on a field trip.

They were wild! Overwhelming me with questions, shouting, giggling. They all applauded when I produced the picture of Harvey and his sons. When they left, the little tea house seemed an oasis of tranquility. The owner and his son came and sat beside me, smiling. The older man started a sparkling fire that warmed us all. Walking back, I prayed to the gods to give me sunshine the next day so that I could see this village which according to my guide book was a little gem not to be missed. I fell asleep in one of the 5 big beds shivering with cold despite the heater and the extra blankets.

It is going to be a beautiful day in Masuleh

The next day, I woke up at 5h30. When I stepped onto my balcony, I stopped dazzled by the rising sun. The fog had completely disappeared. The cloudless sky was a soft dark blue streaked with pink and gold. The village tumbling down the mountain was still asleep, studded with lights, I could hear the roar of the cascading river nearby and the birds were singing sweetly. The gods had listened to my plea; it was going to be a glorious day.

I spent most of the morning strolling up and down the narrow cobbled or staired alleys of Masuleh.

The houses, all in different hues of pale yellow or cream, are built in terrasses against the flank of the emerald green mountain with a tiny Mosque in the middle pointing its stone minaret. The roofs of the houses down below actually form the street of the upper level. Village women try to invite you into their homes for "chai" (tea) to sell you some of their brightly coloured crocheted or knitted trinkets. The bazaar snakes its way up and down the tiny streets, vibrant with animation and wonderfully scented. Lots of undersized shops, where you see artisans hammering away or the baker making fragrant loaves. I saw a doll's house size barber shop where only one client would fit, with a couple of doves cooing above the front door.

The outside tea houses adorned with gorgeous carpets, embroidered cushions, potted flowers, potteries and bouquets of waterpipes look inviting and tea is constantly being brewed.

This village of Masuleh, almost too good to be true looks like it comes out of a glossy brochure or a picture postcard. However, it is a genuine mountain village, tourist friendly and yet unspoiled. People are just as warm as anywhere else. They go about their everyday life unhurried and looking happy.

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