THE END OF THE AFFAIR

Late in the evening we headed out of Tehran to the new airport way to the south. We passed a new building, full of gilding and minarets, ablaze with light. "Huh!" said our driver, "Monument to the late Ayatollah. Thought we could forget him!"

All was well until we had passed through the final security check, which required that the men remove their watches, belts, shoes, and anything else metal. There I stood, holding up my trousers and clutching my belongings when a chair hove in view - a normal, stackable plastic chair. With relief I plumped myself down, and started to put on my shoes. One shoe was on, and I was bent double, tieing the laces, when a pair of feet appeared, attached to a man standing in front of me. I paid no attention until one foot moved and kicked my loose shoe away. I reached out to bring it back, when the same foot kicked my arm. This was no accident! I looked up, and there was an Iranian policemen, signalling that I should leave ‘his’ chair. When I indicated that I would soon have my other shoe on, he made as if to loosen his revolver. Apoplectic with rage, I hobbled away to where Angela was sitting. "For two weeks, people have been saying ‘Welcome to Iran’, and we have no sooner left the place than some religious nut comes and ruins it all!"

And that really was the message from Iran. The people were charming, hospitable and friendly. Every one we met loathed the authorities. The authorities treated the people as if they were dirt, and that feeling ran through the entire system until it even reached the police and other functionaries. There was a reaction against the entire system. It showed even in the empty mosques - you only have to compare the scene inside the great mosque in Damascus with that inside the Iman mosque in Esfahan. The one is crowded, the other empty - same time of day, same day of the week, same time of the religious year. One of our Iranain acquaintances said it was due to the religious police driving people into the mosques - so they wouldn't go willingly, but gave those places where the religious police were active a wide berth.

We were also stuck by the relatively lowly place enjoyed by civil authorities. At sunset, there would be a television broadcast ending the fast for the day. One such broadcast was from a large mosque packed with white-turbaned mullahs. Suddenly, several rows back and off-centre, was a familiar face - President Ahmadi Nejad. As far as the religious were concerned, he clearly took a back seat!

And Iran was the only place in the Middle East where the Traveller was required to be "properly" clad - hair completely hidden under a scarf, arms covered to the wrists, legs to the ankle, bum in a bag. One could not help reflecting on what was wrong with these men, that they thought they could be protected from their animal senses by a bit of cloth!

Iranian food was also a bit of a shock. The Arab food of Jordan and Syria was really good. The food of Iran was decidedly monotonous and often downright bad. After a week or so of overcooked stew with rice, we spotted trout on the menu. Relief, we thought. But what was served was a travesty. Some historically excellent fish had been filleted, dipped in a thick batter, deep-fried in old oil, then frozen and half revived in a microwave just before serving.

However, there was a flip side. The cost of living in Iran was really low. An overnight, first-class train ticket from Esfahan to Tehran cost all of $2. A chauffered car for the day cost $130 including lunch and a big tip for the driver.

Then there was the sheer pride of the Iranians - in their people, in their history, and in their culture. Yes, of course we knew that Greek architecture owed everything to the Persians; and naturally the Greeks had been seen as savages when they burst into the Persian world. As for Alexander - he was nothing but a robber baron. It was a rather endearing trait, the strength of the belief in the absolute excellence of all things Persian. And when it found its expression in veneration of 17th century poets, it was all the more admirable. Yet one could not help feeling that isolation caused by sanctions had much to do with fostering these feelings, and that if sanctions were to go, and religion were to take a more normal place in everyday life, Iran could really play a significant role in world affairs.

Homecoming via the hospitable Qatar Air was a pleasure, even if Doha remained awfully hot!

DAMAVAND

We took the overnight train from Esfahan to Tehran. The station, a long way from the centre of Esfahan, was a splendid structure, rather along the lines of a modern airport. We seemed to have 6 tickets, and indeed that was precisely what we had, because a whole carriage had been booked for us. Not only did we get the carriage to ourselves, but we also got 6 sets of bedding, 6 cups of tea, 6 ---. The bedding itself was a pleasure, white linen sheets embroidered with lilac flowers, pillow case to match, and adequate blankets.


When dawn came I rose to see Tehran as we entered. It was your average industrial city. At one point we passed miles of pipeline clearly destined for the oil industry. I was about to photograph it when I noticed watchtowers - obviously military and therefore verboten. Then there were large tracts planted with young trees, much as we had seen around Damascus. Is this the Middle East's answer to global warming?

Arrival at Tehran's main station was uneventful, and we soon found a driver. Why did it seem so quiet? Last night in Esfahan they had been celebrating Eid, the end of Ramazhan. "Oh no!" we were told,"That was just those Saudi's jumping the gun. Our mullahs haven't yet seen the moon." We groaned, for it meant that, yet again, Tehran was closed for the day.

Nothing daunted, we rented a car and driver for the day and headed for the hills. The mountains to the north of Tehran are very high, and about 50km to the east was the highest peak in Iran, Damavand, 5671m above sea level.

But first, there was a problem with petrol. One of the world's primary sources of crude oil has to ration petrol. We were told this arose from two problems - first, Iran's refineries were small and old; and secondly, the mullahs were hogging all the gasoline and selling it cheaply to the Turks, making a killing for themselves. As a result, the average citizen was restricted to a maximum of 100 litres per month. Our driver had to borrow his sister's car, because he had used most of his allowance.


Finally we were off, a broad highway through the suburbs, and eventually over a series of passes in the foothills. Then a run along the southern flank of the mountains, passing through many small towns, before we reached a huge intersection where we turned north over a high pass. On the far side we plunged down towards the Caspian Sea, some 30km away, and there ahead of us was the great mountain:

On we went, with our driver certain that he would find the side road leading to high on the mountain. But no, we went deeper and deeper:

Finally we stopped at a charming mountain stream, with icy water coming from the glaciers high above:There we turned back, and finally found the side road. It led over a high hill, and looking back we had a view almost of Switzerland, with charming houses and snowy peaks away to the south:We dropped down into another valley, where there was a hot spring, and hundreds of Iranian families out enjoying the clear mountain air with their children, and celebrating a religious holiday well away from the prying eyes of the religious police (or so our driver assured us!) On and up we went:

At the highest point we reached, a dirt track was signposted "Base hut - 400m" so up we strolled, definitely feeling the altitude, and equally definitely feeling decidedly cooler than we had been several hours before. The views got better, but we got worse, and all too soon it was time to turn back.

We tried to take a pretty road past some lakes, but the road was only open in summer, and now the military had closed it off. We then found our way over new passes, some with fine houses alongside what were obviously ski runs in winter, and others with very alpine-feeling lodges. Eventually we dropped down to the plains and the heat and the road back to Tehran.

The traffic was thick, and the going slow. The driver of a car stopped next to us pulled out a tape, and stuck it in the deck of his radio. "Oomdah, oomdah, oom-di-di-oom dah" we heard - just audibly, even with the car windows open. A little later there were sirens, and the car was pulled over by uniformed police. "Idiot man!" said our driver, "He should know better than to play that sort of music in public.

ESFAHAN Continued

In the morning we strolled through the streets of Esfahan, and came to the Palace of Hasht Behesht. (Don’t try that when being tested for inebriation!)

It was set in marvellous gardens, green and lush after the desert we had been travelling through. We soon discovered the secret - copious quantites of a very noisome nightsoil fertilized the plants! The roof was wonderfully decorated:Strolling on a little further, we came to the Chehel Soutan palace, dating from 1647. It too sat in a great garden, but somewhat more approachable in this case!It also had a wonderfully decorated roof:While inside there were vast murals celebrating famous victories. This was the Karnal war between Nader Shah and the Indian King Mohammad Goorkani, near Delhi in 1740 AD: We strolled on through the city, which was a very pleasant place, with tree-lined avenues and fountains at many intersections. Eventually we came out into Iman Square. This is a view to the north-east, with the rows of shops and the Sheik Lotfollah mosque on the far side:On the right was the entrance to the great Iman mosque:The entrance was parallel to the south-east side of the square, but just inside the entrance was a great bowl, at which point the whole alignment changed so that the main mosque ran true along the line facing Mecca:Within the mosque, the arches were a delight to the eye, and the tiling was a riot of colour:

One was drawn to look higher and yet higher, and finally, craning almost backwards, the final explosion of colour almost drove one off balance:

The outside was, if anything, even more beautiful:

We strolled across the square to the Sheik Lotfollah mosque, which was on an altogether different scale from the Imam Mosque. The grand portal led into a narrow, twisting passage and so into the mosque itself. The Lotfollah was built around 1620, for the especial use of the Shah’s harem. It showed a far more restrained decoration than the Iman mosque. Was this a reflection of the feminine influence?

Outside in the square, the sun was lowering, and a couple gossiped while the fountains played:At the Si-o-Se (33 arches) bridge over the Zayandeh river, the people of Esfahan strolled, played on boats, and cooled down:

We crossed the bridge. and watched the sunset, before going for a final celebratory dinner to end our visit to Esfahan.