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Early June 2005
Anyway had quite an adventure the last week. Ever since I had an
interview with this high-up Iraqi general a month ago I’ve been waiting
for an invitation to Khuzestan to hang out with the Iranian army and
check out the Iran-Iraq battlefields. That call finally came last
Sunday- and by the next day I had booked the first available flight out
to Ahvaz (on a tupolev of all things- damn the American embargo!)
It was one of those trips were you have no clue what’s going to happen-
just knew some guy from the army would meet us at the airport at 1am and
all would be revealed then. Well it turned out to be mind-blowing.
The people looking after us were all members of the Basij- ‘a group of
dangerous amateur zealots’ as one of my academic book describes them or
‘a hard-lined militia who see themselves as ‘defenders of the
revolution’ and who should be avoided at all costs,’ as my lonely planet
guide depicts. Anyway surprise, surprise they turned out to be
undoubtedly the most deeply hospitable group of people I have ever met.
We might as well have been VIP’s- everything and I mean EVERYTHING was
taken care of- plush hotel, travel, food- amazing gifts- and it was all
paid for. It was one of those trips were a simple ‘mersi’ can
never really convey the thanks I owe to so many lovely people.
The region is amazing – a
linguistic and cultural patchwork, its fortunes have oscillated between
trading glories and military decimation. Also the heat there was like a
furnace and a 45-degree heat haze was constantly glimmering on the
horizon! Throughout our guide was fantastic. He joined the
war at 15 and was in it for the whole 8 years and had story after story
to tell us. It was all pretty manic whizzing round the region in a
blacked out revolutionary guard owned jeep (he learnt to drive in the
war which explained a lot including many a bump)! In fact, the
whole stay was very surreal- from walking around a desolate border-
avoiding the mines, which we could see poking out the ground just a few
meters away, or climbing up to the border posts and looking across at
wind- blown Iraqi tanks left abandoned in semi-desert isolation, or
whiling away hours playing ‘terrorist and counter terrorist’ at the
arcades with the local kids – who all proudly chose the terrorist side
calling them ‘basij’ while laughing and shrieking ‘ombrika’ at the
animated American looking- counter terrorists! Or lastly,
strolling through a market looking for a tasty watermelon to walk bang
into a tank right in the middle of the street!
Probably the funniest moment was at
the Fao peninsula- a beautiful place though a bit hallucinogenic as all
the palm trees have had their heads chopped off (the area was a huge
date producing region and when the Iraqis invaded they tore down the top
of the trees to damage the local economy- unfortunately the move was
fairly effective, because they never grow back). Anyway we were at
this river that divides Iraq and Iran and there was a massive billboard
that the Iranians built to irritate the Americans that frequently are on
the river. It had a massive picture of Ayatollah Khomeini and the
script ‘America can’t do a damn thing.’ (see photo). Who says the
clerics don’t have a sense of humor!
One of the best things about the
trip was that in every town we visited (which was a LOT) we were invited
into another Basiji’s house where we offered mammoth amounts of
traditional food- (we ate more in the 5 days in Khuzestan than I even
ate last Christmas!) and given gifts after gifts (we needed to buy an
extra bag to carry them all home in!) They were endlessly curious
of us to- Khuzestan really is not often visited by foreigners.
Also it was very interesting socializing in Khuzestan as the region I
think is a lot more ‘conservative’ than Tehran (there were a lot of
Belfast-style revolutionary murals urging pious actions) and also it has
quite a significant Arab population (a third of the population I think)
which overall creates quite a subtlety different cultural dynamic.
For example, unlike a lot of social events in the capital, the genders
were absolutely separated. I must add here that, contrary to many
perceptions, such ‘conservative’ brands of Iranian Islam are nurtured as
much by women as they are by men. Anyway I thought the ladies had
a lot more fun together without the men around. Now that my Farsi
is confidently up to intermediate level (with a LOT of sweat and
cramming) I had a good idea what the ladies were saying (between their
shrieks and giggles) and I’m telling you they’re not reserved, oppressed
or solemn in the least!
I am in the extremely fortunate
position as a foreign girl of being considered an honorary male and
hence am accepted into the all-male preserves as well as being accepted
into female society much more than any man. Which meant I managed
to get loads of great interviews too- this one man who had lost his eye
and hand in the war after signing up when he was only 13 gave me a
beautifully heart-felt description of why he felt that he had to defend
his country.
I grew really fond of one city
called Shustar. Scrappy but perversely fascinating, it lies
strategically where the last red ridges of the expiring Zagros Mountains
fade into the endless flat watermelon fields of Southern Khuzestan.
It had a lovely atmosphere and we sat by the river edge watching
families bustle over picnics and kids jump off nearby rocks with tires.
Also particularly impressive was the 700 year old ‘watermills’- a
complex arc of cascading water chutes. We also managed to check
out a nearby 4,000-year-old Ziggurat called Choqa Zanbil, which somehow
got ‘lost’ for 2,500 years! A local professor who was with us got
into the Indiana Jones mood and got us hiking up to the top (although
apparently that was a bit of a taboo, and my friend is convinced that
the great Elamite god Anshurnipal is now displeased with us).
So that pretty much rounds up a
summary of the trip- was a bit shocked though to fly back and learn that
bombs exploded in Ahvaz the same day we left. Really bad as the
election has been going really calmly so far- and this is the first
outbreak of such violence since the 1980’s. Then later that
day a few bombs went off in Tehran (somewhat near where we have Farsi
class)- which made for an interesting lesson the next day where we had
to role play black market arms dealers (one who was called ‘Osama’)- who
were selling helicopters equipped with missiles for a man called Mr.
Bush!! No one has claimed responsibility for the bombings yet-
though the word on the street is that they are from Iraq and probably
the MEK (a terrorist organization which fled after the revolution to
Iraq, as well as Europe and whom allegedly has strong links to the USA).
The analysis from the major papers on the web seems to be pretty poor-
doesn’t really seem like anyone has a clue exactly what these bombs are
about. However, as for safety we really are in no danger – I truly
doubt these bombings are going to be a regular occurrence- obviously
someone out there wants to destabilize these elections on Friday.
Nevertheless, although everyone is a bit disturbed by the situation,
it’s not affecting daily life in the least. It really can’t be
that bad as Gasiorowski (a big American academic) is out here right now
and he wants us to go out on the streets poll watching with him on Friday.
Gosh this is more a novel than an email- for those that reached the
end (!) I miss you all very much- should be back in England on July 24th
(going to Bahrain for a few days at end of my stay here) so I’ll be
looking forward to a sweet amaretto at your many BBQ’s I keep hearing
about!
Late June 2005
First round of the elections are over and
Ahmadinejad is now the talk of the town. One friend of mind, Mohammed,
today announced to a group of girls in class that if he gets in we'd all
have to wear chadors down to our eyebrows. Hmm, perhaps a little
paranoid. Anyway the reformists are really urging those that boycotted
the first round to vote this time round. 'Raee Boro' (Go vote!)
Looks like Ahmadinejad got the south Tehran vote, as well as from places
like the holy city of Qom- suppose that’s really significant and shows
the division this country faces in the direction people want it to go.
I wish you guys could see the distinction between north and south
Tehran- the contrast is mind-blowing- traditionalism vs. modernity.
Personally, I'd put money (if you could over here!) on a 60/40 split in
Rafsanjani's favour for the second round. A big consultancy company
yesterday did a brief saying that if Rafsanjani gets in- he'll try and
form a coalition with all the groups- Moin, Qalibaf, Larijani.. well all
the groups bar Ahmadinejad of course. By a coalition I mean give them
good positions in the cabinet. I think Qalibaf and Moin will speak out
in support of Rafsanjani in the next couple of days- that really would
be something- Qalibaf giving support to Rafsanjani!!
Anyway better get back to Farsi
homework...
July 2005
It’s been
hotting up here in more ways than one. The election was crazy- not
sure why the peeps here are called ‘apathetic’ or ‘unsophisticated’, in
the run up to the big event, everyone I met from Khuzestan to Tehran had
an opinion and many young people were out late every night on the
streets making a huge party out of the whole thing. For the 2nd
round I went to a pretty village called Reyneh to watch my friends vote
and also to lobster-fry ourselves in a hot spring afterwards.
Spent the election week with this US academic called Gasiorowski- it was
fantastic as he’s quite a lively guy and he retold us gossipy story
after gossipy story (in a kinda nerdy academic ‘Hello magazine’ style)
of times during the Shah’s reign. Won’t bore you with the details
but for us geeks it was fascinating.
After the
election we thought it be a good time to escape the smog and heat of
Tehran (yes it’s at that stage of too hot to eat, move, sleep, never
mind wear the hejab and hit the streets) and go on an adventure to the
rarely visited awe-inspiring Alborz peaks and try and discover the
shattered remnants of over 50 fortresses, collectively known as the
Castles of the Assassins (Dezha-ye Hashish-iyun). The legend alone
was enough to brave the retro-chic city buses and head off.
Basically from the 11th century these heavily fortified lairs hid the
followers of this guy called Hassan-e Sabbah, known to the crusaders as
the ‘old man of the mountains’. His heretical offshoot of
Ismailism rapidly unraveled into a mercenary organization whose
much-feared followers were dispatched to murder or kidnap leading
political and religious figures. They believed that their actions would
transport them to paradise. And this is were the legend gets good… the
belief was cunningly cultivated by showing them beautiful secret gardens
filled with equally enticing young ladies while totally baked on
hashish. This preparation for their homicidal assignments led to
their popular name the Hasish-iyun, root of the modern name assassin!
Most of their
castles required really strenuous treks and we had to grab a tent and a
massive backpack and camp on route for 4 days- after all they were
designed to be inaccessible! It was hardcore but worth it- as the
views, superbly varied and secluded countryside and the delightful
isolated mountain villages were the real attraction. The
hospitality in these villages was once again mind blowing. Little
kids followed us everywhere skipping around us so excited to see a
traveler (never mind a foreign lady traveler- what a stir it caused!) As
we strolled through cherry orchards and met little girls running up to
us with bowl after bowl of cherries (in which as always they refused
payment for, as much as we tried), or when me the eternal optimist
decided it would be a great idea to rock scramble up a vertical crag to
discover 300 meters up that there was no way down (sorry mum!) to which
a whole hoard of villages came up to rescue us and then offer us dinner
for our scared stiff white faces - well, I cant quite explain how these
acts of enormous kindness touched me, especially when the English papers
this week are full of words such as ‘fanatics’ and ‘fascists.’
Our friends came
and joined us for the last village and most impressive castle- Gazor
Khan. The girl is really interesting, she grew up in Michigan and
went to school and church with Mahtob Mahmoody – (the girl from the book
‘Not Without My Daughter’) and the Mahmoody’s are good friends with her
parents. Well… she caused an absolute scandal by falling in love
and marrying an Iranian man and has many an interesting tale to recount
of her recent conversations with her old family ‘friends’!!
Anyway… in Gazor Khan, she and I were overjoyed to find a female Hamam –
a public bathhouse and a tradition, which is almost obsolete in modern
Iran. It was AWESOME. After 4 days of smelliness,
sleeping on the ground, (sleeping bags were a bit too hard to find in
the bazaar for this spontaneous trip) and sweating from the
sun/trekking/hejab combination, a hot bath sounded similar to the
paradise the assassins were so interested in. Once naked in the
bath, an 80-year-old woman scoured my skin to one surviving millimeter.
Once squeaky clean I, in turn, washed the old lady. From years of
such a tradition her skin was beautifully soft. It was a Thursday
so the baths were a bustle of girly gossip and pruning – (Thursday night
is traditionally a very special night for Iranian couples, nudge, nudge,
wink, wink..) and it was great to catch the village news- and with
my Farsi at the stage it is now I could hear their puzzled bemusement at
the foreigners- “who are these girls?, are they married?, we saw two
boys outside, perhaps we should ask them….” What made me laugh the most,
though, was when on leaving, my friend got the ritual questions of “why
have you no children?” In which her husband sarcastically joked
because “we argue too much.” The dear old lady then whispered to
the man- “she needs to bend, a tree will bend when it bears fruit.”
That one had me in hysterics for the rest of the day.
It was quite sad
saying goodbye to the timeless secluded villages and heading back to
Tehran. On leaving this lady ran up to us with a bowl of sour
cherries and a book which she had kept for 30 years with an entry for
every foreigner that had ever managed the long trek to the village
(remarkably few) – the book meant so much to her and it was astonishing
to read the entries written during the Iraqi invasion (2002) and the
revolution, etc. Our last little journey was through lush paddy
fields- (a striking challenge to Iran’s desert image), to the Lamisar
ruins (our last castle). At which point we managed to hitch a ride
back to the nearest town- Qazin (famed for carpets, seedless grapes and
limp wrists(!). It was quite funny to finally reach the town,
which is always the ‘butt of the joke.’ Political correctness has yet to
touch the Iranian sense of humor and poor Qazin, ‘where birds fly on one
wing’, suffers constantly from jibes of homosexuality. But as
always, kindness in Qazin was in bountiful amounts and we managed to
grab a 3-hour ride back to Tehran with a lovely Iranian couple (which
meant we were mercifully free of the 24hour Bollywood movies played on
the bus speakers at force 11)!
Take care, and
enjoy the cool English summer and be pleased that your not the main food
source for a whole generation of mosquitoes.
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"A WOMAN MODESTLY DRESSED IS AS
A PEARL IN ITS SHELL."
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