Arriving in Iran & Mt. Damavand
This is my first journey to Iran and I am concerned about what I will find. Our media makes it appear that travel in this country is quite dangerous, but the positive reports from those who had ignored the hype and come, as well as and my personal web experience with the tour company swayed decision. The country has such an amazing history and a wealth of World Heritage sites, that I tuned out the questioning voice in my head and went with my heart. The questions reappeared just before they opened the door to the plane upon arrival at Imam Khomeni Airport in Tehran. All of the women who had been bareheaded in Istanbul and throughout the flight took scarves out of their handbags and draped them over their heads, neck and shoulders. Clearly we were entering the Islamic Republic and not ancient ecumenical Persia. We made our way through to the passport checkpoints and I handed mine to the controller in the booth. He flipped to the page where my visa was and I expected to simply walk through. Not so. I was told to go sit on one of the 4 chairs at the side of the room. I noticed that no one else was held up, even though there were a few Germans and French on the flight as well as Turks and Iranians. I sat, and sat, until everyone was through the control lines, and the controllers gathered together to laugh and chat. No one seemed to care that they still had my passport and I was just sitting there like a lost child. Finally, after the guys started to disperse, the last one called me over to the desk and handed my ticket to the world back to me. I have no idea what this was all about, but it was a bit disconcerting. Luckily, my bag was still on the carousel, and my driver still waiting for me, even though by now it was close to 4:30 am when the flight arrived a little after 3am. We drove almost an hour to get to a hotel where I was able to check email, make sure that Skype worked, and get about an hour sleep on a rock hard bed before being picked up to go to the Mt. Damavand region and begin my Iranian adventure.
Mt Damavand is the tallest mountain in the Middle East rising to over 5,000m northeast of Tehran; it is a dormant, perhaps extinct, volcano. There are lots of legends about the mountain, but my guide had trouble communicating in either English or German, so I wasn’t able to piece together what he was saying in any reasonable fashion. What he was able to do very well, however, was to show me sights that were far off any tourist track and provide me with a home stay experience at his mother’s 120 yr. old house. Before getting to Kilan, where we were to spend the night, we took the highway east out of Tehran passing a number of new high-rise communities that are in various stages of development. One of these bleak monstrosities was actually named “Paradise;” my concept of that term is in no way reflected by that housing nightmare. These developments are often an hour outside of the city, so people have to drive (the busses take even longer) back and forth everyday on already traffic-clogged roads. There is supposedly talk of a metro extending out to the new settlements and I can only hope that actually materializes very soon or Tehran’s air pollution problem will rival Beijing’s. The developments were started to offer those who couldn’t find or afford a place to live in the city an opportunity to buy an apartment. The buyer has to come up with about half of the cost as a down payment and then can mortgage the rest. The apartments are all subsidized by the government in order to make the cost more affordable, especially for young married couples and those who, for whatever reason, no longer live with family. There is a kind of lottery to be allowed to purchase one of these apartments. As these communities are quite tall, though not nearly as sky-reaching as those in China, and are built on a highly earthquake prone barren hilled region, I just hope they are built to withstand nature’s forces. The engineers in this country certainly have the know-how to do so, but whether the government finances supported them is a different question.
As we left the highway and drove higher up in elevation, the vegetation changed from brown sand and dust to green bushes, to pine trees and lush green meadows. Along the roadside cars were occasionally parked and we could see men and women picking flowers and herbs from the hillsides. I was told this is like a family outing, complete with picnic, and that the herbs are used for tea and medicinal purposes. Iran has a public health care system that covers everyone who is legally in the country (the Afghans who aren’t legal lose out once again), but many people prefer to make their own unctures. They also believe in the power of water’s healing capacity, and one of the places we visited was a small but pleasant waterfall and picnic area in Polour. The picnickers had blankets or straw mats laid out on the ground with braisers grilling meat, tomatoes and onions, baskets for flat bread, and thermoses for tea. The family, be it a couple or a mini-tribe, gathered around the food for the feast. N.B. the women were fully covered, although I did see one young more fashionably dressed couple holding hands.
As the purpose of my trip was to see ancient sacred sites, we then went to a few mosques that were built on earlier fire temples. Nothing remains from the earlier Zoroastrian or Mithran temples, but the mosques were quite interesting. Firstly because I never had any trouble entering any of the Islamic sacred sites as long as I went through the women’s entrance and grabbed a bedsheet (yes, literally!) to drape over my head and body, and secondly, because these Shiite mosques are so colorful and have sacred images adorning the walls, including images of Mohammad (with and without beard) and Ali. What I found fascinating is that many of these fire temples, turned mosques, are simultaneously the place where the local Ashura festival is conducted. The legends synthesize over the years as one religion overtakes the other. Some things do attempt to remain constant, however, and in Zairot village we visited a hollowed out tree that is supposedly 2,500 years old. It was burnt about a century ago, which is why it is now hollow, but the tree itself continues to provide shade for the people of the village and is in good shape, the outer rim now functioning as the entire core and even offering additional space for people to cool themselves from the hot summer sun.
My guide was from the region and he knew places that most others would not. He knew of a high relief with Nadir Shah and his soldiers in a small gulley by a delightful canyon stream that reminded me of the stream by the Petroglyphs by Winslow AZ. He wasn’t exactly sure where the relief was, but there were some picnickers (yes, I think people here really do like to get outside and eat) who knew of the site, although they didn’t know who it was or its significance. They guided us up and down rocks along the stream until we came to a narrow across from a cave on the opposite side. Above us was a probably 8x14 foot panel in perfect condition with the Emperor and his troops. I was told that this was also the place where the Persians stopped the Arabs from invading as the locals climbed on the cliff and bombarded the invaders with rocks. This seems to be a fairly universal military tactic.
One of the most unexpected finds, was a Jewish cemetery that I was told was 2,700 years old (although the oldest gravesites I saw were about from about the 1970s). It was destroyed a few years ago by Muslim fanatics and the locals are still quite upset about it as they have lived in peace with their religious cousins for centuries. When I asked about the differences in communities, I was informed that in ancient times Damavand village was predominately Jewish, while Kilan was predominately Zoroastrian. As some of the gravestones were quite new, as in from this year, and from places as far away as L.A., I wondered why the people would want to be buried here in the middle of nowhere by a trash heap in a floodplain on the hill. I was told, again I cannot validate this, that it is considered sacred ground and that Jews who are buried here facing east will go straight to heaven.
While Kilan may not be heaven, the hospitality of the people is worthy of that place. The place I was supposed to stay in was closed, so my guide arranged for me to stay at his family’s place, a 120 year old house, with his brothers, cousins, and extended family. It was a treat to see village life, including how everyone treks back to mom’s for the weekend after working all week in the big city. As it is an old house, the facilities were across the garden and were basically a squatter with no running water to wash ones hands afterwards. There was no bed, but rather a mattress that had been kept rolled up on the side of the room was laid out on the floor for me. On the other hand, one of the nephews was an engineer and he had installed a wireless connection. It was an interesting juxtaposition of old and new. I Skyped with my family while in the midst of a very traditional Iranian home. I think this contrast set the tone for the rest of the trip.
