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12. the road to Sanandaj

Locations

wooden pilar and ceiling in the mosque of Bonab

An overnight stop in Bonab makes for an interesting experience: a fabulous mosque in a rather rigid town

hyper-modern bus terminal in Tabriz (just for those who weren’t convinced yet, that this is not a backward country)

It is time to leave the pleasant, relatively cool north of Iran, and start exploring other areas, beginning with the Kurdish region around Sanandaj, a nine our bus ride from Tabriz. Because nine hours is quite long, and because we were held up on the day we planned to leave, we only made it to Bonab, a small town with two attractions, a old mosque and a hotel with a health spa.

the minaret of the Bonab mosque

one of the mosque windows

beautiful, authentic wooden ceiling

delicately decorated wooden pillar

and another one, curious for the camera

men fingering their prayer beads

The mosque was indeed a fabulous structure, from the inside. A beautifully decorated wooden ceiling, supported by numerous wooden pillars, equally delicately carved and painted at the top. A few old men had gathered outside, aimlessly fingering their prayer beads, meanwhile discussing the world, or their world. One of them enthusiastically led us inside, and pointed out the specifics of the mosque, like a text in Farsi and Arabic. Another came in later, and did the same all over again. A friendly reception, so to speak.

the bazaar in Bonab, note the grey umbrellas, where these are usually bright and colourful

And that was about all the friendly we received in Bonab. In a complete reversal to everything we have so far experienced in Iran, we didn’t feel welcome at all, here. People would not acknowledge our greetings, would avoid eye contact, yet were obviously looking at us:; not like the curious looks we occasionally receive elsewhere, but suspiciously, as if they were asking “what are these strangers doing here, and why?”. Right, Bonab apparently also has a nuclear research facility, outside town, but we hardly look the American spy, do we? Maybe it has to do with Bonab being, well, quite old fashioned, judging from the cloths on offer in the stores, and quite conservative, judging from the 99.9% black chadors amongst the women. I don’t know, but all in all, we didn’t feel particularly welcome. Here, in the icecream parlour, men still sit downstairs, and upstairs is the family room, where women may go. And that hotel I mentioned, well, the spa is only for men, women not allowed. Not even outside the standard opening times? No, women not allowed, non-negotiable. I later had a look downstairs. The spa was empty, there was nobody. It didn’t look very clean, neither did the water in the various pools. The excercise facilities, a tredmill and a bycicle and an undefinable third piece of equipment, didn’t work. We didn’t miss much. But it is the attitude.

the health spa in the hotel

and the rather sad colelction of excercise equipment

melon season

Which came back the next day. When at checking out, we asked for busses to Saqqez, the next largish town. No busses. Any other options? No – hands in the air. The lady was just not going to help us, and that had nothing to do with a language barrier. Outside the hotel, a taxi driver pointed to the other side of the street: that’s the place from where shared taxis depart for Saqqaz. Right opposite the hotel.

There may have been buses, after all, or not, we shall never know, but we took a shared taxi to Saqqaz. The other passengers’ first question was where we were from, the second was whether Holland was a friend of America. That sums it up, I suppose.

In Saqqez the people were their ususal friendliness again, and helped us on to the bus to Sanandaj, where a young man who got off with us, insisted on accompanying us untill we had found a hotel to our liking. Iranian hospitality all over again.

the landscape is rather monotonous, and dry

this was the only water we saw in between Tabriz and Sanadaj…

Bonab is probably just an outlier, the exception that confirms the rule. But interesting it is.

next: Sanandaj & Palangan

traffic along the highway

11. Kandovan

Blog entries

door in trogdolyte Kandovan

Trogdolyte village Kandovan is a delight, and so was the way getting there and back.

There are quite a few ‘special’ villages in Iran, with or without extensive tourist infrastructure. Kandovan, just outside Tabriz, is one of them, and where Masuleh and Ushtebin disappointed somewhat, Kandovan is very special, indeed. The relatively soft volcanic rock that has been eroded in the form of steep conical shapes against the mountain slope provides excellent material to build your house in, which is what the present village clan has been doing, apparently, for the last 700 years – although the place may have been inhabited for much longer, like, by Adam and Eve; no lack of myths, in Iran.

Kandovan village

and another view of the village

some colourful additions to the rock face

The temptation of apples has since been replaced by those of the tourist trinklets, of which there are plenty around. Some of it originally from the village, like the hand-woven carpets and socks, and the excellent honey, most of it imported to satisfy the hunger of the local tourists, who have arrived in masses. There is something interesting about Iranian tourists, they don’t seem to come so much for the site itself, but more for the opportunity to shop, and take selfies. And to have an alternative for the ubiquitous family picnic, in this case the stream at the bottom of the village.

the local tourists all flock to the picnic spaces

well equiped with carpets, baskets and food

a truly trogdolyte home

cave window

an attractive balcony

another balcony, and fences to prevent the tourist falling

the girls are not distracted by thr tourist anymore

a donkey patiently waiting to be let in

no Iranian village without bazaar, of course

and this is how they look inside… construction still going on

The thing to do, though, is to wander through the village, up the steep steps, across from the cave-like houses and down another rocky path – well prepared, of course, with steps and concrete wherever convenience demands it. Around every corner hides another surprise, a wooden balcony, or an old door, or a donkey waiting to be loaded. The village people: somewhat more colourfully dressed than the average Iranian, especially obvious in the women, but unfortunately very sensitive to having their picture taken.

Oh, and coming and going to Kandovan is a story in itself. Not wanting to rent a car again, but instead opting for the local transport, and the ‘adventure’ of finding our own way, we headed to one of the local bus terminals in Tabriz, only to find out that it had been closed. A friendly man walked us to the main street and waved down – waved down! – the Rapid Transport Bus, and told the driver to drop us at a certain square, where we could pick up a bus in the direction of Kandovan. As is quite customary in Iran, the driver refused payment (it later transpired that we would have had to buy our bus pass outside the bus). At the square, two other passengers got off, too, took us by the hand, almost, and walked us to the bus for Sahand, close to the turn-off for Kandovan. In fact, one of them had to go the same direction, and joined us on the bus. And had paid for our tickets, to the great disapointment of another passenger, who also had wanted to pay, because he spoke a little English, which he subsequently practiced on me for the full half hour it took to arrive in Sahand – except for the moment he called a taxi for us, to wait at the bus stop, and bring us to Kandovan. A smoother ride is hard to imagine! Expecting to be able to pick up a taxi back in such a touristic place, we found out that there are no taxis, in fact. Everybody comes with their own car. But a retired petroleum engineer – we found out later – and his wife offered us a lift to Tabriz, but not after first having emptied the back seats, stacked with things they had bought, and now put in the boot, which thus didn’t close anymore, but never mind, there is always rope. Halfway they stopped at a picturesque spot to take a photo with us. We were just about able to discourage them from taking us all the way to the hotel, which would have got them badly stuck in traffic. Where in the world? And so much more fun than renting a car.

next: the road to Sanandaj

10. the Aras River Valley

Blog entries

little girl on the stairs in Ushtebin village

The northeastern border of Iran is defined by the Aras River, where old fortifications contrast with the current military infrastructure.

the view from Saint Stefanos church

We are rapidly adding to our World Heritage ‘been there, seen it’ list – Iran has quite a few UNESCO World Heritage sites, and a trip to the Aras River, which forms the border between Iran and Azerbijan, bags us two more before lunch.

Saint Stefanos Church

the main body os the Saint Stefanos church

decoration outside Saint Stefanos church

view of the tiny heavily restored Choopan church

Not that we are really collecting, of course, we would anyhow have come to the Armenian Saint Stephanos Church, allegedly a church since 62 AD, but its current structure dating back to the 14th Century. The setting of this heavily fortified church – thick walls around the complex, with defense towers and all, quite possibly not a luxury at the time – is awesome, with views over the Aras River and the surrounding mountains But if we would have also made the trip for the small, heavily restored Choopan Church, of which the signboards on site alternatively claim a 13th and a 15th C origin, is doubtful. In the event, both churches were closed, so we could only admire the outside, and in the case of Saint Stefanos, half of it in scaffolding, too. You sometimes wonder whether there is any political motivation to award UNESCO World Heritage status; I have seen many similar churches in Albania and in Turkey, but these are not in Islamic Republics, of course.

The Aras River, on its way to a narrow gorge

red-coloured bare mountains in Azerbaijan, protected by a guard tower

another Azerbajiani guard tower

From the two churches we drove down the valley of the Aras River. One cannot but notice the various military installations on both sides of the border. The Azerbijanis have constructed, every several kilometers, or so, jolly-painted red and green metal towers, sometimes surrounded by a small army camp. On the opposite side the Iranians have constructed a series of individual round towers – they could have been mistaken for historical relics, if you wouldn’t know better, and if there weren’t so many around -, also sometimes accompanied by small bases surrounded by barbed wire. Further downstream they ran out of stone towers, and replaced them with metal ones. Which are empty, there are no guards here! And I expect that the towers on the other side are equally empty. And why would they not be be, the relations between both countries are good, and in the unlikely event of an invasion, from either side, the impressive mountain ridges on both sides of the valley form a much stronger defence than the flimsy towers and barbed wire, or the fairly shallow river. The relaxed atmosphere here comes back at the various army check points: the soldiers are more of the friendly ‘hello, where are you from’-type than that they are fierce-looking defenders of the border.

found this sign in a small village along the Aras River, pointing…

…at this tiny little village

Somewhere along the border, the country on the other side changes into Armenia, and then back to Azerbijan again, with more than a bit of territory disputed. Which is visible from the deserted, quite possibly bombed-out villages, and from abandoned, quite possibly burned-out railway equipment, , on the now disused tracks across the river. It is a sad blob on the otherwise spectacular landscape of towering red and white mountains.

Urartian era Gavour Castle, some 3000 years old

and this is a second castle, that of Abbas Mirza, perhaps just 300 years old – and restored

another view of Abbas Mirza Castle

Further down-river there are a couple of ruined castles, first the Gavour Castle, of which only the remnants of a wall run up the steep slope. Not much, until you realise that this is from so-called Urartian times, 8th and 9th Century BC, ie quite some time ago! A little further is the Abbas Mirza fortress, much more impressive looking, with walls and watch towers running along the mountain ridges, and a brick and mud castle structure in the valley, but also much more recent, probably 17th Century.

the roof of the hamman in Kordasht village

the main bathing room

decorated arches and green marble lower walls

detail of the arch and roof decoration

Just past the fortress, in the village of Kordasht, is a beautifully restored hamman, a bath house. Not finished yet, but much of the structure has been nicely patched up, with green marble wall tiles and neatly finished floors and benches and baths. For however long it will last I don’t know, but there is also a not-yet restored part, where the original structure, including original stucco, is still visible.

behind the hamman, a pommegranate orchard

pommegranates being sold along the road

Ushtebin houses

laundry in a window in Ushtebin

steep stairs in Ushtebin village

The village of Ushtebin, touted as the next Masuleh, but then without the tourists, is a little off the river, at the end of a small side road. Houses are indeed stacked up against the mountain slope, but to compare it with Masuleh goes a bit far. Where Masuleh – also a UNESCO World Heritage Site – no doubt gets lots of money to maintain its authentic aura, the people of Ushtebin have no such luxury, and thus build whatever is most practical, and that is not always the most picturesque solution. Some parts of the village are still quite nice, along steep path hewn out of the rocks; no newly cemented tourist-friendly steps here! But new brick construction rapidly modernizes the outlook, and before long there will be not much tourist appeal left, I fear.

Babak Castle, a good two hour’s walk uphill (for which we, unfortunately, had not enough time)

The return trip to Tabriz led via Kaleybar, and a distant view of Babak Castle, the home of a 9th Century Azeri folk hero, perched upon a high mountain top, and through the summer pastures of nomads, who have pitched their tents not far from the road. All together a long day, with quite a few interesting stops, framed by the pleasant landscape of the river valley and the robust mountains, especially on the Azerbijani side. Nice, although perhaps not mind-blowing.

next: the trogdolyte village of Kandovan

nomads along the road back to Tabriz

09. Tabriz

Blog entries

tea house in the Tabriz covered bazaar

A wonderful city, with wonderful people: Tabriz has it all, from historical buildings and a world-famous bazaar to fresh fruit juice parlours and the best pastry shops.

Tabriz, the second-biggest city in Iran, has a history of its own. Garden-of-Eden myths apart, it has been the capital of an independent entity, first shortly after Tamerlane had ravaged the place, and once again very briefly as autonomous South Azerbijian after the Soviets withdrew at the end of WWII – only to be dealt by the Shah in 1946. But for most of its history Tabriz, and the ethnic Azeri people that make up some 25% of Iran’s population, has been an integral part of Iran.

the Argh-e Tabriz, a monstrous brick structure, proof that not everything old is necessarily beautiful

Traces of the post-Tamerlane independence are the huge Argh-e Tabriz, an enormous brick structure that formed the basis of Tabriz’ early 14th Century citadel, and the Blue Mosque, built in 1465, but badly damaged in several 18th C eartquakes. Most of the blue tiling now is replica, very little original tiles remain, but thanks to the restoration in the 1950s it is still an impressive building.

entrance of the Blue Mosque, or what remains of it

in close-up the details of the mosque entrance are actually quite nice

inside much has been restored, including a lot of the tile work

the dark tiles are original, the lighter ones new – Islamic restoration concepts specify that you should not use the same colours as the original

the outside of the bazaar has some attractive old architecture

here, too, balcony and facade decoration outside the bazaar

here, too, balcony and facade decoration, complete with columns, outside the bazaar

and a grill and coloured glass above oen of the vaulted corridors

the fabulous kilim shop of Yacoob and Jaafar, and a haphazard tourist

inside tha bazaar

and another corridor

the tea seller and his equipment

another merchant

and the copper seller, proudly in between his wares

The real gem of Tabriz, however, is its covered bazaar, an seemingly endless collection of vaulted halls linked by corridors, sometimes stepping up or down to different levels, with a multitude of caravanserais, now mostly open squares, in between. And shops everywhere, of course, with all types of merchandise, from colourful ropes to colourful spices, colourful fruit to colourful carpets. Especially the carpet section – the one we couldn’t find in Tehran – was a delight, where we spent easily a few hours, drinking tea and admiring the collection of kilims of Yacoob and Jaafar. It was immediately clear that we wouldn’t buy anything, were just interested passers-by, but the two men obviously enjoyed showing of their museum pieces – and museum pieces they were!

men sitting in one of the carpet sections of the bazaar

and women shopping for wool

After a while we emerged at the other end of the bazaar. From one of the fruit stalls that populate the fringe we got ourselves some peaches, they looked so good. And they were, as we found out a little later on a bridge outside the bazaar: devouring them was a pretty messy affair. Whereupon a taxi stops along the curb, the driver gets out – lets his passenger wait – with a box of tissues, and offers us some to clean our hands. And happlily gets back into his car to continue his ride. In most of the world a taxi driver is your natural eneemy, here they are your best friend!

But there is more than just the bazaar, the argh and the mosque. Wandering through Tabriz, like in Tehran, yields some architectural gems, mostly dilapidating. A door here, a courtyard there, or an almost collapsing balcony. Behind high walls in narrow alleys tentalising glimpses of old facades present themselves, but most of it stays invisible, behind the closed doors.

just an old house and a courtyard, along one of the main streets

decoration on the arch over the entrance of the house

lion decoration on the arch spanning the entrance of the house

and window decorations, same house – in need of some maintenance

On a map from the tourist office we find a photograph of one such buildings, the Nikdel House (or is it the Berhad House, same location, different map). No information, not in guidebook either, no mention on internet. Our attempt to find it leads to another toruist agency, nobody in the office. We walk up the stairs, where we find a man, obviously working here, who immediately grabbed a map – the same we had -, and started pointing out the highlights of Tabriz, not hampered by the fact that he only spoke Farsi, and we didn’t. But when I mentioned Nikdel House he understood, and then, easiest way, he walked us out the agency building, to the next street, 500m in, and pointed at the Nikdel House in the distance. Which turned out to be closed for restauration, entry gate barricaded, we only saw the front of the place from the outside. But, we found it!

the Nikdel House, from the outside

Next for a fruit juice: everywhere in Tabriz are small shoebox-type shops that are stacked with fruit, which with the help of an array of kitchen mixers are expertly turned into a variety of juices, which can then be combined again to create even more flavours, with or without icecream. The thing to do at the end of the afternoon, the gin-and-tonic substitute, but a perfectly acceptable one.

Tabriz youth enjoying their juice in the fruit juice parlour

two tourists, also enjoying their fruit juice

this is a fabulous honey-and -coconut sweet, of which we had just a few slices

By the end of the afternoon, early evening, the streets fill up again. We aimlessly walk around a little more, enjoying the atmosphere, only to stumble upon ‘sweets street’, where we found not only sublime bhaklava, but also a piece of walnut-with-pistachios candy, and a honey-and-coconut paste, marzipan-like. In fact we found a whole lot more, and the guy who ran the shop let us try several other sweets, too, all equally sublime, but we showed some restraint when buying. The concept of loosing weight, this trip, because of the total lack of alcohol, may have to be revised a little…

But I love Tabriz!

next: excursion through the Aras River Valley.

a voulted corridor in the Tabriz bazaar

08. the road to Tabriz

Blog entries

another transport vehicle

We keep on learning about Iran’s public transport system, and how to use the taxis and the busses.

We still need to get used to traveling, in this country. From Ardabil to Tabriz there are busses. So we take a taxi to the bus terminal. When we tell the driver that we want to go to Tabriz, he goes the other direction, away from the terminal. He is not going to bring us all the way to Tabriz, now, is he? We insist on the terminal, and reluctantly, he turns, and drives us to the rather shoddy bus station. Where we arrive at 10 am; there turns out to be a bus at 10.30, so all OK. We split, one looks after the luggage, the other goes foraging, after all, we still have half an hour. At 10.15 the Tabriz bus departs, without notice. Without us. Oeps. Well, there will be another one, no doubt. Ten minutes later the same bus returns, loads us, and one other passenger, and departs at exactly 10.30. All OK again. But such a big bus, with two drivers and only three passengers, for the four hour trip to Tabriz?

unofficial bus station, where a four lane road gets reduced to two thanks to waiting busses

Two minutes later, the bus is overtaken by a taxi, which stops in front. Another passenger, who had just missed the bus. Where in most countries the bus would now drive endlessly through town, one guy hanging out shouting ‘Tabriz, Tabriz’, trying to pick up more people, here none of that happens, we follow all the road signs to Tabriz, and soon we are in the outskirts. Where the bus stops, at a round-about. Waiting for passengers to Tabriz, Endlessly. And indeed, more taxis arrive, more peeople get in. Another bus, also for Tabriz, stops, and does the same, in the process now blocking two of the four lanes of the main road out of town. And then its start to dawn on me. The taxi driver was not going to Tabriz, he was going to bring us here, where every bus to Tabriz stops. Much easier, much quicker, no doubt much cheaper, too.

with hay stacks growing by the day, it is that time of the year

country side between Ardabil and Tabriz

The drive itself? Once more uneventfull, but a more attractive landscape now, reminiscent of our days in South East Turkey, which indeed is not very far away from here. Rolling hills, mountain plateau, all pretty arid. The farmers were busy collecting hay, for the rest agriculture had come to a halt, for now. The Zaymed pick-ups, conspicuously bright blue Nissan copies that are being used for transporting close to everything possible, are a ubiquitous element in local traffic, not very fast, but all the more present. And Tabriz? Wonderful, more about that next.

melon season, which literally means truck loads of melons along the roads

the Zeymed, countryside truck par excellence, comes only in blue

the Zaymed, countryside truck par excellence, comes only in blue

working the land

07. Ardabil

Blog entries

the Safavid bridge Pol-e Jajim in Ardabil

The small town of Ardabil is mostly of interest for its mausoleum of the founder of the Safavid dynasty, and for some restored bridges from that era, but as everywhere in Iran holds some nice people surprises, too.

We are still coming to terms with the internal travel issues in Iran. Going from Rasht to Ardabil, apparently there are no busses; only the direct bus from Tehran to Ardabil passes through the outskirts of Rasht, where they need to stop for a police check. Perhaps we can get on then, if there is space. What time? Hmm, maybe 10 o’clock, maybe 11. The alternative would be to take a savari, a shared taxi, to Astara on the Caspian Sea, and from there another savari to Ardabil.

It was pouring down, when we left. No way I am going to wait for an uncertain bus, that may arrive at any time during the morning – probably later, not earlier -, and may, or may not, have room for us. Shared taxi to Astara it will be. And you know, there is something called ‘dar bast’, litterally meaning closed doors, and then you have the whole taxi for yourself (for which you pay for all other, unoccupied seats, of course). Half-way Astara our driver, a very friendly chap with whom communicating was difficult as he did not speak any English, and we didn’t not know any Farsi to speak of, but who had made very clear that he could only go as far as Astara, not all the way to Ardabil, our driver pulled up at a tea house of a friend who spoke some English. And who casually suggested that our driver could also bring us all the way to Ardabil, if we wanted. OK, sounds attractive, and after we sorted out the extra costs, all of us happily skirted Astara and the Caspian Sea, and continued to Ardabil. By now it had transpired that our driver spoke some Turkish, part of the collection of languages Sofia speaks, which helped a little with the communication.

a courtyard in the Sheik Safi-od-Din mausoleum complex

a flower in the peaceful garden of the mausoleum

some of the tiles in the courtyard are so delicate

the best preserved cupola in the complex

one of the entrances to the mausoleum itself

and a wooden window, painted matching blue

The drive itself? Totally uneventful, or it must have been for the fact that it rained the entire way, and not a little. Explains why this part of Iran is so green. Just past Astara, which is a border crossing, we drove along the border with Azerbijan, complete with barbed wire fences and guard towers. The driver made clear that stopping and taking pictures was absolutely forbidden here. Understandable, of course. Except that all along the road Iranians, defying the sodding wheather, had brought out not only carpets and barbecues – it was Friday again -, but also tarpaulins to stretch over tree branches, and sometimes tied to the fence, so that the weekly family outing would not have to be canceled. And were happlily feasting on their picnic. Knowing the selfie culture in Iran, it would surprise me if they would not also have taken lots of pictures, too. Along the border.

inside the mausoleum, the entrance hall

decorated ceiling and wall

Ardabil then. Seventy km from Astara on the Caspian Coast, Ardabil is already at an elevation of over 1100 m. It has a history as a military outpost, a mountain stronghold, even as an independent khanate in the second half of the 18th Century. But most of its fame stems from the mausoleum of Sheik Safi-od-Din, whose descendents established the Safavid Dynasty, rulers of the third Persian Empire (roughly 1500 – 1780 AD). The mausoleum is a fabulous complex, from the outside perhaps just a collection of cupolas, most of the majolica tiles long gone, but once through the gate one enters an oasis of peace. A walk along a green garden full of colourful flowers leads to a couple of courtyards, where the tiles have survived, and ultimately into the mausoleum. Which consists of several halls and small rooms, all splendidly decorated again, with a lot of gold and blue tiles covering the arches and doorways and walls and ceilings, and with colourful carpets on the floor. One of the halls is called the ‘China Room’, built with niches on all sides to house the Sheik’s collection of over 2000 Chinese porcelain, niches now empty as most of the treasure has been carted off to the Hermitage Museum after a 19th Century Russian invasion (not unlike other colonial powers did, too, in those days).

the main hall of the mausoleum, or one side of it, at least

one of the fully-tiled passages

one of the tiles in the passage

the china room, now with empty niches

part of the ceiling

men fishing inside the mud in front of the small Safavid Pol-e Ebrahiminad

The other interesting architectural highlight in Ardabil are several restored Savavid bridges across the Baliqli Chay, which translates as the Fishy River. In reality, this is mostly a muddy, stinking trickle of water, in which, incredibly, there are indeed big fish jumping up when chased by a couple of men trying to catch them, in front of an audience of spectators. They catch one, and by wading through the water, make the river even more muddy, more stinking, and less attractive, despite the presence of the small Pol-e Ebrahiminad, one of the bridges.

one of the small parks in Ardabil, at night

In the evening I went out to locate the more famous, seven-arched Pol-e Jajim, the biggest of the Safavid bridges. It is much busier now, in the streets, then earlier on, much livelier. Where I thought the bridge was, I encounterd only a building site, heaps of rubble in the river, but nothing more. They wouldn’t have torn down this historical landmark? But when I ask around, a young man and his wife walk me to where the bridge is, a little further downstream. They were on their way anyhow, and they enjoy talking. At the bridge, we say goodbye, I walk on to take some pictures, whilst they disappear into a hamburger joint. But three minutes later the man comes running after me, explaining that he had been scolded by his wife for not inviting me to a drink; you don’t let newly-made friends walk off like that in Iran. No escape. Lovely people.

next: the road to Tabriz; or jump directly to Tabriz

the Pol-e Jajim again, with changing lights

the Pol-e Jajin again, with changing lights

06. Rasht & Masuleh

Blog entries

woollen dolls are an integral part of the tourist trade in Masuleh

Where provincial capital Rasht was unexpectedly nice, the famous authentic mountain village of Masuleh lacked, well, authenticity.

We weren’t going to go to Rasht. There is nothing of touristic value, except the statue of Kuchuk Khan – a man on a horse, much less than a 100 years old. But we had miscalculated the length of the bus trip, which in any case took longer because of a flat tire and a funeral, which blocked the road in one of the towns we passed – the two were unrelated, fortunately, but both slowed down our progress quite a bit. So we stopped in Rasht, not expecting much.

the man on the horse, the only tourist sight in Rasht

another example of nice century-old architecture

well, except that there is some nice ‘colonial’ architecture to admire

Which proved wrong: Rasht is a lovely town, with a pedestrian centre that comes to live in the early evening, when the temperature drops a little. Thousands of people on the streets, on the main square, on the benches under the trees. The fresh fruit and icecream sellers do good business, and the narrow alleys of the bazaar are full of shoppers. There is a jolly atmosphere in the bazaar, the market men are loudly promoting their wares, and especially the fruit and vegetable section is lively. Obviously, there aren’t many foreigners stopping over in Rasht, and we are the curiosity of the day, but all in a friendly way. Everybody wants to kn where we are from, and we are made to try olives, plumes, nuts and cheese. And of course we buy far too much, ‘for later, in the hotel room’.

another delicacy: marinated, conserved garlics

dried fish in the bazaar of Rasht

these peppers are roasted – by the sun, I would think

pommegranate is an integral part of the Iranian kitchen

The hotel itself is another gem. Both the hotel and its staff are relics from a foregone era, nothing pompous, but you can see that not much has changed in the last 50 years. Mind you, rooms are impeccable and well-maintained, but old-fashioned; the carpet on the stairs – there is no lift – is worn, but still holds; and breakfast is to order, there is no buffet. I love these places! And the people are all so friendly, and betweem them they know enough English to communicate with us.

everybody has the same picture of Masuleh, steeply built against the mountain slope

The reason to come this way was to visit Masuleh, one of the authentic villages nestled in the lowerer reaches of the Alborz Mountains, which separate the Caspian Sea from inland Iran. On this side, the northern side, the climate is quite different from that in Tehran, here it is sticky and humid, and cloudy at times. We rented a car and a driver, for the 2 hour drive to Masuleh; it took two hours, because the last 20 km, or so, are on a two-lane road into the hills, and we were with hundreds of other cars that were going to visit this ‘authentic’ village. Obviously, some time ago Masuleh was a picturesque mountain village, where people went their agricultural way, and where progress largely went unnoticed. Because of the steep slopes, houses are built above one another, with the roof of the lower serving as patio of the upper house, all connected through a network of unpaved paths and rough-hewn stairs.

part of the village, a ‘square on the roofs’

some things are authentic, of course, like the houses themselves, and the windows

a village building next to the mosque

chimneys on one of the roofs

and this lady has seen it all before

No more! The tourists – mostly Iranian tourists – discovered Masuleh, and the people of Masuleh discovered tourism. And turned their village upside down, installed concrete steps to enable easier access, and metal fences to ensure that visitors don’t fall down the steep slopes. They abandoned their agricultural way, and started knitting colourful socks and woollen dolls; they imported the trinklets that accompany every tourist trap. They opened restaurants and tea houses, and every space in between was filled up with souvenir stalls. And now the tourists shuffle slowly through the main alleys of Masuleh, taking selfies with every possible subject matter, but mostly themselves. Oh, and they turn in every possible way to ensure that one of us is also in the selfie, in the background. We are as much part of the tourist attraction as the village is – for the tourists, not for the villagers who have seen it all before.

Somewhat disappointing, to be honest – but maybe because we expected too much.

next: Ardabil

some of the plant pots are plastic, these days

as always, there is a laundry picture – not very colourful, though

ather tourist activity, dressing up in traditional cloths

05. Tehran (2)

Blog entries

Azadi Tower in Tehran, built in 1971 to commemorate the 2500th aniversary of the Persian Empire

Tehran does have its tourist sites, from bazaars to palaces and museums, although not all are equally fascinating.

Despite Tehran not being very beautiful, there are a couple of sights to visit. The starting point, as so often, is the bazaar, a network of connected alleys, corridors and little squares, sometimes including basements and second floors. The corridors are covered, either by tall, vaulted stone structures, by corrugated iron, or by transparent yellow hard-plastic sheets. Part of the vaulted bazaar looks genuinely old, but is poorly maintained; other sections have been restored, and look relatively new, decorated with shiny new tiles. The corrugated iron and the plastic sheeting looks possitively shaky, as if it could collapse anytime, but nobody seems to be bothered.

the entrance to the Tehran bazaar

vaulted structure in the bazaar, and stained glass windows

another form of cover in the bazaar

one of the little open squares in the bazaar, with three levels of shops

some old tiled entrance, now almost hidden

copper ware displayed in the bazaar

We wandered around for a few hours, and encountered mostly cloths, once again arranged by sort: shoes alley, bras and underpants corridor, etc. Not very photogenic, and in all honesty not very interesting either. Despite there reputedly being more than 4000 carpet dealers, no one approached us – the only tourists, as far as we could see -, and we failed to locate any of them. Which is perhaps for the better, even though we didn’t have any plans to buy…. The spices bazaar proved to be a narrow and remarkably short stretch, mostly selling nuts. Fresh produce, usually the most colourful element in a bazaar? None of it. Perhaps we were unlucky, or maybe we have already seen too many other bazaars, and we are just spoiled. The one element of Tehran’s bazaar that I didn’t like, is that the alleys and corridors are not only full of people – that’s OK, that just creates an atmosphere -, but also full of handdrawn carts, moving with great speed, and little concern for the haphazard tourist who wants to take pictures.

one of the building entrances in the Golestan Palace

Close to the bazaar is the Golestan Palace, touted as the prime Tehran tourist spot, the highlight of the city, but in reality once again somewhat disappointing. Of course, it is a splendid selection of buildings, but it is drowning in an overdose of tiles: too many colours, to many different patterns, geometrical, flowery, but also with scenes of daily, and Royal life. Beautiful marbles, beautiful mirror-plastered rooms inside, but it is perhaps too much, too ostentatious.

mirror and silver entrance to the main hall of the Golestan Palace

mirror entrance to the main hall of the Palace

some of the many painted tiles in the palace

an 8000-9000 year old clay sculpture, also National Museum

an artefact from Persepolis, in the National Museum

Which cannot be said of the National Museum of Iran, which has a display of archeological finds from Paleolithic times to that of the Sassanid dynasty, halfway the first Millenium AD. What starts as a rather underwhelming series of flints and bone pieces quickly develops into an fabulous array of painted pots, water jars, utensils etc., culminating in examples of Luristan Bronzes from west Iran and stone friezes from Persepolis. All beautifully presented, and with English explanations provided.

a 15th Century miniature, in the Museum of Islamic Art

The next-door Museum of Islamic Art is another jewel, far more varied than one would have expected – also because the art on display is not necessarily related to Islam, but has been produced after Islam entered Iran in the 9th Century. Once again, pottery, dishware, but also mirhabs that decorate praying niches, and painted miniatures for which Iran was famous. All together an excellent way to avoid the hottest part of the day, when it is easily 38 oC.

Moving from one place to another is easy. There is the metro, incredibly deep in places (think Tottenham Court Road Tube Station in London, and then four times), but very efficient, very fast – once you have descended to the subterranean platforms, which may take a while. The main squares in town are connected by a Bus Rapid Transport system, essentially dedicated bus lanes with dedicated busses that speed from platform to platform; also fast, but incredibly crowded, so much so that you do not necessaily get on with the first bus that passes. Usually not a problem, but because there are separate doors for men and for women, important to check whether we get both on the same bus! Taxis are also quite OK – once you have worked out a mutually agreed, and understood, price with the driver -, although they suffer from the traffic, of course, and can get hopelessly stuck.

To add some fresh colour to our day, we decided to visit the bazaar in Tajrish, a northern suburb from Tehran. Much smaller, of course, than the Tehran bazaar, but here we found our fresh fruits and vegetables, the spices and nuts, and a whole range of photogenic food subjects.

the fresh produce section of the Tajrish bazaar

dried tomatos and flowers, Tajrish bazaar

enormous bunches of fresh herbs, spring onins and radice, part of the Iranian meal

an enterprising kebab shop, with mushroom, tomato and liver kebabs

seven spices in the bazaar (or more…)

different levels on the bridge

the Tabiat Bridge by daylight

Halfway Tajrish is the Tabiat Bridge, a pedestrian crossing not across a river, but across a highway, connecting two parks on either side. I told you earlier about the importance of parks for Tehranis, but this one beats all others. The bridge, opened only in 2014, is mightily popular, a beautiful design, tastefully lit at night, providing views over the city and over the mountains to the north. Viewing platforms, fast food courts, children’s playgrounds; now what better place for a family outing could you possibly imagine?

next: to Rasht and Masuleh

the bridge by night, lit in different and varying colours

the traffic below

more traffic – it doesn’t matter what time it is in Tehran

04. Tehran

Blog entries

motorbikes as part of the Tehran street scene

Modern Tehran is not particularly pretty, but there are hidden gems, and the people make up the rest, to provide for a friendly and relaxed atmosphere – if you forget about the traffic.

Any notion we may have in the west that Tehran is a somewhat backward place, is wrong. Modern express ways, linked by complex fly-overs, lead into the city. A slick metro system connects the suburbs, and provides rapid transport from one neighbourhood to another. The shop windows, as well as in apartments, have the latest and the biggest flatscreen TVs. Everybody has his or her smartphone ready (I haven’t seen any Pokemons, though…); a 16-year old kid teaches me with a couple of expert swipes, how to bypass the Google Playstore, before setting me up for mobile internet. 4G, no less.

traffic at an average hour on an average express way

There are some complications, though. With a car fleet that does not only contains the newest Korean 4×4’s, but also a significant number of aging vehicles, including the ancient, home-grown Paykan automobiles (out of production since 2005), plus thousands of motorcycles, used by many to bypass the traffic jams but in fact adding more than anything else to the chaos – perhaps with the exception of the driving style of the average Tehrani -, the noise and the smell in the streets are at times unbearable. Traffic is dense, very dense. The metro was supposed to alleviate this, but apparently, there are still more than 2000 cars being registered per day; people complain that the metro is too busy. Add the occasional hand-drawn cart, and you get a good overview of Tehran traffic. (To stop motorcyscles from using the pavement, obviously a much-used technique to bypass traffic jams in the past, the municipality has placed knee-high metal poles at the edges of pavements, allowing pedastrians only to pass.)

just a little corner shop, full of colour

no discussions about burkinis here!!

occasionally one finds a little gem along the streets

Crossing the road is, well, a hazardous excercise. There are overground passages at the busiest of intersections, but often enough one is forced to risk life to get from one side of the street to the other. My favourites are the one-way streets, which are not always really one-way, because a bus lane at the far side may actually go the other direction. And if there are no busses, is being used by motorcycles to go the other way. Or motrocycles in opposite direction, to avoid the traffic jam. So once you have finally managed to cross the three lanes one way – which in fact means five lanes of cars -, an unexpected bus, or motorcycle, or both, may still lurch at you in that seemingly empty last lane.

another old architectural gem in just a street

and an old, decorated balcony, now with antenna and airco

Still, we survived our first days walking through Tehran. In itself an interesting experience, without the need to actually go and see any of the sights. There is a tendency for shops in the same branch to concentrate: lamps and chandeliers in one street, shoe shop after shoe shop in another, seamlessly changing into hand-bag street, before we reach ‘ wedding invitation street’ – seriously, at least 500 meters of shops specialised in wedding invitations only! Oh, and there is even a section with fish mongers, which announced itself by the smell, from the other side of the street. But great fish!

airconditioners at a centrally located apartment building

Most of Tehran is not particularly beautiful. There are obviously no building rules governing esthetics, and concrete new buildings of uncertain style rub shoulders with dilapidating old structures, often only held together by extensive scaffolding, or so it seems. But occasionally one discovers a dusty old pearl amongst the street fronts, an almost collapsed, decorated balcony, some old windows, or a majolica tile decoration that was once blue, but now greyish brown from pollution and lack of cleaning. Or one discovers the Tehran theatre front, of which the door obviously closed long ago.

the front of the Tehran Theatre, long closed

a fresh fruit juice stand, plenty of choice

Downtown Tehran is a lively business; the pavements are full of people. Which creates a market for fresh juice stalls, that briskly sell their freshly pressed carrot juice, or mango, or melon, or any other. All – or most – of these people are mightlily curious about foreigners, yet ever so friendly, ever so polite. The lady at the table next to us in the restaurant, who asks whether we mind her smoking, only to have created a bridge to start a conversation; she never lit up her cigarette. The shop keeper, who in impeccable English, strong British upper class accent, tells about his paint mixing techniques – using glittery nail polish to create gold- and silver paint. The boy in the metro who, seeing us studying a network map, asks if he may help us. The casual passer-by who says ‘hello’, or more often, ‘welcom to Iran’. A taxi driver who offers his services, but immediately backs off again when we decline; a money changer or a waiter outside a restaurant who solicits our clientele, but never keeps on nagging after a polite ‘no thank you’ – in how many other countries is that still the case?

a stacked Paykan pick-up provides for freight transport

the latest motorbike design, with sun roof and saddle bag

just the entrance of a madrasse, nothing mentioned in whatever travel guide

this, too, is the street scene in Tehran

Talking about money changers, Iran has a funny financial system. The official exchange rate at the banks is about 15% worse than what you get at moneychangers, who openly operate in the streets near the touristic spots, and at the exchange kiosks on Ferdowsi Street that buy and sell dollars, Euros, or any other current currency. They give you Iranian Rials for your money, at a rate of 35,000 to the US$ making you an instant millionair with less than a 100 dollars. But prices are mostly quoted in Tomans – which don’t exist, there are no Toman notes or coins, yet everybody knows that there are ten Rials in the Toman. Alternatively, prices are quoted without the zero’s, but you need to know that this is the Toman zero’s, not the Rial zero’s. Very confusing to the first time visitor, yet, nobody seems to take advantage of us uninitiated; taxi drivers quote a fair price, the cost of a fruit juice in the streets seems pretty normal – we cannot really check the prices, of course, because they are all in Farsi, including Farsi script!

and I could not not include this one, of course – but a-typical for Tehran, these days

All in all, Tehran and its people combine to a pretty relaxed atmosphere. Which is not something you would have expected upfront, if you had believed our Western media.

next: the touristic sights of Tehran

the result of purposelessly wandering through Tehran

03. the kidnapping

Blog entries

one of the attractions in the Persian Gulf Park

We arrived all right in Tehran, but were immediately arrested! Introduction to Iranian hospitality.

In order to get to Iran, most people will need a visa, so we headed for the Iranian Embassy in The Hague some time ago. Visa rules change continuously, of course, but all internet resources I had checked are adamant that 30 days is the absolute maximum – and extending the visa inside Iran can be a hassle. Without even asking for it – I only put our planned entry and exit day on the visa form -, we got 60 days. Good start! Next, we booked a ticket, and eh… read a few books and a travel guide, looked at some websites and fellow traveller blogs, which all together led to the Plan. And then we were ready to go, off to Tehran, off to two months of freedom, with a rough itinerary.

paddling on the artificial lake, surrounded by a construction boom

a family gathering in the park

in Iran, too, there is a well-developed selfie culture

Well, not so quick! As soon as we landed in Tehran we were kidnapped, and held hostage in a safe-house for two full days. No kidding! Iranian friends of ours in The Netherlands, who we had told about our plans, were possibly even more excited than we were, and immediately mobilised family members to pick us up from the airport, and take us to their house. They, in turn, had mobilised more family members, who took us to a park next to an artificial lake, grandly called the Persian Gulf Lake. Great experience; this is what Tehranis do on Friday late afternoon and evening, when the temperature cools a little: they move en masse to the parks, armed with baskets full of food, with small barbecues, with badminton rackets and volleyballs, and a host of carpets; they then set up base under a tree, or in one of the many, no doubt purpose-built, pergolas, and spend the rest of the evening together. And lazily paddle around in a pedalo. And eat lots of icecream, or corn-on-the-cob, or drink fresh fruit juices.

apartment building, with matching flower pots and satelite dish

appartement building, with matching flower pots and satelite dish

work-out instruments in the neighbourhood park

We did manage to escape the house for a while the next day, but only under guard. A stroll around revealed a modern, perhaps 15-20 year old, residential neighbourhood, with 4-5 story appartment blocks. Not the Soviet-style palatis I have described from the Balkans of Central Asia, no, these are fairly luxurous buildings, with some architectural inspiration, and spacious appartments. In between, there is room for the occasional park, which looks nice; green grass, flowers, trees, and lots of instruments to work out – which are enthusiastically being used, in the late afternoon when it is less hot. As are the children’s playgrounds, equily well equipped. All around Tehran there are more and more of these neighbourhoods, more or less luxurious, being built; a real construction boom.

lunch on arrival

dinner the next evening

That evening we negotiated our release for the following morning, but not after a last-minute invitation to dinner with yet more family members, in yet another safe-house; another wonderful evening, great food and a fantastic introduction to Iranian hospitality.

next: Tehran

comfy chairs in the neighbourhood

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first-hand travel experiences and impressions of travel destinations

12. the road to Sanandaj

An overnight stop in Bonab makes for an interesting experience: a fabulous mosque in a rather rigid town

11. Kandovan

Trogdolyte village Kandovan is a delight, and so was the way getting there and back.

10. the Aras River Valley

The northeastern border of Iran is defined by the Aras River, where old fortifications contrast with the current military infrastructure.

09. Tabriz

A wonderful city, with wonderful people: Tabriz has it all, from historical buildings and a world-famous bazaar to fresh fruit juice parlours and the best pastry shops.

08. the road to Tabriz

We keep on learning about Iran’s public transport system, and how to use the taxis and the busses.

07. Ardabil

The small town of Ardabil is mostly of interest for its mausoleum of the founder of the Safavid dynasty, and for some restored bridges from that era, but as everywhere in Iran holds some nice people surprises, too.

06. Rasht & Masuleh

Where provincial capital Rasht was unexpectedly nice, the famous authentic mountain village of Masuleh lacked, well, authenticity.

05. Tehran (2)

Tehran does have its tourist sites, from bazaars to palaces and museums, although not all are equally fascinating.

04. Tehran

Modern Tehran is not particularly pretty, but there are hidden gems, and the people make up the rest, to provide for a friendly and relaxed atmosphere – if you forget about the traffic.

03. the kidnapping

We arrived all right in Tehran, but were immediately arrested! Introduction to Iranian hospitality.

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An overnight stop in Bonab makes for an interesting experience: a fabulous mosque in a rather rigid town

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Trogdolyte village Kandovan is a delight, and so was the way getting there and back.

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The northeastern border of Iran is defined by the Aras River, where old fortifications contrast with the current military infrastructure.

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A wonderful city, with wonderful people: Tabriz has it all, from historical buildings and a world-famous bazaar to fresh fruit juice parlours and the best pastry shops.

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We keep on learning about Iran’s public transport system, and how to use the taxis and the busses.

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The small town of Ardabil is mostly of interest for its mausoleum of the founder of the Safavid dynasty, and for some restored bridges from that era, but as everywhere in Iran holds some nice people surprises, too.

Share this:

Where provincial capital Rasht was unexpectedly nice, the famous authentic mountain village of Masuleh lacked, well, authenticity.

Share this:

Tehran does have its tourist sites, from bazaars to palaces and museums, although not all are equally fascinating.

Share this:

Modern Tehran is not particularly pretty, but there are hidden gems, and the people make up the rest, to provide for a friendly and relaxed atmosphere – if you forget about the traffic.

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We arrived all right in Tehran, but were immediately arrested! Introduction to Iranian hospitality.

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Recent Posts

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