Sailing

Sailing: the fine art of getting wet and becoming ill while slowly going nowhere at great expense.

Wednesday 30 July 2014

Rasht, the Caspian Sea and Tabriz



After Masuleh we spent a night in Rasht, mainly so we could go the 15 km to dip our toes in the Caspian Sea.  We took a savaris to the coast (trying not to look at the wild driving) and were dropped off at the beach.  We had been warned not to expect too much from the Caspian Sea.  The beach and water itself were not bad and it would have been lovely to go for a dip on this hot summer day.  But this was the Islamic Republic of Iran and such things are not allowed.

On the right side of the beach was a huge barrier of old posts covered completely with gray and blue tarps extending 100 m out into the water.  This was h the women could swim.  On the left side of the beach was another barrier, not quite so extensively covered, where the men could swim.  Between the two barriers was about 100m of clear beach with a few fishing boats.  Here families could dip their toes but were not allowed to swim, even when fully dressed.  On the edge of the beach near the car park were three sided concrete boxes where families laid out a carpet and picnicked.  I wanted to go into the women’s swimming enclosure but the entrance way was quite crowded and I didn’t want to be such a voyeur so I didn’t.  But I was curious to know if the women swam in ‘western’ swimsuits as I had seen pretty skimpy swimwear in the shops.  Anyway this was all a lesson in how to turn a nice beach into something quite depressing through politics.
Eileen getting her toes wet in the Caspian Sea (men's swimming enclosure in background)
Women's swimming enclosure
We left Rasht and using a combination of savaris taxis (again trying not to look at the driving) and a bus to get to Tabriz, a large city in NW Iran, with a large Kurdish and Azerbaijani population.  For several kilometres on the leg from Astara to Ardabil we travelled right along the Iranian - Azerbaijan boarder with high fences and border posts.  We didn't do too much in Tabriz, just walked around the town taking in the atmosphere and wandering around their amazing and ancient covered bazaar.  There really aren't that many other tourist sites in town.  Our main goal was to get train tickets to Turkey.
Park outside a Mosque in Tabriz
Men playing chess

Wednesday 23 July 2014

Iran with trains and no trains



A major reason for coming to Iran was so we could experience the Trans-Asia Express going from Tehran to Ankara, touted as being one of the great train journeys.  Sadly we were unable to get tickets for the train.  But as so often happens in the serendipity of ‘no fixed abode’ travel, this closed door opened many more.  We were going to stay only in Tehran for just a few days then catch the train.  Because we couldn’t get tickets we ended up having a fantastic two weeks in Iran and visiting several amazing towns and cities.

What can I say about Iran except it is nothing like I was led to believe by the media.  In all our travels (and between us we have been to 45 countries), Iranians are amongst the most friendly, generous and kind people we have ever met.  I admit I came to Iran with some trepidation, mainly around the legal requirements of the women’s dress code, but also because of 30+ years of sanctions and anti-American sentiment, although I am travelling on my Australian passport.  I needn’t have worried.  Iran is a modern nation of friendly people, shops filled with the latest consumer goods, fast, cheap and convenient public transport and plenty of delicious and nutritious food.  It looks and feels like any European city.

Certainly the theocratic government has ridiculous and draconian laws that suppress freedoms and I do not want to be dismissive of this in my praise of the people.  These laws are truly awful and the censorship very strict.  I hated having to cover my legs, arms and head every time I went in public, especially in the 35oC heat, and as a tourist I had more leeway than the locals.  On city buses women must sit in the back – Where is the Iranian Rosa Parks?  Facebook is blocked and I could not read any blogs on the web.  News stories from reputable sources such as the ABC were blocked if they had the word ‘sex’ or ‘gay’ in them.  Many people are in prison for their political or religious beliefs that do not comply with the strict Sharia interpretations.  But the people all seem to rise above this and are really quite wonderful.  

We have received numerous acts of generosity.  Once when we were puzzling over a map at a metro station some men came to our aid and after explaining which train to take one said 'You are my guest' and paid for our fare.  Then another time we were buying a loaf of freshly made Iranian bread (Sangak) and puzzling over the cost when another customer said in hand gestures and Farsi to not worry about it he would pay.  Then another time when we were buying fresh bread (they make it on a rotary oven and you buy it just as it pops out of the oven, still almost too hot to touch - delicious) and had the money ready in our hand, the baker waved us away and gave it to us for free.  All the shop keepers and taxi drivers have been scrupulously honest and we have never yet had to haggle over a fair price.  Most prices are set and the merchants will show you the money you need to pay to help with our confusion over Tomans and Rials and too many zeros on the currency.  The contrast to how we were treated in India is leaving us feeling like we are in heaven.

We have also noticed that many Iranians are not such strict observers of their Shia Islam.  During Ramadan many are eating during the day, although restaurants are generally closed. In Tehran our host let us know of a hotel which served lunch and we expected it to be full of foreign tourist, instead we were the only foreigners and it was full of Iranians having a full meal in the middle of the day.  When the call to prayer comes we see very few leave the streets for the Mosque.  While in front of an anti-American mural we had a conversation with a young man in his mid to late twenties who made it clear through broken English and sign language that he fully acknowledged the absurdity of much of religion.  One night at dinner we had a lovely conversation with two sisters who were of the B'hai faith.  As non-Muslims they are not allowed to attend university nor work for the government.  The older sister was getting around this by taking university courses on line.  She is studying psychology and most of her professors are in prison for speaking out against the government.  Although these girls were frustrated by their lack of opportunity, they were not bitter and just kept plugging along as best they could to work around an unfair system.

I just can't help thinking that if the international powers had just left Iran alone from all their geopolitical meddling over the last 150 years, then Iran would be a model nation.

But I started this blog talking about trains and we did get to experience an Iranian train going from Tehran to Qazvin.  The ultra modern fast, clean and comfortable train took us the 150km in under 1 1/2 hours.  Attendants came by with tea, snacks and sandwiches to buy then gave us a complimentary food package of biscuits (3 different kinds) and juice.  All this for the cost of the train ticket - $3.50 each!  It made the trains in Australia really look third rate -and they are!  Our rail system is a disgrace.  There has been talk of putting in a high speed train for years and lobby groups and politicians have stalled the process and nothing has happened.
Modern train from Tehran to Qazvin

Hijacked in Masuleh (by two very likeable old rogues)



After a bus from Qazvin to Rasht and then a savaris (shared taxi) from Rasht to Masuleh, we arrived at this quaint terraced village of 1500 people clutching a slip of paper with the name of our host for the stay, Mr Abbas, who happened to be the brother-in-law of Mr Mousavi, our host in Tehran.  As soon as we stepped out of the savari, a spry little old man started waving at us.  “Mr Abbas?” we asked and showed him our piece of paper with Mr Abbas’s name and address written in English and Farsi.  Through sign language and basically no English he indicated that he was indeed Mr Abbas, grabbed my bag and began sprinting up the steep steps weaving throughout the village.  This man must have been at least 75 years old and Bob and I couldn’t keep up.  Huffing and puffing, we finally caught up with him about 500m up the hill outside one of the houses.  

Another even older man showed us into our suite, a granny flat in someone’s home.  It was one large room with Persian carpets on the floor and no furniture, a kitchenette and bathroom with sink, shower and squat toilet.  In the cupboard we were shown lots of futon mattresses, blankets and pillows that we were to use for our bed.  The old men jabbered in Farsi and hand gestures, asked for our passports and payment upfront and with lots of smiles left us to settle in.  Bob and I looked at one another, shrugged and had a good laugh and felt like we were in the Iranian equivalent to the Jayco vans in Australian caravan parks.
 
Eileen outside our holiday suite
After making ourselves a cup of coffee in the kitchenette, we went out to explore the town.  We found a little shop open with a telephone and asked, through sign language, if we could make a call to Mr Mousavi who was going to try to get our train tickets to Ankara, Turkey.  After completing the disappointing call – the train was all booked out – we tried to ask through sign language how much we owed for the call.  The man from the shop read our piece of paper with Mr Mousavi’s business number and Mr Abbas’s details and motioned for us to sit down and walked off through the labyrinth of the village.  About 15 minutes later he returns with another man, the real Mr Abbas.  With some English Mr Abbas tells us our room is all ready and we were to follow him.  So going with the flow we follow the real Mr Abbas to our booked room, which was much nicer, bigger, cleaner and with a balcony overlooking the market.  We were able to explain to Mr Abbas that we had been taken to another suite and they had our passports and we had already paid.  Mr Abbas asked us to show him where this room was.  So weaving down steep steps and through alleyways we arrived at our suite in the old man’s house.

Mr Abbas knocked on the door but no answer and then chatted with the neighbours looking on from their balconies.  He then made a phone call and after a few minutes the two old men showed up.  We thought it might get ugly but no, the Iranian people are very polite.  Through lots of banter and much to the amusement of the onlookers in the balconies above, the matter was settled with smiles and handshakes, our passports and money returned and we were settled into our booked room.  

If we hadn't stopped at that particular shop and the shop keeper hadn’t somehow made the connection between Mr Mousavi and Mr Abbas, we would never have been the wiser!  On a walk the next day we bumped into the old man who had hijacked us and he waved and laughed and chatted to us (in Farsi, of course) - the old rogue! 
The old rogues and Co.
Masuleh was a wonderful place to wind down.  We walked the hills, strolled through the winding terraced marketplace, chatted with the people and enjoyed the wonderful Iranian hospitality.
The view from our balcony

Tourist dressing up in ethnic costumes for holiday snaps
 


Qazvin, the Alamut Valley and the Castle of Assassins



With our wonderful host in Tehran, Mr Mousavi, following-up on getting the train tickets for Ankara, we were free to explore other cities in Iran.  A fast train trip to Qazvin took us through relatively treeless, dry desert countryside with the occasional splash of agricultural green.
Qazvin is a mini Tehran, less busy but similar in look and feel. The main reason tourists go there is that it is the gateway to the Alamut Valley and the land of the Assassins.  We took a savaris taxi (shared) to the valley from Qazvin, about a 70 km drive through winding mountain roads.  And what a ride it was!  Iranians are speed demons and the driver, with barely a hand on the wheel, zoomed around hairpin turns.  On the straight we thought Mr Leadfoot was going for the Grand Prix! 
The scenery while zooming through the valley
The drive went through some beautiful country that reminded us a lot of Australia.  When we first left Qazvin the rolling hills of dry yellow grass looked very much like the Monaro district south of Canberra.  Then as we went further into the mountains the reddish rocky outcrops made us think we were in Central Australia.



The Castle of the Assassins is just outside the little village of Gazor Khan in the Alborz Mountains.  The castle was built on a jutting ridge top in the 11th Century but all that remain are ruins.   
 
The Castle ridge top
The Assassins or were a branch of the Ismaili sect of Shia Islam.  The founder of the Assassins was Hasan-e Sabbah, who infiltrated the castle at Alamut with his followers, and bloodlessly ousted the resident king of Daylam in 1090.  The Assassins or Hashshashins repeatedly and systematically killed their enemies with guile and stealth, striking them inside their own strongholds.  Their tactics would be to infiltrate the court of various princes who were not willing to convert.  The agent would bide his time until one day the unsuspecting prince would find a dagger in his back.  These strategic assassinations were usually enough to bend the other officials to their will.
The views from the castle ruins are fantastic. You can just imagine Hasan-e Sabbah and the Ismalis slinking through the valley.   



 Hulagu Khan, the grandson of Genghis Khan, destroyed the castle in 1256.  The ruins have been there ever since and only recently have the archaeologists taken an interest.
Excavated ruins
Castle lookout and tunnel
Castle ruins