Shamballa Cruising Yacht Club: 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.