Saturday. 27'th July 2012, Istanbul.
Finally back in open internet area. It feels good. It is good. Although, I am tired. The flight from Tabriz was at 05.30 this morning, Iranian time. So I slept about 3 hours this night. I wanted to have a look around Istanbul. But I think I have to skip that for now. Maybe some other time.
Since I was unable to blog in Iran, I have created one gigantic blog post for the entries I was supposed to post in Iran. I tried all the tricks in the book, save from downloading a Tor browser to my pc. But in the end, I gave up. So here is my blog entries for Iran. Unfiltered. Enjoy!
Get rial
Another morning broke over Yerevan. I was ready to go to Tabriz. I had talked to a French guy the evening before. He had been in the north-western part of Iran for a month, and loved it. I was looking forward to getting there. After a short breakfast and a shower, I caught a cab, said my goodbuys to people I had met, and headed out to the bus-station. At the bus-station two buses where heading for Teheran. Which to take? I asked around. I would have to wait until a third bus arrived. I looked into one of the buses. This was far from what I had become accustomed to. Modern coach. Only three seats per row. Business class size of the seats. Air-con. This looked like it could be a nice trip.
Just before 9.30, th final bus arrived. And we all crowded in front of one bus, where a lady took our tickets and divided us into the three buses. There were about 30 seats in each bus, and maybe 50 people going. So it wasn't exactly crowded in any of them. Just after ten, the bus moved into the morning rush of Yerevan. I looked at the city for the last time this trip. It is always a mixed feeling leaving a country. Sad to leave, but excited to see new lands. Next stop : Iran.
I am trying not to let media or people's predjudices decide where I want to go. And most of the time, reality has been different from the people's view. And I have had a great time. I have heard close to horror-stories from people who have never been to Iran about how terrible it is. Closed-minded people. Evil. Back-striving. Primitive. I was about to explore whether there was any thruth to this.
The bus-ride took us through some amazing mountainous landsacapes in southern Armenia. On hair-rising roads climbing the mountains like goats. On the last mountain crossing, the thick fog engulfed us. Almost like it didn't want us to leave.
As the bus progressed towards the Iranian border, the landscape changed from green to more brown. As we passed Meghri, I could get my first glimpse of the beautiful mountains on the border. In the distance, the Sun's last rays of the day grazed sharp peaks rising high above the surrounding landscape. In a way, it reminded me of "Trolltindane" in Norway. The clouds, the light and the mountains made it a picture worth a thousand words. So why no picture? When it says "NO PHOTO!" on a sign at the border, I tend not to push my luck...
When closing in on the Armenian side of the border for exit control, I realized that the main page of my passport was starting to rip off. It is obvious that I have been travelling a lot since I got it. 7 years of travelling. Many visas later, it was starting to give in. I thought this might be a problem. A passport falling apart isn't exactly what border control wants to see. I was praying it wouldn't be a problem.
I went through customs and then lined up for exit passport control. Two asian guys that was on our bus, had some problems with their visa, so they were stopped and had to return to Yerevan. Three Nigerian guys were taken aside, and so was I. I thought "Oh no. I'm going to be refused because of my passport." After a few minutes, the officer returned with my passport. "You're ok!". A sigh of relief. I then boarded the bus again. On the short busride to the Iranian border, I started talking to an Iranian guy. For purposes explained later, I will call him Armani. He was studying in Yerevan in Armenia. "It is easier to get into the university there than in Iran. The entry tests in Iran are very hard!". He asked me where I was going in Iran, and I told him Tabriz. He and his friend lived there, so he would be more than happy to help me find a hotel.
A French guy, Romiér, travelling overland from Paris to Bangkok, also joined us at the border.
Now for Iranian passport control. The acid test of my now failing passport. The officer took my passport, and bent it backwards. Like all officers do... He noticed the cracking plastic and started tearing it. I could see the look on his face spelling out "This is not good!". After some close examination of the crack, he stamped my passport and let me through. Armani was standing on the other side, waiting for us. He guided me and Romiér to a special check for foreigners. Where we were asked a lot of questions about where we were going, our father's name and so on. He also looked with distrust at my passport, but accepted it. I was home free. Allowed to enter Iran! Now I am just hoping it will hold to get me back to Norway.
Customs check consisted of scanning our bags with a huge x-ray machine. And we were allowed to go. Next : Money exchange. I flipped out 200 dollars. After a few moments, I was a millionaire! 3.8 million rials! Huge bills too. They were just too big to fit in my wallet, so I had to squeeze them a bit to get them in. I laughed when I got the wad of 500 000 rial notes. I think this is the biggest current banknote I have ever had my hands on.
Out of the border control, we continued talking to Armani and he suggested we share a taxi to Tabriz. Much faster. The bus would arrive at 2 am, a taxi would get us there by 0.30. We agreed. And after some creative packing of bags and suitcases, my and Romiéns backpacks were tied to the roof of the taxi. Just when we got in the taxies, the rain started falling. And it was torrential. Armani asked whether our bags where waterproof. "Kind of!" Romiér said. And we both laughed. Although I went through the contents of my bag in my head, and concluded that there wasn't anything important there to be destroyed by water. The rain came and went through the ride.
I had heard about Iranian driving style. And the taxidriver didn't fail. At speeds of up to 140 km/h we zipped through tight turns and over hills and though cities. Now I understood how taxis would be 1.5 hours faster to Tabriz than bus... Romiér was a bit hungry, so he suggested we stop somewhere to get a night snack. We stopped just outside of Tabriz, and Armani ordered us some delicious kebabs (grilled meat), complete with rice and onion-flavoured youghurt, and bottle of Fanta. $4 each... After the meal, we started planning to look for a hotel for me and Romiér. He guided the taxi home to his house. I expected him to guide the taxi to the hotel we where going to, but he shook his head. "No, I said I would take you there." In his garage was a beautiful, white, new car. We got out, paid the taxi 600 000 rials (about $30) for the 200 km ride and packed our bags into Armani's car. The he sped us through town, and got us to a nice hotel in the center of Tabriz. I and Romiér decied to stay in a double room for the night. It was cheaper. Armani told the receptionist to be careful with my passport, since it was falling apart. He nodded. Today, Armani offered to pick us up and take us to a nice pool in the middle of the city, where people usually hang out and play volleyball and such. Looking forward to that.
Today, ramadan also started. I knew about this, so I came prepared. Luckily, they are ok with tourists eating at the hotel. They don't care if foreigners don't observe the ramadan, as long as we don't eat, drink or smoke in public. So I and Romiér got up late and headed down for a late breakfast in the hotel restaurant. Some nice bread, local honey and jam. And tea. Of course.
Back in my hotel room, Romiér is lying on the floor. He has borrowed my guide-book to check his itenerary, and is writing down everything he can. While I am enjoying the air-con. In the reception, they are selling a pirate copy of an old Lonely Planet guide for Iran, for $5...
I opted to bring four batteries for my camera, thinking that it would be enough. I am now down to one. And one week to go. So I am thinking that this last week there will be less pictures. Unfortunately. Maybe I will try to use my cellphone camera for more "snap-shot"-photos. So why not just bring a charger? Chargers takes up more space in the bag than three spare batteries. And after travelling once with a heap of chargers, I got tired of being wired. So now I only carry necessary chargers. Like for my laptop and such.
So : Just some pictures from the journey for now.
Some place in southern Armenia
Debugging our bus
My seat
Quite luxurious bus
In defiance
"Our president is either crazy. Or mad. Or something"
- "Armani"
The names have been changed to protect the guilty.
Armani picked us up at our hotel just after 2 in the afternoon. He wanted to take us to El Goli, or Shah Golü (King of pools) as they call it. He first had to go home and pick up the documents for his car. He drove home to his house. I and Romién sat in the car. After a few minutes, a woman came out with iced grape juice for us. I was surprised to see her dressed in "western" clothes. Jeans, and a tight t-shirt. Just like any woman in my country. I later asked Armani about this. "She's my sister. And at home, we all dress normal, of course. It's just outside they have to dress like islamic women."
When Armani came out again, he had brought a bottle of "beer". Basically some soda made from the same ingredients as beer, and with added taste and carbonated water. A bit like what we in Norway call "vørterøl" with taste added. In our case, it was some fruit taste. "Isn't it illegal to drink during the day now? Armani laughed. "Yes!"
On our way there, he played some cd he had in the car. "What is he singing about?" I asked. Armani paused for a second. "It's politics! He plays in America." "And that is OK here?" "No! His CD's are forbidden here!" "But it's legal to listen to it?" "Yes. Well, NO!" He laughed. He lit a cigarette. "There are private police out in traffic. If they see me smoking during ramadan, they will arrest me." "And us!", Romièn added. "No, I'm here. No problem!"
I normally do not accept smoking in the car, but here we were. In one of the strictest islamic countries in the world. During ramadan. Driving like we robbed the bank, while listening to illegal political music blasting from the speakers. Drinking "beer" (also illegal in daylight during ramadan). It felt good somehow.
We arrived without being pulled over by the private police. The El Goli was a beautifully set pool. A nice breeze flowed and made the daytime temperature more bearable. Especially for me. Walking around in long trousers. In temperatures I would normally barely manage in shorts. Armani looked around and said in a low voice "Security". Several men dressed in green uniforms appeared. They looked at us, but didn't do anything. After we had walked around the pool (about 1 km walk) we came upon a family sitting on a carpet, eating their food. Armani pointed at the police officer a few meters away and said something in azeri (the local tongue). They didn't react. "They are going to get arrested!" he said to us. Sure enough. As we looked back, the police officer came to them and started waving and talking loud. Just afterwards, we passed a police car with some other officers around. They watched us as we passed. A minute later we saw them pushing a man into the car. "He will get one month in prison. Without trial. For eating in daytime during ramadan." Armani told us.
We walked up a small hill. "Do you see any officers?" he asked us. "No." He lit another cigarette. We passed a couple sitting on a bench. "They aren't married. They will be arrested if they are seen." Romièn and I started laughing. "This is not funny!" Armani said. "I'm sorry" I said. "We're not laughing because it is funny. We laugh because it is simply too unbelievable."
He shook his head. "This is why I don't like Iran. Here, there is police arresting you and sending you to prison without trial." He looked around and threw the cigarette butt in amongst the trees. "You know our president?" "Ahmadinejad?" I said. "Yes". "I don't know him. I know OF him!". "He is crazy. Or mad. Or something!" Armani said and laughed.
Everywhere, we saw people getting arrested for "crimes". At one point, there was a group of men getting arrested. Armani said "why don't they run away? He's only one officer." We were talking and pointing at them when I realized they were several officers. They started looking at us and talking amongst each other. I tried to look unconspicous and pointed at a statue that looked like a statue of virgin Mary, (a bit surprising in itself) while keeping an eye on the officers. They continued to observe us for a while before they turned and walked away. I was relieved. It wasn't a virgin Mary statue, btw. It was a statue about motherhood.
Later, Armani picked up a friend of his at the barbers. We walked around town, looking at the Ark Tower. And old fortress in Tabriz. Right beside it, a new gigantic mosque was being built. Armani and his friend lit another cigarette. Same happened at the blue mosque. He lit a cigarette. I got the impression that he did this just out of pure defiance. Smoking as close to the mosque as possible without getting caught. At the blue mosque, some guys were playing volleyball. People just hung out. Sitting on benches in the afternoon breeze.
After the minarets had started calling out "Allahu Akhbar", we drove to a restaurant to get some food. The sun had set. It was allowed to eat, drink and smoke again. Armani bought us a delicious kebab meal.
We were later driving in town when we passed a mullah walking on the sidewalk. Armani rolled down the window and spat out a word when we passed. "What did you say?" I asked. Armani smiled. "Eeeee...I don't want to translate. It is a very bad word!". He and his friend laughed.
It is easy to believe from some media reports, that Iran is a country of 70 million religious fanatics. It is not. People are forced to follow rules they don't necessarily agree with. I have only been in this country for a day or so, and I have already seen a lot of defiance. People deliberately breaking the rules. Ignoring ramadan. Making jokes about "Allahu Akhbar". Away from the police, people seem to do what they would have done anywhere else in the world. It corresponds well with what I read in an article that went a little deeper into the matter. At home, people are discussing politics. Wearing western clothes. Listening to illegal music. Girls and boys meet. Dance. Have fun.
Out on the streets, it is "Allahu Akhbar". The night falls, and I and Romién are ready to hit the sack after a day full of impressions. And a lot to think about.
El Goli
From another view point
Tabriz from a nearby mountain
Beautiful view of the mountains
Ark tower. Part of the ancient citadel
Gigantic mosque being built next to Ark tower
"Blue mosque"
Blue mosque. Not blue anymore. Just some small pieces here and there that weren't worn down.
Creepy Sunday
Yesterday was relatively calm. I and Romién had agreed to stay one more day in our double room. And I wanted to follow him til Ardabil. He was staying with a local guy, while I would find a hotel.
We got up late as usual. I had a quick shower before updating my blog entry for the events of the day before while he had a shower. At the breakfast, we talked about yesterdays events. Armani had been amazing. Driving us around to all the different sights. Buying us dinner. It was almost embarrassing. But this is the Iranian way. Hospitality. Friendliness. Today, he would be driving us to the bus station.
We wanted to see the local bazaar to see if we could find some stuff we needed/wanted to buy. But first, Romién had to find an exchange office. And I wanted to find some wifi to add my blog entries. We managed to miss the exchange office on our way to the blue mosque. We had noticed that it had a sign saying "free wifi" the day before. So I wanted to try to see if I could log on to this site. I knew Facebook was filtered "for our benefit", but I hoped Blogger was open. I sat down on a bench in the shade, while Romién tried to get into the mosque to take some photos. I opened up the blog. I was able to see it, but no log on. I tried logging on to Gmail. No problem. I selected Blogger in the menu in Gmail. Again, I got a filter message in Persian. No chance. I searched for free internet proxies. I tried several. Suddenly, I got access to one without getting a filter message. I entered the facebook address, and got the logon screen. Encouraged, I tried the same with Blogger. It opened up. But then it hung. Romién came. "How is it going?" he asked. "It seems like I am getting in!". He walked off to find a shady place to sit. Then everything stopped. And I got a message that the wifi-spot had disconnected. I tried to connect again. But it was gone. Paranoia started creeping in. I looked around, and noticed a guy in green uniform had sat down not far from me. He was looking at me. I closed my laptop and put it in my bag. I got up and looked for Romién. I glanced at the police guy. He observed me as a walked out of the blue mosque with Romién. It may be just me, but this was getting a bit creepy.
I was thinking about how to blog, and decided to try a trick. Since Gmail is open, it is actually possible to blog via e-mail. The blog entries may look a bit weired, but at least it is possible. If it works, you will be reading this today.
On the way back to the hotel, we found the exchange office. We walked in and Romién pulled out his $300. His budget for his stay in Iran. "I am going to break the bank!" he said and laughed. And he was actually right. The woman behind the counter apologized and said he had to wait a few minutes. They didn't have enough money to change. They sent a lady out to get more rials. After a few minutes. She returned with fresh money. Romién wanted just 50 000 rial notes, since changing larger notes is always a problem. He got a giant wad of notes. He forced the wad into the side pocket of his trousers. It made a huge bulge.
The bazaar was gigantic. But to our disappointment, it was mostly for women. And the items they sold was a bit surprising. Sexy dresses. Lingerie. Hair extensions. Jewelry of all kinds. I suspect "for domestic use only"...
Romién bought some fruits. Peaches and apricots. They were delicious. We called Armani, and agreen that he would meet us at the hotel an hour later.
Back at the hotel, we packed our bags and walked down to the reception to check out. 1 420 000 rials split two ways. About $35 each. For two days. Not too bad. I was expecting at least $50 per night. The author of the guide I had, obviously had a bit higher standards than me. Cause she called $70 hotels "bottom end".
Armani came a bit late and apologized. I waved him off. "No problem!". He had double parked. He asked me if I could sit in the car, and if the police came, just say "They are coming!". He needed a smoke. So I sat in the car for a few minutes before they came. No police. We drove off. Armani wanted to help Romién find an Iranian SIM-card for his phone. He double parked again outside a mobile phone shop. They went in, and Armani came back a few minutes later. He drove the car to the other side of the street and parked. "If the police comes, just say we are coming!".
After a few minutes, a police officer suddenly stood beside the car and yelled at me. "They are coming" I said and pointed at the shop. He smiled a bit shy. He obviously didn't speak English. He walked to the other side, and waved off another car that had double parked. I was looking for Armani. He was nowhere to be seen. Then he walked back to my side of the street. I was ready with my story once more, but he walked past the car and started yelling at the guy who parked behind us. I sat and waited for the other guys when the policeman suddenly appeared and put a fine under the wipers. A guy suddenly approached me and started talking in azeri. I said I didn't understand. He picked up the fine and showed it to me. Then he started laughing. I took it and raised my shoulders. Armani came. I gave him the fine. "This is just bullshit!". "How much is it?" I asked. "Aaaaaa...twenty dollars.". I and Romién offered to pay the fine, but he wouldn't have it. "No, no. This is just bullshit!" I told him what had happened. He shook his head. "This is just bullshit!"
He drove us to the bus station. He helped us find the bus to Ardabil. We thanked him for all he had done, and promised him that if he ever was in Paris, or in Oslo, we would return the favors. Seriously. This has been an amazing experience in hospitality. So thank you "Armani" for that.
On the bus, everyone seemed to be eating and drinking. So I and Romién did to. There is a rule about eating while travelling during ramadan, so I think maybe it applied here.
Arriving in Ardabil, we took a taxi to town, I wanted to try a hotel that was recommended in the pirate copied guide I bought in Tabriz (better than the one I had). I thought it said "uniteresting reception", but in fact it was commenting on the "uninterested receptionist". Sure enough. His facial expression gave the impression he was watching paint dry. 450 000 rials per day (~$25) for a single room. Not too bad. The room was ok. Nothing special. The guide said "western facilities". Squat toilets aren't exactly that, but ok. I am getting used to them anyway. And the door knob was missing. On the inside. When I pointed this out to the receptionist following me up to the room, he looked blankly at me. Lifted his shoulder and shook his head like he didn't see the problem. He showed me that it was possible to open the door with the key anyway. After this he looked at me as I was a neanderthal. Shook his head and left. Stupid tourist. Always complaining. "No door knob!" Big deal.
The room looked clean until I suddenly noticed something that looked like a serious blood stain on the door to the toilet. It looked like somebody had smashed their head towards it and bled. With blood running down towards the floor. I stood there for a while with eyebrows lifted. "Ooooooook!" Maybe a difficult customer...
Today, I got up and strolled down to get some breakfast. In the restaurant they had something I wanted to try. Bread and honeycomb. No, not honey. HoneyCOMB. On a plate on the table, there was laid out a large honeycomb. You cut off a piece and put it on your plate. Then you took some bread. The bread is delicious. Freshly made. When I entered the restaurant, all conversation stopped. And all eyes were on me. I am used to this from Africa and other places, so I don't let it bother me. I walked over to the buffet and cut off a large piece of honeycomb. Picked up a slice of bread anf went to a vacant table and sat down. Ate the bread and cut off a piece of honeycomb with a spoon, and ate. Mmmmmmmarvelous! The waiter brought me a mug of tea and a cup. So there I sat, eating bread and honeycomb. And drinking tea. Wonderful start of the day.
Today, I will attempt to blog via e-mail. We will see how that goes. So no pictures. A bit too complicated I assume. Pictures will come in a blog entry when I come to Istanbul.
From an alien in alien territory. This is the illegal blogger in Iran.
Hope you enjoy the read!
The roof outside the hotel window was filled with empty vodka bottles.
Hmmmm. What does this bloodstain do there?
My hotelroom has a "funny mirror". Look mom! I'm a conehead!
Shopping mall in Tabriz.
Shoe mecca....
Impression overload
Sometimes, when I travel, I get what I call "impression overload". Being a true introvert, I easily get overloaded when too much happens in a short while. Everything I experience, I have to process. And when there are too much happening in a short period of time, I simply shut down for a while. I get very much incommunicado. Irresponsive. Like the wheel of death on Mac or Windows. Waiting for something to finish processing so I can accept new input.
Travelling through three countries in just as many weeks has taken its toll. There is too much to process. Too much to digest. New cultures. New codes. New languages. New streets. Blogging is for me a way of clearing the cache. But sometimes even that is too much. So I haven't blogged the last few days. Needed time just to walk around. Let the brain work its magic for a while. It was good. So here is a compressed version of some things I have done for the past few days.
On Monday, I woke up a bit tired. I knew what it meant. I was getting into apathy mode. So I just wanted to walk around and see what was available. And maybe try to work my way around the Iranian censorship. I know that there are many free web proxies available, so I thought I'd try it out. See im any of them were still available. I had memorized the map of the city centre of Ardabil in my head, so I was ready to do some sightseeing. And to do some surfing.
First to the surfing part. I had the map in my head, and walked straight to where the internet cafe was supposed to be. I looked around a bit before I found it. It was a very narrow doorway, with a narrow staircase down to the basement. I pointed at a computer. The clerk nodded and I sat down. Took out my USB-stick, ready to load the last entries. I managed to log on to GMail. I tried to go from there to Blogger. No luck. Just a page in Persian explaining that....eeee....well, since it was in Persian, I have no idea what it said. But I expect something in the lines of "In the name of Allah! Depart from this blasphemous infidel site!" or something. After 30 seconds, a picture emerged with an opened Quran. Oooook. Next attempt. I searched for free web proxies. Found a bunch. Most of them were closed ("In the name of Allah!"...and so on). Then I tried the same I had tried in Tabriz. It didn't work. That is, I got some pages to work, but Blogger didn't. Facebook worked, but Facebook went crazy Ivan on me, since it didn't recognize the method of accessing it. So I was bombarded with questions, until I just gave up. After about half an hour of numerous attempts to circumvent the Iranian wall of shame, I gave up. I sent a note to some friends and my family, just to let them know I hadn't died or been arrested. Just blocked.
After paying for the "service", I left the internet cafe and headed back up to the street. Outside it was cooler than in the basement. My shirt was damp with sweat. It took me a few seconds to get oriented where I was and what direction I had come. But after a short while, I recognized some stores and landmarks, and I headed in the direction of a mausoleum. In honor of sheik Safi-Od-Din. On the way there, I noticed that I had probably entered what was the honey-street of Ardabil. Everywhere they sold everything from pure honey to whole honeycombs. The honecombs where packed in plastic wrapping. Given the number of bees humming around them, it is easy to understand why. It would have been fun if I could have brought one of them home to Norway with me. But the thought of carrying such an item with me for the rest of the trip... Well, lets just say it sounded a bit daunting.
After a few hundred meters, and about as many honey-shops, I arrived at a mosque. They had a service. I tried to glimpse inside, but the windows where too high above the street. So I settled for taking some pictures of the outside. Just beside the mosque, there was a small museum. I paid my 25 cents for the ticket and entered. The museum was fairly large, but it didn't have much on display. Mostly some pottery from the same era, and some coins. It was interesting, don't get me wrong. It was just that most of it was from the same era. And it didn't say much in english writing, so I had no idea what it represented. And I had no idea about the origin, the development, or timeline. In the basement floor, they had a mockup of a grave, complete with a skeleton. It showed what they found in what layer above the grave itself. As I left, a guy that had been in the museum at the same time, approached me. "Where are you from?" he asked. "Norway". "Ah! Eeee...I'm from Iraq! Eeeee... I teach! Eeeeee... Hastiro!" "Hastiro?" "Yes! Eeeeee... Current hastiro! University!" "Ah! You mean current history!" "Eeeeee.. Yes! Eeeeee... What do you do?" "Computer programming." "Eeeeee...Ok! Eeeeeee...Well. Have nice trip! Goodbye!" I left and walked on. Next entrance seemed to be for the mausoleum itself. It had a beautiful garden, leading to something that looked like the outside of a mosque. A guy was sleeping behind a desk in the corner. I didn't want to wake him, so I took a some pictures of the blue tiled walls and left back through the garden.
Later I read in the guide that the entrance the sleeping guy guarded was to the Allah Allah tower. So named because the apparent tile motif shows the name of allah endlessly repeated. So I guess I should have woken him up. I had missed out on the very pearl of the visit... Oh, well. Can't win them all.
So I kept walking the city streets. Watching life. Watching people. Shopping some food and drink. Yes. I sneak some drink and food at the hotel. Like everyone else who is staying there...
Later in the evening, when the time was about sunset, I once again ventured out into the street. This time to get some street food for evening meal. I walked around, looking at the different food being offered. I finally stopped at a place where they served some baguettes with some meat and vegetables. And mayo. It was mmmmmmarvelous. It reminded me of something I had in Vietnam (or was it Laos), I believe. Loved it. If I could, I would have eaten two. But on was more than enough. I also had a bottle of Zam Zam. It looked like coke. And much to my surprise, it TASTED like coke. Hmmm. Have they found the recipee?
Full of food and impressions, I walked back to my hotel while enjoying the relative calm, both temperaturewise and otherwise, of the evening. People mostly stay home to eat. The streets were almost deserted, save from some youths eating out. And street vendors selling cd's demonstrated through blown speakers.
Yesterday, I got up early. I was going back to Tabriz. And I wanted to check my email and get a final look at Ardabil before I left. I ate my breakfast. This morning also consisting of wonderful bread, honeycomb and tea. BTW. Some may find it strange that I ate the honeycomb. But this is actually the way it has been eaten for centuries. And the way it is still eaten many places. Not everybody has access to a sentrifuge to extract the honey...
After breakfast, I left to go back to the internet cafe I was the day before. When I got there, I found it was closed, so I walked on to see if I could find an open one. Just a few meters on, and I found another spot. The clerk asked me where I was from. I said Norway. "Welcome! Please find a pc." I found a pc and sat down. After some fiddling with the date on the computer (which caused the browser to freak out since it seemed GMail's certificate was only valid in the future...) I finally managed to log on to my email. I read some mail, and wrote some. Tried another time to log on to Blogger. But to no avail. I got up and wanted to pay the clerk. He refused. "You don't pay, Norway! You are my guest! Welcome to Iran!" he said and touched his heart. I stood there perplexed for a few seconds. Put the note back in my wallet. Smiled and thanked him and nodded. Some of the guys here are so hospitable it is almost embarrasing. I don't know what to do. And I feel a bit awkward just to accept all these nice gestures all the time. But I do appreciate them. I sure do. Not because of the money saved (25 cents in this case...), but because it really makes me feel welcome.
I checked out, and took a taxi to the bus terminal of Ardabil. A few km from the city centre. The callers where shouting out the destinations. One guy approached me. "Teheran?" he asked. "Tabriz" I responded. He pointed me to another guy. 53 000 rials later, I had a bus ticket in my hands. The first one so far in Iran. The bus was, like seemingly all others in Iran, excellent. The trip to Tabriz was along the same road we had taken to Ardabil. I sat there by the window, enjoyed the view. Small towns. Fields of grain. Fields of green. Fields of gold. I felt tired. And closed my eyes. Half an hour later, I woke up. With my mouth wide open, and my head backwards in the seat. I blinked the sandpaper out of my eyes. Looked at my watch. 2 hours to go.
Back in Tabriz, I took a taxi to the hotel I stayed in last time around. The driver wanted 30 000. When we left the terminal, he asked for the money. He needed them to pay the tool to leave. I gave him 20 000, and he paid the toll. After about 15 minutes, we arrived at the hotel. I took out the last 10 000, but he waved me off. I thanked him, and left. At the hotel, they only had double rooms left. So I would have to pay 700 000 for the night. I didn't want to look around, so I just accepted it. I got a room where the toilet flush didn't work, the AC lacked remote and they where renovating the floor above till 10.30 PM... I decided to look elsewhere for a room for the last three nights.
In the evening, I strolled into the streets to find a food stall to have evening meal. The sun had set, so people were allowed to eat again. Everywhere, food shops opened up. I wanted to try something new. So I walked around until I found something that looked a bit interesting. I cannot for the life of me remember what the called it. But it is a long, flat bread, and something that looks like shish kekab is put into it, together with raw onion and barbecued tomatoes and a jalapeno. First, I got a salad. Which consisted of some cucumber and tomato and something. And sauce and potato chips. After I finished this, I got the bread and meat thingy. And a plastic box of something. With straw. So I assumed it was supposed to be drunk. It tasted like sour/salty yoghurt with water. I had a few sips. Not to my taste. Tried to drink it together with the meat and bread. Still didn't compute in my brain. So I left it alone. The rest was delicious, anyway. Only 55 000 rials (just under $3). How did I order? By pointing. Easiest form of communication in the world. Even toddlers get that.
After dinner, I wanted to try some ice cream. At one spot, they had a soft-ice machine out in the street. A bit sceptical, I ordered one. About 25 cents a piece. When the vendor gave it to me, he asked me where I was from. "Norway!" "Ah! Welcome to country Iran!" he said and returned to his shop. It was ice all right. And even though soft, it did benefit from some melting before it was edible. Especially to my tender mouth. I think I got frostbites. So there I was, strolling along the food stalls, eating my ice cream and really enjoying myself in the afternoon breeze. Watching people, life. And at one point. I looked up and saw a few stars scattered between the trees that lined the streets. It was wonderful.
Honeycombs for sale
Beautification of a scaffold. Add some gold foil...
I walked past my hotel in Ardabil several times. It didn't exactly stand out.
My lovely baguette thingy
This is the closest thing to Coke I have ever tasted. Re-badged, or have they found the formula?
View from my table
Bread, honeycomb, juice and tea. Breakfast for champions.
Mosque in Ardabil
Street life beside the mosque
The museum
The mausoleum.
On the way back to Tabriz
Last day
Today is the last day of my stay. Early tomorrow morning, my flight to Istanbul departs from Tabriz International airport. At 05.30 in the morning. Which basically means I won't get much sleep tonight. Oh, well. I'll sleep when I get to Istanbul, I guess. I am still concerned about my passport. I hope it holds till I get to Norway. Then I need to get a new one as soon as possible so I have it ready for my other trips this autumn. Otherwise, I will probably forget about it...
One thing I know now for the future : Never bring sandals as the only footwear. It seemed like a good idea at first. Letting my feet breathe in the heat. But the downside is that the dust also makes them extremely dry. So both my feet are now so cracked and sore that I can barely walk straight. I have been walking for much of this trip, as I always like to do. But today, I am probably going to spend most of the time either in my hotelroom or in an internet cafe.
The reason for the current soreness is the last days walks in the bazaar and around the streets of Tabriz. I found that what I and Romién thought was the bazaar, in reality was just another shopping center. Two days ago, I found the real bazaar. And it was huge. A labyrinth of paths. Clothes, spices, meat, vegetables, fruits, sweets, jewelry, watches, carpets. kitchenware, furniture. Anything your heart would ever desire. And then some. I walked around for hours. Looking at the goods. Admiring the building. Jumping out of the way for mopeds and cart-runners yelling "Jalla, jalla!" to get people to move so they didn't loose momentum with their big loads. I loved walking through the spices section. The smell was indescribable. Big bags of tea standing by the shops. Bags of rose petals. Ginger. Peppers. Cinnamon. All filled the air with it's wonderful aroma. I almost felt the urge to dip my hands into the piles. Bring it to my nose and smell it. But I managed to resist.
The bazaar was almost bizarre. Intense. Hot. Bewildering. Fast-paced and slow at the same time. Almost like a small city in it's own right. Even banks had branches here. One could spend hours here, and thousands of dollars. I was a bit surprised that I didn't find any place that sold hot meals. But that may have been because of ramadan. I don't know.
I am thinking about going back there today for one last time. Just to see if I can buy some saffran. I have heard it is supposed to be ridiculously cheap here. So I will check it out. Maybe buy some.
On Wednesday, after one night at Aserbayjan hotel, I swapped for the much better Hotel Sina. It cost 200 000 less and was a vast improvement, strangely enough. The toilet was western style. And worked. The room had integrated AC. It faced the back of the hotel, so no traffic noise. And they actually clean it every day. The beds where comfortable. And smelt fresh. That is actually a first here in Iran. The receptionists were, as expected, a bit skeptical about my passport. They discussed it to and fro before they accepted it.
Yesterday evening, I strolled through a park near the hotel. It was mostly under renovation, but it was still a nice stroll. Th evening breeze made it perfect. Families sat in the shadow of the trees. Men played chess. Or exercised. I find it a bit strange to see. But in many places here in Iran, there are exercise apparatuses set up by the government. In public. And men (and women in the morning), do rigorous exercises everywhere. Not in training shorts, but in their suits. Weight training and heart pumping exercises. To me, it is a strange thing to watch.
Looking back at the trip as a whole, it has been an interesting experience. Three new countries in one go. I haven't done that since 1996, in South America. But then I had more 3.5 months. Not 3.5 weeks. I am thinking that this is not something I would try to do again. One week is barely enough to scratch the surface of any country. I would normally spend this much time just exploring a couple of cities. I would have loved to stay longer i Iran. Checked out Teheran and Isfahan. But after contemplating the time it would take to go there and back from Tabriz, I opted against it. Because of the western boycott of Iran, parts for airplanes aren't coming into the country. And planes without spare parts? Well. I have flown dubious airlines in the past, but I thought I would stay in the safe side of dubious in Iran. So the only option would then be express buses. The trip to Isfahan is said to take 17 hours. One way. 34 both ways. That's almost two days just on the road. With one week to spend, that was not tempting. Although Isfahan is.
The train ride I was supposed to take from Tabriz to Ankara was unavailable. All tickets were sold out. So I decided to buy a plane ticket instead with Turkish Airlines. It was not the way I intended to leave, but what can I do? I will try to get a window seat, so I at least can see the country from the air.
One night in Istanbul, and then home. Home to everyday life. Home to the known. The routine. But also home to where I can blog freely. Discuss politics without any fear of other than being flamed on the net. Although better than in North Korea, I still feel the filter. The limitations. The surveillance. If I stayed here long enough, I think I would have felt the walls creeping in. Although I don't use it a lot, I love the freedom I have in my country.
As with most of my trips, I learn to appreciate what I call home. And maybe that makes traveling worth it by itself.
I hope that joining me on this trip, through the blog, you have gained some insight into the places I have visited. For good and evil. I hope you enjoyed the pictures. And my somewhat amateurish descriptions.
This is Ragnar. This is the world according to me. My eyes. My thoughts. My feelings. Signing off for now.
Enjoy the last pictures!
Sugar cube for those who love sugar in their tea...
Inside the bazaar
In front. Sugarcubes for those who like sugar in their tea. Behind : Sugarcubes for those who don't like tea.
Honeycombs
Tabriz traffic. If you find space, squeeze your car in and honk for the others to give way.
Mosque being built.
Döner dinner
Hotel Sina had mirrors on every floor in the stairs. To check how you look at every floor. 1'st floor.
2'nd floor
3'rd floor
On the floor....
More images from the bazaar
A park near my hotel.
Don't worry, Ayatollah Komeini is watching over you. Scary thought...
Exercise apparatuses
Children's playground
Intense chess game
Book stalls by the road
City bus
Statue between the lanes
Not sure what this was, but it read "fast food" and had a fat Ronald McDonald on a threadmill...
My hotel
Wall painting
