Hamadan - wet, wet wet

  Hamadan, Iran
Monday, November 3, 2008

3rd November 2008

Another day, another bus journey, another town.
Iran has been great but the constancy of the travel is a bit of a grind, and we've only been in Iran 3 full days! The problem is that we arrived in Iran in the middle of the night, got just over two hours sleep, had a full day's sight-seeing, and were on the move to Zanjan the next morning. Still the life of an international man of mystery was never for the faint-hearted - or me!

The lovely cats I fed bit of my choc chip shortbread (courtesy of Iran Air) to last evening had a bit of a ding dong in the wee small hours. It sounded vicious I can tell you. Whilst the thought of peering out the almost but wouldn't shut window didn't actually cross my mind, I'm confident that my favourite cat would have been the one meeting out all manner of scratchings and in the thick of the scrapping. He (could have been a she I suppose. No reason why not.) certainly didn't pull any punches last night when he thought his shortbread winning position was in question.

I actually avoided going to the toilet last night (sorry for the diversion) as I simply couldn't face the whiff that would meet me when I opened the bathroom door. Mohsen had informed some of us that our rooms would have squat toilets and if there was a problem he would try and sort it out. He said it in a sort of 'Please God you don't have any problems as this is the only hotel in town, it's crappy and I'll have to strong-arm someone else to move into the room they know there's a problem with and no-one will be happy' sort of tone!

Well the alarm went on my mobile. At least it's of some use outside of civilised society (that being Tehran so far).

I stupidly and may I say quite brazenly opened the bathroom door with gusto and stepped in....oh my word. Breathe through your mouth Gary. Breathe through your mouth. Alert. Alert. Alert.

Man was the smell just disgusting. I rapidly closed the door and went in search of my deodorant which took on another of its life saving (usally for others rather than me) roles - that of damping down the eau-de-squat-toilet-cum-sewerage works emanating from the bathroom. The odour was quelled sufficiently for me to shower etc (you've got an imagination as well), still breathing through my mouth, and get out unscathed.

Takab was waking up as we left with bizarre tractor-like machines chugging up the street, men and women heading home from the bakery with their fresh, still warm bread, and the paddy wagon heading out of town. Note to self - don't include Takab on any future holiday plans!

leaving Takab

We descended into the lowlands, past the non-existent trees into what could be described as farming land. This had been a bit of a scarcity since leaving Tehran. Not that I'm suggesting there was any farming land in Tehran. You get the point. The sheer size of Iran is impressed upon you when you realise that the scenery really hasn't changed very much in the past two hours.

Shephers in their respective fields watching o'er their flocks by day (ah ha - you had started to sing the Christmas carol. Stop it. You're in Iran) reminded you of the subsistence nature of much of rural life in Iran. No fences in the fields and no huge flocks of sheep. Thirty or so sheep, each with a shepherd seemed to be the order of the day.

Today was an anniversary of the student takeover of the American Embassy (or the Den of Espionage as the catchy new title goes in fundamentalist circles) in Tehran way back in the heady days of Novemberf 1979. So it was a good day to travel. If your mind has instantly jumped to 'Oh no, they're going to get lynched mode', firstly dear reader this is not 1950's America, and secondly the choice for the modern day Iranian student is 1. Go to school, or 2. Have a day off, carry a placard if you wish - a down with America placard if you must. Tough choice, eh?

cup of chay in the rain

We passed one small gathering in a wet town just prior to our chay stop. Some effigy in a grey boiler suit was probably going to get burned. He had already been strung up on a pole. No idea who he was but some more effort could have been made in my humble opinion. A poorly prepared effigy that you can't identify is like a joke no one gets - if you have to explain it, it isn't funny! Still the tea was nice! ]

Imam Square, Hamadan

Hamadan was wet; and cold as it turned out. We were dropped off in the centre (or as near as matters when you're on holidays) of town adjacent to the Avicenna Mausoleum (you can look him up using google or LP - really smart guy from hundreds of years ago who wrote Medicenae something-or-another which was used in European Universities until 17th century or so). After lunch we took a breeze around the Mauso. which was interesting enough with displays of his writings and artefacts. Julia attracted a crowd of architecture (be warned I seem to be attributing any students with studying architecture - so if you know they studied something else, do let me know) students and seemed to be having a great ole chat. You will by now have noted that the female students speak with the female members of our group - well, Julia who seemed to get into conversation so naturally with students and even randomers who turned up, hearing that Westerners had been spotted, and wanted to practice their English.

Esther and Mordecai Mausoleum

Another opportunity to dice with death, only this time in the rain, presented itself as we crossed Imam Square (with a huge roundabout in the middle) heading to the Esther and Mordecai Mausoleum. There is some doubt expressed as to whether or not the real Esther and Mordecai are buried here, but as it was so long ago, does it really matter.

The doorman/caretaker wasn't present so we headed back over the three lane (it's hard to tell how many actual lanes there are, what with the laissiz-faire approach to lane discipline) roundabout to the centre of the roundabout which is park-like with a huge monument. Mohsen gave us a rough guide to the monument and went off to change some money. Our dear leader was replaced by Dear Leader Ian who found greatness thrust upon him as he led us back to the Mausoleum, dicing with death as we went.

The mausoleum entrance was tiny. You had to crouch to get in. It was designed thus to ensure that you were bowing, and therefore showing respect as you entered. Clever, eh? Our host spoke French (and Farsi) and sufficient English. The talk was interesting as was his request for pens! He didn't seem at all interested in my Bic though! Sod.

Once back on the paddy wagon we were off to see the Ganjnameh rock carvings. Remember it's cold and wet so one's enthusiasm for such a sight, perhaps already not overly high is even lower than it might otherwise have been...if you follow. Sure enough there they were. Two precisely, expertly and amazingly carved inscriptions in the rock face by old Cyrus II (Cyrus the Great) who decided he was such a great king and all round wonderful chap that he would thank god (not sure if it's God as in God, or god as in some god he and his groupies had - again feel free to fill in my information blanks) for making him such a fantastic king etc. Modesty clearly wasn't one of his attributes

Reasonably impressive as they were, wetness and cold hands spirited me away faster than perhaps would have been considered polite on a dry day to have a wee look at the waterfall, which to me was more impressive. Okay. Once the family move out of the way I'll get a shot and head for some chay.

meet the family

Greta appeared, together with Ian and Julia. Greta (yes I know this is the second sentence I've started with the same word, but this is my blog, and as I've said before I get to make up the rules) offered to take a photograph for the family so that 'dad' could be in the shot. Well. This was yet another breakthrough in Iranian-Western relations. The grandmother of the family decided she wanted us all in the photograph, so dad was turfed out of the shot, and armed with four cameras took the shots in turn. Gran ordered the distribution of tea, and delved into her handbag for chocolate as well. It's funny, but for a few minutes I didn't notice either the rain or the cold, overrun as they were by the warmth, kindness and never-ending hospitality of Iranians.

Mohsen couldn't understand where we had managed to get tea when we arrived to the tea-shop. He had ordered up lamb heart and liver on skewers, which turned out to be quite tasty.

Who should turn up to the tea shop? Yes. Granny and daughter (or daughter-in-law) for a bit of heat from the gas fire and drying off. More photos followed. "Lotfan axe?" (can I take a photograph) was proving to be a most valuable phrase.

Finally we the lobby of the Hadedan Azadi Hotel beckoned. Complimentary orange squash enjoyed we were allocated our rooms. Again I got a single. Explore! had offered the option of guaranteeing a single room on the trip upon payment of a supplement. I wonder if they would have given a refund if I'd have paid the supplement but got a single room anyway? I'll never know cos I'm too tight to pay single supplements in any event!

CNN! Whoo! Finally I could catch up on the campaign trail - in America that is. The CNN show was entitled "The Campaign Trail" was a light-hearted look at the campaign which proved not only infomative but enjoyable. They had a truthometer and gave Sarah Palin (is she deliberately stupid and scarey?) a 'pants on fire' for saying that Obama would experiment with socialism, whilst Obama scored (unfairly in my opinion) a "mostly true" for saying that polls always narrow in the last week/at the end of the campaign. His statement proved true in 14 of the last 16 elections.

It's amazing the level of interest in the US election even in Iran, and particularly amongst the group. Voting tomorrow! A black president. Maybe. Ah, but will the people really vote how they've been saying they will. The hopes are being matched by the fears of what would await the world with George Bush mk2, namely McCain.