Posts from — July 2008

I pottered to the Turkmenistan embassy trying to see whether I was maybe a bit lucky this time and get the visa a day before I was told to come back. No such luck really. The embassy was closed. No reason given. Just come back tomorrow. I wasn’t the only one who didn’t like it … but what can you do. Banging on the door or something like this … and the chances of my visa being approved would have dropped to zero.

I had contacted another couchsurfer from Tehran and the two of us met up and had another one of those conversations that make this trip so special. Just before meeting her however, I was reminded that I was not in a free society. As I was walking along Tajrish Square in the heart of Northern Tehran, I saw the fashion police in action. This sort of funny term has a different sound here. This is serious. The setup is always the same. Two police cars, one Benz and one van (and I should point out that sometimes things are not what they seem).

Two men and two women - all of which are police. The women are of course wearing the full gear and are - at least not to me - identifiable as police personnel. They are however. And they stop every woman that they consider to be dressed inappropriately. I meant to take pictures of this, but was too chicken to do so. I should have really. It is an intimidating sight and no fun for those concerned. The first woman that I saw had to defend herself heavily in order not to be taken into the van. What happens is not quite clear. There are different warning levels, but ultimately you can be imprisoned. It was clear that the woman was wearing heavy makeup and the scarf didn’t really cover her hair much and hence she was in a difficult situation. The second time the police women were approaching a mother with her child who had no idea what was going on. I also saw no real reason for the woman to be approached, she was dressed like everyone else up here. Quite liberally, but like everyone else. She was ordered to do this and that and in the end one of the police women was tugging here and there. The little kid looked bewildered. I moved towards them and couldn’t help but sing a song in my head when I passed - along the lines of: “Keep on fighting.” It wasn’t long ago when these things didn’t happen in this part of the city. Today, the police was out in full force to enforce these rules. I saw no less than 6 such convoys around two adjacent squares.

Shortly thereafter a young man playing an instrument was picked up by the police and I wished I had taped his music before the police came. It would have been an interesting sight to see whether they would have picked him up with a foreigner being there. Doesn’t seem like it is standard procedure. Not that it would have helped the poor guy any in the long run …

The couchsurfing friend: her name is Hamraz and is quite fitting I would say given the openness with which we talked. It means person with whom you share a secret. We toured a bit around Northern Tehran and had a great time visiting, but by far the best part were the topics we covered throughout the day. Covering politics, society and everything else imaginable, I learned a great deal yet again. And had a great companion, so thank you very much. A word about the usage of Northern Tehran. To me the place is an island in a sea called Iran. I don’t claim to have any real idea about the country (and a cab driver pointed out that it would take years at any rate), but Northern Tehran is a different place. It is the upscale part of Iran, you can see the money in a great many ways. It is also an influential part, yet at the same time people here are most liberal. None of this makes a great deal of sense maybe and at some point I will try to put these thoughts together in a more coherent fashion.

We had lunch at some fancy pizza place and I couldn’t help but notice some of the descriptions on the menu. Check it out by clicking on the picture and choosing a larger size.

After a late start and spending some time uploading pictures I headed to the bazaar. Really, just to see the place and have a look around. As Isabelle needed some information from some of the carpet traders I actually had a concrete task before me too.

This turned out to be really interesting. Just as a background note, the bazaaris here in Tehran hold immense power. Because of their economic prowess (apparently more than half of the country’s trade is being undertaken here) they are also extremely influential politically. All of this is in some way palpable when you wander around. The stalls some of the sellers and traders are sitting in may be small, but they still ooze money in a big way. I am sure I haven’t even seen anything, but you get a certain feel.

The place is also full of surprises. Taking a back alley (the place is like a city onto itself) you move from the leather department to the pen and paper area, yet another brings you to the carpet people. You find traffic jams like these which are caused by the same frenzy and craziness that characterizes Tehran traffic.

My meeting with one of the carpet people to ask for some large-size cushions that are common here was interesting. Isabelle wanted 15 of them in a certain make and with a certain style. So, there wasn’t really any room for maneuvering and the question really came down to being able to deliver. I bumbled around for a bit and sure enough a trader approached me. We went up into his store (well, a little den if you ask me) and the haggling started right off. They wanted to seel carpets. I was pretty firm on wanting large cushions. Yes, I want them complete, not just the cover so that they can be stitched together in Germany. “This is so heavy for transportation. You surely can’t want that.” So he proceeded to want to sell the covers only. Here is what I had to learn. You don’t tell a Bazaari what you want. You are lucky if you can close a deal with him. That’s how it works. Sort of like doing business in Brussels it seemed.

So, the first crack wa a bit difficult. When I said that I wasn’t going to buy anything right away, he wanted to leave and also didn’t want to give me his business card. I said fine, I can find this stuff elsewhere. This went on for some minutes. He went off about having 1000s of such cushions and can give me the best price. I am sure everyone would say the same. So after a while of back and forth I laid down what I wanted, slightly fed up. This startled him and he gives me a long hard look. I explain the situation to him, Isabelle being pregnant and not wanting to come to the bazaar. I tell him again what I need and all of a sudden everything changes. He offers me tea, tells me that he’s got the goods that I am looking for and can deliver at my convenience. He says that this is not the way to make a deal here, but that it was fun and whether I want to come in to chat some more. This is me being entirely ignorant of the customs and the power relations here. You don’t come in and tell the guy what you want, but must make a long-winded conversation first. Then maybe you can tell him what you would like and then maybe he doesn’t try to sway you in some form. That didn’t work though as I needed the price for specific items. It was still great fun though and maybe not just for me.

More wandering around brings about more power outages, some strange counterfeit goods and green men.

Let’s say that this was an interesting day. I pass the guy in front of a Scandinavian embassy … and every time I did pass him so far, he didn’t seem to be the most awake.

I had been told by various people about murals around the city and at the former US embassy which were off-limits for picture taking. Note that some you might find these paintings offensive and I am not condoning any of the statements that they contain, but that should be a given.

But first things first. I headed downtown and found this …

Needless to say with a regime like the one here things like this are to be expected. I can’t say for sure when this was done and in what context, but the regime certainly had no problem with it and was most likely behind its coming into being to start with. I should note that the large majority (by which I mean greater than 99%, granted that there is a selection bias in that I don’t speak Farsi and have trouble talking to people in smaller places and most people in southern Tehran) of the people I talk to are rather sympathetic towards the US. This stance has been somewhat altered by the Iraq war and the rhetoric of the current US government (it is kind of obvious that external threats rally a great deal of people behind even a government for which I have heard only scant support here; this is exacerbated by the fact that there is limited information available as independent newspapers are virtually non-existent), but generally people still look towards the US as an idol.

Having said this, here are some pictures of the former US embassy, the official name here is the US Den of Espionage. I will not recount the different narratives of the events that unfolded between 1979 and 1981 and which lead to the detention of US embassy personnel over the course of more than 400 days. I intend to merely convey what I have seen here. This was ghastly enough (as a note: I had been given a heads-up about the possibility that my memory card may be confiscated by the police, hence I backed up everything before heading out and must say that I was a bit nervous, especially when I snapped the first picture here, with the uniformed person pretty much looking straight into the camera; on the other hand, other people had said that they snapped away happily at the same place; nothing happened to me, so I was either lucky or nothing ever really happens and I couldn’t resist once I had seen the murals though I did not want to be too much out there and so don’t have pictures of all of them; it’s all pretty basic propaganda at any rate).

The contempt and indeed hatred of the regime is not limited to the US as you can see here …

And here is the seal of the US embassy that has been hacked out, but is still clearly visible.

I then moved on to what is called the Martyr’s Museum and which happens to be just across the street. It is quite visible as you can see …

The inside is filled with memorabilia of individuals who either are considered fundamental for the “success” of the revolution or the Iran/Iraq war or any other issue which the regime can come up with. The third floor however was the most upsetting part for me and I believe it is quite obvious why that is. The heroic depiction of the suicide bombers is something I have my problems with.

On a lighter note, I met up with Alex and Jan again who brought Maryam along, another Couchsurfer from Tehran. We gawked at the very impressive Jewel Museum, including a globe with more than 200 stones on which I could retrace my route so far. The glitter in the basement of the National Bank was hurting our eyes after some time (and no cameras allowed) and we ended up in a cafe chatting about our travels and about our experiences in Iran so far.

It is Friday, meaning the city is empty. For the most part and as emtpy as Tehran can be. It is also the day that a parking garage in Tehran gets converted into a bazaar. It is not the grand bazaar (which is much, much bigger and pictures of which will appear in the not to distant future), but has become popular among parts of the population as there is no need to travel all the way to the real bazaar which can be a bit unwieldy in many ways. Isabelle and Andrea are about to leave Tehran for good (or maybe not, it’s a bit complicated), so the contingency planning involved a trip there and some potential last minute shopping. The place was a zoo, albeit an interesting one. Tons of second-hand ware and certainly for someone like me it was a place to refresh very old memories and look at things that my parents would have had when first putting together a household (or maybe their parents in the case of the sowing machine below). My apologies for the poor picture quality, it was a bit dark in the bazaar and I didn’t want to use the flash.

There were also beautiful pieces of cloth and of course carpets.

We ended up with loads of stuff … a big chest, some camel box covers, some cushions and lots of little things … but the best item I saw was this record player - check out the record on the left hand side (it is certainly not permitted here, but then again there is so much around that is prohibited).

Strange kind of situation when we arrived back home - the taxi driver was clearly overcharging and Isabelle insisted on a lower price at which point the taxi driver made to give the money back. Isabelle slipped past me into the entrance and the taxi driver was trying to push his way towards the door where I was standing. Slight standoff. He wanted to give the money back, feigning insult. Isabelle grabbed it then - me in the middle with the guy pushing me from behind. It is a rather clear rule that he can not enter a house or apartment and that this could spell big trouble for him. He did of course not want to give the money back. I had enough at one point and yelled at him, which didn’t help. I was loaded down and couldn’t really do much if I didn’t want to let him pass. He eventually relented. Never seen anything like this … and neither had Isabelle.In the afternoon I met up with another couchsurfer for another conversation which was ultimately too short as G. had to leave due to an emergency at home. Nevertheless, an interesting conversation ensued about life and society in Iran.

Another short day: I met Jan and Alex - it has been a while since we’ve been in touch. Well, we’ve been sending 19 emails back and forth to be exact. Gmail let’s you know as much. This is one of those stories. Antoinette, who spent some time at my place during her Europe bike ride last summer, at one point sends me an email saying that a couple who have spent time at her place are on their way around the globe by camper van. Sounds like a fantastic journey.

The two of them and I have been in touch for a while over email, but have so far been unable to meet up. Now, this is finally the day this was to happen. I meet them in the center of Tehran, but because Alex isn’t feeling well we resolve to meet again in a couple of days. It was good fun at any rate …

My search for Loctite has been unsuccessful … it doesn’t seem like it is something that anyone really knows. I talked to an engineer and he doesn’t know the stuff. I am sure that most cars contain Loctite in some way, shape or form, but that didn’t ring a bell either. I need it for holding a nut in place that keeps shaking loose and the search for nylock nuts (a special kind of nut preventing slippage of nuts from screws) proved equally fruitless. Oh well, there are other ways and means to fix the screw into place. The glue that people wanted to sell me instead isn’t one of them.