Pedaling from the Black Forest to the Yellow Sea

Another trek to the embassy of Turkmenistan. This time they were open and this time the consular official knew my name and said only: “Your passport.” Good stuff … that meant that the application had been approved. I filled out the forms and did the usual paperwork. It asked for a local address too and I have really no idea and no intention of releasing that information either. What to do? “Where are you staying?” “With friends.” “Friends!” “Yes, friends.” He rolls his eyes. “Just put down a hotel name, that’s fine.”

With that done, I thought it was over. I handed over my money, but only heard: “Problem, Mr.” What??? Alright, I had seen some markings on the bills and had heard about this. But try to find clean US$ bills here. The argument that I got this money from the Uzbek embassy (weak I know, but I was hoping for some Central Asian solidarity here - I should have known that Uzbekistan doesn’t get that) was met with an incredulous: “Uzbekistan! This is the embassy of Turkmenistan.” Yes, no kidding, I know. I have been here four times now. At any rate, we agree that I can scour the city for real money until 4pm when I am supposed to pick up the visa anyway. Luckily one of the dreaded tourist agency guys comes around the corner and I ask him with the help of the consul whether he’s got the goods. He does. One of his bills is also unacceptable to the consul, but that is no problem. Mr. Tourist Agency has more. He exchanges some of my bills and asks for a Iranian money for the rest. A fair deal in the end, saving me a lot of time.

I meet up with Maryam from a few days ago again and together we walk through the city and also take a last crack at getting nylock nuts or loctite. While waiting for her I snap this one, a good indication that foreigners get away with so much more than Iranians.

We pass a bike store and got a good lead. That lead sounded promising, but was the epitome of what makes things difficult here. The place was full of great bikes, but none of the people there had any idea about bikes. Brandspanking expensive bikes galore, but all they could say was that I should bring my bike here so that they knew what I needed. I showed them the threading on one of their bikes - for a couple of people this was the first time that they even saw the threading in the frame. But in the end, despite many promises and a great deal of patience on the part of Maryam (who now is an expert on nylock nuts and loctite I am sure), we left empty-handed. It was worth a try. Will have a few of them sent to Tashkent, need to pick up some documents there anyway.

The visa pick up was a no-brainer. I got the visa, have five days within a six-day period to enter and leave the country and better be out before the five days are up. The consul was nice and friendly, wished me good luck and I was off to get back home.

No more fashion police at Tajrish, which I take to be a good thing. I had planned to take some more pictures at some distance to let you see how this works here, but for better or worse, that didn’t happen. But just as in Qazvin, colored chicks are in high demand here.

As my time in Tehran is now coming to an end, a big massive thank you to Isabelle and Andrea for putting up with me for so long. I had hoped to be out sooner and not the same morning that Isabelle is leaving Tehran as well while also managing a great number of other things. Life would have been a lot more complicated without them. Thank you, thank you, thank you is all I can say.

Another trip to the embassy of Turkmenistan … another disappointment. It was ominous when the larger stack of papers didn’t contain my file and so the consular staff said something along the lines of: “It is not here yet, come back tomorrow.” I didn’t want to show any emotions, but couldn’t help but let the disappointment show. This the guy took as an affront and so I had to listen to the it takes one week I told you so speech. Thanks! He is a nice guy though, unlike other people …

Not much else to report … saw a good number of Afghans and Central Asians working construction (no rights and bad treatment and of course, cheaper than Iranian labor from what I hear) …

and tried to wash the disappointment down with a good banana milk shake.

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.