navigate:
Saturday 2004-05-15 - Antakya, Turkey
Eating out in the middle of nowhere
Our driver, Ali, and two guys (one is called Mehmet but I didn’t catch the other’s name) from the hotel are invited by our tour companion for dinner. Ali knows a restaurant somewhere outside the city of Antakya. Thom, Carla and I are coming, too. With the bus we drive out of town, to a little village that doesn’t look like there would be a restaurant — but there is, and it’s packed. The owner welcomes us, obviously pleased they’re bringing tourists. The meal is excellent, the company even better. This afternoon I bought a little dictionary and I barely lay hands on it: Mehmet and Ali use it all the time to communicate better with us since they don’t speak English. Joking and chatting, eating shish and köfte, three kinds of salad, bread, three kinds of humus; drinking Yeni Rakı, a kind of beet wine, and water: a great evening in a place where tourists never come — I wouldn’t be able to find it back either!
Friday 2004-05-21 - Van, Turkey
Soup and Internet
When riding into Van we’d spotted an Internet cafe on a corner, just before turning into the street where our hotel is. When we set out to go there though, we find there’s another one right next to the hotel, in the basement of an office building. We do a quick inspection: It’s a nice place, with not just workstations: they also sell books, software, a few small accessories, and drinks. The price is OK, too, but we want to have some dinner first and promise to come back later.
We walk on, looking around for a restaurant, turn right twice in the direction where we suspect restaurants might be and — what a find! We discover a ‘soup salon’: the little restaurant sells nothing but soup, six kinds of soup (with bread, of course), 24 hours a day. Actually, we’re not terribly hungry, but a bowl of soup sounds like just the thing — and you can always take another one if one isn’t enough. There’s no menu of any kind: you just peek in the big soup kettles and point at what you’d like. Thom, Carla and I all have different soups. All deliciuous.
Then it’s back to the Internet cafe: both Thom and I have quite a bit to catch up. By now I’ve given up on learning to use the Turkish keyboards where the Turkish ‘ı’ (‘i’ without a dot) is where we expect the ‘i’ which is somewhere else, somewhere unexpected. It’s much easier to just type and then use Notepad’s search-and-replace to change all the ‘ı’s to ‘i’s and put the occasional intended ‘ı’ back afterwards — it sounds like more work, but it’s actually much faster and reliable.
Sunday 2004-05-30 - Kāshān, Iran
Culinary pleasures
After arrival in Kāshān we go out for dinner in the Delpazir restaurant, which to our surprise is run by Jane, an English woman. She married an Iranian 12 years ago and came to live here. When we ask how she likes it here, she says: “I love it! I’m well respected.” Seeing her at work, it’s obvious she enjoys it, too. The restaurant serves traditional Iranian dishes; I try fesenjan, rice with chicken in an absolutely delicious sauce made of ground walnuts and (slightly sweetened) pomegranate; Jane tells us that in the Caspian Sea region the sauce is more sour than here.
Wednesday 2004-06-02 - Yazd, Iran
Discovery
On the way back from the Internet in the Mosque in Yazd we see again what we saw somewhere else before without knowing what we saw: white stuff scooped into a plastic cup, eaten with a spoon. It’s not ice (which Carla can’t eat I and I don’t like). We decide to try it when the friendly vendor explains: plastic cups stand ready with sugar syrup in it; into that the mysterious white stuff is scooped, then rosewater, a lump of ice, and some poppy seeds are added to it. “Stir” he says, when he hands us our spoons. We sit down at a long table where several women are already sitting, amused to see us trying something new. It’s delicious!
Later, we learn this specialty of this region is called faludeh and can be served with variations: lime juice instead of poppy seeds (fresh or from the ubiquitous bottles here since lime juice is used in many dishes), or flavored with saffron instead of rosewater. We’re immediately addicted to it: it’s a very refreshing snack, and not as sweet or sticky as ice. Something to try to make at home!
Saturday 2004-06-12 - Iran, Iran
Iran observations
Many of the things we see and experience in Iran are not specific to any locality but remarkable enough, I think, to make a note of. So, at the end of our trip through Iran here are some of the things I noted along the way and wanted to tell you about:
- Infrastructure
- Immediately after crossing the border from Turkey the change is apparent: infrastructure here is much better developed than in (Eastern) Turkey. Power and phone lines (above-ground) are well-maintained (we see not a single sagging pole). Roads are generally in good repair, not just being well-maintained but constantly improved as well: we see road works in many places, often to turn the (still) mostly two-lane roads into four-lane or even wider highways. There’s also Internet access in many places (far more than I expected) with no apparent restrictions.
- Traffic
- A big surprise is that many road signs are bilingual: not just the directional signs pointing to cities with the name in Farsi as well as a transliteration in roman script; we also see signs like: “reduce speed,” “use low gear” (on mountain roads), “fasten seat belts,” etc. Along some roads also a nice illustration that this mostly hot and dry country (as we experience it now) can also be very cold in winter: we see many road signs warning graphically that snow chains may be needed. Also remarkable is that in many cities, as well as at checkpoints, road bumps are used to slow traffic down; most are of a standardized design so it’s rather easy to learn how to negotiate them (unlike the confusing variety of road bumps we have in the Netherlands).
- Motorbikes
- Motorbikes of all sorts are extremely popular here, and not just with the young ones. One can see whole families on a motorbike: father riding, child in front, mum behind, a small child between them, and an older child at the back. Almost no one wears a helmet - I expect it’s only a matter of time before they become compulsory though, given the obvious growth rate of the number of bikes…
- Energy
- This country has a lot of oil and natural gas - and yet we see many signs of energy being saved. In some hotel rooms we had a fridge, nearly always of an energy-efficient type. Most light bulbs (in use and on sale) are of the fluorescent type; there’s a dazzling variety of them. We even see gas lamps in many places - possible emergency lighting but they’re not antiques: they’re in obvious working condition, have been used, and in one place I saw them burning, too. They’re also extending their network of natural gas pipelines — not just for export but more use of their own gas is planned as well (it’s certainly more energy-efficient to use natural gas as a direct energy source than burning it to produce electricity).
- Iran-Iraq war
- During this war which lasted nearly ten years (1980-1988) there were very many casualties. Every village, town and city has their own martyrs of the war, who are commemorated with billboards with their portraits, usually placed at the entrance of a town. The many dead soldiers left behind many widows and orphans and collection boxes were set up all over the country for donations to support them; they still exist, but are now intended for helping the poor. The system works, since every Muslim is supposed to spend 5% of their income on helping the poor; the boxes form an efficient means to channel such donations.
- Greenery
- In a mostly dry country with two huge deserts it’s understandable that greenery and flowers are cherished. We see new trees being planted alongside many new or improved roads; in the cities roads are lined with trees, shrubs and flowers, well-watered. There are many well-maintained parks everywhere, with trees providing shade, used intensively for relaxation, picnicking, or study; especially at the end of a working day there’s always people sitting around on the grass.Some parks even have special paved circles for picnicking. There are flower shops and (small) garden centers as well, where fresh flowers and potted plants are sold, much like in the Netherlands. Iran’s national flower is the rose; rose leaves are sold on the market and rose water is used to flavor many dishes.
- Mecca
- In every hotel room (in fact, starting with the one just before the Iranian border in Turkey) there’s not just a prayer rug and clay tablet provided, but there’s always an arrow stuck on one of the walls helpfully indicating the direction of Mecca so the guest can adopt the correct orientation for praying. (We found a Koran in only one of the hotels rooms, however.)
- Water
- Everywhere in the cities there are public water tanks with drinking water, with one or a few taps, and usually with drinking cups (metal or plastic) on a chain or a string provided as well. They usually take the shape of a simple plastic or stainless-steel tank and are sometimes provided by shopkeepers, and often by the city; at times they have a quite elaborate wrought-iron fence around them. The contents are always tap water (quite safe and drinkable in Iran though sometimes with a faint chlorine taste), topped up during the day when necessary. Since it’s always hot in the cities during the summer, many people use these for a quick drink - a habit easy to take up (after getting used to the water, of course).
- Food and drink
- Many new taste experiences here, some of which I’ll try to ‘take
home’ (either by imitation if possible, or by trying to get them or the
necessary ingredients at one of the Iranian supermarkets in Amsterdam):
- Dūg
- A refreshing drink made of yogurt and water (still or sparkling). Sold in bottles as a fresh drink everywhere, sometimes fresh - the best: at one place we had a large 1.5 liter can which cost just 5000 IR: about 0.50 EUR. An acquired taste (most people in our group didn’t like it) but I’m going to try this at home! In principle, all you do is mix yogurt and water and let it stand in the fridge.
- Barley soup
- Based on chicken stock, some vegetables added (carrots and tomatoes are usually present but other vegetables can be used as well), thickened with barley. Many variations, but always delicious. A cup of barley soup and a small bottle of dūg make a healthy lunch; in fact this was what my first lunch in Iran consisted of.
- Faludeh
- The major discovery for someone like me who doesn’t like ice cream or someone who cannot eat any dairy products: a refreshing snack or a delicious desert after dinner. Consists of thin starch noodles (boiled till just soft), sugar syrup and rose water for a nice fragrance; our first had some poppy seed added for flavor. Served almost frozen. There are variations, such as using saffron instead of rose water for flavoring and a different fragrance, or fresh lime or bottled lime juice instead of poppy seeds; sometimes ice cream is added but you can always get it without - it’s definitely more refreshing that way. The starch noodles seem to be made from wheat, but you might try (broken) rice noodles for a good imitation.
- Iranian “beer”
- Alcohol is forbidden here (except for Armenians who are allowed to use it within their homes). You can still drink beer though: there are several brands of imported alcohol-free beer (really 0% alcohol), often from Germany or the Netherlands but I liked none of them. Much better for my palate was “Iranian beer” of which there are many variations and brands as well; it’s a lightly carbonated malt drink, often with some vitamins added, and hops for flavor. Not exactly an imitation of beer (and not really intended as such). Don’t think “beer” when you try it, just think “drink”; it turns out to be quite refreshing, because it’s not sweet like the ubiquitous Cola and Fanta imitations which make you thirsty again immediately due to their high sugar content.
Saturday 2004-06-12 - Aşgabat, Turkmenistan
Running through the museum
When we arrive at the hotel in Aşgabat I immediately see it’s the same (nice) Kopetdag hotel where we were two years ago — nearly at the end of the row of hotels on the ‘hotel street’ (all new hotels built along the same street!). That means we’ll have a good breakfast tomorrow! Shortly before four we’re all checked in, and I run off to the National Museum at the end of the street which I missed last time but closes at five — one hour will get me at least an impression this time.
Downstairs are various exhibits about the country’s history, independence from the Soviet Union and economics, as well as as small geological and natural history departments. At the latter I recognize my favorite Yellow Souslik (a kind of ground squirrel) of which I saw so many in the desert here last time. But the most curious exhibit on this floor must be the collection of editions of the “Holy Ruhnama” written by president Nyazov: one copy of every language it has been translated into. I don’t see a Dutch one…
Upstairs are the ethnological and archaeological departments. The archaeological department is interesting particularly because it matches up nicely with the archaeological exhibits in the Historical Museum in Tehrān, illustrating how several cultures lived all over this area. I was also pleased to see the objects found at excavations at the Old Nisa site, a city from Parthian times to the south of Aşgabat now being restored, where we paid a visit last time I was in Turkmenistan (2002). After having seen the walls there, it’s quite interesting to see here what was inside: an obviously very refined culture. Later I hear from Bava that the best of what was found at the site is now at the museum in Moscow and not likely to be given back. What they do have is still beautiful, such as the 18 intricately carved “rytons” (drinking horns), with finely sculpted mythical beasts such as gryphons at the end; also interesting are the furniture parts (probably legs of chairs or tables) made from horn: they look like they have been turned on a lathe. There’s also a lot of nice pottery and jewelry, as well as good plans and models of how the various sites must have looked originally.
The ethnological department has (apart from carpets, which I’m planning to admire at the Carpet Museum tomorrow) superb samples of weaponry and traditional costumes and jewelry from all five provinces of the country. Just the costumes would be worth an hour’s visit!
The evening is spent with a nice dinner of kebabs, salad and the excellent local Berk beer at the nice open-air Aysberg (“Iceberg”) restaurant which I’m amazed I’d completely forgotten but am pleased to find back.
Saturday 2004-06-19 - Tashkent, Uzbekistan
More catching up
I’m puzzled that the road to Tashkent looks unfamiliar — it takes a while before I realize I’ve never been here: both times before in Uzbekistan I’ve flown to and from Tashkent. Along the first stretch the landscape is pleasant to the eyes: rolling hills and low mountains with a wide plain in-between covered with fields where mainly grain is grown. Lots of small farms, with low walls up and down the hills all around their property. Later, we see a lot of beehives along the road where farmers are selling honey. When we get somewhat higher, we can see the Shardara reservoir in the distance before us but the road doesn’t pass along the lake; far to the right we see the snow-capped mountains of what must be Tajikistan, but apart from that the landscape isn’t as beautiful any more.
In Tashkent we’re staying at the Orzu hotel, a familiar place to me. After a nice dinner outside (I have a delicious “Lens soup” and a Kazakh beer) I walk 50 m, back down the road where there is what they call here an “Internet Club”, one of very many in this city. Their connection here is very fast (supposedly they have an ADSL contract with a Chinese provider). When I arrive at 8:15, it’s still very quiet but by 9 the place is packed with all machines in use, sometimes two to a machine. While game-playing costs 400 so’m per hour, Internet access is 800; after I explain I’ll be online only part of the time, the price becomes 600 per hour! After two hours of fast typing to update the travel blog I need to pay only 900 so’m though — and all of Turkmenistan is up-to-date now.
Back in the hotel I treat myself to a nice beer paid with my last so’ms: all that typing made me quite thirsty!
Saturday 2004-07-03 - Turpan, Xinjiang (China)
Pizza with chopsticks
There’s a popular theory that says that Marco Polo found pasta on his travels in Asia and introduced it in Italy. That’s quite possible since we’ve seen a wide variation of pasta all over Central Asia, both dried, in all kinds of shapes and even colors, as well as fresh hand-made noodles. But of course it’s equally possible the introduction of a new food went in the other direction or that pasta was simply invented in multiple locations. Today though, the theory gets an extension:
At John’s Cafe here in Turpan, one of the specials posted is something called “Kashgar pizza”; I have no idea what that is (and never seen it in Kashgar) but I’m curious, so I order it for lunch. What arrives is a nice surprise: food for the stomach as well as food for thought. Imagine a flat, round, local nan (bread, baked with some sesame seeds on top), neatly cut into pointed slices. On top a big mound of stir-fried vegetables: bean sprouts, spinach, onions, tomatoes, coarsely chopped garlic (a lot) and mushrooms (a little), all topped with a little melted cheese — and served with chopsticks. I have to think a little before tackling it, ending up eating some of the vegetables with the chopsticks, then a slice of bread, and so on; it turns out to be delicious.
But is this just a local interpretation of ‘pizza’ or is it maybe the other way round? Flat round bread, when covered with vegetables, looks just like a pizza bottom. Could Marco Polo also have found pizza in Central Asia and introduced it to Italy? Who knows, but it’s at least possible….
After my late (and big) lunch I end up eating only a fruit salad for dinner. Around eight we leave in the bus which will take us to Daheyan station again.
Friday 2004-07-09 - Beijing, China
The opera
This evening we go out with a small group to enjoy a bit of Chinese opera; it’s quite nearby at the Liyuang Theatre, performed by members of the Beijing Opera. Tickets were arranged beforehand and were just 60¥.
Remarkably it’s not just permitted to eat and drink in the performance hall: near the front are seats at tables where snacks are being served, and there are drinks, even draft beer — expensive at 25¥, but most of us take one anyway as an essential ingredient of the experience.
After some introductory music there appears a speaker who (in English) gives a short explanation of how the Chinese opera ‘works’: There is never a set, everything needs to be imagined. Much is symbolic: two horse-less riders on stage may actually depict two armies clashing. Everything contributes to tell the story: music, song, dance, acrobatics and juggling — and of course the costumes and make up of the actors. The 1.5-hour show that follows is exciting and delightful; there’s never a dull moment and no need to understand Chinese to follow the story line. Since photography is allowed, I try to take some pictures, but my film isn’t very fast so I’m not very hopeful.
To round off the evening we dine together at a small neighborhood restaurant, where I have delicious pork in garlic sauce.
Saturday 2004-07-10 - Beijing, China
Delicious bread and a knife
Carla and I make a slow start this morning and leave our Beijing hotel without breakfast; we’ll buy something on the way to the Tien’anmen Square, our goal for today.
It’s a pleasant walk, first across the big road over a pedestrian bridge and then through the lively hutongs of the old center in the direction of Qianmen Dajie (Tianmen Avenue), the wide and fashionable shopping street that leads straight to the square and the Forbidden City beyond that. In the hutongs I note — as I did on my solitary walk to the Xiannong temple complex yesterday — that many of the houses have little low buildings tacked onto them, sticking out into the street. It reminds me a bit of what is called a “pothuis” in Amsterdam, where such buildings are built onto a half-subterranean kitchens and used to store the pots and pans. Except there are no subterranean kitchens here, and they all have a low (padlocked) door set into them on the street side. I make a wild guess: imagine an old town without plumbing — perhaps they attach to a bathroom (instead of a kitchen) and house a barrel for human sewage, to be picked up and exchanged for an empty one using those little doors. I remember this was still the practice in some old towns in the Netherlands during the 1950s where there was no mains water. I never find out whether my guess is right, or they are something else entirely.
Soon we turn right in the direction of Qianmen Dajie we find a place where they sell the type of deep-fried round bread with spring onions or other spices that I’m so fond of. We each get one for just 5 ¥ - in a little plastic carrier bag: they’re piping hot, too hot to eat immediately. As we walk on, the old hutong shopping street metamorphoses into a modern shopping street, where we go shopping, bread bags in hand. Here we come across a shop specializing in kitchen knives (nothing but kitchen knives!) and I can’t resist: I’ve long been looking for one of those large Asian kitchen knives to chop vegetables with and they have dozens of models and sizes here. The lady who helps us (Carla buys two as presents to bring home) does not speak a word of English, but firmly and expertly explains to us with some gestures and mime what the different knives are for (I don’t want a meat chopper!) and what is good quality and why: she clearly wants us to leave the store with a purchase we’ll be happy with for many years. The knife I get is heavy (but not too heavy for my small hands) and at 146 ¥ costs a fraction of what a knife of similar quality would cost in the Netherlands. Happy with our purchases, we sit on a stoop in front of an empty shop across the street to eat our bread: still hot but by now at an edible temperature and quite delicious.
Sunday 2004-07-11 - Beijing, China
Packing
After a goodbye dinner last night at a Beijing ‘hotpot’ restaurant (our tour companion is staying behind to accompany another group) I started preparing to pack for the flight back. The nice but heavy knife I bought yesterday got me worried: I was sure my luggage is seriously overweight by now so I tried to do some triage: what to take, what to leave. But I can’t leave any of the heavy stuff, really: all books and papers, all my rolls of film in the lead-lined bags, my Chinese kitchen knife… It’s not easy.
So after some sorting I didn’t sleep too well, tossing and turning, waking up repeatedly, mentally unpacking, repacking, sorting, keeping, rejecting. I make a few decisions but I stay worried. When I get up I’m not rested — and nervous. When I actually start packing I manage to save a Kg or maybe two (some clothes, toiletries, flipflops); not enough.
Sunday 2005-09-18 - Beijing, China
Preparing for the Olympics
In spite of the two-hour delay leaving Frankfurt the plane arrives only 15 minutes late in Beijing where Marie Josee, our travel companion, is waiting for us. Great to see her again — I give her a big hug. We’re at the hotel at noon, in a familiar neighborhood: our Rainbow hotel is only one block south of the Dong Fang hotel where we stayed last year (it’s being renovated now). Both hotels are in an area with relatively untouched hutongs: the old neighborhoods of Beijing — once all of Beijing was like this. To us it has a “fifties” atmosphere.
After getting Yuans and a delicious lunch with Carla and Gwendoline at a familiar neighborhood restaurant, The Tian’anmen square is next on our program for the day. We walk there through the hutongs and the modern shopping street Qianmen Dajie. It’s fun because today is a holiday, and nearly everyone has the day off: lots of people walking around, shopping, and just enjoying themselves on the Moon festival.
When we arrive at the square, there’s a difference, however: Next to the square, on the facade of the museum, there’s a huge display counting down to the 2008 Olympics and on the square itself lots of people are at work building enormous displays with sports themes decorated with lots of potted flowers: no day off for these people. China is preparing for the Olympics at a furious pace. The Olympic village is already built and ready — in fact it’s been standing empty for so long already it’s beginning to look dilapidated and will need some sprucing up before the games begin. The Beijing skyline is a wood of building cranes. In lots of other cities renovation (read: destruction of old buildings to be replaced by new ones) is going on at breakneck speed. Hopefully some of the hutongs in Beijing will be spared.
In the evening we go with the whole group to a hutong restaurant (a loose collection of tables and stools out on the street, and different vendors selling different dishes); we have Muslim mutton kebabs (hot!) and garlic kebabs, and a variety of vegetables, accompanied with a nice beer. A delicious meal for next to nothing.
Monday 2005-09-19 - Bejing, China
Mask
On the way back from the Imperial Palace we decide to have lunch near Qianmen (south of Tian’anmen square), where Carla and I had lunch last year. I’m not hungry since I already had a bowl of noodles at the Forbidden City so I only have a beer while Carla and Gwendoline share a dish of sliced duck with onions (a kind of long, thin leek, actually).
From our table at the window we watch Beijing coming by.
I note a man coming from the underpass wearing a green surgical mask: not such a bad idea in Beijing with its polluted air, where the sky is rarely blue because of the smog. The sight of the mask reminds me of a comment from a Chinese I noted on an online forum that the TV news coverage of the SARS epidemic was rather biased: we were shown images of people walking around in masks, as if that was all because of the epidemic, while in reality it was already quite common. That brings to mind how the Chinese have had several campaigns to promote hygiene, for instance to discourage spitting in public: it used to be quite common just a few years ago but it’s rare now; no doubt the SARS epidemic helped bring that message home.
Having just arrived at this point in my musings about Chinese hygiene, I see the man unhooking the mask from his right ear, holding it aside, spitting a thick wad onto the pavement, and smoothly putting the mask back into place. It’s an exception. Really.
Thursday 2005-09-22 - Beijing, China
Recuperating
I promised Marie Josee I’d take it easy today, and I do: I need it. I sleep late. My toes still hurt and my sprained ankle is still a bit sensitive so I wonder about my plans for walking around Xi’an tomorrow. After breakfast in my room I check out and sit in the lobby of our Beijing hotel writing, and drinking endlessly refilled jasmine tea. Then lunch at the neighborhood restaurant (mutton with onion) and some pictures of street scenes. Opposite the hotel I taste, then buy, some unknown fruit which the fruit seller tells me is called hang zhao (I hope I got that right). They’re shaped like a date but taste a little like an apple — very nice.
Sunday 2005-09-25 - Linxia, China
Muslim country
We can’t stay on the nice new road; we turn off onto a secondary road which is narrower and a lot worse. We’ve left Lanzhou and urban China far behind us now. When we make a short photo stop for the landscape, our driver checks his tires and finds he has a flat inner tire. While he changes the tire (with the help of his wife) we have a photo opportunity with the children from a few farms nearby. We’re at N 35.63526, E 103.45063, at an elevation of 2300m already — we’ll get still higher today.
In Linxia we make a lunch stop at a small Muslim restaurant. We taste our first “Muslim tea” here: a mix of green tea leaves, various herbs and fruits and lots of big sugar crystals; it’s delicious and healthy! This is a specialty of this area of China. We also have a wonderful vegetarian noodle soup (with fresh hand-made noodles) and various vegetable dishes.
I hadn’t realized it before we left but this whole area of China is actually predominantly Muslim; Buddhism arrived here much later. Both groups live peacefully together though and mix easily, buying in each others’ shops, Buddhist monks even eating at Muslim restaurants (though not the other way round since the other restaurants are not halal). We see many mosques in a bewildering variety of architectural styles but all somehow a mix of Chinese and Arabic Islamic; a minaret may look like it does in the Middle East or it may look like a Chinese pagoda. The men mostly wear white skullcaps, sometimes beautifully embroidered; women wear a simple white hat, sometimes covered with a headdress of black velvet lace; a flap that normally goes below the face is sometimes flipped up over the head. In one town where we turn off again I see a sea of white-capped heads along the main street.
Along the roads now we see many brick works: they make bricks and roof tiles while smaller workshops make stone or cement decorations — the whole area seems to support the building industry, as is also suggested by some big billboards along the road. The road itself gets really bad now: they’re building a new road but for now it’s just kilometer after kilometer of construction area. We’re being thoroughly shaken: it’s a long and tiring trip this way.
Wednesday 2005-09-28 - Xunhua, China
A bit of Central Asia
On our long trip to Ta’ersi we stop in Xunhua for lunch in a Muslim restaurant. The lunch is a wonderful meal, with Muslim tea, and many different dishes with mutton and chicken, vegetable dishes, and very nice local bread. Our host (we later find out his English name is Andy) also brings some apples, and tells us they’re from the family’s own apple tree, freshly harvested. Every family has one or more fruit trees in their yard, he explains.
Then he tells us about Xunhua: there are about 10,000 inhabitants here, most of them Muslims of a Turkic people who still speak their own language called Tala. Alas, the language is set to disappear: while older people speak it fluently and every day, younger people are already speaking a mix of Tala and some Chinese, in a much simpler form. At school they learn Chines, at the Koran school some Arabic, but there is no written form of Tala.
There is a famous legend about the origin of Xunhua and the people that live here.
During the great trek of Turkic peoples across Asia, this people were coming through here looking for a place to settle. Two men went looking for a good place, with a camel and a Koran, praying to God for guidance. One evening, the camel disappeared; the walked around looking for it until it was dark but still couldn’t find it so they went to sleep. The next morning they went looking again and found the camel — turned into stone, with the Koran sitting on its back — near a spring; this they took as a sign of God that this was a good place to settle.
Of course, the spring still exists, and our host Andy (who speaks excellent English and is also an official tour guide) offers to take us to the Camel Spring. We have time enough,m so we take him up on his offer. The spring water, coming from the mouth of a stone camel head, is somewhat salty and supposed to have healing properties; behind that there’s an enclosure (Andy’s father comes along to unlock the gate for us) with a nice pond and trees and flowers all around. One special type of plant grows here, and nowhere else, Andy tells us. The other flowers were planted by the Chinese who wanted to make a tourist attraction out of this spot — successfully resisted so far by the local Muslims. At the other end of the pond sits a stone camel (the stone camel) but it is much smaller than life-size. There’s another legend about that: each year the camel seems to shrink a little.
Next, Andy takes us to the Camel Spring Mosque, the 2nd largest mosque of the province, which can hold 1,500 people. We’re not allowed into the mosque proper but can have a look into the wash room, where the same camel spring water flows through. Two groups of Muslims use the mosque together: Shiites and Sunnites — the Imam is Shiite — each group prays on their own side of the mosque though. Women are not allowed in the Mosque here, they pray at home. Across the street they’re building a new much larger mosque which will hold 2,000 people.
Andy also tells us that most families here, traditionally very big, now have an average of four children — simply ignoring government regulations. Families used to be a lot larger than that: in his parents’ generation families had nine to twelve children.
Thursday 2005-09-29 - Ta’ersi, China
A special breakfast
Last night when we arrived in Ta’ersi, tired from the long bus ride, the Jin Zhu hotel could not provide dinner for us and the little Muslim restaurant across the street was closed. We found two small Muslim restaurants, each too small to hold the whole group, along the road to the monastery, where we had dinner. This morning the girl at the reception offers to open up the restaurant for us — a little futile since there’s no kitchen personnel. We try last night’s restaurants again, but one is still closed and the other is just opening up but doesn’t have eggs or bread. Finally, we find a little place next to our hotel: it’s open but doesn’t have much in the way of ingredients (nor a menu); the owner is very friendly though.
Marie Josee takes the initiative: first we need tea and coffee: together with the owner she goes to a shop across the street to buy a pot of Nescafe (at 58Ұ very expensive here) and a few bags of tea, which she pays for: the owner has no more than 10Ұ in his pocket. Next they go to another shop to get eggs and tomatoes. A third shop finally provides bread and sugar. Now there are enough ingredients for a breakfast for Westerners! Next Marie Josee needs to show him to mix in the tomatoes with the eggs. The result is a great breakfast, and a smiling restaurant owner who seems to think it all rather fun. In the end, we only pay a pittance for the ingredients the owner provided himself.
The breakfast is extra-fun because one of our group has her birthday today: we sing to her, and she gets some presents from the group and also a bottle of rice wine from the hotel management.
Friday 2005-09-30 - Xining, China
Shopping day: return the true flavour
Our stay in Xining is mostly a shopping day: tonight we will leave for our long overland trip to Lhasa, getting on the night train tonight and then continuing by sleeper bus tomorrow on the first of October: the national holiday in China. This implies that all banks will be closed for a week so we’ll need to make sure we have enough money for at least a week; we’ll also need to stock up on food for on the bus — there will be no occasion to properly eat during the long ride.
After going to the bank (five stops with bus no. 2 from the small branch of the Bank of China we found first but which does not handle any foreign currency) I go to the food market we passed last night when we arrived, just a block from our hotel. It’s a nice market and I first spend some time walking around and taking some pictures. On a small cart I notice some roots, one cut through to display the interior with red veins; I immediately recognize the “radish” that was used to decorate our lunch in Ta’ersi yesterday. That will be nice to nibble on on the bus but I have a little problem to make clear I only want a small one, not the largest, nicest one they want me to have; it costs all of 0.6Ұ! Back at the beginning of the market I buy some fruit, finding that buying just two bananas isn’t all that simple either…
Across the street from the hotel is a large supermarket where I stock up on other munchies, such as my favorite Chinese travel snack: jelly pudding with fruit. I also find crackers with spring onions (sounds nice) and whole-wheat biscuits, one kind with vegetables mixed in; both are from a brand that apparently specializes in “health food”.
The biscuits provide another nice example not only of “Chenglish” but also of modern Chinese culture: having English text (or just Latin characters) on packaging (and clothing for that matter) is not just for tourists but simply very fashionable. The actual text on my purchases also exemplifies the Chinese marketing style.
My crackers with spring onions are described as “DALIYUAN FRAGRA-ONION SODA BISCUITS” and recommended with:
GOOD TASTE FOR LARGE MASSES SERIES HIGH FOODSTUFF DELICACIES LOVED BY ALL CHOICENESS RAW
THEY ARE IDEAL FOR YOUR RELAXATION, BREAKFAST AND TO TAKE WITH YOU ON YOUR DAY OUT
The “HIGH FIBER LOW SUGAR VEGETABLE BISCUITS” sound even better:
WE LIKE THE NEW TASTE.WE NEED THE QUALITY AND WE
NEED THE BEST FOOD.HERE YOU WILL FIND WHAT YOU WANT.COOL FASHION
NEED COOL TASTE.YOU ARE THE NEW MAN.HOW DELICIOUS CAN
NOT FORGET,SPECIAL TASTE,RETURN THE TRUE FLAVOUR.
Now how do I return that flavour? By email?
Saturday 2005-10-01 - Yan Shi Pin, Tibet (China)
Lunch break in the midst of poverty
We make a stop in a village along the Qinghai-Tibet Highway to allow our two drivers to eat lunch. The tiny restaurant is not really for tourists but the drivers invite some of us to share their Chinese hot pot (“don’t take meat, only the vegetables,” Marie Josee warns).
Together with Willemien I walk around a bit: some small buildings on both sides of the road — that’s all. The mostly Muslim inhabitants of this small village are very poor but amid the dirt (apart from the road there is no pavement at all) they’re still doing their best to keep things clean; we watch a woman sweeping her yard — she doesn’t even have glass in her windows, only a sheet of not-so-clear plastic with holes in it. Yet it must be bitterly cold here in winter: it’s very high at an elevation of 4558m (according to my GPS), located at N 33.58876, E 092.06429. One of our bus drivers writes down the name of the village for me: Yan Shi Pin.
Apart from the tiny restaurant, a beer house, two small shops and what must be a garage, it’s not clear what the inhabitants of this bleak village live on. At least there is a small clinic. What is noticeable is the power station though: a combination of some small windmills and a group of solar panels.
Tuesday 2006-09-05 - P’yŏngyang, Democratic People’s Republic of Korea
Cucumber salad
On the Air Koryo plane to P’yŏngyang, a small Iljushin (IL 62) with a definite 50’s atmosphere and open overhead luggage racks, we immediately get our usual “homework”: a Health Declaration Card, Customs Declaration, and an Entry/Exit card {“FILL IN CLEARLY IN ROME ALPHABET”). The field “name of delegation” is a little puzzling (we opt for “CNK”, our travel company’s code for this trip) and just leave the field “invited by” blank.
Lunch is nice, with chicken (or beef) in a slightly spicy sauce with sticky white rice, and a delicious side dish of cucumber salad with little strips of fish and sesame seeds sprinkled over it all. I’m immediately addicted to this Korean dish which as it turns out we’ll have many times during out stay in the DPRK.
Wednesday 2006-09-06 - Namp’o, Democratic People’s Republic of Korea
Three sets of slippers
Unfortunately, we don’t stop in Namp'o city on the way to our Ryonggang Hot Spring Hotel. First, we're on an enormous 10-lane highway (with very little traffic, and we note it's easily wide and straight enough to serve as a landing strip fro a large plane -- only half joking) but soon we turn off and drive through the countryside. Most of the landscape is very flat but with rather "pointy" hills sticking up from the flat base. The main crops I note are rice and maize. I ask Mr. Pak but unfortunately we can't stop for a picture of this typical landscape.
With all the rice paddies, there are obviously a lot of wetlands here, and when we arrive at the hotel grounds, large flights of Great white herons fly over.
The hotel is actually a kind of resort, with a central “recreation center” that also houses the reception and a dinner hall, and a number of houses scattered over the nicely landscaped grounds. When we (my room mate Thekla and I) arrive at “our” house, a lady welcomes us and shows us the ropes: downstairs, just inside the door, you take off your shoes and don a pair of slippers to walk over the marble floors and stairways. Our room is upstairs, and inside the door we find a set of regular discardable “hotel slippers” for walking about in the room (leaving the first set of slippers at the door); just inside the bathroom door is a third pair of slippers for each of us (one blue, one pink), and we’re to wear these plastic slippers inside the bathroom. It all sort of makes sense, but it’s a little elaborate…
The lady immediately opens the lower tap above the enormous blue-tiled bathtub, out of which comes hot, salty spring water, supposed to have healing qualities. Thekla and I opt for the most practical solution: we share the bath (easy since there are two seats sculpted in the bath tub).
Dinner is in the big, brightly-lit dinner room in the recreation center, where we are served by ladies in traditional costume; apart from the big slices of white bread (which I don’t touch), the foods is Korean — and delicious.
Thursday 2006-09-07 - P’yŏngyang, Democratic People’s Republic of Korea
Cucumber salad (2)
We eat out again this evening, and although I eat only a little (I already ate a lot at lunch!) I absolutely can’t resist the cucumber salad — so much so I eat the left over on my neighbor’s table as well.
Meanwhile we discuss the possible recipe for this Korean dish I’m now firmly addicted to. There’s always a little variation, but we work it out more or less as follows:
- thin strips of cucumber, about 6cm long and 1-2 wide
- optionally, a few slivers of lean chicken meat or fish
- a light dressing, slightly sour, which I’m guessing is made of something very like Vietnamese fish sauce with a little vinegar (I’m going to try Thai fish sauce with lime juice)
- very thin slivers (1mm) of hot red pepper to taste
- extremely finely chopped mild garlic (or onion)
- sesame seeds sprinkled over it all
Enjoy!
Friday 2006-09-08 - P’yŏngyang, Democratic People’s Republic of Korea
My first good breakfast
OK, so I’m weird (a little): I never eat a “continental” breakfast in hotels, or whatever the local interpretation of that is. And I never eat white bread. Most of our group actually enjoy the thick slices of lightly toast bread, jam, butter, and omelet. It’s just not for me: mostly I make do with just the egg, and the occasional (very good) kefir.
So this morning at breakfast at the Yanggakdo hotel in P’yŏngyang in the downstairs restaurant (no view from the roof any more) I’m pleasantly surprised: there’s a breakfast buffet with a wealth of both western and Korean dishes! I dish up a lot of (mostly spicy) vegetables, add a few pieces of apple, and take a glass of kefir and as a result I have my first really nice (not to say delicious) breakfast since our arrival in the DPRK. I can get used to this!
Saturday 2007-04-07 - Hawra’, Yemen
A tasteless tourist lunch
Even now after we’ve turned off, we see range of mountains on our left. One has patterns that look like eyes: it’s like a big face in the mountain watching us. Farther on, on our right, a sandy hill is capped with a stone formation that has been eroded in the form of a sphinx. A little later we arrive at a T-junction at Hawra’; the road sign tells us that from here it’s 66km (left) to Sey’un, and 239km (right) to Al Mukalla. It’s an important junction, and there’s just one restaurant where of course it’s busy: we’re out of luck, downstairs, where the locals eat, it’s full, so we have to go to the room upstairs (where the tourists eat, and which we’d have preferred to avoid). The food isn’t bad, but seems to be “adapted” to tourists, too: all spices seem to have been left out and especially the vegetable stew tastes quite bland. That’s made up for by a side dish new to us: yogurt, with some spicy tomato sauce on top; I find it delicious and eat quite a lot of that.
Saturday 2007-04-07 - Sey’un, Yemen
French fries for dinner
The road to Sey’un now curves around the mountains on our right, and we’re in a different valley of the Wadi Hadramawt area. It’s the main valley of the Wadi Hadramawt river, a very wide and flat area here, flanked on both sides with table mountains formed by water draining into the valley — a fertile area in the middle of the desert. Along the way, we make a short photo stop to take pictures of old Shibam — from a distance; tomorrow we’ll return to visit the town.
The Al Ahqaf hotel in Sey’un is nice and comfortable, and within walking distance of the city center. After writing a bit, I find out that through some miscommunication I’ll have to go out for dinner alone: the others have either already gone out, or don’t want to have dinner at all. I head into town, and on the way meet some of the others just coming back; they give me some tips for where to find something to eat. French fries sounds good to me, and sure enough at the market place I find a man with a little stall selling french fries (called “chips” here, clearly inherited from the British occupation), and little samosas. A customer next to me translates when I ask what’s in the samosas: onions (pointing at them) — that sounds good to me and I order fries (the last!) and three samosas. A piece of newspaper at the bottom of a little plastic bag to soak up the fat, that’s how my food is packed, some salt put on it before it’s handed over to me. I walk quickly back to the hotel (it’s only 10 minutes or so), buy an alcohol-free beer in the lobby, and head up to my room, where I use the metal tray for the glasses as a make-shift plate. The food is still warm, and the samosas turn out to contain not onions but potatoes, but they’re very tasty.
Sunday 2007-04-08 - Sey’un, Yemen
The Sultan’s Palace
In the center of Sey’un, the old palace of Sultan Mansur bin Ghalib rises high above all buildings in the town, its whitewashed walls glittering in the sun. The enormous building, dating from 1873, is now museum, and a visit is well worth the 500 YR entrance fee. Stone steps lead halfway up the hill on which the palace is built, the imposing gate followed by more steps leading to an inclining courtyard. The building, already interesting in itself, houses several different exhibitions.
The first big room is for the archeology department, with many different artifacts from the Wadi Hadramawt area. I’m always interested in scripts, and here I find several pieces of stone with inscriptions in an early local Yemeni script especially interesting. (We also saw samples of that at the Almaqah temple of Bar’en near old Marib.) Then there is an ethnological department, where a bust decked out in bride’s clothes and jewelry (a including a silver “crown”), and a baby cot very like those used all over Central Asia (with a hole in the bottom to lead away the urine) drew my attention.
Farther up, two photo exhibitions are not to be missed. In the 1930s the Englishwoman Freya Stark made two trips (alone) through the Wadi Hadramawt area; unfortunately she had her travels cut short by sickness and had to be evacuated, but during both her trips she took many photographs, which later were donated to this museum. An interesting collection is on show here now — a unique document of life in the Hadramawt in that period, especially since she as a woman was also able to photograph other women.
Also in the 1930 the Dutchman Daniel van der Meulen, employed by the Dutch government, made many trips through the Hadramawt. He was looking to get to know the origin of many immigrants to the Dutch East Indies who came from this area, and came to wealth there. Together with the German Von Wissman, who surveyed the area and made the first usable map of Wadi Hadramawt, he made many trips which he documented with countless excellent photographs. Sadly, many of the prints exhibited in the museum are badly fixed and yellowing and fading, here and there clumsily “restored” by sticking a partial new print over the old one. This department of the museum badly needs a good curator who knows how to preserve photographic materials, or it all may be irretrievably lost.
A fourth department we visit is the customs museum with many coins, documents, etc. Finally, we go up to the roof on the 6th floor for a spectacular view of the city center and a wide area around it.
We round off the morning with a bottle of local lemonade from freshly pressed limes, sugar to taste (only a little for me): a very refreshing drink — though not everyone appreciates the sour taste like I do!
Sunday 2007-04-08 - Sey’un, Yemen
Tea at the neighbor’s
In the evening we go into town with a small group in search of dinner. Just before the Sey’un market square we find a small restaurant; it looks clean, several people sit and eat there, so we decide to try it. The friendly black-bearded owner requests two customers to move to another table (which they do willingly and with a smile), so we can all sit together. He has a problem though: he doesn’t speak a word of English, and our Arabic isn’t up to scratch yet.
Presently, a young man appears, and offers to help us order our food. His English is excellent and he explains he isn’t an employee here but the owner of the restaurant next door (apparently he owner had gone to fetch help!). We ask for several dishes; some are not available — he does have them in his own restaurant, he says, but since we have already chosen to sit here… We can’t honestly say that next time we’ll go to him: we’re leaving tomorrow, but he has a brilliant idea: Maybe, he suggests, we can come for tea at his restaurant after our meal. We have a delicious dinner with rice, chicken, bread, vegetable stew, and extra (free) side dishes appear with chopped red onions, a spicy tomato sauce, and a plate with green peppers (spicy, but not terribly hot). We simply drink mineral water with it.
The owner asks us where we come from, and beams. The whole meal costs us less than 350 YR per person with change to spare (no tip accepted).
Then we go to the neighbor’s restaurant for tea. Henk asks, carefully, if maybe he has some sweets with it? No, the owner says, but he can get some for us, no problem. He disappears and presently returns with three plastic bags, and starts to unload them onto plates. First, a plate with four (big) croissants. Next, a plate with a pile of small cakes. The third bag contains something like egg cakes, but we convince him this is already more than enough. No problem, he says, we’ll only pay for what we eat. All of us eat from the little cakes, so fresh they’re still warm, with a crispy crust on the outside, soft on the inside — they’re delicious. I’m not a cake person, but even I have one of them, they’re so good! And all of this can still be paid from the change we got back from our dinner.
Tuesday 2007-04-10 - Al Khuraybah, Yemen
Omelet a la Khuraybah
Our host in the Al Khuraybah funduq serves us a nice dinner. For those of us who didn’t want chicken (including me), Marie Josee ordered an omelet. When our host serves me, he puts the plate down in front of me and says “Omelet!”. On my plate, next to the rice and vegetable stew, I find two hard-boiled eggs.
Wednesday 2007-04-11 - Al Mukalla, Yemen
Fresh fish for lunch
Having arrived on the main road along the south coast, suddenly we’re in a different world again; it’s a wide road with street lights, a strip of greenery, later even grass (obviously daily watered), in the middle: it’s clear we’re nearing a major city again.
Al Mukalla’s fish market is (logically) near the coast, in the new city; between it and the sea is a popular restaurant with a view of the sea. We’re going to have fresh fish for lunch here — as fresh as possible, but the procedure is new to me: first you go to the fish market, and select and buy your own fish, which is chopped or filleted to order; it’s packed in a little plastic bag (the ubiquitous plastic bag), and take it to the restaurant where they prepare it for you, and it’s served with bread or rice, drinks, or whatever you order. You can eat your fish with a nice view of the sea, seagulls, and camels roaming a little sandy land tongue, a surprising combination. My fish — I have no idea what it is, I selected it on sight because it looked interesting: beautiful slate gray with sines on its belly, and yellow eyes — turns out to be delicious, nicely prepared with some spices and served with a delicately seasoned sauce.
Thursday 2007-04-12 - Al Mukalla, Yemen
No breakfast
When I get back to the hotel, Hussein is sitting on the stoop outside, next to Mohamed. We’re going to have Yemeni breakfast today, Hussein tells me: with beans. Looking forward to that (I’m fond of all kinds of beans), I go up to my room to pack and write a little.
When I get downstairs with my luggage at 10, it turns out that everyone missed breakfast: Hussein had arranged it all but forgotten to tell us breakfast would be at 8… Good thing I had a big glass of mango juice this morning in the new town.
When we leave, we’re also acquiring a policeman, riding in one of the cars: he’ll be escorting us to Bir Alī.
Sunday 2009-05-17 - Tehrān, Iran
Chicken, chicken and chicken.
Chicken shoarma for lunch
When we arrive at the North-West corner of the bazaar, we note the subway entrance (and I recognize the corner from a picture I saw om Google Earth) — so we immediately know how to get back. Finding the entrance of the bazaar is another matter though: what looked like an entrance to me turns out to be a short alley leading to a small courtyard, and nothing else. But someone asks if we’re from the Netherlands (yes), and leads us to where the “real” bazaar starts — all the while talking Dutch: it turns out he’s actually from Leiden, and half-Iranian: he’s here now (he says) because his mother’s father died. Of course, once we’re at the entrance, he pulls out a business card, and offers to take us to his relative’s carpet store. We thank him politely, and go our own way.
We need two things: lunch, and new shoes for Uke who has hurt her feet. Although we were told there are very few places in the bazaar where you can get anything to eat or drink, we almost immediately find a small place where someone is making sandwiches from roasted lamb or chicken with vegetables: just the thing we need. Ordering is another matter, since Mr. Meat Roaster keeps pointing inside. Finally we understand how the system works (you go inside to order and pay, get a ticket, and deliver that to the meat roaster outside who will then make your sandwich) but by that time we’ve convinced him we will pay and he is making our sandwiches and pointing us inside again to pay. Our chicken-and-veggie sandwiches, accompanied by a bottle of water, are absolutely delicious — and big: I can’t even finish mine!
Buying shoes
Then we dive into the bazaar proper. This is not a bazaar to visit for the beautiful old architecture, but that’s not what we’re looking for: it’s the hustle and bustle of trade going on, the variety of goods crammed into small stores, and above all the people themselves. (The rich, in fact most Tehranis, are not shopping here, we’ve been told, it’s mostly poorer people; but we see also traders who sell and buy wholesale here: thus the idea that only poor people come here was a bit misleading.) We roam around for a while, jumping out of the way of porters with their carts (there seems to be a universal rule in bazaars that they have right of way), see clothes, household goods, carpets (of course), but somehow we manage to miss the shoes in spite of being given directions. Finally we find a “real” shoe store outside, near where we came in, and Uke gets her new comfy shoes (for the incredible amount of seven euros).
Navigating the subway system
Then it’s time to head back and figure out the subway system — we’ve reserved ample time for that, since Noyan (seemingly somewhat nervous about us heading out on our own in Tehrān) had told us it can be really, really crowded and slow during rush hour. But around four rush hour apparently hasn’t really started yet, and the subway turns out to be very easy to navigate. I love trying out subway systems, and design and layout of signage is one of the things I always look at — it’s really excellent here, and of course it helps that all names are written in both Arabic and Latin characters. First we study the maps to find out where we are and where we need to go: real easy, it’s just 4 stations further along the same “red” no. 1 line. There are ticket vending machines which Uke heads for; they’re obviously operating on ATM cards, but I’m doubtful that will work with any of our cards; there’s a real human-operated ticket office on the other side. For us, part of the fun is figuring it all out, but when we’re heading for the ticket window, a woman approaches us and offers to help — we politely thank her and say we’re doing just fine, and having fun! I go to the ticket window, and get three tickets for 15,000 Rials each, a little over 1 euro. A little later Uke has lost sight of Carla and me; a woman notices her looking around, takes her by the hand, and leads her to us: “your friends are here!” The genuine hospitality and helpfulness in Iran is well-known, but here in the big city it still takes us by surprise.
“He’s crazy!”
The first train that arrives is really, really full and we let it go, walking to the end of the platform: maybe it’s somewhat less crowded when you get on at the end of a train there? We take the next train, and some people actually get up so we can sit, Carla on one side, Uke and I on the other, facing each other in the back of the car. One man standing near Carla starts talking and talking to her, apparently saying not nice things. Uke and I try to follow what’s happening on the other side, but there are people standing in-between. (Carla later tells us the man sitting next to her actually apologized for him and said he’s really sorry for her.) The man standing in front of me gently taps my arm and then points at his temple: “He’s crazy”, he says. Everyone around seems to agree, and when the man sitting next to me gets off, they all point Carla to the free seat: obviously not just so she can sit next to us, but to get rid of the nutter they are now shielding us from. Meanwhile we carefully count stations, and get off the train in time.
Chicken for dinner
We’re back at the hotel early, so we sit in the lounge, and order a big pot of tea. I can catch up a bit with my writing. A little before 6:30 Noyan appears, is happy to see us, and disappears again. After a while we get anxious, because the bus is standing near the hotel (driver sleeping inside), but none of the group are anywhere to be seen and neither is Noyan. Finally we head to the hotel reception to ask if maybe he has called to leave a message. No. The receptionist offers to try a find a phone numb er for him, goes through a stack of paper slips, and writes a number on a piece of paper. I try to explain need a country number to call anything from my phone; not sure he understands, but he lets me call on the reception phone. I get a busy tone. We go out again. We’re relieved a little later to see Noyan arrive, the group behind him. Turns out they went to have a meal, since they skipped lunch. When I show Noyan the slip of paper, he tells me the number isn’t his…
At the airport, I ask Noyan if we’re going to get a meal on the plane. Just a snack, he says. So the three of us set out to organize something to eat: we didn’t skip lunch but need something for dinner instead! At what looks like a restaurant, we ask for sandwiches; the man behind the counter points to a row of fridges with glass doors. There are indeed several not too attractive-looking sandwiches and a few other dishes in a fridge, the glass door closed with a padlock. The cashier lets us point out what we want to have (this is just a show window) and orders it for us - Uke and me both choose a dish that turns out to be “chicken and fries”. We’re promised it will be hot. Well, when it arrives it is far from that, but it’s served with two buns, and the cashier also brings us plastic cutlery, salt and pepper, and ketchup; it turns out to be quite tasty (though we don’t try the bread) and plenty to fill our stomachs.
Snack on the plane
Soon after take off they bring around our snacks: a packet of fruit juice, and a burger, served with ketchup. The “burger”, sitting on a bed of still-crisp salad inside the bun, turns out to be a thick slice of cold chicken.
Monday 2009-05-18 - Ahvāz, Iran
In the garden
Back in Ahvāz we shop together at a small grocery and a greengrocer for the picnic lunch planned for tomorrow. Carla, Uke and I also buy some (alcohol-free) beer and some snacks. There’s a nice gazebo in the middle of the garden in the hotel courtyard; we take our snacks and drinks there and sit in a pleasant temperature (the little pavilion is even air-conditioned!) to drink beer, nibble crisps and apricots and listen to classical Persian music coming from the stereo speakers of my new phone. Carla and Uke chat (I put in a word or two), while I type, trying to catch up: there’s hardly been any breathing space to write my stories so far (and it will continue like that for a while!), so we cherish these precious moments. When it gets dark, the light comes on in our little gazebo, and it’s like we sit on a little island.
Thursday 2009-05-21 - Mashhad, Iran
Barley soup and lamb stew
For lunch we have some nice local dishes. I start with one of my favorite Iranian dishes, a barley soup made with barley (obviously), tomato, carrot, onion, a little meat (probably lamb), herbs and probably some lemon (it´s slightly sour): it´s as delicious as I remember it. For the main course we all have a dish called ghorme sabzi, a stew with lamb and various vegetables (I recognize at least parsley and cilantro). With it, an Iranian alcohol-free beer (called sade).
Meet-up with the Mashhad Linux Users Group
Several weeks before this trip, I ¨met¨ a young Iranian, Mehrdad, on identica, a microblogging community. That was pure coincidence: I noticed him mentioning he lived in Mashhad and couldn´t help myself and told him I´d be in Mashhad in a few weeks. The answer was ¨wow!¨ and a suggestion it might be nice to meet. Thus an idea was born.
Gradually I found other contacts in Iran via identica, either involved in development of Free Open Source Software (FOSS), or users and evangelists of FOSS. Five of them were also members of the Mashhad Linux Users Group (Linux is an operating system, like Windows, except it´s Open Source). Since I´m involved in FOSS myself, I thought it would be nice to meet with Iranian FOSS people. In the end, it turned out too complicated to set up a meeting in every city we would visit (and our program was way too busy fro that), but Mehrdad kindly organized a meet-up in Mashhad, where according to our itinerary we would have a full day. I left the meeting time to Mehrdad; we were to meet at 19:00 which was perfect for me, since I could do almost the whole day program that way.
And so, a few minutes before seven, I sit in the lobby of our Pardis hotel; just a few minutes after, three young men walk in — I recognize Mehrdad immediately from his identica avatar: a photo of himself. Being already used to Iranian customs with respect to shaking hands (especially after our experience in Yazd), I don´t initiate any handshakes, and only one of the young men shakes my hand in greeting. The three came together because they live in another part of the city; Mohammad lives in the same neighborhood as the hotel and arrives a little later on his own. When we´re complete, Majid suddenly asks me what my age is — 59, I say, and counter that now they´ll all have to tell me their ages as well, which gives me a chance to write down their ages and names: Majid, 23; Mohammad, 24; Mehrdad, 23 and Morteza, the youngest at 22. Three of them are still studying, Majid has just graduated and will have to go into military service (for 18 months) soon; Mohammad also has a job — he´s a bit down today since he failed a very hard exam this morning.
After a little chatting about my trip, we get to ¨business¨ and I explain what I´m really interested in hearing about: how they manage here in Iran to download, contribute to and use FOSS, limited by filtering of some sites by the Iranian government on the one hand, and US export regulations on the other. That story is told elsewhere, on my development blog. They also gently grill me about my involvement in FOSS, and usage of Linux (so far mainly for websites).
When the subject is more or less exhausted, Mohammad proposes we go somewhere else to have drinks. We walk a little down the street to where he can easily flag down a taxi (he knows the neighborhood, and thus knows where to get a taxi); ¨I hope you´ll get me back to my hotel¨, I say — just joking because I´m absolutely sure the polite Iranians would not even think of not doing that. Then a car stops, and we all pile in: three of us in the back, two on the passenger seat in front. The car door on my side doesn´t have any lining, it´s practically falling apart, and the whole car is very rickety, seemingly held together with bits of wire. Nevertheless it quickly and safely takes us to another neighborhood where we get off at a corner and walk again a little down the street. I´m really enjoying this part, since we´ve only been transported by bus through the city so far — I don´t feel I´ve really ¨been¨ in a city unless I´ve walked along its streets.
They´re taking me to a juice bar. Little stores where you can buy a big glass of freshly squeezed juice are quite common in Iran, just like elsewhere in the Middle East. But this place is different, an upmarket version of these little juice shops: it´s bright and shiny, roomy, with tables and chairs to sit on, a menu with subtitles in English on each table. The choice is enormous, juices, smoothies and other fruit-based products (¨no sugar added¨) and ingredients are quite varied, too. The menu even has an email address for information, but curiously no website address (I later find they do have one though there isn’t much information there). I opt for a wheat-grass-and-banana smoothie, which turns out to be delicious. Two of the boys now send an update to identica from their mobile phones, to let others know that we´re sitting here. Over drinks we chat on about the software situation in Iran — as it turns out, quite similar to that in China with its ¨Great Firewall¨, where knowledgeable people can easily get around the blocks, and copyright still means almost nothing: for instance, you can get a copy of Windows for about one dollar here.
Drinks finished, I try to buy the round for them, but that is resolutely refused: I´m their guest, period. Then the taxi ritual is performed again, and this time a much better car takes us back to my hotel: they tell me the quality of the taxis is dependent on the neighborhood where they cruise around. Back at the hotel, I say I´d like a picture of all of us together, which poses a little problem: the two people behind the reception desk are occupied, and no one else is in view in the hall. Magically, just in time, our guide Noyan appears from the elevator: I introduce them to each other, and he willingly takes our picture: I leave the arrangement to my hosts, which turns out just a little formal. When they take their leave, I´m somewhat surprised to get three handshakes.
All in all — and impressed yet again by the hospitality of the Iranians — I enjoyed our meet-up very much, and I think the story about Open Source Software development in Iran is a story worth telling, because, indeed, Freedom matters!
Kashke Bademjan
Just back from fruity drinks with the Iranian guys (and not feeling particularly hungry after that), I find I´m just in time to join the group for dinner. Noyan knows nice restaurant nearby, within walking distance of the Pardis hotel, and so I get another chance to walk and ¨feel¨ the city a little. The restaurant is in a busy pedestrians-only street with lots of shops, and it´s quite lively with all shops still open and many people strolling around.
Inside, the decor is fully traditional; sometimes there is live music here, but unfortunately not this time. Some traditional instruments are standing around and Noyan tells us a little about them. Hibiscus tea is served, and there are sweets on the table: this is ¨service¨ for which they charge 30,000 rials. The main dish we pick (about 70,000) is called kashke bademjan. It´s made from roasted, peeled eggplant, pureed with various spices; this is served with a yogurt-cucumber salad, a tomato-onion-cucumber slad, some sliced raw onion and bread. I drink a doogh with it. A really delicious meal!
