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Thursday 2004-05-20 - Diyarbakır, Turkey
A Kurdish evening out
Our tour companion met a Kurdish man in Diyarbakır today; he knows about a cafe where there will be live Kurdish music this evening. We all gather to go there after dinner. It turns out to be a very nice and also interesting evening. The cafe is in a cellar - and quite open; only three years ago, Kurds here could not publicly play their music here, and had to meet in secret. At least the situation of the Kurds has improved somewhat now.
The singer of the band seems to be quite well known locally, and the cafe fills up: middle-aged and young people, but also whole families with children. The music is a mix of modern songs and traditional music, and whenever a traditional is played, a group of students next to us start dancing. We chat a little with them: the boys have learned the Kurdish dances since they were boys, the girls only last year. With other well-known songs they sing along. During a break a small boy comes to the stage and is allowed to sing a song. It’s obvious the Kurds cherish their own culture and keep it alive through meetings like this. The students are poor; they only share a bottle of water (they pay their share for the band, too) and can afford to do this only once a month.
We end up dancing with them, much to the amusement of the other customers, since the steps of their dances aren’t all that easy to learn. When the show is over at eleven, we get some group pictures taken, both with the dancing students and with the band, and finally are offered a drink by the cafe management. All in all a wonderful evening with an interesting little peek into Kurdish culture.
Saturday 2004-05-22 - Van, Turkey
White cats? Yes, they’re real!
Next to the jetty from where the ferry boats left for Akdamar Island this morning, there was a little shop where we noted a whole collection of postcards featuring white cats. Seemingly these white cats are typical for this area; they’re completely white and all seem to have two differently-colored eyes! They’re also known for actually liking water and swimming.
Seeing these postcards, I suddenly remembered a statue we passed on our way into Van yesterday: big white cat, with a kitten, both with one yellow and one blue eye. Surely if a city puts up a statue like that - in the way many cities do, highlighting something special for the city or the area - these white cats must be important here. But actually all of us have a little trouble believing there really are cats like this here, with two different eyes - none of us have seen a real, live one here!
Update! By now I know why: these cats are so special that not only the University in Van has a special program for research (and breeding them), they’re also quite valuable. That’s why you’re unlikely to see them roam about in the streets in Van - or anywhere else for that matter.
Imagine my surprise when shortly after my return from this trip, just around the corner I practically stumbled over a white cat with two different eyes. Surely a “White Van”. I managed to make a picture with my camera phone, and found out his name is Johan (though he listens to the name “Fluffy”). But now, having met Johan here in Amsterdam, I really regret not having a picture of at least that nice statue in Van - we never stopped near it, and were far too busy for me to go back to take a picture. When I ever come back to Van, I’ll surely take some time to make one. Meanwhile, thanks to bpelvan and his friend Dr. Burhan Oral Güdü in Van whom he asked to take a picture of the statue, I can now at least point you to a splendid picture online of the Van White cat statue!
Monday 2004-05-24 - Tabriz, Iran
The ladies are having fun!
We’re getting our first culture shock tonight. Since the hotel is some way outside the center of Tabriz, all twelve of us take the city bus into town to find dinner there: the bus stop is right in front of the hotel. When I tell our guide Showān that we’re going into town by bus, he’s really shocked: We can’t just do that, we might get lost, and he’s responsible for us! Well, I explain, we can just do that, we do it all the time; and we’re responsible for ourselves. When we leave, he can’t stop us, of course — but he looks decidedly unhappy.
We find that in the city buses men and women are strictly separated: women ride in the back. (There’s no such separation on long-distance busses, by the way.) The result is surprisingly positive for us ladies: we immediately have contact, many especially younger women speak some English and start chatting with us, all the while translating for the older ones. The atmosphere is a cozy one of women among each other. Also watching women in other city buses, we observe the same, we’re not just lucky in our bus: they’re chatting and laughing together — in the men’s section there’s no such atmosphere. It’s fun to ride in the back of the bus!
Sunday 2004-05-30 - Qom, Iran
Shrine of Fatima
Through a beautiful landscape of rounded mountains with wide, fertile plains and valleys in-between and snow-capped mountains far to the south, we ride to Qom, a holy city for Shi’ite Muslims. Surprisingly, there are very few trees in this fertile area; the ones we see are clearly planted: some poplars (construction wood), and orchards with nuts and fruit trees. After we pass Arāk the landscape changes and becomes less fertile but now there are more trees — strange.
In Qom we stop to visit the Hazrat-e Masumeh complex: a very large complex around the holy shrine of Fatima (Fatima al-Masumeh, sister of Emām Reza (789-816AD), who died and was buried here in 816 AD. The first buildings date back to the Safavid era, started in the early 17th century under Shah Abbas I (1587-1629) and extended during later rulers. The complex comprises a large mosque with three inner courtyards, each in its own style, and many other buildings, most dating back to the 17th century but new ones are still being added.
Usually non-Muslims aren’t allowed in, and all women have to wear a chador but we’re very lucky today: our guide Showān manages to arrange that we’re allowed in anyway and (after a short inspection of us ladies to see if we’re decently clothed, which we are!) even without a chador. To promote international relationships, we’re received in the office of the Mullah, an obviously very intelligent and sympathetic man who welcomes us warmly, tells us something about the complex (we all get a picture and a brochure as well), asks some questions of us (like what’s the most surprising or new thing we’ve seen in Iran — veiled women —, what made us decide to visit Iran, etc.) and invites us to ask questions of our own. The complex is being restored at the moment, and he tells us it will take several more years to complete; when I remark that I hope to once come back to Iran and see it again in its full glory, he answers he wishes that for me, too. If we make a wish here, he says, no matter if we are Muslim or not, the wish will come true. He answers our questions subtly and politely; clearly a deeply religious man without being extremist — a man who commands respect.
Part of the complex is a school where people from all over the world come to study to become a mullah: a basic study of 6 years, and another 10 years to become fully qualified (10 years in all if you study very, very hard); there are 92,000 students per year, 18,000 of them from foreign countries, including from Europe. Also part of the complex is a kitchen, normally catering to the personnel but on Wednesday and Friday evenings food is distributed to the poor; there’s a small hospital as well for those who are sick and clearly too poor to pay for medical help.
After the visit to the Mullah, we’re allowed to walk around for 20 minutes in the courtyards (but not enter the buildings); from the third courtyard we can actually see a glimpse of the shrine though. Today is a special day — the anniversary of the death of Fatima, I think — and we see Pilgrims from many countries, Arabs and Pakistani clearly recognizable by their clothes, Shi’ites pounding their breast as a sign of mourning. I feel really privileged to be allowed to witness all this and experience the deeply religious atmosphere — something we have mostly lost in the Western world. I won’t be able to share my photographs though: they’re all just pictures in my head since (understandably) photography is not allowed here.
Sunday 2004-05-30 - Kāshān, Iran
Dinner solves a misunderstanding
Unusually, our Iranian guide Showān had accompanied us for dinner in the Delpazir restaurant in Kāshān. After dinner, a conversation between him and our travel companion Marie Josee ensues (with Thom and me listening and sometimes prompting). Marie Josee, a very independent woman and capable travel companion, and Showān, a well-educated Iranian (but maybe raised somewhat traditionally) working as a guide to help finance his studies, had had a personality clash right from the first moment they met; now, they’re really talking for the first time, and Showān tells us what he’d wanted not to bother us with at first.
Just before we arrived in Iran, new rules set by the government required each group to be accompanied by a guide (we certainly hadn’t asked for one, and Marie Josee had actually wanted to “fire” him). His brief was that he was responsible for us, for our safety, and that we didn’t take any photographs of military objects. The problem is that we’re independent travellers, travelling ‘with’ a group rather than ‘in’ a group — something Showān had never encountered before, but the standard for the trips organized by Koning Aap Reizen (Monkey King Travels). It was already clear to us he always tried to stay with us and keep us together; at one time the group actually decided to get rid of him for once by splitting up and all go in different directions at the same time — unwittingly making Showān’s job very difficult for him. He actually had clear instructions (from the government, by proxy of his travel agency) to keep us together. Already on the very first evening, in Tabriz, he found this was impossible to do.
On the third day, so he tells us now, he’d called his boss to explain it was impossible to keep us together, but also that he found us really interested travellers and would like to stay with us. That evening, a meeting took place in Tehrān at the highest level: the minister of tourism, a man from the tourism bureau, and someone from the travel agency (Showān’s employer); the meeting lasted three hours. Finally, Showān did get ‘permission’ to ‘let us loose’ (not that he had any choice, but at least they’d acknowledged that); but he was told he’s still responsible for us not to photograph any military objects and for our safety (how is he going to handle that when we spread out over each city and town we visit?). The decision eased the situation for him only partly, and he’s still in a conundrum; if anything goes wrong, that will likely destroy his chance to go to abroad next year to continue his studies as he’s hoping to do: it’s not just his job on the line but his future as well.
On the other hand, not having encountered people before who travel like we do, he had decided to try an experiment to find out what it’s like: walk around a strange city, without help, without speaking the language, without even a map. In Sanandaj we’d encountered him together with driver Mohammed and assistant Ali, proudly telling us: “We do what you do!” We had no clue what he meant then but now it’s suddenly clear — and he confesses he actually didn’t manage to find the way back without help. Of course, that’s something you have to learn through practice but we’re impressed he actually tried this to get a feel for how we travel.
Showān also still has to report back where we are each day, and what we do — we have no problem with that — and Marie Josee has a solution: she’ll just give him the same photocopies with city information she gives us: that way he can ‘report’ without even trying to baby-sit us.
Of course in one conversation personalities and personal backgrounds don’t change. But at least now there’s a truce and mutual understanding. Showān has a difficult job to do, and his future is at stake as well…
Thursday 2004-06-10 - Esfahān, Iran
Singing under the bridge
Looking at the map of the city, I had reasoned that the bridges for which Esfahān is famous should be at their best in the early morning or evening, with a low sun at the best angle. So: we get up at 5:30 am and at precisely 6 walk out of the hotel. The streets are very quiet now (it’s no longer risky to cross the street) and you can hear the birds singing. I always love to see a city before it fully wakes up.
We walk to the Zāyande river and then left (East) along the northern shore. People are walking along the paths to their work, others are jogging or doing gymnastics. At 7 we’re just past the Khāju bridge which was built to double as a dam (the square notches that once held the sluice doors are still visible) and has nice 17th century paintings and tile work. We’re just in time: the light is indeed very beautiful. Unfortunately at the moment you can only walk along the bottom of the bridge: they’re reconstructing one of the ramps to the upper level. Under the bridge is a long row of arches: you can look through all the way to the other end of the bridge. At the other end a number of men are sitting; nearby others are doing gymnastics. We walk across and find out the men at the end are the public for a man who’s singing — a capella, taking advantage of the acoustics of the stone arches. He has a good voice and sings classical Iranian songs; the songs are full of emotion, a bit like Portuguese fado, although we can’t of course understand the text. When he stops after a while, another man under the next arch takes over, and we walk on.
Tuesday 2004-06-22 - Susamyr, Kyrgyzstan
Bzzzz!
Along the way to our camping spot in the valley of the Susamyr, we make a short stop at a particularly beautiful and interesting cemetery. In Kyrgyz tradition, it’s far from habitation, located at a beautiful spot. Most tombs here are made of mud brick: built once, sometimes with an intricate design, but then left to slowly dissolve back into the landscape again. The tombs here have an extra dimension though: when you enter the cemetery, the constant loud buzzing is unmistakable. A large colony of wasps lives here, having made their nests inside the bud-brick walls (thus helping to dissolve them). They fly on and off in large numbers but don’t mind or bother the humans visiting here at all; they fly by so fast in fact, it’s hard to really get to see them, let alone get them on a picture (though I try, of course).
Our camping spot is a kilometer further on, a nice shaded spot under the trees, and most of us walk there from the cemetery. My foot feels OK, so I walk as well, but when I arrive I discover I have to cross a little brook to reach the camping site: there are stepping stones which I would normally easily hop over — but with my wounded foot I can’t manage (an my monopod-walking stick is in the truck: already at the camp site). I can’t find a sturdy enough branch to serve as walking stick either; I’m stuck! Ultimately Thom finds me and helps me across. Our cook Tatiana cooks us a lovely dinner of soup and macaroni.
Monday 2004-07-05 - Dunhuang, China
Lost, found, and lost again
In the 19th century the Magao caves near Dunhuang were apparently ‘rediscovered’ by a priest called Wang Luan Yu who set himself up as their custodian. In one of the caves (now ‘nr. 17’) he discovered a secret chamber, the entrance covered with plaster and murals, and hidden by sand blown in by sand storm. Inside the chamber he found a huge library of historical, literary and religious texts as well as many paintings that had been hidden in the secret chamber to protect them.
When British archaeologist Sir Marc Aurel Stein heard of this on his 1907 expedition he came here to investigate — and ended up buying over 5000 scrolls and paintings for just 130 pounds. When the French sinologist Paul Pelliot came to the site just one year later, he found a treasure of texts and paintings so large, he didn’t even realize any had been taken.
Most of the contents of the original library is now in the hands of Western museums, much to the chagrin of the Chinese; among them (part of Stein’s load) is the Diamond Sutra, still on display on the British Museum, which counts as the oldest printed document in the world; it’s dated 868 AD. On the site there is now a small museum, recounting how this library was hidden and lost, found again and then lost again. Some scrolls are exhibited here, as well as some quite beautiful paintings but alas most of them are reproductions of originals now in museums in Paris and London.
Tuesday 2004-07-06 - Xi’an, China
A variety of fields
We’re on the train again, continuing after our short break in Lanzhou. Looking out of the windows, the landscape resembles the “Chinese scroll” watercolor landscapes we’ve all seen: green and lush, with rivers flowing in the valleys. Gentle mountains at first, almost completely covered with terraces with fields (no rice though), and more fields in the river valleys. The desert is truly far behind us now.
Gradually, the landscape changes, the mountains becoming steeper and stonier, no longer allowing agriculture, but with a velvety cover of shrubs and small trees; in the valley we see the muddy-yellow water of the Wei He, a tributary of the Yellow River (Huang He), sometimes crossing it but mostly following the course of the river, occasionally taking a shortcut through a tunnel.
Farther on, the valley widens, the railway hugging the mountains on one side, the mountains on the other side far away. The valley is obviously very fertile, completely covered with fields with a great variety of crops grown — but some fields are different. Whereas the Kirghiz locate their cemeteries preferably in a beautiful spot far from the villages, the Chinese here do it differently: this valley is dotted with small cemeteries, at most the size of a field, most a lot smaller. And they’re right in-between the fields with grain, onions, and cabbages: although not inside or close to the villages, the dead are close to the living here, and rest in beautiful spots.
About an hour from Xi’an the scenery gets very urban very quickly; we make a stop in Xianyang, before arrival in metropolis Xi’an at 20:40. We have a very nice hotel here, Jie Fang, right across from the station: we can simply walk there.
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
Day off
Once in Qianmen Dajie (Tianmen Avenue) I’m disappointed that what on the map looks like a straight line all the way up to the Forbidden City (this part of Beijing clearly was designed that way, with a long, clear line of sight) is not actually navigable in a straight line now. But after some detours and underpasses we finally arrive on Tien’anmen Square. It’s quite large and impressiive, and busy with lots of predominanty Chinese tourists, despite the dark, hazy weather today. We walk all around, feeling the space and watching the monumental buildings around it — but also the tourists, ranging from lines of children clothed in modern ‘red brigade’ T-shirts to gaping visitors from the provinces; watching the peddlers selling trinkets and kites (flying some to attract attention), and the little girl running and delighting in her graciously flying string of kites; having our pictures taken for a change and taking a picture of the girl and her mother in return; watching the Chinese snapping away with their cameras (no camera? you can buy them right here, and many do so).
On the way back a girl starts chatting to us (she’s not the first): a lot of students are approaching tourists trying to persuade them to go to their art exhibition. When she gathers we’re travelling with a group (but with no group or tour leader in sight) she asks: “Is this your day off?” It takes a few seconds before it registers what that implies; it’s a nice illustration of the Chinese way of tourism. Our explanation that every day is a “day off” because we’re always free to wander around whenever we stay somewhere meets with a blank stare…
On the corner of Qianmen Dajie we share one (large) portion of duck and one (large) beer: a delicious lunch in front of a window watching the crowd go by. Further on in the street we find a bookstore that has maps. I love maps and can’t resist a (bilingual) map of Beijing and a (Chinese) map of the world. Then we go to our hotel to drop our purchases and give my still-hurting foot a rest.
Tuesday 2005-01-25 - Amsterdam, the Netherlands
Back in Turkmenistan… almost
We have our third reunion today — of a sort: Marie Josee, our travel companion, managed to get (through Koning Aap) enough invitations for a special Turkmen cultural evening in Amsterdam that we can all come. There was some hassle over the invitations which didn’t all arrive, but we all confirmed through email anyway and here we all are, properly dressed up.
The reason for the happening (in the West-Indisch huis in Amsterdam, a beautiful venue for an evening like this) is the presentation of the Dutch translation of the book “Ruhnama”, written by the President of Turkmenistan, Saparmurat Niyazov, also known as “the Great Saparmyrat Türkmenbashi”. The book — officially referred to as the “Holy Ruhnama” (Book of the Soul) — was written by Mr. Niyazov during 1997-2001; in Turkmenistan everyone reads this book in school, and although some of its contents may be historically doubtful, it has definitely played a role in inspiring a sense of national pride and strengthening Turkmen culture after independence from the Soviet Union in 1991. The museum in Aşgabat has the book and a number of translations on display; no doubt the Dutch one will be added to the display now.
None of us really had any idea what to expect of this evening. We’re welcomed with drinks, and everyone sort of stands around for a while… until finally someone takes a microphone and welcomes us and especially the delegation of the Turkmen ministry of Culture, including the Minister of Culture, TV and Radio Broadcasting of Turkmenistan, Mrs. Maral Basimovna Basimova. (There had been rumors the President himself would be here, but I guess a minister is good enough.) We all troop upstairs, where after the national anthem is sung we’re shown a video about Turkmenistan. Next is a musician from Turkmenistan who sings and plays traditional music on a flute (targe tuduk), and sings some traditional songs — very beautifully.
Then it’s a (Dutch) magician’s turn; he asks for “help” from the audience, and both Vera and I are among his willing “victims”. (I’m looking him closely on his fingers, and I cannot see what he does to the EUR 50 banknote I lent him, but the promised extra EUR 50 doesn’t appear: instead I get a piece of toilet paper which he says I now know how to turn into a banknote (sure…), and my banknote with now an (illegal) mark on it. One of the Turkmen musicians also “helps” him, and finally, in a spray of fireworks, the book is conjured up.
Next on is the Minister, who tells us about the development of Turkmenistan since its independence, and proudly declares that the “holy Ruhnama” has now been translated into 26 “world languages”; this is followed by a short interview with madame Minister. Wouter van Wijk from Koning Aap Reizen comes up next to present a slide show about traveling in Turkmenistan. This elicits a curious response from the Minister: one of the slides shows a traditional way of baking bread in the desert (I witnessed a demonstration of that myself in 2002, although it was made clear this was no longer daily practice); she gets up and assures us that such primitive things don’t happen any more, the country is more developed now — factually true, maybe, but it demonstrates a complete misunderstanding of what travellers to the country may be interested in (as the video demonstrated as well). It’s a common culture clash: tourists come for history, while inhabitants of a country are proud of their modern development… After this short intermezzo, the official part of the evening is over, and we all move over to yet another large room.
Here we are treated to more drinks, and an international buffet: Italian, Indonesian and… where are the Turkmen dishes? I find them tucked away in a side room off the main hall. And there is music: The little orchestra, part of the delegation from Turkmenistan, is excellent; they play a wide variety of music, from classical (arias), through traditional Turkmen music, to jazz, with singing by two young ladies and an older man; more traditional instruments appear, such as a dutar (a type of lute used in several varieties across Central Asia) and a dili tuduk which is like a piccolo version of the flute we heard before. Among the guests is a young Turkmen who studies at a Dutch conservatory; long after the evening is officially over, he is invited onto the stage by the older (and apparently quite famous) Turkmen singer, and together they sing an aria, in a kind of dialog, taking turns, both just singing for the joy of it, ignoring the audience, and with the older singer very obviously enjoying the young talent next to him. It forms a touching finish to a somewhat weird but interesting Turkmen evening — we felt a bit as if we were travelling in Turkmenistan again.
On the way out, we all get a copy of the “holy Ruhnama”; an attempt to have my copied signed by madame Minister fails (it’s a holy book by our great president, she explains, she really can’t sign that), but the young Turkmen singer is happy to oblige — not that I can read his cyrillic handwriting apart from the date.
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
To the Opera
In the evening we go with most of the group to the Beijing Opera. Unlike last year, we go to the actual Beijing Opera house: a small building that’s over 400 years old, with quite beautifully decorated woodwork inside. A pity we have places on the balcony, on the side: we don’t have a very good view of the stage; also the explanation of the performance is not as good as we had last year. The performance itself is sublime though and the piece after the intermission is especially interesting for us: the star is the Monkey King — after whom our travel organization (Koning Aap) is called.
I know the film in my camera is not fast enough to be able to take pictures in the theater so I didn’t bring it. But a digital camera usually has a much wider range, so I try to do something with my brand-new camera phone. It’s just an experiment, but you never know: just one good picture would be nice to have.
Afterwards we all go and have a beer together in the hutongs before returning to the hotel. All in all a nice and interesting evening out.
Tuesday 2005-09-20 - Beijing, China
Morning Activities
Many Chinese get up early in the morning and go outside for some gentle exercise. One favorite place in Beijing is the Tiantan Park with the Temple of Heaven, a UNESCO World Heritage Site since 1998. Although the main temple is closed at the moment and in scaffolding for restoration, we get up early to go to the park for some people-watching. It proves to be quite an experience, well worth getting up early for.
The huge park itself is an oasis in the big city, with many trees and a chorus of chirping cicadas almost masking the music of the singing birds. Although the park itself, laid out in a formal geometrical style, and the buildings within it are quite interesting, it’s the people that really take our interest. People do all kinds of exercises such as Tai Chi (often with a teacher) but also other types of exercise, all gentle, such as a kind of dance with fans, or marching in figures with pompoms and fans as if it’ a band of cheerleaders — except most in the group are actually middle aged… We also see a group being taught western style dancing. Most of these activities are accompanied by music coming from loudspeakers placed at regular intervals but some (such as the cheerleader group) have live music.
Then there are all kinds of ball games, like badminton, or kicking around a kind of feather ball (people kick it at each other and it should stay in the air as long as possible, apparently). There’s also a ball game with a soft ball ans a round racket with which the ball is caught and thrown back (not hit) all in one fluid movement. Other people do stretching exercises, or walk backwards a long way, using a marble strip in the pavement as a guide.
Harmony is important for the Chinese, and one way or another all this is about harmony; exercise can become a kind of meditation, but we see other forms as well: some people are practicing calligraphy writing with big brushes and water on the pavement; I also note a man flying a kite, accompanied by soft music. His mind is clearly far away, too, and he doesn’t notice us watching. Even a choir is using the park for their practice sessions, accompanied by an accordionist.
Pleasure boat
Our bus picks us up at the North entrance of the park to take us to the Imperial Summer Palace on the outskirts of Beijing. After lunch in one of the restaurants near the entrance we go in (30Ұ). We (that’s Carla, Gwendoline and I) walk in the direction of the huge man-made lake that takes up some there-quarters of the the huge grounds where the emperors and their families came to escape the summer heat of Beijing. Although the weather is still gray and hazy today the air certainly is fresher here than in the city: it must have been pleasant here for the Imperial family as well, although the water in the lake is a murky green.
The huge complex is a UNESCO World Heritage Site since 1998, especially because it is a unique and intact example of the Chinese art of gardening and landscaping, so different from European or Japanese gardens. Walking along the lake front, we notice along, elegant bridge leading to an island and decide to go there. The bridge, with seventeen arches, is quite beautiful, and we walk across it to the island. On the island is the Temple of the Dragon King, where the imperial family used to pray for rain. Across the lake I see other interesting bridges (I’m a bridge nut!), but they’re too far away for now, certainly too far to walk. Instead, we catch a “Pleasure Boat” (6Ұ), nicely decorated and with a pagoda-like roof, which takes us slowly across the lake to a landing near the palace, where another interesting sight awaits us: a beautifully carved marble boat lies at the landing, as if ready to cast off.
There’s no time to view buildings today, and we’re happy to walk outside in the fresh air anyway. After a drink at a small cafe near the landing, we walk along the waterfront back to the entrance. We’ve only scratched the surface here: we agree we’d need to come back for a whole day to really experience it, rent a boat to row or paddle around the lake, and visit the buildings; in spite of that we’ve had an interesting and pleasant afternoon.
Friday 2005-09-23 - Xi'an, China
Living in Xi’an
After a restless night with lots of coughing fits we arrive at exactly 7:00 in the morning in Xi’an. After dumping our luggage in two temporary rooms in the Jie Fang hotel, I go out with Carla and Gwendoline to walk to the old Muslim quarter.
For Carla and me it feels a bit like coming home: not only is the hotel familiar, but both Carla and I very much liked Xi’an last year and we immediately have the same feeling once we walk out. Clearly this city isn’t as rich as Beijing: while people mostly are well-dressed, they’re not as fashionable; there is also far less building activity here. But Xi’an is still a metropolis — and somehow a very relaxed one.
On the way to the center a sudden movement in the corner of my eye draws my eye to the right and I notice a man playing with a cat: Through an arch there seems to be a living quarter. Made curious, we want to walk through the gate, only to be stopped by the concierge. We gesture we just want to have a look around but he clearly misunderstands us and seems to think we’re coming to visit someone. At last he understands and waves us in with a welcoming smile. We find small tree-lined streets with low blocks of flats, potted plants; each building has a big number painted on the wall, and a row of chairs along the main street. Near the entrance are two groups of mailboxes. It all looks very organized but at the same time cozy with a fifties kind of atmosphere. The people, apart from some personnel and two vendors with stands of vegetables and herbs mostly elderly, all smile at us: it’s obvious they’ve never seen a tourist here but don’t mind us at all, on the contrary. We wonder if it’s maybe a pensioners’ complex or whether the younger people and children are simply at work and school. I take some pictures, but it’s hard to catch the atmosphere.
Hui quarter
Next we walk to the old Muslim quarter of Xi’an, where the Hui (Muslim Han Chinese) live and have their businesses and mosques. The part near the Drum Tower — the entrance gate to the quarter – is quite touristy, but that’s just a small part of the whole area. We head straight for the Great Mosque first (entrance 12Ұ) where you hear no more traffic, only twittering sparrows and cooing pigeons. The complex, with five consecutive courtyards full of greenery, is a beautiful mix of Chinese and Islamic architecture. At one point we also hear music, coming from a pair of speakers, but here and there some old Muslim men, here to pray, are singing along. It’s all very peaceful and relaxing.
Then out we go again, avoiding the tourists’ corner now, to roam around the quarter. It’s even larger than I expected; you can easily spend several hours roaming through the narrow crowded streets lined with local shops and workshops. Almost no tourist in sight: only once do we see a small group of Chinese tourists. It reminds us a little of the souks in the Middle East, with some streets dedicated to particular trades. We come through a butchers’ street, with piles of liver on the as well as stomachs and other animal parts we don’t recognize on display on the counters in the open air; butchers are art work in their workshops open to the street, flies buzzing around busily. It looks almost medieval. A customer comes to a store an asks about the liver; the butcher’s wife cuts off a slice and hands it to her, she takes a bite; apparently all the liver is cooked already. At a shop seemingly selling something else entirely, a little pile of raw kidneys is sitting on the counter. In another street we see lots of sweets ands pastries: they look very appetizing, at least.
When we are tired of walking around, we take a taxi back to the hotel — with the help of a girl that hastily comes to our help to translate: the very friendly driver doesn’t speak any English. He lets us out on the taxi stand near the station: with gestures he explains that he’s not allowed to drop us off right in front of the hotel — and they’re being watched with cameras: they’ll get a big fine if they’re caught.
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?
Thursday 2006-09-07 - P’yŏngyang, Democratic People’s Republic of Korea
Growing talent
In every school in the country, children can take part in all sorts of extra-curricular activities. Those who show real talent for something can move on to one of the 11 Children’s’ Palaces in the country; then they go there every day after school to practice and receive high-quality instruction.
This afternoon, we visit one such Children’s’ Palace in P'yŏngyang, the Mangyongdae School children's Palace. It really is a palace, fitted out in local marble with decorations of other types of stone. For a change, we get a tour not from a professional local guide, but from a teenage girl (she's 15, maybe) who tells us about the building and smoothly shows us around along various classes. We see children taking lessons in music (both on the traditional zither and on accordion), swimming (a large swimming hall with jumping boards of different heights, the highest 5m high), calligraphy, embroidery (using a technique that's more like painting with colored threads -- the best done so that both sides of the cloth are "good" so the painting can be put up in a free-standing frame). Some of the kids are already very good, while others are still learning basic techniques.
After visiting these classes (obviously a small selection of what’s on offer), we get to see one of the weekly performances. In the theater, all foreign tourists sit in the middle section of seats, while other visitors, mainly schoolchildren, sit on either side: as usual we’re kept carefully apart from local people.
The kids, of a variety of ages, present a dazzling show with song and dance, mime, acrobatics, and both modern and traditional music. These kids are so good, I get goose pimples every now and then — and I’m not the only one. True, they’re the cream of the cream, but it’s extremely impressive.
Thursday 2007-04-05 - Sana’a, Yemen
The wedding
When we arrived at our Sana’a hotel last night, we noted a big tent on a field across from the hotel; it’s for a wedding, they told us: men and women celebrate separately, and it lasts three days. A big wedding like this one also costs a lot of money.
Today is the third day of the wedding, and Marie Josee heard the men would do the special Jambiya dance. After a copious dinner with lots of local dishes, all delicious, we head to the big tent — which turns out to be completely empty! A man nearby spots our intention and points us into a street, at the end of which we see a crowd, and white stuff curving through the air (rice?); there’s music coming from that direction, too, we can’t miss it. When we get close, we see men and boys dancing to music coming from loudspeakers, a big crowd around then watching, boys even sitting on walls to get the best view; unless it’s the women we note on one of the roofs looking over the parapet who have an even better view from above. In the middle is a man with a video camera, and lots of people are also taking pictures with compact cameras and with their mobile phones.
We conclude it’s OK to take pictures then, and try to find a place on some piles of stone against a wall. Soon one man spots us, takes Thom by the hand, and thus leads us through the crowd until we have a place at the front! In one corner of the dancing floor the groom is sitting, behind a little decorative tree with candles; he’s only watching the proceedings, in beautiful clothes, a flower garland around his neck, holding a big sword in a golden sheath. I think he looks a little stoned, maybe he had a lot of qat, or maybe he’s just tired after three days of celebrations — or both. One by one, some of us are invited to sit down next to him, and get photographed and videoed together with the groom as if we are special guests — me included. That gives me occasion to take a close-up portrait of him, which he likes very much. Someone offers to take a picture of us both with my camera, which after some fiddling and advice from bystanders he manages to do: a nice memento of a special first evening in Yemen.
Friday 2007-04-06 - Marib, Yemen
Under escort
It seems there has been some unrest in the Marib area for years (not that there was anything in the news about that). In spite of the (supposed) situation, we got a permit to go there — in a long row of jeeps with tourists, under police escort. We all gather at the checkpost on the edge of the city at 9:00 and soon find out it all sounds a little more serious than it is (at least for now): there seems to be only one police car at the head of the row, no one behind. We soon spread out a little. Still, we’re not allowed to stop and take photographs, or even take photographs of the road (as if it has military value) except at a few (apparently designated) photo stops. There are also lots of checkposts along the way.
One thing we note immediately is that they are building a power line: at first, still near Sana’a, we see only the lower halves of pylons, further on they have heads and arms, and close to Marib they have actually started drawing cables. There is an oil field near Marib, so it looks like this will be used to supply power to the capital. In fact, oil has been found at several places, but there is not a whole lot of it: just about enough to cover the country’s own energy needs for several decades, certainly not enough for export. However, natural gas has also been found, which they plan to export in the form of LNG: a pipeline is being built, a well as liquefaction plant near the coast.
The landscape is beautiful, with at first rough mountains of a loose sedimentary structure, quite bare except where there is irrigation and it’s suddenly green. But as we travel it changes around us constantly; the loose sedimentary mountains make place for enormous exactly horizontal slabs of stone, in several layers, all of equal thickness: it looks as if they are huge paving stones. Later, we see sand dunes of warm golden sands, set off by black hills and here and there a layer of little black pebbles, a beautiful contrast. Then the gold-and-black is behind us again, and we’re suddenly in a valley with a lot of greenery.
We stop for tea at a junction. There are two places next to each other, one where the tourists go, one for the locals. Of course we go to the latter (we don’t need plastic chairs, we can do as the locals do and sit on the floor on a mat). The tea is delicious, made with some cardamom for a nice aroma; it’s always drunk with sugar here. The men here are very photogenic, beautiful faces, elegantly clothed in robes with matching head scarves, their weapons (jambiya, rifles) proudly on display. They are also willing subjects, so we end up making a lot of portraits.
Just inside Marib we (just our group) stop at a local restaurant for lunch: rice, flat bread, vegetable stew, a quarter chicken; mineral water on the side, and tea afterwards. Then, still under police escort, we go to our hotel, inside a walled garden, with guards at the gate. Now our drivers get a little well-earned rest — and qat. Once inside our room, I try to call my parents, but although the signal is good, I never get an international line. Strange…
At three we leave for a tour of the local sites. All tourist cars in a row under police escort again (more police now), and strictly regulated with groups distributed so there are never “too many” tourists at the same site at the same time. Is this really for our benefit or are they just nervous when so many strangers are on the same spot? Our group goes to the new dam first. Two big raptors circle overhead — a kind of buzzards (Buteo) probably. Our police escorts happily pose for us on their car with a biggish gun in the back of the pickup truck; along the mountain on a little ridge a row of men is sitting, chewing their qat: this is Yemen!
On the way to the old dam, an unauthorized photo stop for a view of the south building of the dam gets us a reprimand from the police. We go to the north building, from where we also have a nice view of the south building, but of the actual dam in-between nothing is left; both buildings were a kind of sluice, this one lovingly restored. We do see remnants of one of the canals leading from the north sluice. It’s all quite impressive, all this water engineering at such an early time.
Next we visit two temples from the Saba era (the queen of Sheba!): the “moon temple”, named the Almaqah temple of Bar’en or Baran temple, is nicely restored, and you get a good overview of the whole complex. Of the original six square pillars at the center, five are standing, of the sixth only about a third is left. There are also some stones with inscriptions in the original Yemeni script. We need to pay an entrance fee of 200 YR, but it’s worth it, and you can freely roam around. The next site is called “Bilqis Palace” or “throne room of queen Bilqis” (of Sheba), but it’s actually another temple, still in the process of being uncovered from the sands which seem to have preserved it beautifully. But you cannot visit the actual site (yet), and have to pay 100 YR just to get a somewhat closer view. That’s not worth it, and I take some pictures through the gate.
We want to be in time to see the old city of Marib in the light of the setting sun, but can’t leave — we have to wait for another group taking their time at the last temple; the police won’t let us go alone. When we can finally go, our drivers pull a nice stunt: they take a shortcut along a trail, and we arrive ahead of the crowd that left before us. Old Marib is a ghost town now, but still impressive with its huge buildings built of clay, a lot still standing. We can freely roam around (provided we stay on the paths — and we are being watched), but the evening light is disappointing: the sun quickly sinks behind a thick bank of clouds, leaving only gray twilight.
There is “curfew” in Marib, for tourists at least: we’re not allowed outside the hotel after 7:00. Unfortunately, only quick look at the hotel menu convinced everyone that we didn’t fancy eating there: western food at western prices. But our drivers have a solution: they manage to persuade (hmmm…) them to let us go out to eat at a local restaurant! They escort us, of course, so we invite them to have dinner with us. They also happily agree to have their pictures taken, sharing a table with our drivers. After an excellent dinner we head back to the hotel (escorted) but we still need to buy water for tomorrow’s trip through the desert. The shop is on the left side of the road, so our drivers smoothly switch to the “wrong” side of the road, heading in the wrong direction, to stop at the shop and buy water — under police escort, of course.
We never quite understand what the “curfew” is for, but have a suspicion it might be just to keep the tourists at the hotel so they send more of their dollars there.
Sunday 2007-04-08 - Shibam, Yemen
Manhattan of the desert
This afternoon we go with the whole group for a visit to old Shibam, which we passed yesterday on the way to Sey’un — I find it unbelievable that a visit to this city, a UNESCO World Heritage Site since 1982, was not part of the original planning.
Unlike most cities in Wadi Hadramawt which are built nestling at the foot of a mountain or little way up, the walled city of Shibam is built on a free-standing hill in the valley. Just one square kilometer within the walls, it’s not surprising that the large family houses here are narrow and with even more floors than usual, built closely together. The buildings are even higher than the mosque’s minaret. Indeed, the skyline reminds one somewhat of a city with skyscrapers, earning it its epithet - but there the comparison with Manhattan stops.
Through the single whitewashed city gate one comes onto a square, and from there on it’s a labyrinth of winding narrow streets and alleys and an occasional courtyard, between the high-rising houses. The predominant color is that of the clay tiles the houses are built from and plastered with, but sometimes the upper part of a house is whitewashed, and there are surprising splashes of color: here dark-red window frames, there window niches painted bright blue; bright red or blue curtains (often on the outside of the window frames) flapping in the breeze, the lower part of a wall facing a courtyard painted a very bright green. In between all this troops of goats roam around, women go their own way in there elegant flowing black robes (often covering them completely, including a face veil, and often even black gloves), children are cheerful, and sometimes eager to be photographed (but not all). One can roam around here for hours and never be bored: it’s feast for the eyes.
Suddenly we hear music and follow our ears — we’d spread out as usual, but now we all arrive where the music is. There’s a growing crowd in the street, a little procession with musicians in front walks up and down — what’s happening? After a while it becomes clear: another wedding is taking place, the first day of it here. I don’t manage to catch a glimpse of the groom (or bride) but after walking up and down several times the musicians sit down at the edge of a big carpet spread out for them in the middle of the street. This becomes the dancing floor where the men dance, in small parties, taking turns. Unlike in Sana’a though, we’re not treated as special guests, and have to find our own (polite) ways of catching some glimpses. Still, most of us hang around for quite a while until it’s nearly time to go. The music and dancing made our visit to Shibam extra-memorable.
Wednesday 2007-04-11 - Al Mukalla, Yemen
“Five minutes”
On my way to the old city of Al Mukalla I had already spotted an Internet shop (you can’t call these places Internet cafe here, there are just computers with Internet access, no drinks or food is sold) but now after my walk I find it closed. A man standing outside his shop next door tells me “five minutes, just wait”. Ah, now it dawns on me: on my way here I heard the Muezzin calling for prayer, so it’s prayer time — many shops temporary close then. So I stand and wait patiently, just watching people. Other people come and feel at the door, finding it closed; some leave, some also stand around to wait. Finally, at least 15 minutes later, a young man walks straight up to the door, unlocks it and turns on more lights. I walk in and ask how much Internet costs. “Internet?” he asks, “next door”. Soon the source of my confusion becomes clear: there’s a single sign advertising both Internet and international phone service, a common combination here, over two doors; except in this case there are two separate shops under the sign, each with their own door. The blue metal doors next to the telephone service are firmly closed.
Meanwhile, at the other side of the telecom business, a group of men has gathered, like men gather here after prayer time. “Sit down, five minutes,” says the owner of the shop in front of which they’re sitting on plastic chairs. He points to a chair which is still free. I thank him and sit down, knowing full well by now that these “five minutes” probably won’t be five minutes either. The men chat, I watch them and passers-by, passers-by look at me curiously, but no one bothers me. Some 10 minutes later, the shop owner orders tea from the restaurant across the street; when it arrives, there’s one cup for me too. So I sit, contentedly sipping my tea, and waiting some more. No movement at the blue doors hiding the Internet shop.
Finally, tea long finished, I give up. “Is there any chance it will still open tonight?” I ask my host. He raises his shoulders and arms in a “no idea” gesture. When I get up he tells me there’s another place and points across the street. He also gestures to the man sitting next to me, saying something to him in Arabic. Should he go get someone? Take me there? I’m confused, so I just thank my host, take my leave, and cross the street — where I only see a restaurant. I walk in, and ask for Internet; predictably they point across the street. “Finished,” I say, using the English word Yemenis often use for “closed”, accompanied by the appropriate hand sign. Then I see the man who was sitting next to me crossing the street, laughing and beckoning me. He takes me through a covered little street, crowded with restaurants on both sides; we end up at a little square. Sure enough, across the square is another Internet shop, only Arabic text on its sign but the machines have the usual Arabic-and-English keyboards and I have no problem updating my blog from here.
Tuesday 2009-05-19 - Khuzestan, Iran
Nomads in Iran
We leave 15 minutes late, at 08:15, for our bus trip through Khuzestan on our way to Esfahān. The Khuzis are an old people, of which the real origin is unknown: they weren´t Persians, but not Arabic either, living in this are before either group arrived here. There are also Bakhtiari in this area, nomads who still move around with their livestock here — alas we don´t meet any. Iranian policy towards the nomads is quite liberal: they are not forced to settle down and can continue their way of life and move around, although somewhat coordinated so groups don´t hinder each other. Of course they do have to obey the law of the country and the children have to go to school: in the past there was a lot of analphabetism among them, but now young teachers (called the ¨mobile education brigade¨) are actually moving around with the nomads so the children get an education.
In a more general sense, separatism isn´t allowed, but culture and language are: for instance primary schools can teach in the Kurdish language, and the language can be studied as an extra subject at the University. There is — more or less — religious freedom, in particular with respect to the religions ¨of the book¨ (Islam, Judaism and Christianity) but proselytizing is strictly forbidden.
Paranoia
After a leisurely picnic lunch in a little park in Izeh (eagerly watched by the locals) we continue along the mountainous road — on the right a beautiful blue-green lake that I cannot find on my maps. A little farther on, we make a photo stop, but the lake can hardly be seen from here any more. Still, it´s a beautiful view, and we stand around a little, watching and taking pictures of the landscape.
Suddenly a young man comes racing up towards us on his motor bike, stops, and walks towards our driver and guide, starting a heated discussion, pointing into the valley, and shouting at them. He´s obviously very excited — it looks as though he´s in a panic. It takes a while for us to get what is happening: what is he so excited about? It turns out he´s from the village way down in the valley (we can only just see the houses), and his womenfolk are walking around unveiled! And we (men among us) are watching that, and that´s not allowed! And we have these modern cameras, that allow us to see it all close-up, and with which we can see right through their clothes.
It takes a long while for our driver to calm him down — we never quite understand how — and finally they part as friends, embracing each other. The man gets back on his bike and drives off back to his village, while we continue our trip in the other direction.
Thursday 2009-05-21 - Mashhad, Iran
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!
