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Wednesday 2004-05-26 - Bonāb, Iran
Delay turns out to be our luck
When we finally arrive in Bonāb, to have a look at the old mosque there, our delay turns out to have been very lucky. Normally non-muslims aren’t allowed to enter this mosque, but at the moment we arrive a service is starting; a prayer service, we think. And when Jan takes a peek through the door, he’s invited in; then to our surprise then our whole group, still standing outside, are invited in. It turns out to be a funeral service. We’re allowed to sit at the side, and can watch the proceedings. One older man and his son are standing at the door - obviously the bereaved. Several young men, all dressed in black trousers and a black shirt, go round with water to spray or pour on the hands of the guests, then tea is brought, sugar, and delicious dates. Little plastic baskets stand all around on the floor for the date pips. Continuously, men come in (we see no women), sit down quietly and get served tea, then pray, and take their leave again, only then saying a few words to the bereaved at the door. Everyone sits on the floor, except a few older men who are sitting on chairs along the wall, near the mullah. And all the while the mullah is praying (it’s almost singing), sometimes answered by some of the men — it’s beautiful to listen to.
The mosque itself is superb, small and simple but with a unique wooden ceiling resting on wooden pillars; the flat ceiling is constructed and painted in a way that’s found nowhere else. So thanks to our delays we get not only a unique chance to watch the inside of this unique mosque, but at the same time experience how a funeral service is conducted. It’s one of those precious experiences that are rare even on a trip like this.
It’s very late and fully dark when via a winding road through the mountains we finally arrive at Takāb.
Thursday 2004-05-27 - Takht-e Soleymān, Iran
Warm welcome in a Kurdish village
On the way to Sanandaj we make a visit to Takht-e Soleymān which has two attractions. One is “Suleiman’s prison” (Zendan-e Soleymān) — nothing to do with anyone’s prison but in reality an extinguished volcanic crater, and then the large citadel called (like the village) Takht-e Soleymān on top of the next mountain. Although the citadel is supposed to be very interesting, with an enclosed lake, most of us decide to skip it: we’ve seen so many citadels already! In-between the two mountains is the small Kurdish village named after the historical citadel (we’re still in Kurdish country here), to where a small group of us walk from the citadel.
First we drink tea at a tiny restaurant strategically located at the entrance of the village. We sit outside on the stoop, in the shade, and chat with a 14-year old boy helping out and the older owner (we never find out whether he’s the boy’s father or his granddad). There’s an old and very deaf grandma as well, and all three are willing subjects to have their photographs taken.
When we walk into the village, we don’t get very far - we’re almost immediately stopped by a woman who asks us to take her picture. She has a big smile with many gold teeth, and her husband, with a really beautiful old face, joins in the fun. We take many pictures of the couple. They even show us their passports (it seems they have to carry them!) with thumbprints and much younger pictures. Although we don’t share a word in any language, we manage to find out the couple have seven sons. They’re very nice and companionable together — I hope that will somehow be visible in the photographs!
Ten meters on we’re invited into a house where men are building an annexe — for the eldest daughter, it turns out later, who’s married to one of the men doing the building; she just had her first baby. Inside, we’re invited to drink tea, and watch the three daughters work on knotting a carpet stretched on a huge loom. It must take very long to make a carpet as big and intricate as they are making, even with three working on it. A little later, the men take a break from their building to have an early lunch (early for us, that is, but they probably started early in the day). We get a taste as well: flat, tasty bread, butter, yogurt, three kinds of cheese, all locally produced. And a little riddle is solved: we’d already often been served tea, with sugar for those who wanted is, but without a spoon to stir. That’s not the way they take their sugar here: the men take a sugar lump into their mouth, pour some of the tea from the glass into the dish, and drink it from there, ‘around’ the sugar. We also take many photographs of the family at their work.
Then the bus is hooting: it’s still a long way to Sanandaj; we never make it farther into the village.
Friday 2004-05-28 - Sanandaj, Iran
“You are more precious than my eyes”
We head for the mosque first, of which we had a glimpse when we walked through Sanandaj last night to watch the people shopping: the streets were busy on a Thursday evening. But today it’s Friday so naturally most stores are closed and it’s very quiet. Behind the old mosque a new prayer hall is being built; Carla and I aren’t allowed in there (Thom tells us later it’s very beautiful), so the two of us head for the women’s prayer hall to the side. Since it’s Friday, prayers are in progress — one woman praying aloud for a group, all in a row closely together. Normally non-muslims aren’t allowed in during prayers but we’re welcomed warmly all the same: we’re waved in, smiled at, and several women bring one or two hands to their eyes: a symbolic greeting we later find out means something like “you are more precious than my eyes.” We sit down at the side for a while, and watch and listen to the proceedings quietly. After a while, one of the women spots Thom waiting outside and points to him; after we take our leave, several women even wave us goodbye from behind the windows.
Tuesday 2004-06-01 - Yazd, Iran
Culture shock (not for us!)
We arrive a little before dinner time in Yazd; Thom, Carla and I are not all that hungry, so we make do with some fruit that we find in one of the shopping streets. After ‘dinner’, Thom and I go out to find a “coffee net”; the place we’re directed to turns out to be a backpackers’ hotel near the Akmir Chakhmagh complex. There’s a single, slow computer with a slow connection used also for the hotel administration — visitors (even non-guests) can use it though (for a reasonable fee). Other than slowness, there’s no problem and I manage to catch up a little of my travel journal backlog.
Meanwhile Thom chats with two boys from the hotel — I don’t follow it all since I’m busy typing but it sounds like they’re talking about subjects like the difference between religion and culture. When I’m finished and we want to leave, it becomes clear what one of the subjects really was: Thom had explained that shaking hands (specifically a man not shaking a woman’s hand) is not something to do with religion: Muslims in other countries do it; friends kissing each other in greeting or to say goodbye is similarly cultural and occurs in different cultures (we do that, but it’s not done here). Now, the boys, one bold, one shy, want to try how one says goodbye in our culture! Bold shakes Thom’s hand, and then my hand without even blinking but after Shy shakes my hand he quickly withdraws it — as if he burned his hand. Then comes the friendly goodbye kiss - we’re friends, after all, after chatting for over two hours… Now Bold gets less bold and wants to ‘practice’ with Thom first while Shy gets more bold and kisses me goodbye (one friendly peck on each cheek). After that it’s Bold’s turn (he gets three). For us, something that would be quite normal taking leave of our friends, for them it’s really shocking to shake hands with a woman and touch cheeks — even when that woman is old enough to be their mother. It makes me wonder how young men grow up here: they can’t really learn to handle emotions of affection or friendship with a woman — what will happen when they’re finally ready to get married?
We have to be let into the hotel by the night watchman when we return at quarter to midnight.
Sunday 2004-06-06 - Shirāz, Iran
Another funeral service
In the afternoon Carla and I cross the river over an old bridge; the river is nearly dry most of the year, flowing through Shirāz and ending in Lake Mahārlu. It’s nearly dry now, but looking at the high walls along the river it must hold a lot of water at times. Just across the bridge is a small mosque with a beautiful dome in the shape of a tulip bulb, covered with intricate tile work. Of the mosque itself (Emāmzādeh-ye Ali Ibn-e Hamze) virtually all of the original 10th century structure has disappeared as a result of both earthquakes and successive repairs and additions but the nicely spaced forecourt is different in that it’s almost completely paved with old gravestones, some very beautiful — we’ve never seen this anywhere else.
As we’ve learned to recognize in Bonāb, a funeral service is obviously in progress as we enter the courtyard - with a difference: the women take part here as well, and we’re invited into the women’s room. It’s quite crowded there, and we hardly find a place to sit without sitting in front of others. Inside, the ceiling is completely covered with small mirrors, giving a dazzling effect. Similar to the funeral service at Bonāb, refreshments are served; here we get dates (filled with nuts and covered in coconut) and lemonade. We’re quite welcome, but leave soon since we’re obviously physically in the way in the crowded space.
Friday 2004-06-11 - Tehrān, Iran
A hasty taste of the capital
For some reason we couldn’t get a flight from Esfahān to Mashhad as planned, so today we first take a flight to Tehrān and fly on to Mashhad in the evening, which gives us a chance to spend a little time in the capital. It’s not an attractive city, we’re told, but at least there are some good museums — some of them closed today because it’s Friday. We make the best of our time here. On most days, traffic is deadly here in this city of 15 million inhabitants, but since it’s Friday most businesses and shops are closed, and crossing the street isn’t a gamble.
Our first stop is at the Historical Museum and the Museum for Islamic Art next door (one ticket for both together). We have only two hours — much too short, 3 hours for each would be normal — but it’s still worth the entry price. The Historical Museum with its superb exhibits in chronological order helps to put into perspective all the things we’ve seen from different periods during the last weeks in Iran. The prehistoric finds, refined figurines and delicately decorated pottery (many pieces depicting ibex) are very interesting, too. Far too little time is left for the Museum for Islamic Art but they have some spectacular exhibits as well. Definitely a place to come back to, with enough time to spend.
After that, a visit to the mountain (hidden here under a multitude of restaurants and teahouses around a stream full of empty bottles) where Tehranians come for the fresh air — and some to do some real mountain climbing farther up; a park (no grass here on the mountainside, but plenty of trees and many seats in the shade, most of them occupied of course); and finally a modern shopping center where the (expensive) shops are actually open.
After that tour we leave for the airport again for our flight to Mashhad and have a nice Iranian dinner on board.
Tuesday 2006-09-05 - P’yŏngyang, Democratic People’s Republic of Korea
We meet our team
Outside the P'yŏngyang airport, our team for the trip is waiting for us: Mr. Pak, an experienced 44-year old guide (he's been doing this for 18 years, since shortly after the country opened up for tourists), Miss Un Hui ("Uni"), 22 years old and still inexperienced but friendly and open, and Mr. Hwang, a very experienced driver.
While we drive to the city, Uni tells us a little about the country: Korea has a population of 80 million in total, of which 20 live in the North. P’yŏngyang has 2.5 million inhabitants, 1.5 million of them in the suburbs. North and South Korea together are really one country, sharing one culture and one language. She gets a little flustered when interrupted with a question, but recovers fast — it’s just the nervousness of meeting a new group of people. Her English is actually very good, though not completely accentless. She tells me that in middle school students can choose between Russian and English as a foreign language. It’s obvious that she enjoys being a guide, though she’s still very much a junior and has been working for only 1.5 years.
On the way to the hotel we stop at the “Arc de Triomphe” — larger than the one in Paris — but I’m afraid I’m more interested in the people I see dancing on the other side of the street, my attention drawn by the sound of traditional instruments. I ask Uni what’s happening; they’re practicing for the Arirang games, she explains, even though it has been postponed because of the flooding. When I ask if we can go have a look, she says she’ll have to ask Mr. Pak; but we end up taking pictures and I even make a small video with my new camera.
On arrival at the Yanggakdo hotel (which I recognize from the satellite picture on Google maps) our passports are collected for registration but Mr. Pak promises we’ll have them back after two days and they’ll take good care of them.
Wednesday 2006-09-06 - P’yŏngyang, Democratic People’s Republic of Korea
Greeting the great leader
In Korea, people believe everything starts again after 60 years so at your 60th birthday there is normally a big party. When president Kim Il Sung turned 60 in 1972, obviously there was an extra-big party: for the occasion the Mansudae Grand Monument was erected in P'yŏngyang; it consists of a big copper-colored statue of the president, flanked on on either side by two 50-meter long memorials celebrating the liberation from the nearly 40-year long Japanese occupation. The sculpture is remarkable - not just the stark realism most of us associate with art from communist countries but with an inspired simplicity added to it, especially in the statue of president Kim Il Sung. I'm impressed.
As all tourists here (including North Korean tourists) do, we visit the monument to deposit a bunch of flowers as a tribute from our “delegation” at the Great leader’s feet, stand in a row, and bow. We’re “required” to do this of course, but when in Rome…
Korean culture
Next on our program for today is a visit to the Folklore Museum in P'yŏngyang which turns out to be very interesting. As at every tourist site in North Korea, we get a local guide - a good thing since all the explanatory texts with the well-presented exhibits are in Korean. Many murals, paintings and schematics explain the use of containers, agricultural instruments and fishing gear -- from prehistoric times to the present.
The section on clothing is also very interesting, showing how the traditional style we see now evolved from simple tunics worn over trousers or a long skirt. When a child turns one, it's dressed up in new clothes with rainbow colors, and presented with a table with various toys and implements; what the child chooses to play with (say, a brush) is supposed to predict what the child will grow up to be (a brush would represent an intellectual). This custom is still alive -- the rainbow colors worn on every birthday, not just the first -- and later on we actually see a little boy proudly skipping around dressed up in rainbow colors.
Crossing the bridge
From Folklore Museum we continue our P’yŏngyang city tour by walking to the Taedong river, across the bridge, and then along the other side to the Tower of the Juche Idea (“Ju che” means something like self reliance, the philosophy introduced by the Great Leader Kim Il Sung). The tower, designed by the president himself, forms a remarkable landmark in P’yŏngyang with its 170m height, 20m of which is formed by a flame that at night is lighted and flickers like a candle. Along the river, more people are gathered to practice for the Arirang games — these are playing the People’s Army and fitted out in fake (but realistic) uniforms. When a few of us (me included) go to the top of the tower (by elevator, of course) we have mot only an excellent view of the huge city around us but also of the people exercising below.
Before the tower, on the river side, is a statue that symbolizes the three pillars of North Korean society: three people carrying the symbolic implements, the hammer for the workers, the sickle for the farmers, and the brush for the intellectuals. (The latter indicating how different North Korean culture actually is from the Chinese where intellectuals were abhorred during the cultural revolution.)
Later, we hear from Mr. Pak that we are actually the first tour group ever in North Korea to be allowed to walk across the bridge to the Juche Tower like we did today. Mostly, he tells us, this is because we are disciplined, and don’t run off all over the place — like Russians tend to do. With us, he can “manage” it so that we have a little freedom without causing problems. We’re to experience many more examples of the way in which Mr. Pak tries to build a little flexibility into our schedule, and not just show us what is required to be shown, but also try to accommodate our wishes.
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.
Thursday 2009-05-21 - Mashhad, Iran
Adventure at the Holy Shrine
Our destination for the afternoon is the holy shrine of Imam Reza which forms the physical and symbolic core of the holy city of Mashhad; the city map makes this clear, but last night it was beautifully obvious from the plane just before we landed, with lighted streets all converging on the huge, floodlighted complex of the shrine.
As in Qom, opinions differ on whether to admit non-Muslims at all, or only deny them access to the shrine itself, or be open and admit everyone. As a result, while we — all non-muslims — will be able to enter the complex today, it´s unsure whether we´ll be able to enter the shrine building itself. There, as usual, men and women enter in separate rooms on two sides of the shrine itself; since our local guide is male, he has organized some local women to accompany the women in our group (the majority); they brought some children as well, which supposedly makes our group look less like tourists. Unfortunately, their English isn´t very good so it´s rather hard to communicate (which in turn makes us more obvious than intended). We´re instructed to stay together, and avoid questions about whether we are muslim or not.
We enter through one of the huge courtyards, surrounded by beautiful buildings. Here and there, men and women distinguished only by the fact they carry what looks like a feather duster are standing around: they´re here to keep order (probably volunteers). Then we enter one of the older buildings, a very large hall, with a completely white stuccoed ceiling — a surprise when most Shi’ite mosques we´ve seen have ceilings covered completely in faceted mirrors. It´s beautiful here, and there´s a relaxed atmosphere with men and women sitting around quietly, children with them freely playing around them. I’d like to stay here a bit but we move on. Then another huge and beautiful courtyard, and next to it the shrine building. Here we split up. Us women enter the shrine bulding in a tight group with our guides without any problem, being given a look over by woman with a feather duster, with a smile and without comment. The scene inside is somewhat emotional, but that doesn’t surprise me, I´ve seen that before at a shrine. The women nearby are friendly, smiling, welcoming.
Then, suddenly, our guides call us: we must go out — now. Somehow, we have been spotted as non-Muslims and ordered out, apparently. Once outside, our companions tell us to sit together in a circle. A friend of one of them greets them, and they tell her (loud enough to be understood by bystanders) that we´re from the Netherlands, which probably doesn´t help our situation. Now some officials with a badge stay near us until a short man approaches and tells us to wait. We tell him that if we can´t go inside, we just want to go outside to meet our male companions at the museum. No, we must wait here, he tells us. We´re ordered to a different location on the side of the courtyard, and still we must wait. We´re worried the men of our group will be waiting for us either at the museum, or somewhere else, but we´re just not allowed to go. Finally, to our relief, the men come outside too, and find us here (guided by one of the officials). The short man, obviously in charge, wants us to come to the Foreign Visitors´ Office, to register (they want to keep statistics about vistors, he tells us) and watch a film about Islam and the Holy Shrine. None of us wants to watch a film, so after dutifully feeding their statistics we finally go out. By then, we´ve lost two of the women in our group — they apparently declined to even go into the office, but none of us knows what they planned, or whether they already left or not, so we stand around waiting for quite a while; they don´t turn up.
Finally we split up, with most of the group going on foot to the bazaar nearby, and me going back to the hotel with our bus to be back in time for my meeting.
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!
