DIA 268-272 - The Road to Ani

Dogubayazit - Igdir - Digor - Ani - Kars Dt = 10157 Km

Cycling a High Plateau

Visiting a City of Ghosts - Ani

The old Armenian city of Ani is not on our way precisely. In fact, it is so far off the beaten tourist track ın Turkey that it receives few visitors. A shame since, with more visitors, more excavation and restoration of the site may happen. Ani in its heyday in the 9th and 10th centuries rivalled Constantinople and Baghdad in importance and was home to around 100 000 people.

There has been a settlement here for millenia but Ani began to increase in importance around the fıfth century A.D. due to its location on an east-west trade route. Then in 961 Kıng Ashot III of the Armenian Bagratid dynasty moved his capital from nearby Kars. For three generations Ani experienced great prosperity, but in 1045 the Byzantines annexed the city as a result of religiously-driven enmity: the Armenian Apostolic Church was deemed heretical by the Christian Orthodox Byzantines. The Byzantines themselves were not doing so well by this stage and the Seljuk Turks easily took Ani from them ın 1064. Although the Armenians were able to regain Ani in the 12th century with the aid of neighbouring Georgia, the Mongols swept through pursuing their usual destructive itinerary in the 13th century. A terrible earthquake in 1319 and changing trade routes sealed Ani's fate: It was abandoned and has been a city of ghosts and rubble for the past 600 years.

It is easy to see why a city prospered on this site. On one side of a plateau, more or less in the form of a triangle, the Arpa Cayi (Arhuran River) has carved a gorge and on two more sides run deep tributaries. The northern side is the only exposed side in need of fortification. Defence looks impregnable although looks are often deceivıng, as in this case! The buildings left standing are churches. Armenians were the first to create a Christian state around 301 A.D. (Kıng Trdat III beat the Roman Emperor Constantine by a few decades), and they were quite fond of Saint Gregory. Three of the remaining churches at Ani were dedicated to this particular saint. It seemed that, before his conversion, Trdat III was not particularly kind to Gregory and tortured him for being Christian.

So, ever since Trdat saw the error of his ways, repented and converted to Christianity, Armenians have been Christian. The Byzantines did not see it this way, considering the Apostolic Church to be heretical, but the Armenians traditionally see themselves as descendants of Noah's grandson, whıch is fair enough: Noah crashed into a mountain on their doorstep after all.

Considering their proximity to Islamic empires, the Armenians have done well negotiating a degree of autonomy, and have usually had access to Ani as well as other churches dotting the nearby landscape. Armenia was a part of Persia, for example, although Russia took Armenia from the Persians ın the 19th century, lost the small country again after the Bolshevic revolution/World War I, regained it after World War II, and then lost it again when the USSR crumbled. The Armenians are now independent but they still appear to rely on Russia to help with hostile neighbours and have a Russian military base inside their borders, at their request. They also retain cordial relations wıth the Islamic Republic of Iran.

The Arpa Cayi is now the designated Turko-Armenian border, so Armenians can no longer access Ani. The area down by the gorge is mined, indicating the hostility surrounding this decision. But at least the Turks are not destroying what is left of the citadel: In the nearby Turkish town of Digor, whıch we also visited, four out of five Armenian churches have been destroyed. These churches were built around the 11th century and restored ın 1878, but between 1920 and 1965 explosives and boulders were used to destroy them.

The little that is left of Ani is beautiful. The Armenians are historically renowned for their masonry (Shah Abbas - the Shah who built Esfahan in Iran - rounded up the whole Armenian town of Jolfa and brought them down to work on his new city. There is now a suburb in Esfahan called Jolfa because many of those Armenians subsequently stayed). Armenian churches are made of dark volcanic rock and warm red sandstone. They are well-proportioned, usually with blind arcades, Armenian inscriptions, long rectangular recessed vaults and ornate crosses. The stones are cut extremely straight and are fitted together seamlessly. Domes are also in evidence and there is an interesting mix of curves and the squared edges of so many European churches. Frescos, mainly of saints, adorn inside walls, although these have often vanished, and only vague shadows of human figures wıth halos remain.

Finally, walking around Ani, we think about the fate of cities. Constantinople, a Christian city, was taken by the Ottomans and now thrives as Istanbul. Baghdad is currently taking some hard knocks, but is still nominally ruled by Moslems, though occupied by Judeo-Christians. And Ani? Ani languishes all but forgotten on a windy, treeless but breath-taking plateau.

DIA 267 - Welcome to the Democratıc Republıc of Turkey

Maku - Dogubayazıt Dd = 65 Km Dt = 9906 Km

The Turkish securıty guard on the Turkish side of the Turko-Iranian border welcomes us to Turkey wıth a smile. He looks at my headscarf and tells me that Turkey ıs a democratic republic. I take my headscarf off wıth a flourish and Iranian women all around me stare at the gesture, pulling theır chadors more tightly around their faces. I think it is going to feel stranger than it does to have my hair uncovered: I feel normal again although Angel takes a few minutes to get used to the new development.

As we rıde into Turkey, we see military everywhere. We see tanks, bags of sand piled up, training grounds. Turkey borders Iran, Armenıa, and Iraq ın these parts. Who is it that Turkey is most worried about? I wonder if it is Armenia considerıng the icy relations between the two countries. Turkey does not recognize the genocide of Armenians in 1895 and 1915. At the turn of the 20th century 1.5 million Armenians were living in Anatolia, according to a Turkish census carried out at the time. After 1915 they had all gone - half a million are thought to have escaped to become refugees in other countries and a million thought to have been systematically killed by the Turks. Thıs issue is still very much alive with Armenians lobbyıng hard all over the world for recognition of their loss. Some countries (Russia, France, Canada) have officially recognised what happened to the Armenians as genocide, while other countries (the USA) have not in order to protect trade relations with Turkey. Turkey hotly dısputes that genocide took place.

Later I realise that the huge military presence is also very much a result of the "Kurdish problem", as the Turkish Prime Minister Erdogan called the situation in 2005. A separatist Kurdish resistance group called the PKK has been fighting the Turkish government since 1984, and around 50 000 people have died in the conflict. But the US invasion of Iraq and Turkey's desire to enter the European Union have led to reforms in Turkish treatment of its Kurds. The US reliance on Iraqi Kurds for support has no doubt been a concern for Turkey since it is not in Turkish interests that a Kurdısh state be created in Turkish territory. And the European Union no doubt has conditions concerning human rights. When we enter Turkey the first town we visit - Dogubeyazit - is predominantly Kurdish. We are only 150-200kms from the Iraqi border.

However, our problems wıth the Kurdish do not lie wıth the PKK (the PKK have recently kidnapped three German tourists in the area, but friendly Belgians assure us that the Germans were kidnapped because Germany had done something to arouse PKK wrath, and we would be fine). Our problems lie wıth Kurdish children and dogs. Chıldren get overexcited at the sight of tourists on bicycles and throw whatever is at hand: rocks, tomatoes, water. Dogs are very bıg and are afraid of bicycles. We have a similar strategy for both groups: attack back. I yell at the top of my lungs (it seems to work for the dogs too, surprisingly), and Angel gives chase (the chıldren usually try to hit me rather than Angel). Hard to frighten the children when their parents think that it is fıne though. We get a little more help with the dogs. One time 3 dogs come barrelling out of nowhere to attack and an old lady also comes running from a nearby field: I have never seen such an old lady runnıng so fast. She has picked up rocks to throw at the dogs. With the extra artillery the dogs stop attackıng.

Wild children and frightened animals aside, it is fun to be in Turkey. Some children are delightful and we cannot stop to ask for directions without adults trying to herd us into their houses for a chai. The military are good to us as well, plying us with orange juice, pouring out our water which has almost reached boiling poınt in the hot sun and replacing it with cold water, and doing their best to communicate. They are so young - boys doing their military service.

And the landscape is rugged and beautiful. Mount Ararat (5165m) looms over us so close we can almost reach out and touch it. Impressıve from Iran but magnificent to be so close. We end up going around the mountain to get back to the Aras valley and have the pleasure of cycling in Ararat's shadow for over 100kms. Noah's Ark is not visible, but I am sure it is up there somewhere in the uppermost snow of that old volcano!

DIA 266 - Hoda'afez Iran

Makoo

Good-bye Iran. One month of generous and dogged hospitality is coming to an end. Off we go to Turkey where I suppose we will have to start paying for things again. One becomes quickly accustomed to being treated like a VIP. So many people concerned about our welfare, about how we are enjoying Iran.

This could be very very good but sometimes overwhelming. Like a few nights ago when all we wanted was to set up our tent and to go to sleep. We found a place near the Aras River reservoir. It was windy, nearby bushes hummed with tiny flies and an anthole swarmed with enormous ants. The flies stayed put in their respective bushes. Angel put a small rock over the anthole. The ants quickly made another hole, but the rock kept them thinking and they left us alone. Unlike a local fisherman who drove up in a battered ute. When he realised that we did not understand Farsi or Turkish, he proceeded to pantomime various threats to our comfort and safety. The flies and ants would bite us. the wind was too strong, it was going to rain, the Azerbaijanis would start shooting at us from across the reservoir. We said we would move to placate him but our hearts were not in it, and we only made it 100m. The only way to get him to leave us alone was for me to take off my headscarf - this strategy can always be used as a last resort.

So we are looking forward to being a little less interesting to the locals. I am also looking forward to reclaiming my arms, legs and hair...giving these body parts a litte more airtime. And having men address me in the street rather than walk, drive, ride their motorbikes right past me to talk to Angel. Talking to me, looking at me, or in any way affirming my existence is disrespectful. Hopefully less disrespectful in Turkey. (Some Iranian men were able to break the mould - all power to them!)

Goodbye to Iran's wonderful history, goodbye to this transit region for so many travellers on the Silk Road, this land of magnificent curvy architecture and deep blue inscriptions, of eye-poppingly exquisite rugs and cinnamon and saffron tea. And goodbye to gender apartheid...May one day black headscarfs and chadors be toppled as symbols that a girl is not a whore, and may more and more girls take their rightful, colourful place in a country so steeped in colour.

Hoda'afez Iran, and thank you so much for your amazing hospitality.

DIA 262 -265 - The Aras Valley

Ustebhin - Jolfa - Paldast - Makoo Dt = 9841 Km

The Aras Valley. We go up and down, up and down. The river sometimes winds beside us, sometimes below us. It gushes and surges: a proper river, even in summer. Millenia of travellers have passed through this valley. Traders, soldiers, holy men. Small mountains rise steeply on either side for kilometres. The looming rock looks like loose granite in danger of sliding down onto our heads in many places.

Across the river is Azerbaijan, then Armenia, then Azerbaijan. There is an east-west ceasefire line east of the Armenian border. The two countries still have not resolved the territorial dispute of the 1989-1994 war. Near the ceasefire line villages lie abandoned. It is terrible to think of the villagers, the fear, desperation and sadness of fleeing their homes. Where are they now? The wind whistles through their houses, the roofs are off. We watch the eery emptiness soberly from the other side of the Aras.

There is a strong military presence on the Iranian side. Bored soldiers camouflage well against dark grey rock. We jump as they call to us. Military posts are built of light brick and resemble small medieval forts. There are also lookout points on the other side. Inside Armenia there is movement: a few cars, a small child. There is a railway line too. Built by the Russians? It was the Russians and the Iranians who carved out this border in the early 19th century. There is also evidence of many tunnels. Indeed, there are more buildings in general on the other side of the river than in Iran, which is home to a few sleepy villages and a winding road remarkably free of traffic.

Sometimes there is more space on the Iranian side before the hills rise up steeply, sometimes on the other side. When there is no space on either side, the wind is especially ferocious, coating us with dust, and skidding us across the road.

Apparently, Noah came through the Aras Valley (Gihon Valley in the Bible) with all the animals, bumping into Ilan Dag, or Snake Mountain, before reaching Mt Ararat. As I ride along I like to imagine a huge Ark with animals scampering around, playing with each other, eating each other, the enormous craft ploughing its way miraculously upstream. Even in a great flood, these steep jagged mountains would have the potential to scuttle a ship. Lucky for the animals (which were not getting eaten) that Noah was a relatively good skipper!

DIA 261 - Pastores de abejas

???- Usthebin Dd = 54 Km Dt = 9577 Km

Despues de unos kılometros de dura pendıente el camıno se convıerte en carretera que relaja frenos, dedos y muñecas. A ambos lados de la carretera empıezana a aparecer tıendas de campañas rodeadas de colmenas. Los pastores han traıdo aquı a sus abejas para recojan el polen de esas flores que vısten a las montañas de rosa, azul, amarıllo, rojo... La tentacıon de equıparnos con mıel nos vence y fınalmente paramos en uno de los chırınguıtos. Un nıño que esta de vacacıones ıntenta atendernos pero tras vacılar unos segundos se va corrıendo a avısar a su abuelo que sale de la tıenda-pabellon frotandose las legañas y abrochando con una rapıda lazada sus pantalones holgados. El abuelo entıende nuestros deseos y traspasa un poco de mıel desde un enorme bıdon hasta nuestro pequeño recıpıente. Seguıdamente nos ınvıta a te. Por supuesto aceptamos y pronto estamos acomadados sobre la alfombra dentro de la tıenda de campaña.

El nıeto saca un poco de pan, el abuelo mıel y yogur. Observando a nuestros hospıtaleros los ımıtamos y nos preparamos montadıtos de rıquısımo yogur y mıel fuerte, de la que tıene sabor de verdad, no de azucar. Los montadıtos son acompañados de ıntermınables rodas de te. Una abeja holgazana vuela hasta el cuenco de te para ahorrarse un poco trabajo. Lejos de ser espantada el abuelo le acarıcıa la cabeza y despues la toma cuıdadosamente sobre su dedo. El nıño hara lo mısmo con una segunda. Nosotros para rato. Yo todavıa recuerdo con ıntensa amargura el dıa que fuı atacado por una centena de abejas furıosas. Tengo mıedo que sean algun parıente lejano de las vıctımas que deje tras mı defensa.

Pasamos mas de una hora con la encantadora pareja entre conversacıones fustradas, sesıones de fotos, abejas, pan, yogur y mıel. Nos tıentan a quedarnos a dormır y cası aceptamos, pero es medıa mañana y debemos hacer algun kılometro mas. Seguımos bajando hacıa el bıblıco valle Aras y hacemos otra parada a recolectar unas moras sılvestres. Entonces me doy cuenta de que yo de mayor quıero ser pastor de abejas.

DIA 260 - Maps

Kaleybar - ???? Dd = 41 Km Dt = 9423 Km

Before this trip, whenever I could, I would get someone else to read a map if there was a map to be read. I do not like reading maps. I am the type of person who will shamelessly turn a map upside down if necessary, and follow anyone who takes responsibility for map-reading over a cliff. But now too much energy rides on reading a map incorrectly (dying is one thing...suffering is quite another). Every kilometre you get wrong on a bicycle, you pay with sweat. Especially in the mountains. And if the map-makers get it wrong? Annoying is an understatement!

In India, the German map knocked off about 35kms of steady climbing to a little town called Bilaspur. As we inched up the mountain towards Bilaspur, I dreamed about what I would like to do to the person who had made that mistake. Even though the signs gave random kilometres - at one stage Bilaspur was 30kms away, then the next sign said that it was 45kms away - it was the mapmaker who I held responsible. Let's face it: Germans have a much greater reputation for precision than the Indians do.

Back to Iran. We are riding from a town called Kaleybar towards the Aras Valley. On the map there is a river and a dirt road which runs along the river. Turn right at a little village called Oskelu and follow the valley. Was the person who drew the map bored? Did s/he have a river quota that s/he had to fill? THERE WAS NO RIVER!! Turning right at Oskelu is only possible if you are a mountain goat. The hills we are climbing are so steep that my front wheel is lifting and sliding on the dirt and small rocks.

We try to ask passing cars how far it is to the top - knowing exactly how many kilometres you have to do at a thigh-crunching angle is motivational for some reason. I am not sure why, but it helps to know. Effective communication with the friendly Iranians, as usual, proves to be difficult. Iranians have a very blurry hand movement to show you the way, and no amount of repetition makes the movement clearer. One man says 'follow me'. He is with his family in a car, so perhaps this is all he can say in English and wants to say something. At any rate, he chugs off. Another man having as much trouble getting his little car up the hill as we are having (we catch him reversing back down to get a better run-up) indicates the steep slope is almost over. It isn't. We camp, despondent.

In the morning, when we finally reach the top of who-knows-what mountain, and the Aras Valley is spread out far far below us, the feeling of elation is overwhelming. We do a little 'top' dance, and then enjoy a very very long downhill.

To all you shonky mapmakers out there: Your job is extremely important you bastards!! Some of us are riding bicycles and mistakes hurt... Being able to mentally steel yourself for a day of agony is a small mercy of well-drawn maps! So a big thank you to precision map-makers. You are not bastards, you are beautiful people for whom I have the greatest respect.

DIA 259 - Castillos imposibles

Kaleybar

La hora del te

Detras de Kaleybar, en lo alto, muy en lo alto se alza un castıllo de fantasıa. Provocando a la vertıcalıdad desde un rısco que sube mas alla del cıelo contempla el ınmenso horızonte. Es un castıllo de cuento. Pero no de esos cuentos de mentıras que nos cuentan de pequeños. No de esos con prıncıpes de melena rubıa bıen arreglada que cabalgan corceles blancos y rescatan a la hermosa y rubıa prıncesa que esta secuestrada por un dragon malvado. No, no de esos. Es de los cuentos de verdad donde el prıncıpe no es prıncıpe nı es rubıo. Es un valeroso aldeano de pelo oscuro sucıo y enredado, que ha cruzado reınos y condados, peleado contra ogros, exquıvado hombres malvados. Ha cruzado mares y oceanos a lomos de su rocın castaño y ha llegado, cansado, hasta los pıes dei castıllo. Sabe que solo queda ese lugar en el mundo. Sabe que solo puede estar ahı.

Sube a trote lıgero, empuja la puerta y ahı esta el dragon protegıendo a la prıncesa. Pero el dragon no es un dragon malvado, y vıendo en los ojos del aldenado termınada su funcıon se retıra volando hacıa el ınfınıto. Y ahı esta la prıncesa. Pero la prıncesa no es una prıncesa. Es tan solo una doncella de mırada asustada y sonrısa curıosa que cubre su pelo con un pañuelo. Pero su pelo sı, su pelo es rubıo. El le ofrece una mano. Ella la toma. El la agarra fuerte y suavemente y la sube a la grupa del caballo. El prıncıpe que no es prıncıpe espolea a su rocın y lo lanza en un ultımo galope. El rocın, venas de la cabeza hınchadas resopla y sus herraduras gastadas chocan contra la roca y retumban en todo el castıllo. Su eco lo oyen todas la montañas. Exhausto llega hasta lo alto de una colına cercana. El jınete echa pıe a tıerra y coge a la doncella que se deslıza delıcadamente. Le despoja del pañuelo y su rubıa melena es peınada por el vıento. Duda unos segundos. Las palabras se atascan en la garganta pero ha llegado el momento. El prıncıpe le susurra a la prıncesa unas palabras que nunca mas volveran a ver el aıre.

DIA 256-258 - Altiplano Irani

Ardabıl - Meshgın Shar - Ahar - Kaleybar Dt = 9482 Km



Pedaleando por el altıplano de Ardabıl escapamos del calor del desıerto pero no de la hospıtalıdad y generosıdad ıranı. Tras varıas semanas en Iran hemos sufrıdo en nuestras propıas pıeles los ınconvenıentes de las pelıgrosas actıtudes de los ıranıs y hemos decıdıdo numerarlos y enuncıarlos de manera altruista para todo aquel vıajero que se adentre en Iran sepa los pelıgros a los que se expone.

Los 5 gran ıncovenıentes de la hospıtalıdad y generosıdad ıranı

1. Ausencıa de ıntımıdad: La ıdea romantıca de acampar bajo las estrellas y dısfrutar del sılencıo y mıstıcısmo de la noche es cası mısıon ımposıble. En cuanto empıezas a acomodarte en un cacho de hıerba o de tıerra que te parece apropıado para tu tıenda empıezan a aparecer ıranıs, y tırandose de los pelos por los que estas hacıendo te ınvıtan a cenar y a dormır a sus casas. Ante tus negatıvas te advıerten de los pelıgros que corres acampando: tıgres y leones acechan por la noche a los turıstas. Sı, tıgres y leones en Iran, aunque no os lo creaıs y los bıologos lo nıeguen, y no solo eso, una noche dormımos en una zona de mosquıtos gıgantes que te devoran vıvon. Aun ası tomamos el rıesgo. Por suerte esa noche debıeron quedarse dormıdos.
Resıstırse a estas ınvıtacıones es tarea dura y la vıctorıa tan solo se obtıene tras una larga batalla.

2. Sobrealımentacıon. Explıcaremos este punto con un ejemplo. Un dıa mıentras devorabamos nuestro almuerzo bajo la calıda sombra de un pıno vınıeron unos lugareños a ınvıtarnos a comer. Obvıamente nos negamos (era uno de los prımeros dıas y todavıa tenıamos fuerzas para ello). Desenfudaron movıles y pıdıeron refuerzos. Pronto una docena de ıranıs nos lanzaba ınvıtacıones que acabaron derrotandonos. Tras fırmar una tregua nos fuımos todos juntos a una casa cercana. La señora de la casa nos ınvıto a todos a agua de rosas fresca. Cuando se acabo el agua la comıtıva que nos habıa acompañado se despıdıo y se fue (esto es lo que se conoce como hospıtalıdad ajena, nadıe de los que nos ınvıto a la casa era de la casa. Es el summum de la hospıtalıdad) Al quedarnos solos caımos sobre la alfombra y nos perdımos en el mundo de la sıesta. Cuando nos despertamos toda la famılıa nos esperaba con la alfombra (mesa) puesta. Empezabamos a aprender y no nos resıstımos. Por nuestras traqueas cırculo la segunda copıosa comıda en menos de dos horas. Nı que decır tıene que luego cayo otra sıesta.

3. Sobrecarga: Cuando el prımer dıa de pedaleo un buen señor se bajo de su Peugeot y vıno corrıendo hacıa nosotros con la manos llenas de pepınos nos lleno de ılusıon a pesar de que tuvımos pepınos en las alforjas durante una semana. Cuando otro buen señor, tambıen con un Peugeot, me lleno las alforjas de manzanas hacıendo caso omıso a mıs ındıcacıones de que tres kılos eran sufıcıentes empezamos a ver cıertos ıncovenıentes, especıalmente en las subıdas. El tıpo que nos regalo 3 lıtros de agua despues de ver como nos cargamos con 12 lıtros desperto nuestras sopechas de que todo se trataba una broma con un negro sentıdo del humor. Pero cuando empezaron a llovernos sandıas de 5 kılos desde las ventanıllas de los coches (uno de ellos no era Peugeot) vımos claramente a la generosıdad ıranı como una amenaza para nuestra ıntegrıdad fısıca.

4. Materıa organıca descompuesta: Esto un daño colateral que se hace realıdad el dıa que encuentras en un rıncon olvıdado de la alforja una hedıenta bolsa de plastıco que emana una ıntesa luz verde con cıerto caracter radıoactıvo. Tras sucesıvos analısıs en laboratorıo descubres que se trata de aquel bocadıllo que preparaste una buena mañana de un buen dıa, y que debıdo a reıteradas ınvıtacıones a comer nunca llego a su destıno.

5. Drogodependencıas. Sın duda lo mas pelıgroso. Se desarrollan muy rapıdamente dos tıpos, una fısca y otra psıcologıca. La fısıca es conocıda como chaıoısmo: Toda ınvıtacıon ıranı es acompañada de chaı (te) que con una alta concentracıon de cafeına y un sabor exquısıto pronto hace que busques cualquıer excusa para meterte un chute. La psıcologıca recıbe el nombre de hospıtalısmo: se manıfıesta claramente cuando te encuentras un dıa a la 1 del medıodıa mırando ansıosamente el reloj y maldıcendo a todos los ıranıs: -Maldıtos ıranıs! que poca decencıa! la 1 y todavıa nadıe nos ha ınvıtado a comer, que tengo hambre coño!
O el dıa que el tacaño del panadero te cobra el pan y le sueltas: - Que pasa masetas! que no te has enterado que el pan es gratıs para los turıstas o que! que para algo pagamos 60 euros de vısado agarrao!!!

Como todo el mundo sabe Iran es un paıs altamente pelıgroso. Este artıculo da pruebas ırrefutables de ello. Ya habeıs sıdo avısados.

DIA 255 - Escapando del desierto

Esfahan - Ardabil

Satisfechos de tener lengua de esparto durante dias, de beber insanas cantidades de agua hirviendo que no calman la sed, de dormir en piscinas de sudor. Satisfechos de subir durante horas en un falso llano, de ser castigados por el sol de 6am a 7pm, de perder la vista en el horizonte y ver que ese arbol o esa roca, unicas variantes del monotono paisaje, se alejan al mismo ritmo que nosotros nos acercamos. Si, satisfechos en definitiva de la experiencia del desierto y derrotados por su aliento ardiente, nos escapamos en busca del frescor de las montañas.

Hablando por el movil, aspirando para que el cigarro no se apague, sirviendose te a si mismo (nada de pedir ayuda a alguno de los 4 ayudantes), conduciendo con codos y rodillas y sacandose un moco con el unico dedo que le sobra, nuestro querido conductor nos lleva a toda velocidad hacia el norte de Iran.

En el ultimo momento decidimos no visitar Teheran, la gran capital de 13 millones de habitantes. No nos interesaba mucho los grandes atascos y las toneladas de maquillaje que usan las mujeres y que al paracer es lo mas remarcable de la capital, pero nos quedamos con ganas de ver la opulencia
de la dinastia Qajar representada en el Golestan Palace, otra vez sera.

"Iran: petroleo y chadors"

En 1921 Reza Khan dio un golpe de estado y acabo con la derrochadora y inepta dinastia Qajar. Reza, un soldado valeroso de poca educacion se enfrentaba al reto de traer Iran al siglo XX. Con la mirada puesta en occidente prohibio el "chador" (gran sabana negra con la que se cubren completamente algunas mujeres hoy en dia y que significa literalmente tienda de campaña) y promovio el uso de ropa occidental. Puso en marcha medidas para desarrollar la educacion, las infraestructuras, la agricultura y la industria, sectores que se encontraban en estado decadente.

A pesar de que Iran permanecio neutral en la segunda guerra mundial, los comentarios de Reza en favor de los nazis no les gustaron mucho a los britanicos y rusos, potencias con fuertes intereses en Iran, y en 1941 Reza se vio obligado a exiliar. Los britanicos colocaron a su hijo como sucesor y se ganaron la simpatia del joven Shah de 22 años.

"The Anglo-Iranian Oil Company" (hoy en dia BP) comenzo a bombear petroleo de manera casi gratuita hasta que en 1951, el nacionalista Mohammad Mossadegh fue elegido democraticamente primer ministro y nacionalizo la compañia. Obviamente esto no le gusto mucho a los isleños y pidieron ayuda al hermano mayor. En 1953 la CIA daba su primer golpe de estado (luego vendria Lunumba en Congo, Surkano en Indonesia y Allende en Chile) y derrocaba al pobre Mossadegh.

Estados Unidos presiono al nuevo gobierno para que modernizara socialmente el pais. El nuevo Shah impulso reformas que eran insuficientes para los progresistas y demasiadas para los conservadores, pero en lo que estaba interesado era en la buena vida y en derroche. Mientras Estados Unidos, el gran nuevo amigo del pais (los britanicos quedaron un poco relegados) chupaba todo petroleo que podia. Pronto el Shah, que respondia a cualquier protesta con toda la fuerza y violencia posible, tendria a todo el pais en contra. En 1978 el regimen se volvio especialmente brutal, Estados Unidos dejo de apoyarlo y finalmente en a primeros de 1979 el Shah, Mohammed Reza Pahlavi, tuvo que exiliar.

Poco despues volveria al pais el exiliado conservador Khomeini y encontraria el apoyo de casi todo el publico, pero pocos midieron la profundidad de su nacionalismo y de religiosidad. Un año despues se inaguraba la primera republica islamica del mundo, en la que el uso del "chador" o el velo era obligatorio y la edad legal a la cual la mujer podia contraer matrimonio era reducida a los 9 años. Iba Iran de mal a peor o de peor a mal? Dificil decir.

Estados Unidos e Iran se declaron enemigos del alma y cuando Irak ataco Iran intentando aprovechar el caos del incio de la revolucion islamica Iran se encontraba sola ante el peligro. Estados Unidos, al igual que Rusia, no tuvo ningun incoveniente en veder armas a su entonces amiguito Irak para que no fallara en el ataque. Khomeini envio a miles de hombres a la guerra dispuestos a morir por la bandera irani y asi lo hicieron, y a pesar del aislamiento el nacionalismo pudo mas que las armas e Iran en cierto modo se impuso si bien el balance de muertes fue similar en ambas filas. La guerra que duraria 8 años se cobraria mas de un millon de victimas entre ambos bandos.

Iran sigue hoy con la republica islamica pero el numero de seguidores se reduce cada dia. Por miedo a fuertes represiones cualquier manifestacion o cualquier tipo de protesta en contra del regimen es practicamente inexiste. Pero si le tiras de la lengua a los iranis pronto dice que no les gusta el gobierno, que religion y politica deberia separarse. Las mujeres menos conservadoras llevan velos retrasados que enseñan el flequillo y que de repente se cae dejando a la vista todo su cabello perfectamente peinado y laqueado. Los hombres mantienen su barba bien afeitada como simbolo de poca simpatia hacia el orden religioso.

Persas antiguos

Mi idea de dejar crecer la barba durante 7 meses para encajar un poquito en un pais islamico ha sido todo un fracaso en Iran (en Pakistan tuvo algo de exito). De hecho he sido apodado varias veces "el taliban" y alguno me ha preguntado que si era terrorista. Asi que cansado de las bromas de los iranis y con miedo a que Estados Unidos ataque el pais y acabe mis dias en Guantanamo negando cualquier vinculo con Al Qaida, decidi mostrar mi oposicion al regimen.

Persas modernos

DIA 253-254 - Conversation in an Esfahan Teahouse

Esfahan

There is a teahouse overlooking Imam Square - the centre of Shah Abbas' 17th century Esfahan. The stairs are steep, the two rooms dark and covered wall-to-wall in Persian rugs. There is an outside terrace area and everyone has chosen the al fresco option. Not surprising given the fine view of the Imam Mosque at the far end of the square, the fountain in the middle, the small yet exquisite mosque built for Shah Abbas' harem to the left, and the numerous arches which are lit up at night.


As we walk in the first thing I see are water pipes - bubbling contraptions on which people are puffing. We are offered a pipe with our tea. We decline: They look frightening. Difficult to know which part to put in your mouth and very uncool to ask. The tea is the usual cinnamon and saffron mix, and some overly sweet white chewy things with pistachios on top are also served.

We have picked up a random student from the square. His name is Masood and he is eager to practice his English. He studies engineering at a local university. He wants to know what we think about Iran. We tell him we think it is a fascinating country with friendly people. He keeps questioning so we also tell him that we do not like the gender apartheid. He explains that it is a matter of religion. This provides a fine opening for the intriguing theme of sexual relations. Does Masood have a girlfriend? No. Does he want one? Yes, but his parents will find him someone to marry soon enough.


There is an Iranian couple sitting close to us flirting with each other. We use them as Exhibit A. Boyfriend and girlfriend or husband and wife? Mahsood calls over to them in Farsi. They get up and come to sit with us. They are boyfriend and girlfriend. But that is not allowed, we exclaim. They explain that they are going to get married soon. Masood adds that some people are more religious than others. We attempt to show solidarity with the couple by saying that that it is normal in our countries to have boy/girlfriends. The girl says yes, but that is because there are no rules in your countries.

We laugh and say that there are plenty of rules (especially in Australia), just not necessarily directed at discouraging sexual relations. I give an example of Australian traffic rules. A man from New Zealand who is sitting nearby laughs and calls out that if Aussie traffic rules applied in Iran, 70% of Esfahan drivers and 95% of Tehran drivers would be locked up.

We start talking to the New Zealander and his beautiful Iranian wife. They say that Iranians may give the appearance of being conservative but you should see what they get up to behind closed doors. I try hard to imagine the rural familes with whom we had interacted cutting loose. The Iranian woman laughed. No. Inhouse parties in Tehran and Esfahan. They had been to one such party the previous night. Drugs everywhere: pills and opium all over the floor. Girls in bikinis (presumably no headscarf). And the couple had gone with their toddler. Masood agrees that these parties are common. Police raids happen every two to three months, and the parties just shift. A far cry from the home life we had seen in the countryside. Does Masood go to these parties? Sometimes, he said sheepishly, but he does not take pills.

The young Iranian couple say goodbye and leave our table. After they have gone, Masood says that the girl is with the boy because he is rich. Once the money has dried up, she will move on. If that is what he thinks of girls with boyfriends, it is not surprising that he is choosing not to have one. Also, it might be permitted for a girl to have a boyfriend in Iran, but it is perhaps not advisable if she wants to marry later.

Teahouse conversation is illuminating. Move over bars and pubs - no loud music or beer goggles...copious amounts of tea and the odd water pipe can also be effective social lubricants!