Travelog
This diary tracks our progress along the Silk Roads, with episodes appearing in date order, most recent first. You can get to earlier entries by turning pages at the bottom of the screen.
- Details
- Written by Andy Stone
- Category: Travelog
2-Apr-07
Over the border at the top of a mountain, we had a spectacular 4 hour drive to Mashhad. We chose this city, in the North-East, as an ideal yet in-at-the deep-end introduction to Iran as it is the country's holiest, and most conservative, city. I'm glad we did because we stayed with a lovely, kind family who helped us get up to speed quickly with Iranian behaviour and dress. The family themselves were pretty liberal and open minded (as most people here are compared to the deeply unpopular conservative government), and they fed us magnificent Persian dishes - their flat bread is the best I've tasted anywhere and Persian rice is scented from heaven itself; there were too many sticky dried fruit and nuts to mention.
Political and religious discussion was free and easy within the home but we were warned off it in public: apparently to get anywhere in society today you need to display suitable prejudices, women have to cover themselves up severely and 'know their place', as there are religious informers everywhere. At home though it is different, very relaxed, much more equal. It is a big relief to hear that the current government is not liked, indeed they were only elected because the mullahs banned reformists and liberals of the last excellent administration from standing, but a shame to see that there is still much fear, and its rising. Especially in Mashhad women choose to wear the chador, a head to toe black tent-like piece of material designed to negate any body shape; from my background both spiritually and socially I have found this to be the hardest thing to cope with on the journey so far. I will never understand why men fear the unique and beautiful power that women possess, or why instead of celebrating it they need to eradicate it completely, to strip each individual of all personality, all identity, just like with the wall of hair I saw at Auschwitz. This is a purely political thing and has nothing at all to do with Islam, and for me it is horrific that this can happen in the 21st century.
3-Apr-07
We spent the day organising ourselves and visiting the Holy Shrine of Imam Reza, the most holy site in Iran and the centre of the Shia faith. As non-Muslims there were areas not open to us including the shrine itself and some outer areas, but the courtyards, domes and minarets we did see were incredibly impressive - often made with the typical blue tiles adorned with Arabic verses from the Qur'an but some from solid gold bricks. After a farewell feast with our host we boarded an overnight bus bound for the oasis town of Tabas sandwiched between 2 deserts 8 hours south and west. We never got there though: a couple we met on the bus and who live an hour before Tabas insisted that we come to theirs to rest as we would otherwise be arriving in Tabas at 4:30 in the morning. Still aching and dizzy from the fever I was grateful for the lack of refusal options, and tickled by the idea of such a lovely kidnapping in the middle of the Dasht-e Kavir. Especially during current times.
4-Apr-07
Woke to bright sunshine and much better health - the worst is over but unfortunately I've passed it on to Ellen. After a wonderful breakfast of eggs, bread, quince jam and endless tea we were not allowed to go, as previously agreed, but instead taken by Hamid to the agricultural college where he teches. We had a very interesting tour of the grounds, learning about the challenges of desert agriculture and particularly about the ancient underground irrigation systems now adopted across all Asian desert areas. We saw around the ancient buildings of his home town Boshrooyeh, a quiet place that may never have seen blonde hair before except on telly. A short drive out of town took us to another holy shrine, this time of a descendant of Imam Reza where we had a tea picnic before exploring the countryside. We headed for the red hills that line the desert passing through huge blooms of flowers which defied the dead concept of deserts, stopping at a fairly intact site of the first water mill in Iran, mostly forgotten even by local people. Looking up from that place we saw a steep lone promontory on top of which rose a 700 year old castle (Ghal-e Dokhtar) flowing upwards organically out of the blazing stone; it was built not by Shiites but by the liberal reformists known as Ismaelis (still thriving in pockets of northern Pakistan) as a defence against GK's rampaging moguls. A very steep and slippery climb was eventually completed without too much in the way of scrapes and our reward was magnificent views across the desert at sunset: what a huge, stunning, diverse and sumptuous land this is, full of the kindest most wonderful passionate people. Close to paradise, very close, if only the mullahs and politicians could quell their lust for power.
Back home for 8 p.m.. I do not know if we are allowed to leave yet: if so we shall head for ancient Yazd, home to the Zoroastrians. Will have to listen to some Queen on the way!
5-Apr-07
The hostage crisis has deepened somewhat over the past 12 hours: we are still in Boshrooyeh and each time we get a sniff of fresh air something happens. I have not lost hope of escape entirely but needless to say we are now well behind schedule. There are rumours of a taxi to Tabas being arranged...
Hamid returned at lunchtime saying that he had been interrogated by the police about us: someone had informed. "What are their politics?", "Are they Muslim?", "What did they ask you about their soldiers?". We had to go to the station to produce our documents but all was well in the end, the police once satisfied wished that we enjoy Iran while we are here, but it was a reminder that here the walls have eyes and ears and that it is all a bit jittery right now. I really home that there is no come-back for our wonderfully kind hosts.
Finally we do escape, albeit weighed down with parcels of food for the journey, in a taxi through more really lovely desert flanked by the same flaming mountains as yesterday. The landscape has an eternal quality that I see reflected in the essentially traditional and conservative attitudes of the people in this region.
Tabas came upon us like a mirage in the middle of of the desert - in bloom but still pretty parched - as an oasis of thick dense palm trees and tropical lushness. It was like taking a cold shower after the midday heat. Sadly the bus to Yazd was not leaving until midnight, signalling another overnight trip: pretty unattractive as we were both still ill so we tried our hand at hitch-hiking instead. It was time for Ellen's magnificent bosom to earn its keep and sure enough we secured a ride within 5 minutes, all the way there in a swish modern car with a couple of trendy young chaps who, and this is not something that would ever happen in England, furnished us with fragrant sweet tea throughout the journey. In proper china cups, too.
Arriving in the dark we pitch up in the heart of the old city and check into the cheapest place in town, confirming that you really do get what you pay for - almost. But it was a bed, we were tired, and after a good supper in a truly sumptuous ancient covered courtyard we called it a day resolving to find in the morning a little touch of luxury for the remainder of our stay.
6-Apr-07
Luxury found! Waking into the mud-walled courtyard of the 200 year old Silk Road Hotel down a twisty lane just off the magnificent Friday Mosque, the fountained central pool surrounded by roses and geraniums in full bloom proved too much to resist despite the price. Some places are right becasue they elevate, energise and inspire; this place was right because it immediately soothes and stops us, giving us space to relax in and become aware of just how tired we are. After a huge fresh fruit salad and endless tea (again) we have decided that we may well not go outside the hotel at all today: a first for day 1 in a new town.
Also it gives us time for reflection. For me this centres around what must be common dichotomy felt by westerners: this is Persia, full of magic and wonder and the bedrock of so many exotic dreams and fantasies; of truly sublime countryside and (at this time of year anyway) perfect weather; of a rich ancient culture that bequeaths so much world-beating architecture, art, music, cuisine, science and philosophy, so much so that to be here is to stand at the very centre of the world. And of course of legendary hospitality from the kindest of people who give straight fro their heart and the heart of Islam. Persia makes me want to stay for as long as the visa will allow, to lose myself in its mysteries, but this is also Iran from which I would run as fast as I could, the Iran which makes me howl with rage as the government and religious leaders conspire to subjugate women, to strip away their very personalities, their souls, and to attempt through a campaign of fear and oppression to persuade the population that this is somehow acceptable. This is the exact reverse of the western objectification of women and far more sinister, far more damaging. I tend to allow for the subjective nature of experience, and a respect of the cultures I am a guest within, and so it is strange that here of all places I finally find the one thing that I can see only in absolute terms. History teaches us the danger of converting beliefs into 'truths' and even knowing this I have crossed the line into my own kind of fundamentalism: the subjugation of women is wrong, period, and damn all who try it. This is my will, so may it be.
7-Apr-07
Very little to report, a day of easy-going sight-seeing. Yazd old town is really something: ancient, well preserved, and unlike so many other silk road treasures it does not come with the usual overwhelming array of commercial tourist trappings. Maybe a discreet sign here and there to help us find our way, which in any case we generally ignored. It was a delight to get lost in the twisty lanes and shady courtyards, still well inhabited and straddling the old world and modern life comfortably, to see the famous badghirs (wind towers: tall structures that catch even the slightest breeze and drive it down to the courtyard, cooling it and sucking out the hot air. Ingenious.). We saw Alexander's Prison and more, before popping out into the more modern parts where we took in a garden and eventually fetched up at a Zoroastrian temple called Ateshkadeh. In a way this is THE Zoroastrian temple as it is the central place of pilgrimage for Zoroastrians the world over. The flame that burns there is said to have done so continuously since 470 AD, more than one and a half millennia. We forgot to listen to Bohemian Rhapsody on the way.
8-Apr-07
I spent the morning talking to a lovely old mystical lady called Sian from Brompton, who really inspired and relaxed me. A quick dash to get supplies followed by frustrating any ultimately failed attempts to phone my mum and dad completed the morning, and the afternoon was spend travelling south-west on a bus to Shiraz, a cultured, liberal centre within Iran and famous as the hoe of poetry and nightingales. Sounds like my sort of place.
After 7 ours we arrive and are met by our HC host Jaid, a lovely chap who takes us by car to his family apartment in the west of town - a very plush place reflecting Jaid's excellent eye for modern design and housing his many collected objects from around the world.
9-Apr-07
A wonderful day in a wonderful town, I have fallen for Shiraz immediately. We spent the day with Jaid's sister walking and seeing the central sights, such as the serene (despite restoration work) Vakil Mosque with its forest f stone columns and a minbar of 14 steps carved from 1 solid peice of green marble; the adjoining Vakil Bazaar, an Aladin's cave of jewels, carpets, boxes, carvings and market pandemonium on a huge scale. We went to the central fortification which was some-time palace, some-tie prison in the heart of Shiraz, Arg-e Karim Khan, which is painfully slowly being restored in a way that even the National Trust would approve of, plenty of elbow grease and very little reworking.
Back for a huge sumptuous lunch courtesy of Jaid's mother, the best cook in the world after my own, before heading back to a place that suited both of us: it was a garden, and a weapons museum. Ideal. Actually the upper floor of the museum was dedicated to 'entertainment' rather than (just) weapons, with displays packed full of Loius XIV and XV repro. I don't know why. Dark now, we moved on to the Mausoleum of Shah-e Cheragh, which aside from the impressive dome and pretty minarets house a huge shrine lined exclusively with tiny mirrored tiles and huge chandeliers. It was awesome and just like standing inside a construct made just of light made solid.
Our sight-seeing ended inside a huge nomadic tent on the outskirts of town listening to traditional live Persian music washed down with even more tea. Perfect. Things got a bit jittery when we heard the government had just sent an SMS to every handset i the country congratulating the opening of the atomic energy facility at Bushehr, but the Israelis have not tried bombing it yet as they pledged they would (thanks I'm sure in the main to Bush's huge domestic unpopularity) so all is still good.
I really am impressed with Shiraz, and wonder if this is more because of the place, or because of the relaxed friendliness of our host family. A very green city there are lots f gardens, and a major University centre means that it is a laid-back yet buzzing cosmopolitan sort of place that is like a breath of fresh air. Definitely my favourite place in Iran so far.
10-Apr-07
A very relaxing catch-up day, I've been able to write up our adventures in Turkmenistan and Iran to date. In the evening we visited the tomb of Hafez set in lush tropical gardens, the most famous Persian poet renowned for a superb memory, and met an excellently eccentric lady who ranted on in truly splendid fashion: she was not too impressed by her god, it seemed. This is apparently the one place in Iran where boys and girls are allowed to date. Off to Persepolis tomorrow...
- Details
- Written by Ellen Winter
- Category: Travelog
Seeing children playing games that I played when I was a child, but which have now been superceeded largely in the west brings back memories. Games like marbles (Tuyoq, Xinjang); Jacks (Laos); Cats Cradle (Mongolia and others); and the one that's like cats cradle crossed with skipping and seems to involve elastic (usually knicker elastic nicked from Mum's sewing box, I remember) which I've seen all over Asia.
Kites are a big thing in Uzbekistan. Even the scruffiest urchin has a some newspaper on a light wood frame and piece of string. The poshest one we saw was about 4 feet high, clear plastic with a red cross and tassles, being flown in a park near the Samarkand bazaar. It looked like a strong gust would have lifted the boy on the string off his feet!
There are other incidents, too. Navrus festivities in the Registon in Bukhara, where we watched the tightrope walker walk, run, jump and slide across his tightrope, while holding on to a guidewire, accompanied by long trumpets and drums. We wandered off when he finished so as to avoid his perfoming monkey performing. We drifted over to the crowd around the wrestling, where Andy got suitably engrossed, and gave me a running commentary. As we were in a crown of shifty looking blokes mostly (although the police in the front seats just looked enthusiastic) I was aware that it was possible there were pickpockets around.
I saw someone sidle up to Andy and reach towards him gently. The next thing I knew Andy was holding a tiny copy of Koranic verses, and I was being offered one too. Then we were given a little amulet style necklace/holder for them, and we just about managed to gather together a sensible comment and express thanks before the guy drifted away. 'Hello' and 'Thank you' here are accompanied by a lovely hand-on-heart gesture and slight bow of respect which, as we were warned, is quite addictive.
No-one has told the Uzbek people (many of who are Tajiks and Kazakhs due to Stalins divide and conquer boundary strategy) that velour and swirly gold embroidary shouldn't be worn with, say, fringing of fake coins, or that eye-wateringly bright ikat patterns shouldn't be made into suits. Needless to say, we revelled in this wonderful explosion of cheerful decoration - tassled trousers, caps with long fringes of silver or gold beads, the traditional colour mix of bright purple, white, yellow and green, often with some shocking pink or magenta to liven it up a bit. The Uzbeks seem to be the friendliest people we have ever met, and most of them are not only happy for us to take their photos, we are now totally used to being stopped in the street for them to have (many) photographs taken of us with them, their friends, families and random interested passers-by. It is all done with such friendliness that refusal would be utterly churlish, although when we felt a queue forming behind us at one point we did take advantage of a lovely guy who just wanted to talk to us, to make a run for it! We ended up talking to him for several hours though.
Anyway, Samarkand is quite lovely. The centre is fairly small, and most attractions are easily walkable. Uzbekistan doesn't have so much traffic yet, so pollution is fairly low (after China anyway). The Registon is an utterly sumptuous display of Islamic tiling, with more complex geometry than you can really take in. Much of the decoration comes from stylised Arabic script which takes a bit of spotting in some cases - motifs are repeated, turned, twisted, pixellated, embellished, spiralled, foliated and sometimes just too big to see. Unfortunately, the medressas that make up the Registon (pronounce it like the Ariston advert) are now all mini-shopping malls for tourists inside, but I did pay my bribe to the policeman in charge (3000 sum now, up from 2000 in the guide book) to climb the steep and dark stairs to the top of one of the mostly decorative minarets of the Ulugbek Medressa. The view from the top was sublime - from a storks eye view of the Registon, all the way to the Pamir Mountains, shimmering with snow in the distance.
- Details
- Written by Ellen Winter
- Category: Travelog
I used Google in lots of places in China, and there doesn't seem to be any immediately obvious message that the search results are censored either on the English or Chinese versions. In fact, I searched around quite a bit and still didn't come up with anything. I seem to remember Google saying they would put a notice on the site saying that results were censored, but if they have, it's pretty well buried.
- Details
- Written by Ellen Winter
- Category: Travelog
Now, forgive me, but I thought Central Asia was suppose to be dry. We are in the Kyzl Kum desert and it has mostly been cold and wet. Big puddles; grey, rainy mornings; muddy streets; chilly breeze. We just can't do anything right. Andy's Dad, aka "The Rainbringer" will laugh his socks off.