Being A Kurdish Princess

To completely contradict the start of my Iranian visit, it ended it on such a high note, with a family in Sanadaj. Sanadaj is in the heart of Kurdistan, Iran, where the traditions, clothing and culture were entirely different to the rest of Iran. People had told me Tehran was pretty liberal, but here in Sanadaj I hardly saw a woman in a chador! Most just wore the bare minimum to get way with the government regulations and let their scarf’s slip down more times than they cared to place it back on their heads.

Old tradtional house under restortation

Sanandaj Mosque

Tile detail

Taranom had been waiting 6 months for me to arrive, so when I finally emailed her to let her know I was arriving that day she was so excited and called me immediately just to hear my voice! Taranom is a beautiful fifteen year old girl, with a heart of gold just like the rest of her family. She speaks perfect English and rambles on in an American accent at 90 miles an hour, just like any teenage girl would do.

Susan, Taranom’s mother, came to meet me as I entered the city, and guide me back to their house. In one foul(this might be fell, not foul, I am not 100% sure) swoop, she took me into her heart and treated me as if I was part of her family, well, with some visitor privileges! Now I don’t say this light heartedly, they literally gave me their bed to sleep in, their clothes to wear, and refused me to pay for anything what so ever! I felt as if I was been cared for 100% if not more!

I then met the rest of the family. Susan's mother was so cute, she would call my name out with such love, it made me giggle every time. I actually ended up leaving my bike at her house, where she cleaned my mirrors, covered the bike up and when it rained put it under the balcony. She just reminded me of my Granny  back in New Zealand.

Grandmother and I

One evening we went to visit Susan’s cousins, where they dressed me in traditional Kurdish dresses. I spun around with full makeup and high heels in sparkly bright coloured clothing. I haven’t been this girlish since the Eid festival in Pakistan.

 

It’s amazing how far away I am from my family, yet I manage to find family’s all over the world to compensate for that short moment. Everyone needs looking after sometimes – Thank you so much to Taranom and her family, I really hope you do not mind when I call you my Kurdish family! 

Let the Syria Battle Rage On!

Twenty two million people would scare anyone, when driving into the heart of Tehran and the majority of them are all on the road all at the same time, trying to elbowing themselves to the head of the queue at every traffic light. I had been warned by many people about how manic and dangerous this traffic was going to be. Dread set in, but I planned my route into the heart of the city using my not so ‘trusty’ maps inside my guidebook. I was prepared to get completely lost and spend hours  going around in circles, but I kept my chin up and kept positive, driving in and around these lousy car drivers.

I did get lost. I was given wrong directions by the traffic police and  went down a one way the wrong way, got pulled over by the motorcycle traffic police but surprisingly, I got to the heart of the city and sitting outside a hotel all within an hour of entering the outskirts of the city!

The Syrian Embassy was demanding a letter from my embassy stating who I am. This is kind of ridiculous as your passport is an international identity, which should prove who I am to anyone. But I was going to play the Syrian Embassy's games. I raced to the New Zealand embassy before it closed for the weekend, paid the $50 fee and received my letter. A letter I couldn’t understand why it cost so much, but at least I’m prepared for my visit to the Embassy on Saturday after the Iran weekend (Thursday / Friday).

I didn’t want to sit around in Tehran alone in over the weekend in an expensive hotel and on top of it all, it was raining. Stuck inside in my cold white tiled boring hotel room for two days was not going to be fun, so when Neda answered my request to host me at her house, I was so happy to be able to experience staying with a family in the heart of Tehran!

Neda and I having a picnic dinner in her room

Yes im in bed with Neda's mother having an afternoon/ picnic sleep!

Neda's family and I having a picnic!

Neda is a 24 year old talented artist who works at a school. Neda opened my eyes to how a young intelligent woman struggles with the pressures from her traditions, culture and government. We spent many hours comparing our totally different life styles and cultural traditions.By the end of my five night stay with her family, I started to realise she is going through the same struggles I went through as a 14 year old in New Zealand.

Neda's mother looked like Neda’s elder sister. She was stunning for her age and the fact she has three amazing children. She helped me understand that Iranians only eat hamburgers and kebabs like we would eat fish ’n’ chips, once a week not every day like all travellers to Iran! Iranian food, or just Neda's mothers food is amazing. I would recommend anyone to go and try her dizzy and stuffed tomatoes, capsicums or eggplant (my two favourite dishes of hers).

I only experianced Tehran in the rain.... will you ever go away?

When the weather did clear it showed me why it was so cold!! It was snowing!

I was lucky to briefly meet Neda’s father, he flew in from Germany on my second to last night. In a true Muslim form, he refused my natural Kiwi hand shake, and explained to me that Muslim men do not touch woman who are not in the family. I had got used to not shaking the hands of people in Pakistan, but somehow I forgot at this moment!

Neda was kind enough to give me more of her time and drive me to the embassy when it opened on Saturday. They flatly refused to let me in, and made me wait for 30minutes in the pouring rain. Luckily for me the guard wasn’t so nasty and let me sit in his booth with the heater on full. They called me over and told me I had to be an Iranian resident before I could get a visa. I couldn’t believe it, ‘You told me on the phone, all I needed was a letter from my embassy, photos and the fee. I have all of these and now you’re telling me I have to be a resident?’  ‘Sorry, we must of mistaken who you are’. ‘No, you didn’t otherwise you wouldn’t have asked for this letter from my embassy’. I was pretty mad at this point, but I kept a good tone and a level head, but nothing I said could change their mind.

I emailed the New Zealand embassy and asked them for help, I just got a $50 letter off them, I wanted them to work for the fee! Hamish, the councillor was amazing, he managed to get me another appointment at the Syrian Embassy the very next day. I stood outside the little tiny window after handing in my passport and letter, and waited for three hours, pacing up and down trying to keep warm.

 Along comes Nath and Gonzague, and they get given a visa form, one I still haven’t received, and told to wait. When the window opened once again the phone was passed out to me, a man’s voice said ‘Im sorry mam, but you and your friends cannot get a visa for Syria here. Good Bye’ and hung up. Great, I just spend five days mucking around for this with nothing to show for it.

Nath, Gonzague and I looked at each other and laughed, we were pissed off but all in a desperate needed of a chai and Iranian hamburger and of course some sightseeing so we headed for the bazaar.

Just choose a shoe shape of your liking

Then the perfect top!

Tehran main bazaar

Can You Always Trust the Police?

I wasn’t quick enough trying to crank my head around to get a second glance at the sign post, nope I definitely missed it. Did it really tell me to turn right? I better turn around and check it out again. Just as I was about to drive off, a banged up pickup truck pulled up next to me, with the words police written on the side. What did they want? I thought to myself as I remembered back to my first few days in Iran. Keeping up a friendly attitude I called out through my helmet, ‘Kashan?’ pointing down the road I thought the sign said. The guy in the passage seat signals for me to turn around and follow him. Raising my eyebrows, I thought that there is no way I’m going anywhere with you, I just do not trust the Iranian Police.

I turned my bike around, this made the police happy and convinced that I was obeying their orders. However I stopped at the sign and read- Kashan turn right. I drove around the corner and prepared myself for the next instalment. Sure enough I didn’t have to wait long. I cringed as I heard the engine of the poor pickup truck been driven at revs designed for the next gear. The passenger, which I guessed was more senior of the two, hung out the window frantically waving at me to stop. They then pull in front of me and came to a stop. 





I

I made conscious decision to stop with a lot of space between me and the truck. I then waited until they both got out of the truck and started walking towards me, just as they were about to reach me I called out ‘Do you speak English?’
‘No’ replied the police
‘Then leave me alone’ I said, driving off and leaving them standing confused a good ten metres from their truck. The first few corners were scary, just waiting for them to catch up with me. Then I had another brain wave. I parked around a corner not completely out of sight but a place you wouldn’t see me very easily if you’re driving in a hurry. I then took out my camera and took some photos of the surrounding mountains. It didn’t take me long to work out they were not coming to hunt me down so I could now carry on without worrying towards Kashan, the village filled with beautiful old Persian bath houses and homes open to the public. Being interested in architecture, I couldn’t help stopping here for the night to check them out.











I’m bit confused, I’m not sure where to go and what to see during my last two weeks in Iran. I roughly worked out a brief plan of attack, first Kashan, jump around Tehran and head to Qazvin to visit a motorcycle shop then to Tazeh Kand-e-Nosrat to see a castle then head back south to see a friend of a friend in Sanandaj before crossing into Iraq. Too many options with no real interest, that’s when I thought about my Syrian visa.

I knew I didn’t need a visa before arriving at the Syria border. Since I was a New Zealander and we do not have an embassy in my country, I could officially obtain a visa at the border. However, since March this year Syria has been on the brink of civil war and I wanted to make my border crossing as easy as possible, hence I wanted to obtain a visa before arriving. It is known on forums across the internet that the Embassy in Istanbul does not issue visa’s to non residents, however the embassy in Tehran might. It looks as if I’ve just squashed all my plans and I’m now heading to Tehran.
There is more photos on my flickr blog - click here

A Carpet Room Or A Toilet Cell?

The little village of Toodeshk was the home of a young man, who at the age of 13 was working hard and was really curious about these travellers he saw cycling past him. He then approached them to offer them a place to stay and food for the night all for free. Thirteen years later he has arrange two beautiful rooms within his house with four extremely comfortable beds, a huge space for motorcycle, bicycle and van parking and he even has tools on offer to fix anything! I didn’t do this place justice as I arrived late and left early to Esfahan.

Being a cheap ass as I am, I rented myself a space in the carpet room in Esfahan. Now to most people this sounds like a romantic space with carpets on the wall and floors. However when I walked downstairs to the basement, I discovered it really was a converted toilet block.

Four mattresses lined up side by side with not an inch of space between and only 600mm at the foot of them. There were, I guess, carpets under the mattresses but they soon dissolved under the piles of backpacks. I wonder who these fellow cheap-skates were? I soon discover my fellow inmates were three Australians. Wow, this was going to be a great night in our private toilet block.

Despite the dull and boring guesthouse and my very own unique toilet cell, I was extremely happy to find myself surrounded with familiar accents. I spent the afternoon catching up with Moshen and his friends down at Naqsh-e Jahan Square and Nath and Gonzague arrived the following day. I could finally feel my spirits lifting, it was exactly what I needed, one tablespoon of tourist along with a beautiful destination.

The best thing about Nath and Gonzague arriving was they didn’t mind me tagging along with them while we saw the sights of Esfahan even to the point they stood there and read out loud from the guide book in English about the different sites, once again proving them to be the best guides I've ever got to know! 

Here is what we got up to in Esfahan:

Imam Mosque, Esfahan, Iran

Imam Mosque, Esfahan, Iran

Bazar-e Bozorg, Esfahan, Iran

Nath and Gonzague trying to walk into someone's house without knocking - great guides!! 

Jameh Mosque, Esfahan, Iran

Ghal-e-Tabarok, Esfahan, Iran, Iran

Tea House Entrance

A Detail of the roof of Ali Qapu Palace, Esfahan, Iran, Iran

Ive just chosen a select few photos for this blog update, f your keen to see more photos, please check out my flickr stream by clicking HERE

Fresh Bread And Two Awesome Guides

Squinting as I look up into the deep blue sky to the cooling towers and minarets that extrude into the skyline, I drag my fingers along the narrow alleyway walls, feeling the warmth from the mud and straw texture under my tips, absent minded I follow the smell of fresh bread wafting into the air. Boy it was good to be a normal tourist for a change, the past few weeks shed from my mind and I myself returning back to normal once again.

I allowed myself to be lead around the city by two of the best guides, Nath and Gonzague. A Belgium couple over-landing on a tandem bicycle! Check out their website - Click here

Here is how we spent our day wondering around the old city captured in these photographs:

Wooden Door With Blue Bricks, Jameh Mosque, Yazd, Iran

Male Door Knocker - only men can use this knocker. 

Female Door Knocker - If the women inside the building hears this knocker they then know they do not have to cover up.

Making bread in Iran - I bit more modern than Pakistan!

This lady kissed me several times on the cheek, it took me ages to work out that this was a custom in Iran! 

This building stored water, which in winter would freeze and turn into ice that the people used to keep their food cool in summer. 

A typical alley in Yazds

Jameh Mosque

Bazaar which was closed due to special friday

Inside the dome of Jameh Mosque

Cycle shop - im just not sure when was the last time this owner cleaned?

Tile pattern of Jameh Mosque

Inside the water museum 

Cooling / Wind towers - These helped keep the building a lot cooler during the summer months

This sketch shows how they get light down several stories underground - nice idea

Sugar - Iranians use sugar in there teas all the time, these guys are making the fancy sugar you find in the tea houses all around the city.

We managed to sneak up some stairs to try and get a photo overlooking the old city. In the foreground you see another  water storage.