Rome - of course the place to start our Italian sojourn. Our hotel is Hotel Castelfidardo, in Via Castelfidardo, and is relatively close to the main train station. As we have arrived quite late, we drop to sleep and leave exploration until the next morning.
For almost the first time in our holiday, we don't have breakfast included in our tariff, which is a really good thing because we can indulge in the traditional Italian breakfast of cappuccino and cornetto. Only we are a bit late getting to it so have biscuits instead. There is no bad coffee in Italy!
There is so much to see in Rome that the problem really is where to start. Our choice is the Vatican. It is raining, but not heavily, and nothing to stop a determined tourist. It turns out that there are plenty of them about as well as us, although once again, I am pleased that we are not travelling in the high season. All these wonderful places we are seeing, and have been able to see throughout our travels, could not possibly survive in our memories as the beautiful experiences we have had if they were tainted by the additional experience of crowds of people. Even here in Rome in the off-season there are enough tourists that the phenomenon is immediately apparent, that the human being who as an individual is perfectly well behaved will, as soon as it becomes part of a group, drop all responsibility for this good behaviour and become just another ill-mannered member of an ill-mannered group. No consideration or respect for anybody else outside the group, and not much either for those inside the group. So glad not to be here in June.
Anyway, we make our way to the Vatican using the map that the hotel has provided us, which results in a very roundabout trip via the Bambino Gesu Hospital and the statue of Anita Garibaldi. This is a great thing. The statue is magnificent - a woman in 19th century dress, side saddle and long full skirts and all, on a rearing horse, cradling an infant in one arm and brandishing a pistol with the other hand. She probably went home after the battle and cooked the evening meal for three hundred revolutionaries before doing their washing. And nobody ever hears about her! With a woman like that behind him, Mr Garibaldi was never going to be defeated.
There is nothing I can say about the Vatican and St Peter's that hasn't been said before, and better than I could, so I won't try. It was as magnificent as last time we came, and Joseph loved it. The building itself is extraordinary, and the artwork inside is superb. We try to show Joseph Michelangelo's Pieta, but there is a pack of people in front of it so that it was difficult to get close enough. We were happy to find our old friends Snoozy Pope and Scuba Pope, still resident. I'm struck again by the funereal monuments to the dead popes. Since our last visit, John Paul II has joined them, and his memorial is almost a shrine, and there are many people kneeling in prayer in front of it. These are all works of art, and some of them really impressive, but it's hard with most of them to see them as any kind of remembrance or indication of a Christian life or faith, rather than post-mortem self-aggrandisement. Maybe the Vatican really is best compared to a multinational corporation, including the typical CEO and his accompanying ego and flunkies. Maybe it's necessary for the religion too, but it's difficult to reconcile with what Christ was about.
Our stay in Rome is wonderful, even though it rains every day. The Colosseum, the Palatine Hill, the statues, the churches, and my favourite, the Pantheon, all impress. As well as these, the scattered pieces of ruins that have been left where they last stood, and now incorporated into new buildings. We visit the Trevi Fountain and throw in our coins, just to be sure we return some time.
Wednesday, 23 April 2014
Ephesus and Istanbul, and goodbye Turkey
Selchuk, 22 March
Bus from Pamukkale, stopping at Selchuk for a dolmus to Ephesus. As with Pamukkale, best to view images on google, as we can't possibly do this place justice with our description. These are supposed to be the most intact and complete Roman ruins in Europe, and they certainly are impressive. It's a Saturday, so we encounter quite a few Turkish tourists, as well as busloads of foreign tourists. This is not too much of a problem though, and we are told by a worker there that the visitor numbers more than treble today's in the high season. Well worth the visit.
Back to Selchuk where it is market day. We spend a little time wandering around before catching another overnight bus back to Istanbul.
Istanbul 23 and 24 March
We arrive quite early in the morning, so dump our bags at our new hotel (once we find it) and head out. It's quite a relaxed day, wandering around. We head over the bridge to the Beyoglu area. In the afternoon, we attend a whirling dervish ceremony. I understand the religious information behind this, but it still appears a bizarre way to express your faith. What is really impressive is their ability to whirl for so long without falling over - they go for ages!
We also experience Turkish bagpipes and the Turkish bagpipe player. Not so different from the Scottish version really, but no kilts involved.
Next morning, we head to the bazaar for a last visit, before making our way to the airport for our flight to Rome. Goodbye Turkey, it's been great!
Wednesday, 9 April 2014
Pamukkale - 21 March
We arrive, book in to our hotel, and head straight for the travertines. It's not possible to adequately describe these terraces of calcium-formed pools, so I recommend you google for pictures of them. I did that before we left, and we were all really looking forward to this visit. As you'll see from the pictures, this is an amazing natural formation, and one of our hoped for highlights was soaking in the pools. So naturally, we were very disappointed to find that access to most of the pools is barred and apparently has been for 17 years. This is not well known, and not even LP mentioned it. We struggled manfully on, heading up the travertines and enjoying them as much as we could.
At the top are the ruins of a place called Hierapolis, a Roman city. The ruins are in good condition, and include a well preserved theatre. The city is on the top of a hill, and the views of the surrounds are spectacular. We wandered around for a while, then headed for the theatre. When we were almost there, we heard singing coming from there. It was beautiful - opera, which sounded Italian, and it carried clearly to where we were. We hastened to try to hear some more from inside the theatre but it had stopped by the time we got there. As we entered, who should we see but Geoff and Mei, our friends from Goreme. It was lovely to see them again, and it turns out that it was Mei who was singing.
After we finish at the theatre, we have seen all of the ruins that we want to, so we head to Cleopatra's pool. This pool is fed by the natural springs, and is 36 degrees. It has been there since Hierapolis was in existence, and while it has obviously been updated, the pool still contains ruins - chunks and fragments of columns and buildings. We eventually spend a couple of hours in the pool, despite David's concerns about it being a soup of germs, given its lovely warmth.
Kizkalisi - 18 and 19 March
The smoothest of starts to our day. Up early, off to the Otogar, booked tickets on a 7.15 am bus to Mersin, from there on to a dolmus to Kizkalisi almost without a break. As a result, we were in Kizkalisi by about 12.30, with half the day still ahead of us. And there our run of luck ended. We sought directions to our hotel, Hotel Baris, and followed the directions we were given, further and further away from the centre of town. The further we went, the more rundown and rubbish strewn the streets became. When we arrived at our hotel, the lobby stank of cigarette smoke. Nobody in attendance could speak English, and although we were happy to make do, as we have been doing elsewhere, with the few phrases we have through the LP book and universal hand gestures, they insisted that we wait while they rustled up their resident English speaker, who arrived looking like she had just got out of bed. We got the formalities sorted, then were taken upstairs to our room, ascertaining from the gestures of the hotel employee that we had been given a room furthest away from the noise of the music that would be playing downstairs at night (which has just started up - it might be a long night). The wi fi doesn't work, there is no hot water, one light globe of the four in the room works, and the walls are bright buttercup yellow, possibly the result of decades of Turkish dedication to tobacco. If I hadn't given my credit card details when we booked, we might have abandoned ship and gone somewhere else. This place outdoes the night before for worst hotel.
Anyway, travel is made up of things like this, so this becomes just another experience to be made the best of. We went back into town and wandered around a bit. We are on the Mediterranean Coast in an area that is littered with ruins. It may be easy to become blasé about these things but we are enthralled. Despite the beautifully mild weather it is still low season so there are few tourists and many hotels are still closed.
Kiskalisi has two Byzantine-era ruins of castles, Corycus on the rocky foreshore, the other, Kizkalesi, about 300m offshore and a few hundred metres away. It is almost surreal and if it were not for the fact that these are archaeological sites one could think it was a garish Las Vegas-style parody. Today was a lovely warm day, but by the time we got to swimming it was late and starting to cool down, so although we did dip in the Mediterranean (a first for Joseph) we have postponed the swim to the Kizkalesi castle until tomorrow. We have also booked into a different hotel tomorrow night, and we are looking forward to a much more restful time of it.
Next morning after breakfast, which despite being served on tablecloths littered with cigarette burns, is not too bad, we get the hell out of Dodge and make a beeline for our new hotel. Hotel Yaka is dated, but clean and welcoming, and appears to have been one of the premier hotels in Kizkalisi in its time. That time is long gone, and now there are several apartment hotel buildings between Hotel Yaka and the beach, where before it probably enjoyed uninterrupted beachfront and sea views. The owner is part of the overall faded grandeur, speaking a variety of languages and using formal, courtly English. It all adds to the appeal of the place. Yaka stands out for being tidy, clean and maintained. It is still well short of the high holiday season, and the streets and buildings all around are dirty, filled with rubbish and in some cases almost derelict. Signs of preparation are around, with repair and extension work being done on many of the empty hotels, but all the same some time between now and the opening of the season, there is going to be an absolute frenzy of cleaning if this town is going to look presentable.
Our first stop is the Chasm of Heaven and the Pit of Hell. These two geographic features are a few kilometres north of Kizkalesi. The story of the Pit of Hell is that it is the place where Zeus imprisoned Typhon after defeating him. This is impressive to look at, but that is all you can do, from a viewpoint at the top.
To the Chasm of Heaven. It is quite a deep gorge, leading to a cave. The descent and subsequent ascent are a little like the 1,000 steps. At the bottom is a Byzantine chapel, and the cave itself, which is pretty impressive. As we climb out, we hear what sounds like hundreds of people, but it turns out to be only a busloads of Syrians on tour. They are certainly loud all on their own, but this is amplified hugely by the deep chasm.
As well as Heaven and Hell, there is another cave called the Asthma Cave. It's not so well known, and has this name because apparently it relieves asthma in those afflicted, because of its moisture. I can't speak for that aspect of it, but this cave was beautiful way beyond anything its name or what we read about it suggested. Stalactites and stalagmites both, sometimes meeting, and sometimes in different colours. Some had broken off, showing the quartz formation of the stalactite. All of it was just so beautiful, and we were the only ones there.
From there, we went back down the coast by dolmus (a sort of public minibus) to be dropped off at the turnoff for Kanlidivane. After a three kilometre walk uphill in the hot sun, we got to the ruins of Kanlidivane. Like Heaven and Hell, this is a blend of Greek, Roman and Byzantine ruins. They are crumbling now, but still fascinating to walk through. We are again the only people visiting. The ruins are set around a huge natural pit, and the story is that criminals were thrown into the pit to the wild animals there. We spend some time wandering around - it is just incredible. There is an olive tree that must be at least a thousand years old. Its trunk is split (as they tend to as the tree ages) and it is so wide that Joseph is able to seat himself entirely within it. We find fossilised sea shells in some of the stones that were used to build the churches. This place is so rich.
We head back down to the main road and catch another dolmus back to Kizkalisi. The day has given us so much, but it is not over yet. We head to the beach, and swim over to the castle. This is a 300m swim, and is the longest uninterrupted swim Joseph has ever done. The castle is still closed for the offseason and we need to get back to shore before darkness falls, so after a brief rest we head back. Other than us, there are a few kids splashing around in the shallows, but nobody else has really taken to the water.
To complete the day, we treat ourselves to a seafood dinner at Narlikuyu, a small town a few kilometres away. The setting is almost from a travel article in a glossy magazine - a small cove with restaurants lining its edges, lights reflected on the water, and the sea gently lapping the shore. The food was great, but easily the most expensive meal we've had in Turkey. We have come to this restaurant on the recommendation of our host at Yaka, and I expect that there is some kickback going on. All the same, it was a good meal, and a lovely end to a lovely day.
The next day is a lazy day, and we leave Kizkalisi on the overnight bus to Pamukkale.
Gaziantep
Gaziantep - 17 March
We had taken the overnight bus from Goreme to Gaziantep, expecting to arrive at 5 am at the Otogar (bus station). We planned to spend an hour or two working out our movements for the next few days, only for the bus to arrive an hour early. Fortunately, because Turkey has an extensive, efficient, well patronised and highly competitive bus network; the infrastructure is appropriately large, offering proper meals of good food, tea (tea, tea, always tea. The coffee is only marginally better than in Iran, which was horrid. Always choose tea). bathrooms etc. Some travellers obviously prepared for long journeys, travel with blankets and whatnot and were stretched out on the floor, We found some seats and relaxed for a couple of hours, watching a day's activity unfold. At about 6am, we succumbed to the smells from the delivery of an assortment of fresh bread and pastries.
Into the city, to our hotel, Hotel Yunus. This one was an easy winner for worst hotel so far, but at least it was clean, and our room was ready for us even though it was only 7.30 in the morning. LP was our guide again, and it had mentioned that Gaziantep is something of a culinary centre, so we followed the LP advice and sought beyran for breakfast. It was fantastic - rice and shredded lamb (coated in the ubiquitous tomato paste) in broth, heated to boiling and served with warm bread. It was delicious and a perfect hearty breakfast for a cold day.
Gaziantep's tourist information was really good, and had just about the only English speakers we encountered in the entire city. Very helpful and gave us a lot of information about the place, a population of 3 million supplemented by 200 000 Syrian refugees. This certainly makes Australia's refugee position look petty.
There is a culinary museum here, which of course we visited. They do take their cuisine seriously here, and we spent a lot of time in the bazaar where there are so many shops selling so many different spices, and the smells of all the different spices are so seductive. And pistachios! This is apparently the pistachio, and sweets, capital area of Turkey. So many pistachios, so much pistachio baklava. Mountains of it are freighted daily to all parts of Turkey. Apparently the secret is terroir, the Gaziantep one for pistachios and that of the nearby Haran Valley in upper Mesopotamia for the durum wheat. But it is not just baklava, there is a cornucopia of sweets of many types. Sadly, not enough time nor spare notches in our belts to sample more than a few. There are sweets shops every which way you look, the ones selling the ingredients with great piles of pistachios and other nuts cascading onto the footpath and towers of mysterious things, and the more restrained sellers of final product, usually the many variations of baklava. It is made daily for consumption that day or the next.
Finally, dinner at a restaurant recommended by LP. As with the rest of the city, practically no English was spoken, so between us and our hand signals and our waiter's patient attempts to explain, we finished up with no idea of what we had ordered other than the mutually understood Gaziantep cuisine. The result was, thankfully, a spread of typically Gaziantep dishes, and it was fantastic. A lot of it is quite different to what we have encountered elsewhere in Turkey, and very different from what you would expect from any so called Turkish food in Melbourne. This is a distinctly regional cuisine offering the most unusual foods that somehow work against the odds. Yoghurt soup anyone?
We had taken the overnight bus from Goreme to Gaziantep, expecting to arrive at 5 am at the Otogar (bus station). We planned to spend an hour or two working out our movements for the next few days, only for the bus to arrive an hour early. Fortunately, because Turkey has an extensive, efficient, well patronised and highly competitive bus network; the infrastructure is appropriately large, offering proper meals of good food, tea (tea, tea, always tea. The coffee is only marginally better than in Iran, which was horrid. Always choose tea). bathrooms etc. Some travellers obviously prepared for long journeys, travel with blankets and whatnot and were stretched out on the floor, We found some seats and relaxed for a couple of hours, watching a day's activity unfold. At about 6am, we succumbed to the smells from the delivery of an assortment of fresh bread and pastries.
Into the city, to our hotel, Hotel Yunus. This one was an easy winner for worst hotel so far, but at least it was clean, and our room was ready for us even though it was only 7.30 in the morning. LP was our guide again, and it had mentioned that Gaziantep is something of a culinary centre, so we followed the LP advice and sought beyran for breakfast. It was fantastic - rice and shredded lamb (coated in the ubiquitous tomato paste) in broth, heated to boiling and served with warm bread. It was delicious and a perfect hearty breakfast for a cold day.
Gaziantep's tourist information was really good, and had just about the only English speakers we encountered in the entire city. Very helpful and gave us a lot of information about the place, a population of 3 million supplemented by 200 000 Syrian refugees. This certainly makes Australia's refugee position look petty.
There is a culinary museum here, which of course we visited. They do take their cuisine seriously here, and we spent a lot of time in the bazaar where there are so many shops selling so many different spices, and the smells of all the different spices are so seductive. And pistachios! This is apparently the pistachio, and sweets, capital area of Turkey. So many pistachios, so much pistachio baklava. Mountains of it are freighted daily to all parts of Turkey. Apparently the secret is terroir, the Gaziantep one for pistachios and that of the nearby Haran Valley in upper Mesopotamia for the durum wheat. But it is not just baklava, there is a cornucopia of sweets of many types. Sadly, not enough time nor spare notches in our belts to sample more than a few. There are sweets shops every which way you look, the ones selling the ingredients with great piles of pistachios and other nuts cascading onto the footpath and towers of mysterious things, and the more restrained sellers of final product, usually the many variations of baklava. It is made daily for consumption that day or the next.
Finally, dinner at a restaurant recommended by LP. As with the rest of the city, practically no English was spoken, so between us and our hand signals and our waiter's patient attempts to explain, we finished up with no idea of what we had ordered other than the mutually understood Gaziantep cuisine. The result was, thankfully, a spread of typically Gaziantep dishes, and it was fantastic. A lot of it is quite different to what we have encountered elsewhere in Turkey, and very different from what you would expect from any so called Turkish food in Melbourne. This is a distinctly regional cuisine offering the most unusual foods that somehow work against the odds. Yoghurt soup anyone?
Thursday, 20 March 2014
Cappadocia, 14 -16 March
After an overnight bus trip from Istanbul, we arrived in Goreme, in Cappadocia, Kapadokya in Turkish. This place is incredible and more than lives up to any pictures you may have seen. We are staying in a very small place called Goreme Mansion. It has only been operating for a short while and is run by retired baker Ali and his wife Emine. They are delightful - so courteous and generous. They are building a second level with three more rooms above the existing three, and another level on top of that for a rooftop restaurant. Their son Cem helps out, as well as running his balloon business. He also is a lovely person.
There is so much to see and do in Cappadocia, and with its caves and valleys, it is a young boy's dream. Joseph has been looking forward to this so much, and he is not disappointed. Nor are we. Our first morning, we head out to the Goreme open air museum. The area was home to communities of religious orders during the Roman & Byzantine era, and there are chapels, churches, homes and stables carved into rock. Terrific stuff. Niches and pits for store rooms, ovens etc, and even refectory tables and chairs, all cut into the rock in made-made caves. In some of the churches and chapels, there are still painted friezes. Interestingly, in many of these the faces of the people have been scratched off. Not sure why - iconoclasts or later Islamic people maybe? Most construction occurred between the 4th and 11th Centuries and erosion occurs at the rate of 1cm per annum so the dwellings and churches would have been much larger than the present.
We encounter a group of young teenage girls at the museum. Or rather, they encounter Joseph and are smitten by him. They ask to take photos with him, and some even ask him for a kiss. He obliges with the photos, but declines the kisses. These are lovely girls, exuberant and confident, and very nice to Joseph. One of them
sneaks a kiss on to his cheek, anyway. This sort of thing has happened a lot with Joseph while we've been away. He is very popular with the Iranian and Turkish people.
Afterwards, we attempt to walk some of the valleys. There are some walking maps
available but they are really bad. The valley we attempt is Zemi, and all is well for a
while, but then it peters out and we have to retrace our footsteps.
The next day is a 5am start for Joseph and David for a hot air balloon tour. A perfect cloudless day, we rise to 800 metres where the gentlest zephyr takes us in one direction before we descend to be taken by a whisper of wind back past our starting point. Several cycles of this and the scale of the sites becomes clearer and makes the surreal even more so. We drift down valleys, eyeballing portals to the churches and dwellings, wondering how and why, before rising to take in the colours, shapes and feeling a little other-worldly ourselves. No wonder it was used as the film set for Tattoine in the original Star Wars.
In the afternoon, we set off along Rose Valley for a walk. We had a terrific time. The
valleys all creep around the rock formations, and there are rooms carved in the rocks
all along the way. There's plenty of opportunity to scramble up following hand and footholds carved in the rocks. One of the places we come across is, we all think, the best church by far. It has a cross and decorations carved into the ceiling of one room, which is all beautifully cut and detailed, as well as friezes. It seems incredible that these are just there for the viewing if you can be bothered walking through the valleys to find them, and being neither preserved nor vandalised.
It is a very cold day, and there is still ice on the puddles in some sheltered parts of the valley. But it is lovely walking. We meet a man tending his small plot of land where he is growing grapes, apricots and walnuts. He shows us through the plot and explains
what he can about what he is doing. He then directs us up and out of the valley via
an incredibly steep scramble up a slope, to the other side where Emin, a relative and "younger man" has a cafe. Here we have fresh orange juice and tea, before heading back down into the valley. We see more old rock carvings, including dovecotes and an apiary, and emerge at the end of the valley with just enough time to run up to the top of a rise and watch the sun set over Cappadocia. Beautiful.
Dinner that night is the best meal we've had since we've been away. This trip has been cheap eats for a few days then a proper meal (though not necessarily expensive). Tonight is a bargain-priced treat at a restaurant called Top Deck in Goreme. Family run, parents in the kitchen, a shared mezze of vegetable and yoghurt-
based dishes, then lamb and vegetable mains. Superb end to a wonderful day.
Our last day in Cappadocia we visit the underground city of Kaymakli, one of many of various sizes. As with Nushabad, these were used by the local people as a place to retreat to when under threat of attack. They could live there for ages, and this one accommodated 20,000 people. It was a bit claustrophobic, but fantastic. One thing, we were pursued by the most aggressive guides trying to get us to use their services. We were accosted at the entrance to the city, and they just wouldn't take no for an answer. One followed us right in, crouching down in the tunnels and telling us without losing breath about the benefits of using his services.
Back to Goreme, to say goodbye to Ali and Emine, and Geoff and Mei, who were also staying at Goreme mansion while we were there. Then on to Gaziantep via overnight
bus.
There is so much to see and do in Cappadocia, and with its caves and valleys, it is a young boy's dream. Joseph has been looking forward to this so much, and he is not disappointed. Nor are we. Our first morning, we head out to the Goreme open air museum. The area was home to communities of religious orders during the Roman & Byzantine era, and there are chapels, churches, homes and stables carved into rock. Terrific stuff. Niches and pits for store rooms, ovens etc, and even refectory tables and chairs, all cut into the rock in made-made caves. In some of the churches and chapels, there are still painted friezes. Interestingly, in many of these the faces of the people have been scratched off. Not sure why - iconoclasts or later Islamic people maybe? Most construction occurred between the 4th and 11th Centuries and erosion occurs at the rate of 1cm per annum so the dwellings and churches would have been much larger than the present.
We encounter a group of young teenage girls at the museum. Or rather, they encounter Joseph and are smitten by him. They ask to take photos with him, and some even ask him for a kiss. He obliges with the photos, but declines the kisses. These are lovely girls, exuberant and confident, and very nice to Joseph. One of them
sneaks a kiss on to his cheek, anyway. This sort of thing has happened a lot with Joseph while we've been away. He is very popular with the Iranian and Turkish people.
Afterwards, we attempt to walk some of the valleys. There are some walking maps
available but they are really bad. The valley we attempt is Zemi, and all is well for a
while, but then it peters out and we have to retrace our footsteps.
The next day is a 5am start for Joseph and David for a hot air balloon tour. A perfect cloudless day, we rise to 800 metres where the gentlest zephyr takes us in one direction before we descend to be taken by a whisper of wind back past our starting point. Several cycles of this and the scale of the sites becomes clearer and makes the surreal even more so. We drift down valleys, eyeballing portals to the churches and dwellings, wondering how and why, before rising to take in the colours, shapes and feeling a little other-worldly ourselves. No wonder it was used as the film set for Tattoine in the original Star Wars.
In the afternoon, we set off along Rose Valley for a walk. We had a terrific time. The
valleys all creep around the rock formations, and there are rooms carved in the rocks
all along the way. There's plenty of opportunity to scramble up following hand and footholds carved in the rocks. One of the places we come across is, we all think, the best church by far. It has a cross and decorations carved into the ceiling of one room, which is all beautifully cut and detailed, as well as friezes. It seems incredible that these are just there for the viewing if you can be bothered walking through the valleys to find them, and being neither preserved nor vandalised.
It is a very cold day, and there is still ice on the puddles in some sheltered parts of the valley. But it is lovely walking. We meet a man tending his small plot of land where he is growing grapes, apricots and walnuts. He shows us through the plot and explains
what he can about what he is doing. He then directs us up and out of the valley via
an incredibly steep scramble up a slope, to the other side where Emin, a relative and "younger man" has a cafe. Here we have fresh orange juice and tea, before heading back down into the valley. We see more old rock carvings, including dovecotes and an apiary, and emerge at the end of the valley with just enough time to run up to the top of a rise and watch the sun set over Cappadocia. Beautiful.
Dinner that night is the best meal we've had since we've been away. This trip has been cheap eats for a few days then a proper meal (though not necessarily expensive). Tonight is a bargain-priced treat at a restaurant called Top Deck in Goreme. Family run, parents in the kitchen, a shared mezze of vegetable and yoghurt-
based dishes, then lamb and vegetable mains. Superb end to a wonderful day.
Our last day in Cappadocia we visit the underground city of Kaymakli, one of many of various sizes. As with Nushabad, these were used by the local people as a place to retreat to when under threat of attack. They could live there for ages, and this one accommodated 20,000 people. It was a bit claustrophobic, but fantastic. One thing, we were pursued by the most aggressive guides trying to get us to use their services. We were accosted at the entrance to the city, and they just wouldn't take no for an answer. One followed us right in, crouching down in the tunnels and telling us without losing breath about the benefits of using his services.
Back to Goreme, to say goodbye to Ali and Emine, and Geoff and Mei, who were also staying at Goreme mansion while we were there. Then on to Gaziantep via overnight
bus.
Istanbul, 9 - 13 March
Arrived in Istanbul to rain and cold, late on Sunday 9 March. Off to the hotel, and not much more.
Monday was still raining and cold. Our hotel is in Sultanahmet, part of the old city, dripping with layers of history every which way you look. We know that we may form a rather selective view of Istanbul but, tough as it is, we struggle on .........
Rugged up, our first stop is the Sultanahmet Mosque. This is usually referred to by tourists as the Blue Mosque, but never so by the locals unless to a tourist, so when in Byzantium/Constantinople/Istanbul we, too, refer to it as Sultanahmet, but because our Turkish is a little rusty, we don't think we fooled many at all.
Entry is free, which is unusual for any major tourist attraction anywhere in the world. Perhaps this is because this is part of the proselytising, as there are signs all around the place indicating who to speak to to learn more about Islam.
The building is gorgeous - enormous, with huge domes and pillars, and filled with stained glass windows that let a soft coloured light filter in. It is also quite full of tourists, and I imagine that it must be unbearable in the high season.
We are keen to try street food in Turkey, particularly as it was so disappointing in Iran.
Our first venture is not completely successful - round bread rolls covered in sesame seeds are delicious and the price is ok (50 cents Aust) but we were ripped off by the corn on the cob vendor, the cob he sold David, was cold, tasteless and a rip off. It was returned to the vendor, the Corn Cob Crim, after one bite. That vendor would again cross our path the following day.
Wander around some more, then back to the hotel and shelter. Dinner at the hotel restaurant to celebrate David's 50th, with a magnificent view down over the Bosphorus. The lights of the city and the ferries plying the waters in between are beautiful.
Tuesday, 11 March
First is the Aga Sophia, more breathtaking than the Sultanahmet Mosque, although of
course this is not free entry. A positive explanation is that it is a museum and not its most recent incarnation as a mosque, nor the former use as a church; Ataturk's clear-minded vision for a prosperous Turkey meant a secular state, and what better symbolism than to have the pre-eminent religious site declared a museum for all to behold. (Ataturk was a leader of rare quality. He is now even more esteemed - we have just learned that he also started Turkey's first commercial winery)
Topkapi was interesting but somewhat uninspiring. Could be at least partly due to the circumstances of our visit - very cold and raining continuously, busloads of loud and insensitive Asian tourists, and Joseph struggling with a cold. Still, it's interesting to think of the life led by the inhabitants, particularly the wives and concubines, who,
having entered the Topkapi harem, never left the grounds of the palace again in their
lives.
Museum of the History of Science & Technology in Islam - this had an emphasis on astronomy and geography, some interesting though repetitive examples. We noticed anumber of examples were actually collaborations with the West and a disproportionate number seemed to coincide with the West's Dark Ages and the spread of Islamic Caliphates in that period. We felt that the key message was a quote on display from Goethe at the start of the exhibition, words to the effect that the West should reach out to Islam to learn what that Islam knows because Islam will not reach out to the West. Our emphasis - we tend to think that the inherent criticism of this quote was somehow missed by the curators.
The wet weather spawned swarms of opportunists selling umbrellas. We have waterproof jackets and did not need or want umbrellas but the umbrella drones swarmed in regardless. One was talking to the Corn-Cob-Crim until he saw us and made his pitch. Our response - 'you get five lira off him, he sold me a dud cob yesterday, then you give me the umbrella'. There was just enough comprehension for Umbrella Drone to make a bee-line to a sale and put hand out to CCC corn. This generated a couple of near-identical rounds to generate more than 5 lira of entertainment.
Monday was still raining and cold. Our hotel is in Sultanahmet, part of the old city, dripping with layers of history every which way you look. We know that we may form a rather selective view of Istanbul but, tough as it is, we struggle on .........
Rugged up, our first stop is the Sultanahmet Mosque. This is usually referred to by tourists as the Blue Mosque, but never so by the locals unless to a tourist, so when in Byzantium/Constantinople/Istanbul we, too, refer to it as Sultanahmet, but because our Turkish is a little rusty, we don't think we fooled many at all.
Entry is free, which is unusual for any major tourist attraction anywhere in the world. Perhaps this is because this is part of the proselytising, as there are signs all around the place indicating who to speak to to learn more about Islam.
The building is gorgeous - enormous, with huge domes and pillars, and filled with stained glass windows that let a soft coloured light filter in. It is also quite full of tourists, and I imagine that it must be unbearable in the high season.
We are keen to try street food in Turkey, particularly as it was so disappointing in Iran.
Our first venture is not completely successful - round bread rolls covered in sesame seeds are delicious and the price is ok (50 cents Aust) but we were ripped off by the corn on the cob vendor, the cob he sold David, was cold, tasteless and a rip off. It was returned to the vendor, the Corn Cob Crim, after one bite. That vendor would again cross our path the following day.
Wander around some more, then back to the hotel and shelter. Dinner at the hotel restaurant to celebrate David's 50th, with a magnificent view down over the Bosphorus. The lights of the city and the ferries plying the waters in between are beautiful.
Tuesday, 11 March
First is the Aga Sophia, more breathtaking than the Sultanahmet Mosque, although of
course this is not free entry. A positive explanation is that it is a museum and not its most recent incarnation as a mosque, nor the former use as a church; Ataturk's clear-minded vision for a prosperous Turkey meant a secular state, and what better symbolism than to have the pre-eminent religious site declared a museum for all to behold. (Ataturk was a leader of rare quality. He is now even more esteemed - we have just learned that he also started Turkey's first commercial winery)
Topkapi was interesting but somewhat uninspiring. Could be at least partly due to the circumstances of our visit - very cold and raining continuously, busloads of loud and insensitive Asian tourists, and Joseph struggling with a cold. Still, it's interesting to think of the life led by the inhabitants, particularly the wives and concubines, who,
having entered the Topkapi harem, never left the grounds of the palace again in their
lives.
Museum of the History of Science & Technology in Islam - this had an emphasis on astronomy and geography, some interesting though repetitive examples. We noticed anumber of examples were actually collaborations with the West and a disproportionate number seemed to coincide with the West's Dark Ages and the spread of Islamic Caliphates in that period. We felt that the key message was a quote on display from Goethe at the start of the exhibition, words to the effect that the West should reach out to Islam to learn what that Islam knows because Islam will not reach out to the West. Our emphasis - we tend to think that the inherent criticism of this quote was somehow missed by the curators.
The wet weather spawned swarms of opportunists selling umbrellas. We have waterproof jackets and did not need or want umbrellas but the umbrella drones swarmed in regardless. One was talking to the Corn-Cob-Crim until he saw us and made his pitch. Our response - 'you get five lira off him, he sold me a dud cob yesterday, then you give me the umbrella'. There was just enough comprehension for Umbrella Drone to make a bee-line to a sale and put hand out to CCC corn. This generated a couple of near-identical rounds to generate more than 5 lira of entertainment.
On our third day, the rain clears, so that day and the next are much more pleasant sightseeing. We spend some time in the bazaars. These are as fantastic as in Iran, but nowhere near so crowded. One big difference is that this does not appear to be the main method of acquisition of household goods, which is the case in Iran (where two-thirds of all retail spending for all of Iran, population 75 million, is conducted in the Tehran Bazaar!) We also walk from Europe to Asia for the first time, crossing the Bosphorus.
On our last day in Istanbul, we take a ferry trip up the Bosphorus, which is lined with
magnificent mansions and other buildings evidencing the wealth of the traders and citizens over centuries. Ships ply up and down the strait, to and from the Black Sea and beyond.
magnificent mansions and other buildings evidencing the wealth of the traders and citizens over centuries. Ships ply up and down the strait, to and from the Black Sea and beyond.
Thursday, 13 March 2014
Yazd, 6 & 7 March
From Persepolis and Pasargarde we kept travelling northwest to Yazd. This city of nearly half a million people lies at the foot of imposing mountains and sits on the edge of the desert, though with its 60 ml of rain per annum it probably qualifies as a desert city. Even so, you don't have to travel too far east to be in undisputed desert. Water is life and water for Yazd is supplied from a qanat. These deliver underground water, effectively spring-fed mountain water, via tunnels dug by hand, typically just large enough for qanat diggers to crouch in. The excavated earth is brought to the surface via vertical shafts dug every 40 metres or so. The piles of earth clearly mark the path of the qanat under the surface. The process begins on the plains closest to the mountains but still at a higher elevation than the destination. Water is located via exploratory wells; these are the deepest diggings for the entire system. The qanat tunnels are then dug in the desired direction, the land sloping away from the source so that a horizontal line from the bottom of the well will emerge, at some point, maybe many kilometres away, at the surface. It can then continue in open channels to be utilised for gravity fed agricultural use. Villages and even cities the size of Yazd are supplied while it is subterranean and clean.
While in Yazd, we spent a day in the desert itself, with a guide named Massoud (thanks again to LP). Massoud drove us out of the city to the desert, which was not really very far, then we took to the desert on camels. Perhaps a bit kitsch, but it really was a great way to see the desert. I was on the rear camel, behind David and Joseph sharing the front camel, and so was able to watch the incredible feet of the camel as it walked. David finished up sitting cross legged on his like a mahout. (Ed: Ali the camel handler showed me how. It is the ONLY way to travel in relative comfort on a camel. Remember this if the need arises). We dismounted after a couple of hours of this, and while Massoud cooked lunch for us, we scrambled up the steep slopes nearby into the mountains. After lunch, a traditional dish called Eshkene, we headed further into the desert, this time by four wheel drive. Massoud took us to a qanat, then on to its source, which was a stream flowing from a valley in the mountains and finally to another dry salt lake. This was another great day, seeing more of the desert and spending time with a local who knows his stuff.
Yazd is a wonderful city in some ways but far more conservative than the other places we visited - the full black chador was very common. The messy cobweb of alleys and streets of the old city are a delight to wander, but give yourself plenty of time because getting lost is likely. Yazd is the city of badgirs - they are simply everywhere and no wonder because the summer here is very long and incredibly hot.
From Yazd, we took an overnight train back to Tehran, there to take our flight to Istanbul.
While in Yazd, we spent a day in the desert itself, with a guide named Massoud (thanks again to LP). Massoud drove us out of the city to the desert, which was not really very far, then we took to the desert on camels. Perhaps a bit kitsch, but it really was a great way to see the desert. I was on the rear camel, behind David and Joseph sharing the front camel, and so was able to watch the incredible feet of the camel as it walked. David finished up sitting cross legged on his like a mahout. (Ed: Ali the camel handler showed me how. It is the ONLY way to travel in relative comfort on a camel. Remember this if the need arises). We dismounted after a couple of hours of this, and while Massoud cooked lunch for us, we scrambled up the steep slopes nearby into the mountains. After lunch, a traditional dish called Eshkene, we headed further into the desert, this time by four wheel drive. Massoud took us to a qanat, then on to its source, which was a stream flowing from a valley in the mountains and finally to another dry salt lake. This was another great day, seeing more of the desert and spending time with a local who knows his stuff.
Yazd is a wonderful city in some ways but far more conservative than the other places we visited - the full black chador was very common. The messy cobweb of alleys and streets of the old city are a delight to wander, but give yourself plenty of time because getting lost is likely. Yazd is the city of badgirs - they are simply everywhere and no wonder because the summer here is very long and incredibly hot.
From Yazd, we took an overnight train back to Tehran, there to take our flight to Istanbul.
Shiraz, 3, 4, 5 and 6 March
On to Shiraz, home of the wine grape of the same name but which is now verboten. Shiraz has quite a different feel to Esfahan and does not have the polluting industry of that city. Apart from the all-pervasive trade among themselves, the main industry seems to be education especially with the apparently acclaimed university. This no doubt has something to do with the proximity of Persepolis and other sites though it has long been a centre of learning. We get the impression that Iranians are generally very well educated. Persepolis, in particular, is breathtaking and the more one learns the more intriguing it becomes. There are several "rules" for tourist in Iran, a couple of which again bore fruit at Persepolis: 1. At appropriate times one should get a guide, and, sub-clause a), choose your guide carefully. The second can be like choosing your parents well but you get the drift. This was an empire of the highest order and damn Alexander the so-called Great for its spiteful destruction.
Another bazar - all the cities seem to have them and they are all variations on the same theme of warrens and rabbit runs filled to pussy's bow with shops and people. However, the bazar in Shiraz had something the others didn't - shop after shop filled with bright, brilliant, fancy, pleated, printed, beaded, bejewelled and bedecked fabric. What on earth could this be for? In Shiraz the black chador was as common as anywhere else and it didn't seem as if this fabric had any place in such a dull style of dress. Then we started noticing long, full skirts peeping put from under the chadors, and eureka! There was the fabric! So perhaps in Shiraz the desire for colour and beauty in their dress has not been so repressed as it first seems. This is all women of course, there are no such restrictions on the men but I doubt they'd wear this fabric.
Spilling out of the end of the bazar, we came to the Vakil mosque. Another town, another beautiful mosque, but this one was different in the decorations. Where all the others used geometric patterns on the walls and particularly tiles, this one used roses. The effect was beautiful, and of all the mosques we visited this one had the most serene and welcoming feel to it.
We had mentioned to Narciss, the receptionist at the hotel, that we were interested in the traditional musical instruments of Iran. She happened to have a friend who was studying the setar (not to be confused with the Indian sitar) at university, and arranged for her to accompany us to look at instruments. This friend took us to a tiny shop with lots of tars, setars and other instruments, and proceeded to play the setars to see what sound each produced. She was brilliant, and we then had our own setar recital there in the shop.
We left Shiraz to travel to Yazd via Persepolis and Pasargardae, with a driver called Zia. We had been told that he spoke very good English, but this proved not to be the case. Either that or he was antisocial. We went first to Persepolis, and it was superb. I won't go into the detail of it because there is so much to describe and it is already very well done in a book we bought, but it is an astonishing construction, and even in its destroyed state, remains beautiful and imposing. We could have spent hours there but Zia pressed us to move along as we were getting late. His English was good enough for that message. This was a further disappointment, as we had been assured that we could have as much time as we wanted at Persepolis. On then to Pasargardae, and a repeat performance from Zia.
Another bazar - all the cities seem to have them and they are all variations on the same theme of warrens and rabbit runs filled to pussy's bow with shops and people. However, the bazar in Shiraz had something the others didn't - shop after shop filled with bright, brilliant, fancy, pleated, printed, beaded, bejewelled and bedecked fabric. What on earth could this be for? In Shiraz the black chador was as common as anywhere else and it didn't seem as if this fabric had any place in such a dull style of dress. Then we started noticing long, full skirts peeping put from under the chadors, and eureka! There was the fabric! So perhaps in Shiraz the desire for colour and beauty in their dress has not been so repressed as it first seems. This is all women of course, there are no such restrictions on the men but I doubt they'd wear this fabric.
Spilling out of the end of the bazar, we came to the Vakil mosque. Another town, another beautiful mosque, but this one was different in the decorations. Where all the others used geometric patterns on the walls and particularly tiles, this one used roses. The effect was beautiful, and of all the mosques we visited this one had the most serene and welcoming feel to it.
We had mentioned to Narciss, the receptionist at the hotel, that we were interested in the traditional musical instruments of Iran. She happened to have a friend who was studying the setar (not to be confused with the Indian sitar) at university, and arranged for her to accompany us to look at instruments. This friend took us to a tiny shop with lots of tars, setars and other instruments, and proceeded to play the setars to see what sound each produced. She was brilliant, and we then had our own setar recital there in the shop.
We left Shiraz to travel to Yazd via Persepolis and Pasargardae, with a driver called Zia. We had been told that he spoke very good English, but this proved not to be the case. Either that or he was antisocial. We went first to Persepolis, and it was superb. I won't go into the detail of it because there is so much to describe and it is already very well done in a book we bought, but it is an astonishing construction, and even in its destroyed state, remains beautiful and imposing. We could have spent hours there but Zia pressed us to move along as we were getting late. His English was good enough for that message. This was a further disappointment, as we had been assured that we could have as much time as we wanted at Persepolis. On then to Pasargardae, and a repeat performance from Zia.
Esfahan, 28 February, 1& 2 March
On to Esfahan for the next stage of our trip. More mosques, all beautiful, but after a while it's like travelling in Europe, and more churches. Esfahan seems very commercial, and its people much more brash than we had encountered in Tehran or Kashan. Some interesting things though- a contemporary Zoroastrian fire temple in which a fire is kept continuously lit (these days by mains gas!) but still ceremoniously "tended" five times a day (same number as the Muslim prayers). Apparently the Magi in the bible were Zoroastrians, as were the three wise men bringing gifts on Christmas Day. We also explored the crumbling old Zoroastrian fire temple and associated structures set on the peak of the hill that dominates the plain. Joseph had a wonderful time climbing over crumbling walls and through passages. Esfahan also has remnant Jewish and Armenian Christian populations that are generally tolerated but there is probably a soft discrimination. The Iranian constitution guarantees a few parliamentary seats for the 'recognised' minorities of Jews, Armenian Christians and Zoroastrians. Despite the obvious sectarian divides, there is still a very strong sense of Persian unity amongst all these groups. Still, one would not want to be a gay Baha'i, no matter how Persian.
Another site was surprisingly interesting. Old pigeon towers are sprinkled around the city. The one we visited stands about 30 metres in height with a diameter of 10 metres or so. The roofed hollow core is lined with individual roosting sites set into the mud brick for many thousands of pigeons. The caretaker unlocked and let us in to explore the structure including the climb on the nerve-testing stairs to the top. The purpose was to harvest the guano that accumulated on the base and use this as a prized fertiliser on the many fruit orchards that surrounded the city. No shit!
Another site was surprisingly interesting. Old pigeon towers are sprinkled around the city. The one we visited stands about 30 metres in height with a diameter of 10 metres or so. The roofed hollow core is lined with individual roosting sites set into the mud brick for many thousands of pigeons. The caretaker unlocked and let us in to explore the structure including the climb on the nerve-testing stairs to the top. The purpose was to harvest the guano that accumulated on the base and use this as a prized fertiliser on the many fruit orchards that surrounded the city. No shit!
Kashan, Nushabad and Maranjab - 27 February
Thursday morning we visited the Fin Gardens, which are a UNESCO world heritage site. This is a classical Persian garden, the design of which is traditionally conceived to symbolise paradise (a Persian word, incidentally). The garden is divided into four sections symbolising the Zoroastrian elements of sky, earth, water and plants. This garden was created at a spring, and the water flowing into this garden was astonishingly abundant for such a dry region.
On our way to the desert with Hossein and our driver, Abolfazl, we explored the underground city of Nushabad. Originally built as defence, it sheltered the citizens at various times including the 13th century mongol invasion but fell into disuse,forgotten until a man digging a well in his back yard struck air. It is amazing, a rabbit warren for humans 15 or so metres underground and has all the dedicated spaces necessary to sustain life including food stores,bedrooms, kitchens and a meeting room for the elders.
From there we headed for the desert. Huge sand dunes with wind-rippled slopes, perfect for small boys to run up and down and throw themselves into. An enormous salt lake, looking improbably just like snow. Then, our final destination for the day - the caravanserai. I have read of these for years, but never imagined I would see and experience one. This one has been recently restored, unlike most that are in various stages of disintegration. It is a large square construction, perhaps 100 m on each side, a defensive tower in each corner, walls around 6 metre high. Think of the structure as a series of concentric squares - immediately inside the perimeter is a ring of covered alcoves for storage of the goods being transported, then is a ring of covered open spaces for the camels and mule trains, then is the final ring of rooms for the traders and the caretakers of the caravanserai. Finally, the large open centre square, each side perhaps 60 metres in length.
The caravanserai was fortress as well as shelter and so at different times in their history, would be manned by soldiers. They are spaced a day's journey or 30 km apart. Travelling across the country one can see the crumbling remains of caravanserai and every other type of structure that would have been necessary at any time over the last millennium or so.
This caravanserai, and the desert and salt lake around it, are known as Maranjab. It is now tourist accommodation, mostly used by Iranians. In fact, we were there on a Thursday night, which is the beginning of their weekend, so it was packed with Iranians, mostly young adults. Being so far from the city, there are no religious police, so people relax the rules. Hijab is not necessary, which was a blessed relief. But the most obvious relaxation of the rules was alcohol. It seemed that this was being freely consumed by some of the Iranians there, and the resulting high spirits and exuberant behaviour from the young males was much as you would experience in Melbourne. The experience of staying overnight in the caravanserai was in no way evocative of what I have read of them when they were in normal use, but it was still wonderful to see this place and imagine it in its heyday. For me, and for that reason, it was one of the best experiences of our stay in Iran.
On our return journey the next morning, we saw some camels in the desert, and stopped to get a closer look. They are farmed in a similar way to the cattle in the high country. The owners leave them to wander the desert grazing on the sparse foliage, until they are culled and used for their wool, hides and meat. Every part of them is used, even their bones, which are made into mostly ornamental pieces. Our driver, Abolfazl, had some leftover bread from breakfast, so enticed some of them over to us with it. They were docile and friendly. One in particular took a fancy to Joseph, resting its neck on his shoulder while Joseph patted it.
The plan then was to travel to Esfahan, stopping at a village called Abyaneh on the way and driving past the uranium enrichment facility en route. Abyaneh is at over 2000 m altitude and is a tiny village climbing one side of a small valley. Bitterly cold in winter, the hillsides are dotted with stables dug into the hillsides for their sheep and goats. As with much of Iran, the building construction includes mud, either as brick or adobe veneer dressing, or both. The soil here is very high in iron, so the houses are all a beautiful red colour. The locals still dress in their traditional style, even the younger ones who have moved away to the cities to work will wear it when they return to visit. The language spoken in the village is Middle Persian.
On our way to the desert with Hossein and our driver, Abolfazl, we explored the underground city of Nushabad. Originally built as defence, it sheltered the citizens at various times including the 13th century mongol invasion but fell into disuse,forgotten until a man digging a well in his back yard struck air. It is amazing, a rabbit warren for humans 15 or so metres underground and has all the dedicated spaces necessary to sustain life including food stores,bedrooms, kitchens and a meeting room for the elders.
From there we headed for the desert. Huge sand dunes with wind-rippled slopes, perfect for small boys to run up and down and throw themselves into. An enormous salt lake, looking improbably just like snow. Then, our final destination for the day - the caravanserai. I have read of these for years, but never imagined I would see and experience one. This one has been recently restored, unlike most that are in various stages of disintegration. It is a large square construction, perhaps 100 m on each side, a defensive tower in each corner, walls around 6 metre high. Think of the structure as a series of concentric squares - immediately inside the perimeter is a ring of covered alcoves for storage of the goods being transported, then is a ring of covered open spaces for the camels and mule trains, then is the final ring of rooms for the traders and the caretakers of the caravanserai. Finally, the large open centre square, each side perhaps 60 metres in length.
The caravanserai was fortress as well as shelter and so at different times in their history, would be manned by soldiers. They are spaced a day's journey or 30 km apart. Travelling across the country one can see the crumbling remains of caravanserai and every other type of structure that would have been necessary at any time over the last millennium or so.
This caravanserai, and the desert and salt lake around it, are known as Maranjab. It is now tourist accommodation, mostly used by Iranians. In fact, we were there on a Thursday night, which is the beginning of their weekend, so it was packed with Iranians, mostly young adults. Being so far from the city, there are no religious police, so people relax the rules. Hijab is not necessary, which was a blessed relief. But the most obvious relaxation of the rules was alcohol. It seemed that this was being freely consumed by some of the Iranians there, and the resulting high spirits and exuberant behaviour from the young males was much as you would experience in Melbourne. The experience of staying overnight in the caravanserai was in no way evocative of what I have read of them when they were in normal use, but it was still wonderful to see this place and imagine it in its heyday. For me, and for that reason, it was one of the best experiences of our stay in Iran.
On our return journey the next morning, we saw some camels in the desert, and stopped to get a closer look. They are farmed in a similar way to the cattle in the high country. The owners leave them to wander the desert grazing on the sparse foliage, until they are culled and used for their wool, hides and meat. Every part of them is used, even their bones, which are made into mostly ornamental pieces. Our driver, Abolfazl, had some leftover bread from breakfast, so enticed some of them over to us with it. They were docile and friendly. One in particular took a fancy to Joseph, resting its neck on his shoulder while Joseph patted it.
The plan then was to travel to Esfahan, stopping at a village called Abyaneh on the way and driving past the uranium enrichment facility en route. Abyaneh is at over 2000 m altitude and is a tiny village climbing one side of a small valley. Bitterly cold in winter, the hillsides are dotted with stables dug into the hillsides for their sheep and goats. As with much of Iran, the building construction includes mud, either as brick or adobe veneer dressing, or both. The soil here is very high in iron, so the houses are all a beautiful red colour. The locals still dress in their traditional style, even the younger ones who have moved away to the cities to work will wear it when they return to visit. The language spoken in the village is Middle Persian.
Kashan 25 & 26 February
On Tuesday morning we took a bus to Kashan, Iran's third largest city. We stayed in Ehsan House, a traditional Kashani house in that the courtyard and adjoining rooms are 5 metres or so below street level. This helps the residents to endure the extreme summer temperatures in relative comfort. Kashan is famous for these houses and there are several open for visiting. We visited Tabatabei House and it is truly beautiful. Clearly this was built by a wealthy owner because this could not possibly be the standard of living of normal people. There are entire wings separately devoted to summer and winter sections. The sunken courtyard has stairs descending into cellar-like rooms which offer additional comfort. These sub-terrainian rooms are further enhanced with adjoining tunnels, dug through the earth and extending 4 kilometres under the city and link up with other houses. These tunnels provide cool moist air as an additional reprieve from the summer heat. Also, ascending from that space is a badgir, a chimney-like structure with two or more individual chambers, half of which are lined with bricks and allow hot air to rise and half unlined so that the walls are mostly cooler and moister earth (remember, a good portion of this "chimney' is underground) and allow cooler air to sink to this space. Natural, zero-CO2 air conditioning.
While in Kashan we had our first meal seated at a takht which is like a kind of large day bed or platform with backrests. You sit on the platform, your meal is placed in the centre and you all eat from there. Looks great and atmospheric but it's not really much chop and a table and chairs make a lot more sense. Good for lounging in with a cup of tea though.
On our first day in Kashan we were accosted (in the gentlest way) by Hossein, a tour guide. This turned out to be a very happy circumstance, as Hossein had some great suggestions that led to us rearranging our whole stay in Iran. He accompanied us to an old hamamm (bathhouse) and had the caretaker unlock the access to the roof. This gave us an incredible perspective of the bathhouse itself and of the roofscape of the old part of Kashan. Back down into the bathhouse, and it was superb. Visiting the bathhouse used to be much more of a ritual and social occasion, and people would spend half a day there - scrubbing, soaking, socialising and very probably doing business as well.
The next morning, Hossein took us to a textile workshop. Kashan is famous for its silk and wool textiles, and in this workshop are weavers still practising their craft in the traditional way. It was fantastic to see, and these old men (yes, all of them men and all of them old) were so adept at moving the strings and levers and weights on the looms it was a joy to watch. The resulting fabric is beautiful but very expensive, so we remained observers rather than participants.
Our next stop was a potter, a friend of Hossein. This man's work was exquisite, and although he had very little English and we have no Farsi, so we were not really able to communicate, his nature just shone through and he seemed to be one of those beautiful people you encounter sometimes when you are lucky.
That evening we went to English classes. Hossein has a friend who is an English teacher, and he asked us, as a favour to him and his friend, if we would be prepared to spend a few hours engaging with the students in English conversation. This we were happy to do. We (David and Liz) both fronted a class of 14 to 17 year old girls for half an hour and then split up for another few classes each. Maybe it was youthful naivety, maybe it was the result of religious dogma swallowed hook, line and sinker, but when these girls were told of the Australian aborigines' spiritual and religious connections to land, jaws dropped from uncomprehending faces. Among the expected questions about why we were visiting Iran and what we liked best about it, were some curlier ones - did we think the media manipulated reports about Iran? why does our government pursue its current immigration policy? why do we drink alcohol? what is our view of the obligation to wear the hijab? and so on. Lively evening especially with David fomenting rebellion such as when receiving questions about alcohol, acknowledging and detailing some of the problems but then also returning with questions about liberty and freedom. Also, the positive role of alcoholic beverages, in moderation, especially the matching of a great wine with great food was utterly lost. Not surprising really, the sometimes great food here is debased with the consumption of Coke. Often as the only westerners, we were the only ones declining to complement our meals with this liquid sugar.
Joseph was invited to join a game of futsal while this was going on, which he really enjoyed. He did get to join a class later as well though. His was a group of young girls aged around 11 - 13 and their questions were more to that age, including whether he was single.
One student in particular I will remember. Her name is Sabha. She is 15 and a deep thinker - one of those who seem destined to greatness. She is enormously troubled about some of the things in Iranian life
While in Kashan we had our first meal seated at a takht which is like a kind of large day bed or platform with backrests. You sit on the platform, your meal is placed in the centre and you all eat from there. Looks great and atmospheric but it's not really much chop and a table and chairs make a lot more sense. Good for lounging in with a cup of tea though.
On our first day in Kashan we were accosted (in the gentlest way) by Hossein, a tour guide. This turned out to be a very happy circumstance, as Hossein had some great suggestions that led to us rearranging our whole stay in Iran. He accompanied us to an old hamamm (bathhouse) and had the caretaker unlock the access to the roof. This gave us an incredible perspective of the bathhouse itself and of the roofscape of the old part of Kashan. Back down into the bathhouse, and it was superb. Visiting the bathhouse used to be much more of a ritual and social occasion, and people would spend half a day there - scrubbing, soaking, socialising and very probably doing business as well.
The next morning, Hossein took us to a textile workshop. Kashan is famous for its silk and wool textiles, and in this workshop are weavers still practising their craft in the traditional way. It was fantastic to see, and these old men (yes, all of them men and all of them old) were so adept at moving the strings and levers and weights on the looms it was a joy to watch. The resulting fabric is beautiful but very expensive, so we remained observers rather than participants.
Our next stop was a potter, a friend of Hossein. This man's work was exquisite, and although he had very little English and we have no Farsi, so we were not really able to communicate, his nature just shone through and he seemed to be one of those beautiful people you encounter sometimes when you are lucky.
That evening we went to English classes. Hossein has a friend who is an English teacher, and he asked us, as a favour to him and his friend, if we would be prepared to spend a few hours engaging with the students in English conversation. This we were happy to do. We (David and Liz) both fronted a class of 14 to 17 year old girls for half an hour and then split up for another few classes each. Maybe it was youthful naivety, maybe it was the result of religious dogma swallowed hook, line and sinker, but when these girls were told of the Australian aborigines' spiritual and religious connections to land, jaws dropped from uncomprehending faces. Among the expected questions about why we were visiting Iran and what we liked best about it, were some curlier ones - did we think the media manipulated reports about Iran? why does our government pursue its current immigration policy? why do we drink alcohol? what is our view of the obligation to wear the hijab? and so on. Lively evening especially with David fomenting rebellion such as when receiving questions about alcohol, acknowledging and detailing some of the problems but then also returning with questions about liberty and freedom. Also, the positive role of alcoholic beverages, in moderation, especially the matching of a great wine with great food was utterly lost. Not surprising really, the sometimes great food here is debased with the consumption of Coke. Often as the only westerners, we were the only ones declining to complement our meals with this liquid sugar.
Joseph was invited to join a game of futsal while this was going on, which he really enjoyed. He did get to join a class later as well though. His was a group of young girls aged around 11 - 13 and their questions were more to that age, including whether he was single.
One student in particular I will remember. Her name is Sabha. She is 15 and a deep thinker - one of those who seem destined to greatness. She is enormously troubled about some of the things in Iranian life
Tehran 23 & 24 February
Tehran - 23 and 24 February
We had a day and a half in Tehran and that was plenty. Tehran is a busy, dirty city - one of the most polluted cities in the world. The resident population of 12 million swells to a week-day population of 15 million from workers streaming in from surrounding districts. The traffic is chaotic and crossing the road here is even more perilous than in Saigon. We developed our own system of holding hands three abreast then purposefully striding across as soon as an appropriate break occurred, David in the middle chivvying us along. Each time we crossed I was afraid we were just lining up like skittles to be bowled over by a car or one of the many motorbikes, but each time the traffic parted as we had been told it would and we survived. Not quite Moses, but it was enough. Cars trucks and buses usually keep to the correct side of the road; motorcycles, which are perhaps even more numerous than the sum of the others, never do and can appear from any direction, at any time. Lane markings are purely decorative, headlights are optional and indicators are apparently forbidden. Massive loads on all vehicles are common, most entertainingly on motorcycles: white and brown goods, carpets, boxes of fruit and veg - anything that might be possible becomes matter of fact. People too, often two-up, the pillion frequently a female in full Islamic regalia, like terrestrial flying nuns. Sometimes three or, we're told, four-up. New born baby? No problem! Just cradle it in the pillion mother's arms and away!
One thing about Tehran that was good, fantastic actually, was the main bazaar. It is pronounced "buhzar" with the accent on the first syllable. At any one time there are about two million people distributed along its 10 kilometres of alleys. Supermarkets, and even larger general stores, are practically non-existent in Iran and almost all retail and even wholesale purchasing is conducted through a bazaar shop. Apparently two thirds of all retail spending for the entire nation happens in the Tehran Bazaar. Bazaar shops are often little more than a a hole-in-the-wall, say 4 by 3 metres, loaded to the gunnels with a particular specialty. Bazaars, and the strip shops lining the streets, are generally set in precincts- here the carpet shops, there the gold sellers, yonder the spice merchants and so on. The Tehran Bazaar, like the rest of the city, is crowded, and very hard to navigate. Luckily for us, we met Mahmoud, a friendly carpet seller who gave us a guided tour of the bazaar. You can probably guess how this ends, but in the meantime, he really was informative and showed us things we would never have seen otherwise, like the mosque, the gold sellers and the old caravanserais within the bazaar. And yes, we made a carpet acquisition, but we are very happy with the outcome so all is good.
We had a day and a half in Tehran and that was plenty. Tehran is a busy, dirty city - one of the most polluted cities in the world. The resident population of 12 million swells to a week-day population of 15 million from workers streaming in from surrounding districts. The traffic is chaotic and crossing the road here is even more perilous than in Saigon. We developed our own system of holding hands three abreast then purposefully striding across as soon as an appropriate break occurred, David in the middle chivvying us along. Each time we crossed I was afraid we were just lining up like skittles to be bowled over by a car or one of the many motorbikes, but each time the traffic parted as we had been told it would and we survived. Not quite Moses, but it was enough. Cars trucks and buses usually keep to the correct side of the road; motorcycles, which are perhaps even more numerous than the sum of the others, never do and can appear from any direction, at any time. Lane markings are purely decorative, headlights are optional and indicators are apparently forbidden. Massive loads on all vehicles are common, most entertainingly on motorcycles: white and brown goods, carpets, boxes of fruit and veg - anything that might be possible becomes matter of fact. People too, often two-up, the pillion frequently a female in full Islamic regalia, like terrestrial flying nuns. Sometimes three or, we're told, four-up. New born baby? No problem! Just cradle it in the pillion mother's arms and away!
One thing about Tehran that was good, fantastic actually, was the main bazaar. It is pronounced "buhzar" with the accent on the first syllable. At any one time there are about two million people distributed along its 10 kilometres of alleys. Supermarkets, and even larger general stores, are practically non-existent in Iran and almost all retail and even wholesale purchasing is conducted through a bazaar shop. Apparently two thirds of all retail spending for the entire nation happens in the Tehran Bazaar. Bazaar shops are often little more than a a hole-in-the-wall, say 4 by 3 metres, loaded to the gunnels with a particular specialty. Bazaars, and the strip shops lining the streets, are generally set in precincts- here the carpet shops, there the gold sellers, yonder the spice merchants and so on. The Tehran Bazaar, like the rest of the city, is crowded, and very hard to navigate. Luckily for us, we met Mahmoud, a friendly carpet seller who gave us a guided tour of the bazaar. You can probably guess how this ends, but in the meantime, he really was informative and showed us things we would never have seen otherwise, like the mosque, the gold sellers and the old caravanserais within the bazaar. And yes, we made a carpet acquisition, but we are very happy with the outcome so all is good.
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