Faith Tested

Given what I’ve been through in the past couple weeks, I am naturally hesitant to declare that I finally have all my problems sorted, but things are indeed looking positive as I write this on Saturday evening in my Tehran hotel.

TNT delivered the new starter motor to the tour agency in Shiraz this morning, and they’ve given it to the driver to bring to me along with El Guapo tomorrow morning.

My Dad’s health appears to have rebounded slightly; MJ says he hanging on for me, and I am sure that is the case. So I am increasingly confident I will arrive in time to say good-bye to him, but also concerned about the suffering he is enduring as a result.

I’ve just received word through Mehdi that the driver is setting out with El Guapo from Shiraz and is expected here early tomorrow morning.

And I expect my extended visa to be ready for collection tomorrow.

So, whilst it’s difficult to utter the words ”if all goes according to plan” at this point without experiencing a deep sense of irony, my realistic expectation is that I will be on the road before noon tomorrow and in Tabriz tomorrow evening. I hope to arrive at the Armenian border before noon the next day, and although the last four borders I've crossed were successively more difficult to clear, I hoping that I have finally broken that particular curse and will have a routine and problem-free exit from Iran and entry into Armenia.

Today was therefore hopefully my last day of sightseeing in Teheran, and we spent it in a more successful attempt to visit S’ad Abad. Most enjoyable about the visit were the grounds themselves, which were beautifully landscaped, heavily shaded and watered by numerous streams, which made the area noticeably cooler and more comfortable.

Reza Pahlavi Shah's "White Palace"

The main sites were two Palaces, one imaginatively called the Green Palace, and the other the White Palace. The Green Palace was constructed by Reza Shah, and the White Palace by his son, Mohammad Reza Pahlavi. To me, both palaces were most notable for their relative simplicity and lack of ostentation, especially in contrast to the Qajar-era equivalents. The Green Palace is probably less than 800 square meters in size, and the White Palace perhaps twice that, big enough for a tract mansion, but modest as a principal residence for a monarch officially referred to as the ”King of Kings”. In front of the White Palace were the two bronze legs, cut off at the knee, all that remained of a statue of the last Pahlavi pulled down during the revolution.

All that is left of the statue of the last Shah

There were many other museums on site, including the Museum of Fine Arts, but more than we could take in in one day. We had a look at the imperial collection of fine automobiles, again rather modest in both size (about 10 vehicles, including a snowmobile) and ostentation — mostly Mercedes and Rolls Royces, but nothing too showy. More interesting was the miniature painting museum, which included many artistic interpretations of the poems of Hafez, Omar Khayyám and other Persian poets. Several of these depicted drinking, sexual behaviour and other un-Islamic themes, and almost certainly would never be publicly displayed in Qatar or many other Arabic countries, an indicator that despite the reputation of its government, Islam here is still moderate, at least in comparison with the Wahabi-influenced Gulf states.

On the way back we had another wander through the bazaar at Tajrish, where I admired the freshness and breadth of selection on display at the fruit and produce vendors. One thing I had been looking for Iran — so far, unsuccessfully — was some Iranian caviar. In the bazaar we were approached by a random stranger who offered me a tin of something labelled ”Bluga” for 80 USD. I was hesitant, and Mehdi also was not entirely confident about the guy, so he told him to come to our hotel at 18:00 this evening. Mehdi figured if he actually showed, it was an indicator that he was probably legit.

The bazaar at Tajrish

After making the long slog back to Teheran, eating a late lunch and having a short nap, it was 18:30, the guy hadn’t showed, and the front desk clerk suggested another location to buy some. After walking for better part of an hour to a location near the German Embassy, we were told the shop we were after had moved to a new spot, just 5 minutes walk from our hotel. However, there was another shop nearby, so we decided to check it out. No Beluga, no Sevruga, only ”pressed”, the lowest grade of Iranian caviar was available for 1.7 million riyal, around 50 USD. However, it appeared of reliable provenance, with a production date on the label and a lead seal proving that the wire bail keeping the lid in place had not been tampered with. I decided to buy the tin and also check out the place we were originally looking for near our hotel.

We found it about 20 minutes later, and the shopkeeper produced an unsealed tin of what he said was Beluga. I’m not entirely expert in these things, but I do know that Beluga consists of large, distinct grey eggs, and visually it passed muster, so I forked over another 2.2 million riyal for 200 grams. Not quite cocaine prices, but getting close. On our way back to the hotel we met up with our friend from the Tajrish bazaar, who told us he had arrived at the hotel two minutes after we left (he was supposed to come between 17:00 and 18:00). I told him he was too late, indicating the shopping bags I was carrying. He apologised for being late, and offered me his tin of ”Bluga” for 750 000 Riyal, half of his original price. I declined.

I kept both my tins of caviar on ice and put them in the fridge in my room. El Guapo, of course, is equipped with on-board refrigeration, so getting it to Yerevan should not be difficult. Carrying to the USA with two changes of planes and 19 hours of travel will a little more challenging; hopefully I can charm a flight attendant into keeping it in the fridge for me, and also hopefully I will not forget to collect it at the end of each flight. Beluga has been almost impossible to lay hands on these days, and when you can — e.g., at Dean and Delucca in Doha — it was outrageously expensive, typically 300 USD for the smallest container. So if I manage this, I and my very closest friends will be enjoying some in Ann Arbor in the near future.

It’s evening now, just waiting for my dinner to be delivered before getting some sleep in preparation for what I hope is a successful departure from Teheran tomorrow, with vehicle, replacement starter motor, and passport with visa extension.

Blogndog

11 July 2015

Tehran

Shiny Happy People

Wednesday was an important Shia holiday, the Feast of the Martyrdom of Ali, the prophet’s cousin and son-in-law, whose murder triggered the schism that split Islam into Sunni and Shia branches. As a result, all the tourist destinations were closed, and so I took an obligatory break from my frenetic sight-seeing schedule and spent much of the day just hanging out at my hotel.

I did take a couple of long walks around Tehran, and checked out the Tehran Metro. There are four lines lines in the metro system: Line 1, Line 2, Line 4, and Line 5. No doubt Israel has something to do with the missing Line 3. It was unremarkable in many ways; vaguely reminiscent of Montréal, and like Cairo, features ”women only” carriages, although it is doubtful Iranian men have the same difficulty keeping their hands to themselves the way Egyptian men do. One unique feature I particularly liked was the train status board. Different Metro systems have different ways of keeping you informed about the next train — in Stockholm and London, there are information screens that tell you how long to the next few trains and their destination. In Warsaw, where trains run at fixed intervals, a counter starts when a train leaves the station, so when it reaches 4 minutes during peak hours, you know another should be arriving momentarily. Here in Tehran, there are graphic signs showing where the trains are — red dots indicating they are in a station, and yellow arrows showing when they are travelling between stations.

Where's my train?

There are many things I have come to like about Iran; I have to admit that the food is not one of them, although you might not guess that from seeing how my waistline has expanded since I have arrived. One reason is that there are not a lot of dining options in Tehran or anywhere else; this may in part be because of Iranians' preference for entertaining at home, where they can escape the social strictures imposed by mullahs and literally let their hair down.

That evening, I decided to get a break from the endless rice and kabab and seek out one of Tehran’s few fine dining venues, the nearby Baharestan Grand Restaurant. I arrived shortly before dusk (none of the restaurants of course would be serving until the end of the fast) to find the place brightly lit, the tables set, and plates of salad, bread, dates and nuts covered with plastic wrap already set out and waiting for the end of the fast. Dozens of people milled around, but nobody seemed to be charge, or even to speak English. Finally one charming young woman offered to assist in English, but she informed me that the restaurant was fully booked for the evening. But then she asked how many persons, and I explained that I was alone. ”Just you?” she asked, ”OK, no problem,” and she led me to a place at a round table.

I waited for a bit as they brought more food to each of the tables, including a steaming tureen of soup that looked and smelled fantastic. When the fast finally ended, I was joined by the young woman who helped me earlier (who introduced herself as Mehrnoush), and a fit-looking gentleman who turned out to be her brother. After speaking with them a few minutes I slowly realised that the brother — an apparently well to-do anæsthesiologist — had actually booked the entire restaurant for the evening for a private event with his very large extended family, and I just either charmed or buffaloed my way into this gathering, depending on your perspective on such things.

First priority for Mehrnoush, her mother and sister was determining my marital status and economic potential. They accomplished by asking a series of subtle, yet probing, questions such as ”are you single?” and ”do you earn a lot of money?”. Her Mom was visibly disappointed when I told her I was engaged, and she was not entirely convinced of this until I produced a photo of MJ, whom she nonetheless pronounced to be ”very beautiful.”

Second order of business was giving all the young cousins of the clan the opportunity to practice their English with me, which many of them did. Some were shy and hesitant, but in particular one charismatic 11 year-old spoke with much poise and confidence, and learning that I was from America, declared that ”I think your country is sensational!” Apparently, this was one of his favourite adjectives, as he also used it to describe the Chelsea Football Club, BMW automobiles, the iPhone, the Iranian Volleyball team and the sport of volleyball in general, and the dessert we were eating. I didn’t ask his views on the Greek economy.

Next came all the men of the clan, who each in turn stopped by my table to show off babies, ask my opinions on Football and Volleyball, complain about the sanctions and politicians, and tell me in which state they had relatives in the USA (it was always California).

Finally, the ladies — the charming, black-clad Iranian ladies — who arrived in a gaggle led by Mehrnoush’s mom and ancient Auntie, and who asked far more pointed and intelligent questions than the men did — what did I think of the nuclear negotiations? Did I like Obama? (they didn’t) Did I like Khomeni? (they liked him even less). How old was I? (I referred the question to my attorneys).

Undoubtedly that evening will be one of my best memories of Iran — they were all so charming, so welcoming, so friendly. It took me a full half-hour to take my leave, shaking hands with the men, bowing to the ladies, high-fiving the kids. Mehrnoush gave me her number and told me to call if I needed any help. I got back to the hotel to find Mehdi and one of the hotel staff having a cup of tea in the front garden and joined them for a bit before calling it a night.

Next day, it was back to sight-seeing with a visit to the Golestan Palace, a Qajar-dynasty complex of buildings arranged around a landscaped courtyard. Near the entrance was the marble throne where the Shahs of Iran have been crowned for the past 300 years or so (the Qajars moved the capital to the then-village of Tehran from Isfahan in the early 18th century). Even before this visit I was starting to get opulence burn-out — and this sent me over the edge: yes, very nice, the interior of this palace is marble. Ooh, this one is covered in silver and mirrors. Ah, here’s a gilt one, and this one is all intricately inlaid woods. Somewhat more interesting were the displays of gifts that the Shahs had received from foreign dignitaries and potentates over the centuries, including two Farsi typewriters from the USA, and a badge of the Royal Order of Kamehameha I from one of the Kings of Hawaii’i.

The Qajars liked things sparkly

After the palace, we headed to the nearby Grand Bazaar, which is reminiscent of the Grand Bazaar in Istanbul. Like most bazaars, it was organised into different sections with all shops of one type clustered together — carpets, kitchenware, housewares, electronics, office supplies, gold, spices, etc. A scrum of shouting, gesticulating men outside one of the entrances turned out to the city’s foreign currency market. We also made a short visit to the nearby Imam Khomeni mosque before calling it a day.

Friday was another day of enforced relaxation, as all government-run facilities, including museums, were closed to encourage everyone to attend anti-Israeli demonstrations for "Quds Day". We didn’t know this, however, when we set out this morning for Tajrish, in northern Tehran at the last stop on Metro line 1 in order to visit the Sa’d Abad complex, where two more palaces and various museums, etc. are located. Tajrish itself had a pleasant, village-like atmosphere, with lots of green-grocers selling impossibly fresh, beautiful looking fruit, a small but lovely bazaar, a wonderful bakery, and temperatures a few degrees cooler than central Tehran. Above it looms Mt. Tochal, a 3933 metre peak that hosts one of Iran’s most popular ski areas.

After travelling 15 stops by metro, we took a shared taxi to the entrance gate of the complex to find it closed, so we retraced our steps and ended up back at the hotel in time for lunch. Afterwards, I took a short nap, and then decided to visit the infamous ”Den of American Espionage,” formerly known as the Embassy of the United States of America to the Imperial State of Iran. I had been warned to be discreet and low-key, especially when taking photographs, but I arrived to find the place deserted and the anti-American graffiti faded and peeling. Immediately next to the ”Down With USA” graffito was a small convenience store selling ice-cold Pepsi and Coca-Cola, amongst other refreshments. I guess radical Islamists need that ”pause that refreshes” now and then, just like everyone else. I walked the entire length of perimeter fence and encountered no one except a couple of ladies strolling along. At the main entrance, the Great Seal of the United States had been obviously defaced but was mostly still legible.

A somewhat disappointing attempt at defacement – a bit of spattered blood and black spray paint would have been much more effective

I couldn’t avoid feeling cheated somehow — I came looking for wild-eyed radicals spewing hate-filled, anti-American invective and instead just found a quiet Tehran neighbourhood. Maybe I should try South Carolina ?

And when is the last time anyone did any maintenance on this graffito?

In the meantime, I learned from the TNT web site that Iranian customs cleared my new starter motor, and it presumably would soon be on its way to Shiraz. I talked to my brother and learned my Dad had pulled back from brink and had a couple of relatively good days, with his blood pressure back up from critical levels, although he still could go at any time. My ticket back to the USA from Yerevan is booked. Nothing much more I can do at this point but continue praying.

Blogndog

11 July 2015

Tehran

Busload of Faith to Get By

After driving north from Isfahan, and passing near both Iran’s hardened nuclear fuel enrichment facility at Natanz and the ”holy city” of Qom along the way, we arrived in Tehran yesterday.

Our hotel, it was soon obvious, was in a district where all the auto parts and supplies are sold; in my walk around Tehran yesterday and today I learned the entire city is like this, with all the auto parts shops in one district (which in turn is sub-divided into a tyres section, a batteries section, an exhaust system section, etc.), all the musical instruments in another, pet shops in another, electronics in another, etc. Seeing the hundreds of shops — each of which was better stocked than anything we had in Doha — I couldn’t help but wonder if there wasn’t some place that could rebuild my starter motor.

Yesterday I was also finally able to try to follow up on the starter motor shipment from Nene Overland. First problem was that the TNT website had no phone number for the Iran office, and only an 0800 number for the UK, which couldn’t be dialled from Iran. I went to their ”Sweden” page and was able to find a regular fixed line number in Sweden. I rang them and they informed me that the shipment was being held in the UK with ”unshippable” status, but they had no details of why. But they gave me the UK phone number. I called the UK office and they also confirmed the ”unshippable” status, but still could not tell me precisely what was wrong and referred me to the Iran office. I rang the Iran office to find that they were closed for the day and would not re-open until 8:00 this morning.

As if all of this wasn’t stressful enough, my visa was set to expire on 9 July (three days from now), and my father, in the USA, who has been ill for some time, was expected to pass away imminently. I had already anticipated this by organising a place to park El Guapo in Yerevan, Armenia, while I flew home to be with my family. But a lot had to happen between here and Yerevan.

I started developing multiple contingency scenarios:

1. Option A was to get the new motor shipped to Iran and delivered to the mechanic in Shiraz, get a driver to drive El Guapo to me in Tehran, and then drive north to Tabriz, to the Armenian border and onwards to Yerevan. But the status of the new motor was unclear.
2. Option B was to fly out of Tehran, be with my family, then apply for a new visa, buy a new starter motor in the USA, fly back to Shiraz, have the vehicle repaired, and then continue the drive to Europe. However, there was no guarantee I would get a new visa or any way of knowing how long it would take — sometimes, months are required.
3. Option C was to fly to Yerevan, hire a flatbed there, have the Iranians put El Guapo on a flatbed to the border, where I would meet them with the Armenian flatbed and then have it taken to Yerevan for repair before continuing my journey. Time consuming.
4. Option D was to explore the idea of getting the starter motor rebuilt in Tehran.
   

Options A and D would almost certainly take more time than was remaining on my visa, and I was told that extending for Americans was close to impossible. Both of these options also had a higher risk of me not being able to see my Dad before he passed away.

I started my day today with chasing up Option A by ringing TNT Iran. They didn’t know anything I didn’t, which is that my shipment was showing up as ”Not Found” in the system. They advised me to ring the UK office, which wouldn’t open for several hours. In the meantime, I decided to try extending my visa. We went first to one office, then were re-directed to another. We talked to one guy, then another guy, then a third guy. Mehdi, my guide, explained my situation. They agreed to extend. Then came the inevitable standing in various queues — getting the form, completing the form. Passport copies. Visa copies. Proof of payment of the fees at Bank Melli, down the road was necessary. Fortunately, directly outside the visa office an enterprising Iranian was selling payments receipts at a markup from face value with no waiting — he made a living standing in the queue at Bank Melli, making a few dozen payments and getting the payment receipts and then selling them to foreigners like me with more money than time. Finally the completed application was accepted and I was told to return on Sunday to collect my passport with a 15 day extension. A good outcome, but less than ideal — I really wanted to get going, and only needed one, maybe two more days, but getting the extension would take 5.

Finally was able to speak to someone at TNT and read them the riot act — why they didn’t inform me PROMPTLY that there was problem was beyond me, and Nene had in fact called them before shipping to verify that sending to Iran was possible, and nobody thought to mention that there were any special requirements at the time. And WHY the wild goose chase of referring me to the Iran office?

In any event, spoke to someone who explained that there are ”special procedures” for Iran, but he wouldn’t explain them by phone. He took my email address and promised the send the necessary information. When his email arrived, I found all that was needed was for the shipper, Nene, to complete a short form attesting, amongst other small points, that the shipment did not contain ”any goods of US origin.” I forwarded the form on Nene, and rang them. They sorted it within minutes, completing the form, scanning it, and sending it on to TNT. TNT confirmed receipt and promised to dispatch the parcel right away.

So far, not a bad start to the day. Back at the hotel, one of the managers there directed us to a shop that might have a suitable starter motor, naturally located nearby as we were in the ”auto parts” district. They were not, in fact, able to help, but they directed us to a nearby workshop that they thought could rebuild the starter. We found it easily, and spoke with the owner. No problem, he said, he could fix it. Mehdi rang the agency in Shiraz, which dispatched a driver to the mechanic in Shiraz to collect the starter and take it to the airport. He got it on the next flight to Tehran.

In the meantime, we had time for a little sightseeing. First stop was the Treasury of National Jewels in the basement of the National Bank, whose vaults contain the Crown Jewels of Iran. I’ve seen both the Imperial Russian Crown Jewels in the Kremlin, and the British Crown Jewels in the Tower of London, and I don’t think the two combined came anyway near the splendour of this collection. In fact, it once contained the Koh-i-Noor diamond, which was stolen by the British and now sits atop Queen Elizabeth’s sceptre. At one point, Iran threatened to sue the British for its return, but then India said that if Iran did so, they would sue Iran, as it was stolen from India by Nadir Shah in 1739. Then Sri Lanka stepped in and reminded India that it had been stolen from Sri Lanka by the Khilijis in the 14th century.

Even without this stone the collection is mind-blowing. At the entrance is the Peacock Throne, rumoured to contain parts of the Mughal Peacock Throne, which was also plundered from Delhi by Nadir Shah. Several huge crowns, dozens of diamond, emerald and spinel tiaras. Golden, bejewelled harnesses, saddles, stirrups, firearms and swords, including one a metre long with a scabbard encrusted its entire length with thousands of diamonds. And an incredible globe, a meter in diameter, with the continents set in rubies, the seas in emeralds and Iran in diamonds.

Next stop was the archaeological museum, which had an amazing collection of pre-Islamic Iranian works — pottery, bronzes, terra cotta, stone — decorative works, vessels, tools, weapons, jewellery, etc.

On leaving we were informed my starter motor should be at the airport, so jumped in a taxi and joined the insane, high-speed throng that is traffic in Tehran and headed to the cargo terminal. It arrived in short order and we dashed back into Tehran and delivered it to the workshop. I left as the owner pounded away at it gleefully, assuring me, ”don’t worry, I can fix.” We headed back to the hotel for dinner and before we finished eating he rang to say it was ready.

Mehdi and driver, starter motor in hand

A new lease on life for my starter motor

The driver took the now-working starter motor and headed south. He won’t make Shiraz tonight, but will stop in Isfahan, and get to Shiraz tomorrow. Tomorrow, by the way, is the Shia feast of the Martyrdom of Ali, one of the most important holidays in Iran. Museums all closed, so a day of enforced but much-needed rest.

Overall, a successful day, but one that nonetheless ended on a down note. I rang my brother and updated him on my situation — I could now give firm confirmation that I could expect to leave Tehran on Sunday, spend Sunday night in Tabriz, and reach the Armenian border by mid-day on Monday, and hopefully Yerevan that evening. Fly out Tuesday, Wednesday at the absolute latest and arrive in Detroit the same day. However, although my brother said my father’s condition was somewhat improved from yesterday, he didn’t think he would last that long. I managed to have a reasonable FaceTime conversation with my Dad and tell him I loved him and was on my way. The rest is beyond my control.

Blogndog

7 July 2015

Tehran

More Waiting

Friday afternoon I got a email from Nene Overland confirming they had shipped me the new starter motor and including the tracking number. However, checking the TNT web site, I just got a ”not found” error message, which wasn’t very comforting. Nothing to be done until I could call the guys at Nene on Monday, however.

We started the day’s sightseeing with a visit to the Armenian Vank Cathedral in Isfahan’s dwindling Armenian quarter, which features incredible, brightly coloured frescoes covering every square centimetre of its interior. All the major Old and New Testament scenes were there — the Flood, the Tower of Babel, Jonah and the Whale, Daniel and the Lions, the Massacre of the Innocents, Jesus booting the moneychangers out of the Temple, etc. Also present was a series of frescoes depicting the 12 horrible tortures endured by St. Gregory the Illuminator, at the hands of the Armenian King Tiradates, which including flogging, breaking on the wheel, having some foul liquid forced into his ass, and having molten metal poured over his head, amongst others, none of which managed to diminish the luminous lustre of his halo or cause him to lose his faith. Evidently, however, Tiradates never tried forcing him to attempt to import a vehicle into Iran; I have little doubt the trauma would have cracked him and caused him to renounce his faith in God.

Frescoes at Vank Cathedral

Afterwards, we stocked up on goodies at the nearby Armenian bakery before returning to the carpet shop for some more tea and haggling. As promised, they brought some more carpets, but still I didn’t like any of them as much as the one I had my eye on the day before. Finally we got down to business and after a bit of back and forth, pleadings of poverty on my part, protests that I was essentially robbing him on his part, we settled on a price of 1550 US dollars. More tea, a few last efforts to sell me a second carpet, money changed hands and the deal was sealed.

Before leaving the bazaar we also visited the miniature shop, where I browsed hundreds of tiny hunting and battle scenes, portraits of dervishes, bird, animal and floral scenes, etc. before selecting a small camel bone box with a bird motif for MJ.

Afterwards, we wandered over to the nearby ”Forty-Columned Palace,” or Chehel Sotoun, a Safavid era palace which in fact has only 20 columns, but with the traditional reflecting pool in front, the reflection doubles the number to 40 in Iranian accounting (and to think I just bought a carpet from these people).

Seven of the 20 columns on the 40 columned palace

Our final stop was to return to the Jameh Mosque, which I had visited alone my first evening in Isfahan. Back to the hotel for dinner, and then a visit to two of Isfahan’s famous bridges in the evening. Next stop, Tehran.

Blogndog

6 July 2015

Tehran

The Show Must Go On

My Iranian visa expires on 10 July, and I am due to meet my brother in Michigan on the 11th, so hanging around Shiraz waiting for El Guapo to get a starter transplant is not an option. So, everything has been organised:

1. The starter is being shipped to the tour agency, who deliver to the mechanic
2. The mechanic will restore El Guapo to working order
3. A driver will take him to me in Tehran next week
   

In the meantime, I am continuing my tour as planned with a driver. Yesterday, we drove north to the legendary city of Isfahan. Checked into our hotel in the old city; I went for a walk alone at dusk and ended up at the Jameh Mosque, the oldest in Isfahan (originally a Zoroastrian temple) just as Maghreb prayer was starting.

Today was ”see the sights” day, so naturally we started with the famous Naqsh-e Jahan Square , and visited the Ali Qapu Palace, the Shah mosque, and the incredible royal mosque. After a break for lunch, it was time for another time-honoured Iranian tradition, haggling over a carpet.

Given the sanctions, the fact that it was Ramadan (or Ramazan, as they call it in Iran), and July, there were not a lot of tourists in Isfahan, so I was reasonably confident about getting a good deal. My guide led me to the ”Flying Carpet” gallery, we sat down, had some tea, and started to chat. Carpets were pulled from stacks and laid out on the floor. I had some fairly specific requirements in mind — I needed something for under the dining table — so I needed something rather large.

After some time, we had a ”very nice” and a ”possibly” pile in front of us. Problem was that I wasn’t finding exactly what I wanted. Too many dark colours. There were two with bright greens, yellows and blues, but not quite large enough. We ordered in some lunch. Couriers were dispatched to other rug shops to find something that met my specifications. More carpets arrived. Many were nice, but none were as nice as what I had already rejected. I decided to call it a day, and to return the next day when they had the opportunity to bring more carpets and I had the chance to think things over.

Blogndog

4 July 2015

Isfahan

Solihull, We Have a Problem

After seeing the Pink Mosque, my guide Mehdi and I returned to El Guapo. He started up normally, I put it in reverse and started to back out of my parking space. Suddenly, the air con stopped working, which immediately caused me concern, as in past experience this has always been the first sign of a serious electrical fault.

Interior of the Pink Mosque

More signs of trouble soon appeared. The alternator light came on. The tire pressure monitoring system screen went dark. Nonetheless, the vehicle was still running, so somewhat against my better judgement, we continued to our next stop, the former hammam, or bath house. I didn’t learn so until we toured this facility that Reza Pahlavi Shah ordered all the hammams in Iran closed some 85 years ago, as he considered them a sign of backwardness. This one was preserved as a museum.

I pulled into a car park and thoughtlessly turned off the ignition. I tried to start again. As I expected, nothing. Fortunately, Shiraz is Mehdi’s home town, and he knew plenty of people. A mechanic was contacted. He would meet us in an hour’s time, after we finished the bath house tour.

When we returned to the vehicle, he was waiting. Although I explained it was a waste of time, we tried jump starting the vehicle. Nothing. I dug out my multi-meter and checked both batteries. 12,6 volts from each. Not the problem. The mechanic suggested we swap out the battery and drive to a garage. Again I explained it was a waste of time, but again I was ignored. A friend of Mehdi’s would bring a fully charged battery. In the meantime, we had some lunch and then went to see the nearby castle.

Mehdi’s friend was waiting when we returned. Again I showed him that the batteries were charged. ”Try it anyway” they said. Doing so is not so easy with El Guapo, as he is outfitted with a dual battery system. First, remove the driver’s seat and open the battery compartment. Remove the terminals from both positive battery posts. Remove the terminals from the negative battery posts. Remove the two bolts that secure the batteries into place. Carefully slide out the bracket without shorting out either of the batteries. Remove the leisure battery. Slide the starter battery forward and remove it. Drop the new battery (actually, it was an ancient, filthy, acid-leaking mess, but it was fully charged) into place. Connect the terminals. Demonstrate that the vehicle still will not start. Take momentary satisfaction from the ”I told you so” moment. Then painstakingly reverse the procedure. Now you have wasted a full hour in the hot Shiraz sun, but now Mehdi is persuaded he needs to call a tow truck.

Poor El Guapo :(

The tow truck arrived shortly and we followed it through Shiraz traffic to a garage on the outskirts of town. The mechanic there quickly confirmed what I had been saying all along — burnt out starter motor, a motor which in fact I had just had installed less than a month earlier when the previous one failed in a similar manner. Clearly some underlying problem was causing El Guapo’s starter motor’s to burn out, but I had no idea what. A vehicle electrician was summoned from another garage. They couldn’t figure out how to remove the starter motor, which is buried deep in the engine bay and not easily accessible. They insisted it would need to come out through the top, which would necessitate dismantling the diesel injection system. I knew this not to be the case, and told them to remove it from below. They couldn’t manage it, and it was getting late. I had the entire workshop manual for the vehicle on my laptop, but it was back at the hotel. We agree to return early the next morning to deal with it.

The driver and Mehdi collected me from the hotel, with laptop in hand, early the next morning. We headed back to the garage. We decided to have the vehicle towed again, this time to the electrician’s garage. Mehdi found a flat-bed, and soon we were unloading the vehicle at the other garage. No sooner did we finish, however, than Mehdi finished a phone call and told us he had found a better mechanic. El Guapo went back on the flat-bed and we all headed to the third garage.

More Indignities

We left El Guapo with the mechanic and headed to the Necropolis and Persepolis to do some sightseeing. The Necropolis tombs, which included Xerxes and Darius, were carved into living rock in the style of Petra. Nearby was a curious, cube-shaped stone temple of apparently unknown purpose and origin. This one was in almost perfect condition, and we saw another similar but half-ruined one the next day at Pasargad. Both were reminiscent of the Ka'aba in Mecca, and I can’t think of any similar structure — a simple stone cube -- anywhere else in the world. My fiancé would no doubt attribute all three to aliens, a theory supported by ancient, pre-Islamic legends that say that the Ka’aba is ”not of this world” and that it was build by ”angels” who came from the sky (some legends say it was the Archangel Gabriel, specifically). I cannot contribute meaningfully to this discussion other than to say it certainly had a very alien feeling about it.

I'm not saying it was aliens, but...

Next was a sight I had been wanting to see for a very long time — Persepolis. But first we had an update from the mechanic. The starter motor was burned out, and nothing could be done to repair it. I would have to find a way to put my hands on a replacement. I had the driver pull over in the shade, and I rang my friends in the parts department at Nene Overland in the U.K. No, they did have a starter on hand. Yes, they could get one next day. Shipping to Iran? Not sure — would have to check with TNT. An email came through a few minutes later — no problem with shipping to Iran. I rang Nene again and gave them my credit card info, and I was promised it would be on its way to me the next day.

The stone carvings on the palaces at Persepolis were in amazing condition — indeed looking very recently carved; this is because for centuries they were buried in the sand until being rediscovered by and excavated under the guidance of the famous German professor and archaelogist Ernest Herzfeld in the 1930s. This had also saved the ruins from intentional destruction by the Arabs in the 8th century, who did demolish what parts of the ruins they knew about. Mehdi was quick to remind me the Arabs would not hesitate to have another go at destroying this site if given half a chance, just as they had done recently at Nineveh in Iraq.

Even before seeing the cubic temple that morning I had been put on the alert for signs of ancient aliens by my fiancé, who had informed me that Persia was a focus of alien activity in ancient times. I am generally skeptical of such theories, but was taken aback when I found a carving that appeared to show helmeted astronauts in one of the palaces (the Mirror Palace).

Ancient astronauts? Or just guys with really bad fashion sense?

After our tour we headed back to the mechanic’s workshop, where we were able to observe the remains of the motor brushes for ourselves. For reasons unknown, the mechanic said he was not able to remove the starter motor without first removing the front left mudguard, which in turn could not be removed without de-installing the water pump for the shower system. Not sure why — as I said, this was my third starter motor and it had not been a problem to remove it before. He assured me he could get everything back together again, but I am skeptical. In any event, nothing to be done now except to wait for the new motor to arrive. Or for aliens to intervene somehow.

Blogndog

4 July 2015

Isfahan

That’s No Mirage, I’m in Shiraz!

Abadan was swelteringly hot when we left, as it was the whole time we were there. In fact, besides being the site of the refinery that was essentially the start of British Petroleum, and also the focus of some of the bloodiest battles of both WWI and the Iran-Iraq war, Abadan’s main claim to fame is having the highest known temperature on the planet, a heat burst that hit 87° C in June 1967.

The road started flat, straight and smooth across a featureless, shimmering plain, and continued that way for several hours. An escarpment arose in the distance, and eventually we started to climb into some hills. The road twisted through a series of rugged red canyons and steadily gained elevation. Twice I was stopped by police — once for speeding, and once for overtaking on a curve; both times managed to be declared innocent on grounds of insanity. On entering Shiraz province, the hills became proper mountains, and soon we were crawling along a series of switchbacks behind a long queue of heavy lorries. El Guapo managed to pass them one by one, leaving my guide looking a bit pale at times. Finally the road levelled out and soon we were on the outskirts of Shiraz.

We dodged vehicles, motorcycles and pedestrians for a few kilometres before arriving at edge of the old city, where my hotel was located. I turned down a narrow alleyway, and drove into the old city itself. The streets grew narrower as we got closer, at one point requiring us to fold in both wing mirrors to squeeze through a particularly narrow passageway, but we made it to the hotel and safely parked El Guapo in the car park.

Got up early the next morning to have a stroll around the old city before joining my guide about 9:30 to go to his agency to settle my bill. Due to sanctions, there was no way for me to pay for my trip in advance, and the agency had made all of the arrangements based only on my my email commitment to do so on arrival. Honouring that commitment, I counted out a big stack of hundred Euro notes for the agent.

At last, we were ready to do some sightseeing. Our first stop was the Pink Mosque, a beautiful 19th century tiled edifice with incredible stained glass windows. Finally my trip was going smoothly…or was it?

Blogndog

3 July 2015

Isfahan