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Iran Days 1 & 2
Set off from my farm near Buckingham at 9 am. Drove to London. Parked the car in Belsize Park and caught the Underground to the airport. Arrived at Heathrow mid afternoon. Caught up with Colin who had six pieces of luggage including all the camera gear. He tells me that he had to carry it all from his car to the bus stop at the Long-Term car park because there were no trolleys. He looks exhausted. We set about finding out how to do the Carnet. Carnet is an internationally recognized document that allows professionals to take their equipment through borders without being subject to import and export duties. These documents are stamped at the point of entry and exit. Not easy at Heathrow as no one seems to know what it means. Eventually we find a Red Phone where someone on the other end tells us where to go and what to do. A very helpful lady at the VAT counter seems to know about it and before long we are all set with our papers stamped.
Back to the check-in queue. We are rather early so we get to the check-in desk quickly. The lady at the Iran Air check-in is most helpful. We have been worried about excess luggage with all the camera gear but it turned out that we have combined weight of 63 kg. We are allowed 40 kg each. Good start. I ask for a window seats but am told that the flight is full. She does however suggest that once on board we could ask for one. I go to the news stand and buy a Classic Car magazine. This will keep us both occupied during the flight. We get ourselves to a cafe and sit down to a good cup of tea and a sandwich.
The flight is indeed full with lots of kids and babies. Somehow I manage to wangle a window seat. The flight is smooth and the service is great. Lots of fathers walking their babies up and down the isles. It turns out that there is a refuelling stop on the way. We are told what airport it is but neither Colin nor I have ever heard of the place. We try to work out which country it is in but it is not until we land and see all the Fiats running about that we realize we have landed in some regional airport in Italy. The majestic Alps are visible in the distant and have caught the evening light. Colin comments on how magnificent the mountains are.
He is going to like Iran, I think to myself.
We arrived in Tehran airport at 4 am. Thirty minutes late. Abol (more of him later) has booked the CIP service for us, so we are whisked away to a nice lounge where we find Ateshe waiting for us. She is wearing the obligatory headscarf so it takes us a couple of seconds to recognize her. She had arrived from Brussels an hour earlier. Tea and biscuits are served. After about thirty minuets we are told that all is arranged and our luggage has been cleared: we are all good to go. My brother Forood is waiting for us in the hall. At my request, he has brought a fat envelope full of cash for me. Ateshe and I agreed that I would play banker during the trip. I stuff the wad of money in my money belt. Forood tries to explain what the notes are but I am lost after the first 10 seconds. All those zeros! The fascinating part of it all is that Iranians use the term Touman for a 1,000 Rials, 10,000 Rials, 100,0000 Rials and 1,000,000 Rials and unbelievably 100,000,000. So three Toumans could mean anything between the prices of a bottle of water to a motorbike! Little wonder that Iranian mathematics students do so well every year at international competitions. I am going to have to rely on Ateshe to help me with this subject.
Forood helped us buy a few bottles of water, found us a cab to drive to Rasht and wished us a good journey. I will see him in Tehran in a week.
The cab is a nice newish Toyota with lots of room in the boot for our luggage. We set off on the highway. Dawn has broken; the air outside is warm but very pleasant. The scenery is dry and arid. I start chatting to the driver. He is a pleasant young man who has wife is Rasht. So he is going home for the night! Does this mean a discount? I doubt it.
All quiet in the back seat. A couple of hours later we we begin to climb the hills. The fields and the hills in the distance begin to get greener. The driver suggests that we stop for breakfast. He chooses a well-established service station where we find a very large roadside restaurant. He seems to know the place. Colin takes his camera bag with him. This does not go down well with the driver: we seem to have damaged his national pride. I explain that the camera is not insured if it is left in an unattended car. This seems to ease the tension a little. The restaurant is a giant self-service set up. We queue up and fill our trays with lots of nice food. I am really hungry.
They serve the usual bread, cheese, eggs along with a variety of what seems like exotic omelettes and pickled gherkins (Khiarshoor). All smelling good and looking even better. Tea is served in hot water flasks. A young man attends our table with an iPad and tots up our bill. We are given a ticket to pay at the exit. All very clean, efficient and up to date. Colin heads for the toilets. I remember that I have not given him the lowdown on Iranian toilets. He informs me that he has seen similar set-ups in rural France so no worries there. Phew...
We hit spectacular traffic at about 100 km from Rasht. It is at this point that we see the Iranian style of driving in its full glory. If there is a gap, someone will drive into it regardless of lines, lanes or direction of traffic. Predictably we end up in a squeeze. Whist our driver is busy lecturing the driver on the left, he manages to scrape the car on the right. This results in both drivers getting out of the car and exchanging what are most certainly not the traditional Iranian pleasantries (Tafrof). After a worrying few minutes all is settled. Our driver parts with some money and everyone is back in their cars, but we have nowhere to go.
After a further hour of crawling in the traffic we stop for another break. The place is a roadside strip of about 500 meters with stalls and food vendors on both sides. I have not seen this many people for some time. The place is crawling with cars and people. The traffic noise, music, young men fanning their roadside charcoal grills (some with cigarettes hanging from the corner of their mouths!), vendors promoting their goods and children running, is a true wonder. An old man is walking amongst the traffic jam spinning a few smoldering embers and creating some very old and familiar scent (Esfand dood).
I look for the gents’ toilet. I find it but quickly have second thoughts. The queue is long and the odor is not what I am expecting. May be I can wait. Colin does the same. Atehse however is made of sterner stuff and braves it in the Ladies but she too is beaten by the queue. Back in the car. I swap places with Ateshe and sit in the back.
The driver makes a good decision and exits the highway: he sets about following a cab with Rashti registration plates. His theory is that the local guys know the back roads. This proves to be a good move. We travel through small villages up and down the twisty mountain roads (tracks). We drive past an ancient grave yard which is immaculately kept and come across a region which is covered with nothing but olive trees. This is unexpected. We drive over a bridge which is crossing a fast flowing river. The water is almost silver in color and is foaming at he edges. We enter the town. There are shops along both sides of the main strip selling all manner of products connected with olives. Stunning. Colin has got his camera out and is busy clicking.
After an hour the cab driver peels off and we are on our own. Before long we drive down the mountain and arrive at the outskirts of Rasht.
Journey has taken some eight hours. It is mid afternoon now. Ateshe makes contact with Mr.Afshari who is our host during the Caspian Festival in Rasht. We arrange to meet him somewhere by a big square (Meydan).
Mr. Afshari is a charming man with as big smile. He greets us all very warmly and welcomes us to Rasht. I choose a moment when Mr. Afshari is busy chatting to Ateshe and Colin and quickly settle up with the cab driver. I give him a larger that expected tip to compensate him for the small accident. He shyly accepts and insists on staying until we are all sorted at our hotel. Mr. Afshari catches me paying the cab driver and tells me off! This is the beginning of the big Rashti warm hospitality. Colin and I are in a different hotel to Ateshe.
Rasht is much bigger than I imagined. We are told that due to the refurbishment works, Colin and I have to share a room. In the lift with middle aged porter with smart uniform and apologetic gestures. He seems to be straight out of a sixties Pink Panther film. The room is big and very clean, furnished with a single and a double bed. Clearly designed for families with small children. I do the decent thing and take the single bed. We drop all the bags, get cleaned up and go down to the hotel restaurant for a meal.
The decor is what you expect to see in a Los Angeles restaurant. No shortage of Bling here! A charming man bring the menus. This is Colin’s first proper brush with Persian cousins. I set about explaining the menu as it is all in Farsi. We both order the special kebab. Who wouldn't? An enormous plate of rice arrives decorated with saffron and accompanied by some amazing charcoal grilled lamb, some salad, yogurt with diced wild garlic plus some hot flat bread. Hum.... I don't think we are going to go hungry here.
We both agree not to touch the gorgeous and very inviting plate of fresh herbs (Sabzi) which accompanies almost any Persian meal until we are both used to the water. We have had enough warnings about food discipline.
After dinner we return to our hotel room to sort out our clothes for the next day. We drag out our linen suits, which are well and truly crumpled. Time to call Room Service and ask for the laundry. We are told that it is closed for the weekend. So what to do? I worry about standing up in front of everyone at the seminar tomorrow, presenting the new CHS website in a crumpled suit.
Drastic action is required. I tell Colin that the emergency cure for crumpled suits is a good steaming in the shower. So we hang both our suits and shirts off the shower rail in the bathroom, turn the shower on hot and close the door.
We then set about checking the camera gear and see if it has survived the journey. A short while later Colin visits the toilet and I hear a cry of anguish. Both our suits and shirts are lying in a pool of water on the bathroom floor. It turns out that the hotel is going though a refit program and not everything was properly fixed to the wall! Dismayed, we collect our soaked suits and hang them off the curtain rail by the window hoping that at least that one was properly fixed to the wall.
By now we have been up for 24 hours and I am beginning to feel sleepy. I decide to catch a quick nap before we catch up with Ateshe for dinner.
At 7.00 pm we are joined by Ateshe at the hotel restaurant. We choose a table in the garden. The air is warm. The crickets and the frogs provide local entertainment. Such great mood music for our first evening in Gilan.
The food arrives. More great rice and lamb with a few local dishes and bread accompanied by the yogurt and wild garlic. Delicious. We spend the evening discussing the days ahead and in particular the seminar tomorrow. I am still apprehensive about giving a talk in Farsi.
We decide to pack up early so that we are all well rested for the days ahead. Ateshe leaves in a taxi for her hotel. Back in the room, Colin and I are not sure if we should leave the air conditioning on or not. We agree to leave it off and see how it goes. Colin wants to send a message to his wife and assure her of our safe arrival. I do not seem to be able to get through the hotel wifi so we settle for a sms to UK from my iPhone. All that is left to do is to repack the Caspian Horse Society gift mugs and coasters into the small cardboard boxes which we have to assemble. This takes a little brain work which neither of us is quite up to after 24 hours of traveling. Funny smell in the room! Burning plastic. We search everywhere and do not find the source of it. Too tired. We give up.
Lights out. I fall into my bed, close my eyes and think about the day. I whisper across the room: ‘Colin, are you awake?’
‘No’, comes a muffled response.
Calendar Shoot Diaries Navigation
Iran Days 1 & 2 | Iran Day 3 | Iran Day 4 | Iran Day 5 | Iran Day 6 | Iran Day 7
Texas Day 1 & 2 | Texas Day 3 | Texas Day 4 | Texas Day 5 | Texas Day 6
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