A Tale Of Two Flowers

From Kerman I headed north to the city of Mashhad. Most of eastern Iran is empty and barren, but getting closer to Mashhad the land becomes more fertile and large fields of crocuses begin to take over the countryside. The flowers aren't grown for their beauty, but for their carpels, which are hand-plucked and dried to make saffron, the world's most expensive spice. The bus journey is a long one, taking over 13 hours, but Iran's buses and roads are good enough to make the night relatively relaxing ... if only it wasn't for being woken several times in the middle of the night by over-zealous police and their incessant checks. I complain but I actually understand the need for the patrols and checkpoints because Iran's eastern neighbours are particularly lawless and dangerous places. They have particular problems with Afghans and their cultivation of another flower: the poppy. It's no secret that Afghanistan is the world's largest producer of opium and it's stronger cousin, heroin. The majority of the opium and heroin produced in Afghanistan works its way west via Iran, which is waging a continuous battle against the traffickers. And it's actually quite successful: 40% of all drugs seizures worldwide and 85% of opiates. Though the costs are also quite high: on average 2 Iranian policemen die every week in battles against traffickers and it is estimated that around 3% of the population are regular drug users (and I must admit that I have seen a fair amount of opium being passed about in the past 2 weeks).

But enough about drugs, on to Mashhad. It is the largest city in the area and owes its existence to the tomb of Imam Reza, the 8th Shi'ite Imam. It is therefore one of the main pilgrimage site for Shi'ites (there are a few holier Shi'ite shrines, but they are either in Iraq or Afghanistan and so are far trickier for pilgrims to visit) and attracts devotees from all over the region. As it is the middle of the pilgrim season hotel prices were ridiculous and so I could only stay for one day before heading off again, but that was enough for me to see the Astan-e Qods-e Razavi, the holy compound containing Reza's tomb. By all accounts Reza was a nice chap, being particularly friendly to animals and, true to Shia tradition, was heinously assassinated (or so the Shias claim) by his supposed benefactor, the wicked caliph. The compound contains the tomb, a mosque, several courtyards, eivans, museums, libraries and theological schools and is, whilst also being a highly spiritual place, of course, a big money-spinner. But that's OK because I can say, with no over-exaggeration, that the mosque and tomb are the most impressive religious buildings that I have ever seen. I know I often reach for superlatives when describing places, but the size, mirrorwork, tilework and proportions are just awesome (in the truest sense of the word). Not to mention the fact that the dome of the tomb, its four eivans and minaret are all covered in pure gold, which shine in the bright sunlight and are spectacularly lit up at night. During the day people throng around the tomb chamber letting out sobs and wails for their Imam (Shi'ism is all about mourning, wearing black and self-flagellation) whilst being shepherded about by dour looking wardens armed with feather dusters (honest!). In the evening hundreds of carpets are laid out in the extensive courtyards as people flock for evening prayers.

As I mentioned before there are a few museums in the complex that are quite interesting, such as one containing old artifacts from the shrine or items that have been donated to it over the years. Some of the museums left me rather baffled as to how they came about, for example the coin and stamp museum, or odder still the stuffed sea-creatures museum (considering that Mashhad is about 1500km from the sea!). It's only a shame that camera's aren't allowed within the complex, as it is an amazing place that deserves to be more widely known. But you can get a slight taste of what it's like on the shrine's website.

Bam, Bam Rubble

Upon first arriving in Bam you would be excused for thinking it an important port city, as most shops and homes are just converted containers or, if they're lucky, portacabins. If only the reality were so innocent. Unfortunately, on Boxing Day 2003, in the early hours of the morning, an earthquake measuring 6.6 on the Richter scale hit the city and levelled some 70% of its buildings and killing perhaps 40% of its population. Seeing the suffering that must have been and the hardship that still is produces a permanent lump in one's throat. The only things that weren't affected were the extensive date-palm plantations that produce the soft, sweet, juicy dates for which Bam is famous. Why then visit a town that is little more than a huge construction site since its dates can be bought everywhere? Well, Bam was also home to its eponymous citadel, once the largest adobe structure in the world. I say was, because the earthquake flattened the citadel, which had stood for hundreds of years, to nothing more than rubble. Walking around the ruins was rather painful: to see such beauty and human ingenuity gone in a matter of seconds. And although reconstruction work is going apace, it will not finish before my lifetime, of that I am quite sure. To see what was once and what is now have a look at the following BBC article.

Road Trip

I have spent the past couple of days with my new Iranian friend, Kazem, pottering around the town of Rafsanjan and its environs. Rafsanjan is the centre for pistachio production in Iran and its nuts are reputedly the finest in the country (and therefore the world). For those of you who perhaps follow events in Iran slightly more closely then the name might sound familiar as it is the hometown of one of Iran's ex-presidents, and defeated candidate this time around, Mr Rafsanjani (people aren't always very imaginative with their surnames over here, like our old friend Mr Khomeini from the town of Khomein).

Unfortunately I'm going to have to go into political mode here, so if that bores you just skip this paragraph. During the last election the final showdown was between our friends Mr's Ahmadinejad and Rafsanjani. So-called experts in the West were putting their money on Rafsanjani because he had made some conciliatory noises towards America and was therefore seen as a "moderate" and Ahmadinejad was seen as a "conservative". The problem about this view of things was that it was complete bollocks and that the only reason these people were considered experts was because they could actually find Iran on a map. Firstly Raf' is as conservative as they come, being a big-time cleric and head of the powerful Expediency Council. But the reason people really dislike him with a vengeance can most readily be seen in the town of Rafsanjan. An unimpressive little town in the back of beyond before the Revolution, Rafsanjan is now flush with money, a university, many factories and even a museum built by none other than Raf' (most galling is the fact that the museum is dedicated to his tenure as president!). A lot of property in town belongs to him as well, of course. But you won't find either him or his family there as he owns plenty of stuff abroad as well. Anyway, Raf' is the symbol of the hypocritical corruption and croneyism that runs rife among the ruling clergy, and so it is no surprise that Ahmadinejad got elected as he seemed to be more honest and straightforward. Although now comes the time for the old dictum about power and corruption.

Right, back to my travels. I met Kazem at my hotel in Kerman whilst watching the football on TV in the downstairs lobby. He's about 40-odd, has an estranged wife and kid and is rather well-off (being somewhat related to Mr Rafsanjani above). So when he offered to take me around some of the more far-flung sites of the region I was initially somewhat cautious because you can't be too sure of the people who stay in some of the dives I sleep in. But he turned out to be a very gracious and accommodating host, refusing to let me pay for anything and using his name to sometimes get us into places that were closed. Though however nice he was, I find hospitality, especially the excessive Muslim kind, rather claustrophobic after a while. Plus Kazem had a propensity for prolixity, so he'd be chattering away to various people and I'd be biting at the leash to be off again, though that possibly has more to do with my general restlessness than anything else. And I must say that I enjoyed our little road trip. Oh, and I have to say that a lot of people in "less civilised" countries put Westerners to shame with their limitless generosity. We are far too often preoccupied with our petty lives to make time for others.

Plan B

Hmm, my Zoroastrian contact didn't turn up in the end, but that's no big deal as I've grown used to not having everything (anything?) going to plan. Luckily I also had Plan B: football. Long live the World Cup. Although I'm not so sure about that after today. One of the great advantages of being multinational is being able to spread your net farther and wider when it comes to sporting events and to choose ones nationality depending on the different countries' sporting fortés. However, today I was to learn a painful lesson from this "eggs in different baskets" tactic, and that is that if all the baskets should fall then the resulting mess is more nerve-wracking. Today both Iran and the Czech Republic were in action and both lost badly in front of my angst-ridden eyes. This only realistically leaves me with England as a representative of the UK (though it pains my Scottish sensibilities to admit it) before I have to start casting my allegiances out further after more tenuous links. I should probably just plump for Brazil now and save myself the bother, although knowing my jinxing ability that would probably cause them to immediately lose.

OK, that's enough football talk for now. I'm sure you're all curious as to where I am now and what I've been up to (though the more brutally honest of you are just waiting until I finish my rambling so that you can get on with something more interesting. At the moment I'm in the southern town of Kerman. It's a pleasant place with the requisite collection of mosques, traditional brick and adobe houses and rambling bazaar, but nothing out of the ordinary. I am, however, getting a taste for these traditional bazaars, the 17th century precursor to shopping malls, but with soul. Not only do they often have sumptuous architecture (domes, stalactites, frescoes) that often goes overlooked among the throng of people, but they are a cool retreat from the heat of Summer. Oh yeah, and you can buy almost anything there, from kitsch plastic, Chinese-made toys to 2m-wide copper saucepans. Kerman also has a nice collection of neighbourhood mountains which I took a few hours to explore today after my relative inactivity in Yazd. I've also got myself another contact here who has promised to show me round some of the more remote and obscure sights of the area. It should be fun, and in case he doesn't turn up, well there's always the football.

Khakestan

To the south and east of Tehran the word that best describes the landscape is khaki. Not only is it the predominant colour of the mountains, plains and buildings (i.e. everything), but it is also true to its original Farsi meaning (for khaki is a Farsi word) of dusty. So much so that I have decided to rename this part of Iran Khakestan. Which makes the town of Yazd all the more impressive. Squeezed between Iran's two main desserts it springs like a mirage from its arid surroundings. Although the buildings cannot help but be khaki in colour (there is but one building material) the monochromy is broken up by the greenery of the many trees and parks fed by the waters of the intricate qanat irrigation system, which has been used for thousands of years, that channels water from the mountains through tunnels under the parched dessert floor. I'm being continually astounded by the ingenuity and technical ability of the ancient Persians. For example, along with the badgirs and sardabs already mentioned, they constructed huge conical structures (that remind me of ice-cream cones and so always make me hungry whenever I see them) in which they would bring ice from the mountains in Winter, which would keep all through Summer despite temperatures in excess of 40 degrees for months on end, and be used for making traditional ice-cream (at least they had their priorities straight!) and keeping meat fresh.

Due to its remote location, during the Arab conquest of Persia Yazd remained relatively untouched and so the local religion, Zoroastrianism (often regarded as the first monotheistic religion in the world which probably influenced Judaism a great deal), managed to survive when it disappeared from the other regions of Persia. The city is still home to a sizable community of Zoroastrians and is the spiritual capital of their global diaspora, being close to their holiest temple at Chak Chak (the local temple also has a fire that has been continuously burning for the past 1500 years). And although they are no longer persecuted, they keep to themselves and so it is difficult to learn much about them, however I managed to meet one the other day who invited me to a local celebration in a couple of day's time, so I hope that will work out.

Proselytism And Apostasy

I finally got off my fat as and left the land of the Lotus Eaters a.k.a. my mum's appartment with it overstocked fridge, computer and satellite TV. I knew that if I didn't leave soon my trip would die a shameful, and slothful, death. So I decided to head south before it get too hot (though somehow I think I'm already too late).

My first stop was Qom. The city is the religious heartland of the Islamic Republic as it is not only home to one of Iran's holiest Shi'ite shrines, the haram of Hazrat Fatima al-Masumeh, but also because it is the site of the main theological seminary for Shi'ite mullahs. So, though it is barely an hour's drive from Tehran it's a world away from the plush boutiques and girls pushing the boundaries of hijab of northern Tehran. Away from the capital the chador count rises sharply and in Qom it positively skyrockets. But seeing as I wasn't planning on taking any lessons in Shi'ite Islam the town soon lost its interest and I moved on further south to the city of Kashan.

Kashan is renowned throughout Iran for its beautiful tiles and carpets, though I was most captivated by the traditionl, mud-brick houses and little, winding alleyways of the old town. The design of the houses does everything to maximise coolness in the hot, dessert environment: the houses are generally built below ground level; tall towers called badgirs (rechristened roof-badgers by one of the travellers I've met) catch the slightest hint of a breeze and send it to the rooms below; and deep tunnels, called sardabs, are used for storing perishable food and keeping it cool. I spent a good deal of time just wandering around and clambering along the old city walls from where there's a gorgeous views of the sandy-coloured roofs of the city. Kashan also has a string of enchanting little sights that can keep person occupied for a couple of days, such as the exquisite gardens of Fin, reputedly the finest example of classical Persian garden design, an old archaeological site (not much more than a large mound of bricks, but the entry was free so I'm not complaining), and a couple of charming little shrines. At one of them I had a rather long debate with a young mullah about religion, philosophy, being good and the afterlife. It was a strange, yet pleasant experience as the mullah was very gracious and courteous (probably because he saw me as a foreigner), and at the end he said that he hoped that he had set me on the path to a higher realisation. It's funny that, but Muslims often try and convert me, and sometimes in the strangest places: whilst buying a train ticket in Lahore the man at the counter urged me that Islam was the only true faith and a taxi driver in Shiraz said that if I only listened to devotional Koranic singing it would change my life completely. I always have to tread very carefully though, not just to avoid offending, but because in Iran proselytism (of anything but Shia Islam) is forbidden and apostasy can carry the death penalty. The latter could, theoretically, cause me problems, as my mother is Iranian (and therefore Muslim) and my father had to "convert" in order for them to get married. Though I seriously doubt that I'd get into any difficulties because of this, it's still better to err on the side of caution.

The Ayatollah And The Great Satan

The past couple of days have been public holidays. The holidays commemorate the passing away of Ayatollah Khomeini, though they're meant more as days of mourning rather than celebration. This, coupled with the fact that I haven't done anything particularly newsworthy (things are far too crowded over the holidays), makes it an opportune time to talk about history and politics. Iran seems to be hogging the international news headlines lately and I think it would be a good idea to have a look at how things have got to be as they are now because the causes of a situation are often omitted from news reports. (Watch out, this post is rather long. You have been warned.)

Before I start I ought to put forward a small disclaimer that this post, being written about a topic I feel something for, is probably tinged with a slight bias, though I have made the utmost effort to put down the facts that I know (if there are any errors then please write to me so that I can correct them) and let them speak for themselves. Anyway, on to the heart of the matter. To properly understand the state of play we'll have to start at the beginning of the last century when Iran, or Persia as it was still known at the time, was ruled by the feudal Qajjar dynasty and the country was pretty backward with the British controlling a lot of the oil wealth via the Anglo-Persian Oil Company (which later became the Anglo-Iranian Oil Company and then BP). In the early 20's an army officer, Reza Khan, overthrew the Qajjars and began to drag the country into the 20th century. Originally Reza Khan probably wanted to be an Ataturk-like president but was persuaded to crown himself king (shah), taking the name Pahlavi. It is generally agreed that, although his rule was rather autocratic, he initiated many changes that were very beneficial to the country like setting up schools, roads and other infrastructure and sending people abroad to be trained as technocrats.

With the advent World War II Iran sought to remain neutral, but its position was far too important strategically, both as a supply line for the Russians and as a source of oil, that the allies occupied it until a few years after the end of the war, removing Reza Pahlavi from the throne and replacing him with his young, inexperienced son, Mohammad Reza. Initially things went OK with parliamentary elections and the Shah staying out of politics, but when Mossadegh was elected prime minister on a nationalist platform the Western powers, Britain especially, got nervous. You see the oil contract that was signed between the Iranian government and AIOC stipulated that profits should be shared equally between the two sides. AIOC, however, refused to let the Iranian government see their accounts, meaning that the Iranians had to take it on blind faith that they were getting their fair share of their oil money. Naturally this pissed them off no end and so Mossadegh took the, hugely popular in Iran, step of nationalising AIOC. This move, along with the nationalist rhetoric against the Cold War backdrop prompted the Americans (following a request from the British) to instigate a coup which removed Mossadegh from power and put much more of it in the hands of the Shah, whilst at the same time, of course, renewing highly favourable oil contracts for British and American oil companies.

During the next 25 years the Shah became more and more autocratic, and corrupt, concentrating power and money into a small coterie of people surrounding him. Despite the oil money coming in very little was spent on public institutions and infrastructure. The regime became terribly repressive - no criticism or dissent was tolerated - and the CIA-trained secret police, the SAVAK, became so brutal and ruthless that Iran came top of Amnesty International's list of repressive states several times in the 70's. State-sponsored kidnappings, torture and murder of dissidents were not at all uncommon. All this didn't just happen with the approval of America; they were the ones calling the shots. This, of course, pissed off the clergy no end, as they were seeing their power eroded and the cultural mores changing too fast for them. Their leader, Ayatollah Khomeini, was exiled from the country in the 60's for speaking out against the Shah. But it wasn't just conservative religious groups that were unhappy: liberals, communists, intellectuals, the poor majority, pretty much everyone had an axe to grind against the Shah's regime.

Therefore when the revolution happened in 1979 it wasn't just a religious revolution, but it was a truly popular revolution, drawing support from all corners of society. And funnily enough, many Iranians lay a good chunk of the blame for the revolution, or at least for the revolution being hijacked by the religious extreme, at the door of a not-very-revolutionary institution: the BBC. You see it was the BBC who decided to broadcast Khomeini's vitriolic speeches to Iran. In the late 70's people would regularly tune in to Auntie Beeb to hear what he had to say. Of course everyone wanted the Shah out of the way, but, despite all his sweeping promises, Khomeini didn't have a plan for post-revolution Iran. In the aftermath the one thing that he concentrated on was consolidating power for himself and the clergy and installing his vision of Islam. Despite all his anti-American rhetoric it was the Americans that actually helped Khomeini do this, because they would have rather had a repressive theocratic regime than one in which communist parties had a say.

Following the revolution two events caused a further souring of relations between Iran and America. The first was the hostage crisis where a group of Iranian students held over 50 American diplomats hostage, demanding that America hand over the Shah for trial and refrain from interfering in their internal affairs. Both sides stubbornly refused to budge (instead the Americans launched a couple of disastrous rescue and coup attempts) until over a year had passed, by which the Shah had died of cancer, the Americans had elected a new president and Iraq had attacked Iran. Under persuasion from America, Saddam Hussein attacked southern Iran in a speculative land-grab, hoping to take advantage of the internal turmoil. However he had overestimated Iran's weakness and soon the war drew out into a long, protracted quagmire that would produce nothing for either side, claim close to a million lives, many of them young teenagers, some as young as 14, and leave the economies of both countries in tatters (it is estimated to have cost over a trillion dollars). The only thing it did achieve was to bring a squabbling country firmly behind the new regime against a common enemy. During the 8-year stalemate America sold many millions of dollars of weapons to Iraq, including chemical weapons (the hypocrisy of it is that the current American Secretary of Defense, Donald Rumsfeld, was involved in many of these sales), which were used on Iranian as well as Iraqi Kurd populations (the issue of Iraq's chemical weapon use did come up at the UN Security Council in the 80's but was stymied by the Americans). On top of this the Americans were also selling weapons to the Iranians as well, via Israeli intermediaries, at inflated prices because of an arms embargo (initiated by, you guessed it, the Americans themselves). The profits from these arms sales were then channelled to right-wing death squads, the Contras, in Nicaragua. The so-called Iran-Contra affair, as it became known, almost brought down the Reagan administration when the details became known, but Reagan himself managed to evade serious censure with his "I can't remember, I've got Alzheimer's" defence). Towards the end of the war American warships were patrolling the Gulf to protect oil shipping and one of them hit an Iranian mine leading to a brief retaliatory skirmish where they sunk several Iranian boats. Now that I can understand in terms of international politics. However, several days later, an American ship "accidentally" shot down a scheduled Iran Air flight (no. 655) on a routine flight from Iran to Dubai. All 290 people on board died. Of course the official investigation came to the conclusion that it was not deliberate, but there are many inconsistencies in the various accounts of the events. Anyway, since the end of the Cold War America has not interfered to any real extent in Iran's affairs (apart from their own trade embargo) until it recently started pushing the nuclear issue.

So what about this nuclear issue? Is Iran developing nuclear weapons? The answer is that nobody, except those in charge in Iran, really know. All the Americans and the Europeans have come up with are allegations, accusations and conjecture, none of which would stand up in a court of law. Not that that bothers the Americans, we have only to see what happened in Iraq to realise that. In actual fact, under the provisions of the nuclear non-proliferation treaty (NPT), they are entitled to develop their nuclear technology. Not a single piece of tangible evidence has been shown to say that the Iranians are planning to build a bomb, instead all we hear is that the regime is full of "bad people", and although I thoroughly agree with that statement, it is not enough. No, what worries me more is the fact that of the 8 countries with nuclear weapons, only 5 have signed the NPT (the USA, the UK, France, China and Russia), and the other 3 (India, Israel and Pakistan) don't like they're going to any time soon. What's telling is the stance of the USA towards these 3 countries. Israel and America have always been the staunchest of allies (in a recent, non-binding, vote at the UN General Assembly Israel was condemned by 184 countries whereas only 4 voted to support them: themselves, of course, the USA and two paltry little island groups in the middle of the Pacific that even I have never heard of); Pakistan has become America's newest best friend in the "War On Terror", getting hundreds of millions of dollars in aid every year; and India has just been granted a deal to buy nuclear technology from the States. It seems that instead of punishing countries that develop nuclear weapons they are being rewarded for it. Then, if one were to look at things from the Iranian point of view, the Americans have just invaded two neighbouring countries and installed favourable governments. They have military bases in Iraq, Afghanistan, Turkey, Georgia, Tajikistan, Qatar, Kuwait, Diego Garcia and Saudi Arabia, completely encircling them. Christ, even I'd be more than a little paranoid under the circumstances. Or, as one Indian general said, when asked what he had learnt after the first Gulf War, "don't fight the Americans without The Bomb."

So, what's the answer? I'm not sure (I'm not even sure there was a question). But I think this shows that the current situation is more complicated than we might be led to believe. I also think that Iran (and Iranians) can feel justifiably hard done by in their dealings with America and have legitimate grievances. But most of all I think it shows that in diplomacy and politics, an area where one would hope reason, logic and common sense prevail the actions of countries, and their leaders, are more like squabbling children: America, because it was ignominiously kicked out of Iran, still bears a grudge and would like to get its own back (just like with its embargo on Cuba, still going strong almost 50 years after the revolution whilst the rest of world has moved on in its relations with the island); and Iran, because it is feeling forced to do something, refuses all the more vehemently even though the course of action may be in everyone's best interests. But most of all I think the hypocrisy, double standards and refusal to admit mistakes and apologise of the Western powers leads to resentment in developing countries (where people know their history).

Snowball

Some of you may be wondering what the title of today's post alludes to. Is it a nod to George Orwell's Animal Farm, or perhaps an obscure allusion to a Kevin Smith movie. Actually it is neither, and has more to do with a compacted ball of frozen water. You may think that I'm off my rocker to be talking about snow when Iran is obviously a hot, dry country, where fully one quarter of the land is dessert; but more than that it is a country of mountains, especially in the north and west. Tehran itself sits nestled under the shadow of a range of mountains and even now, at the beginning of June, there are significant patches of snow on the south facing slopes which I can see every day from our apartment window. This was a temptation that I could not resist, and so, the other day, I set off into the mountains to find myself some white stuff. Although Tehran itself is perpetually shrouded in a cloak of car-exhaust smog, it only takes a 5 minute drive from Tajrish Square (the northern transport hub of the city) to get to the base of the mountains and another 5 minutes walk and you are free of the smog. Because of this the mountain paths are very popular amongst Tehranis who flock there on weekends and holidays, for a family picnic or to chill out amongst the many riverside restaurants, chewing on a kebab and puffing lazily away at hookah pipes. I, however, was there for adventure and not bourgeois pampering. And that isn't hard to come by either, as within an hour the easy path peters out and the scrambling and bouldering begins. It's all good fun and you can never get lost as you are always within sight of the city, which gives the whole experience a rather surreal twist as you don't expect to find such terrain on the doorstep of a city of 10 million people (the only other city I've seen that even comes close is perhaps Rio, where you can go rock-climbing up Sugarloaf Mountain). After a fair amount of scrambling I reached the snowline and made myself a couple of snowballs (I don't have any gloves so I couldn't build myself a snowman). Unfortunately there was no-one there with me to throw it at. Next time I'll be more prepared and take a thermos bag with me so that I can take a snowball back down with me for my cousin. Mwahahahaha!

Close Shave

A popular catchphrase used by countries to lure in the punters is to claim to be where cultures meet and mix i.e. "where East meets West!" or "where the Muslim and Christian worlds meet!" or even "where ancient meets modern!" (the claims are invariably followed by multiple exclamation marks, the sure sign of a desperate mind). You get the picture. Iran is no exception, being touted as the place where India, the Middle East and Europe collide. And though I'm often sceptical of such claims it is certainly true here. In the southwest the Arab influence is dominant, in the southeast the Baluchis are much like their Pakistani counterparts, and in the north and west one could easily be forgiven for thinking that one is in Europe, as I quickly discovered.

Upon crossing the border from Pakistan I was dressed in my scruffy shalwar kameez and sporting a respectable beard, which was par for the course in Pakistan (although some Pakistanis did remark on the worn look of my clothes, though I got the impression it was more because they didn't expect a foreigner to get down and dirty like the common people), and was not unusual on the Iranian side of the border either. However, 24 hours later, upon getting off the bus in Tehran and I looked so out of place it was comical. Smart jeans and shirts, or classic casual-wear is the norm amongst the urban classes here in Iran, though what really marked me out was my beard. In the West we have a very parochial view of Iran as the only images we’re fed are of hyperactive masses baying for America’s blood or wizened mullahs spouting vitriolic rhetoric. The majority of Iranians, however, view these people with more disdain than even we do (because they've got to live with them). And the general leitmotiv running through the appearance of these wackos is their full facial hair, so that anybody sporting more than just a moustache or goatee is viewed, by the "sane" majority as more than a little suspect. The best way to recognise the feared basijis, the fanatical, religious militia controlled by the mullahs, is by their lack of fashion sense and week-old stubble. And since I am sartorially challenged myself then something had to give (I was even getting odd looks and comments from my family asking me whether I had joined the Taliban on my travels). So, under this frown pressure I dug out my razor from my bag - it took a while as I hadn't used it since 'Nam – and hacked off my whiskers. It annoys me somewhat as I'll have to start shaving regularly again, and might even have to spend money on blades and perhaps even aftershave.

Capitals II

From Esfahan it was on to Shiraz (another flight, and more groaning from me), although itself only very briefly an imperial capital (during the course of its history the Persian Empire has had about a dozen different capitals) it is close to the ancient cities of Persepolis and Pasargadae. And although these are the main draws in the area, the city itself is particularly pleasant. It has a mild, mountain climate and many public parks and gardens for strolling and lazing. In fact the Iranians are very fond of gardens and even the remotest dessert towns manage to maintain a respectable showing. I was always wandering around keeping half an eye on the many mulberry trees around the city for any ripe berries, whereas my dad would keep exclaiming about the park lawns and demanding to know how they manage to keep them weed-free. This green-fingered passion dates back as far as Persian history itself, indeed the old Persian word for garden, pardis, became our term for paradise. Interspersed amongst these parks are some more bewitching mosques and mausoleums, like the Shah Cheragh, where the brothers of the 8th Shi'ite imam are entombed. The complex is off limits to non-Muslims, but with a bit of blagging it is possible to get inside. The outside of the buildings are pretty enough, but then so are many others, it is on the inside that the tombs really shine, literally. All the walls and ceilings are covered in a mirrorwork mosaic that causes the whole place to magically sparkle and shine, unlike anything I've seen so far. The town is also famous for its faludeh, a sort of sweet, noodle-like desert served frozen and doused in lemon juice to give it a refreshing bittersweet taste, perfect for hot, sunny days. Needless to say I was stuffing my face.

We managed to visit the ruins of the ancient capital cities of Pasargadae (not much there to be honest), Persepolis and Firouzabad. The latter is intriguing because very little of it has been excavated and so you have to really use your imagination. The outer walls form a perfect circle and in the centre is a huge (easily over 25m), brick tower that juts out of the flat plain like a defiant middle-finger. But it is the ruins at Persepolis that are in a league of their own. Before being burnt to the ground the city was the capital of the most glorious, and richest(it is said that after sacking the city Alexander needed 2000 camels to cart away all the treasure that he plundered), empire of the time; and it shows. Although the remains aren't particularly intact, what is left gives you an idea of how grand the place must have been: massive gateways with mythical winged bulls guard the entrance to the site where 20m tall columns pierce the sky, showing all that is left of the great audience hall, and sublime bas-reliefs cover every free inch of wall. Those ancient Persians sure knew how to build things, I just wish it was true for their modern-day counterparts.