Day 94: Finding (Relative) Peace and Quiet in Kashan

I got up early this morning and raced back up to the Chinese Embassy at 9am opening time.  I wanted to get the visa cranked out that day and knew I was against the clock (consular diplomats are lazy the world over and only work a couple of hours for a couple of days of the week).  When my taxi rounded the corner, I was astounded to see hundreds of people waiting outside.  Shit!!!  Turned out that the Canton Fair is coming up soon and all the businessmen were after their visas for it.  It also turned out that people had been camping out since the previous evening to make sure the got served.  F#ck.  What hope would I have?

Weeeeeell, I turned on the foreign tourist card and it worked like a charm.  I was bumped up the order and dealt with in a cool 15 minutes.  I then had to go to the bank to pay the visa fee, but once that was out of the way I had time to kill until the 2pm pick-up.  Luck played its part and I bumped into a local guy I'd met briefly the previous day at the embassy (he had his own visa woes).  His name was Mohammed, an entrepreneur in the ceramic tile business.  When he heard my plan was to sit on my pack and read a book until I could get my passport back, he had none of it and was instead keen for me to come with him to his house in North Tehran to meet his wife.  Kelly turned out to be a Texan who'd met Moh in Kyrgyzstan a little while back, and they'd got married just 1 1/2 months ago.  Kelly was, like me, going crazy in Tehran and she was really glad to have some "Western" company for the day.

Actually, hanging out with them in their gorgeous North Tehran apartment was a real eye-opener into modern Iran, and it was a great chance to talk to Moh and his cousin Reza about their business, politics (domestic and international) and life in Iran.  At one stage I joked with Kelly that after a month and a half in Iran she must be dying for a beer – next thing you know I had a cold Tuborg in my hand!  Turns out that drinking alcohol in the Armenian Christian community is tolerated by the regime, and a healthy black market in booze has sprouted up around it.  It was also particularly entertaining watching Kelly grumble and moan as she changed out of her shorts and t-shirt into loose and baggy "outdoor" clothes (gotta watch out for those fasion police!), and I especially liked her half-arsed attempt at a head scarf.

    
Typical urban scene in North Tehran.       Saying goodbye to Moh and Kelly.

It was hard to drag myself away from such comfy surroundings, but I knew I had to get going to get out of Tehran that night.  Reza gave me a ride down to the Metro and I caught it to the gigantic Southern Bus Terminal to find a bus headed my way.  Of course I hadn't factored in that it was the equivalent of a Friday evening AND the one big long weekend of the year, so the place was rammed!  People and chaos everywhere, buses full and turning away people.  I was desperate to get out of the city at that point but thought I was screwed and prepared to sleep in the station, but in a last-ditch effort I was able to wangle a ticket later that night – phew!  I kicked around the terminal for hours as I waited, sitting on my backpack and watching the world go by, still feeling pretty worse for wear.

It wasn't a long bus ride to Kashan but it was well past midnight by the time we arrived.  Once again a local man took me under his wing and made sure I got to my hotel and found a bed for the night.  AND FINALLY I'M OUT OF TEHRAN!!!  YAY!!!  It's such a relief to be out of there, the city didn't exactly enthrall me.  And boy did I sleep like a baby on the lumpy, hard mattress…

The next morning I got up with a spring in my step, feeling well-rested, healthier, and keen to get out there and see what Kashan has to offer.  I knew the bazaar would likely be closed because of the public holiday but I walked through it anyway.  I eventually found my way to Khan-e Tabatabei, and old mid-19th century traditional house once owned by a wealth merchant.  It was great to wander around and enjoy the architecture of the place (which reminded me in parts of some of the stuff I saw around Agra Fort in India), and I had the place all to myself.

    
Domed ceiling.                                       Mirrored walls.

    
                                                             Old school water cooler!

After lunch I caught a taxi out to Bagh-e Tarikhi-ye Fin, a peaceful set of gardens and fountains built around a series of natural springs.  Peaceful was what I wanted but screaming kids was what I got!  It was the start of celebrations for the Birthday of Imam Mahdi, the "12th Imam", and every family in Iran had clearly head to the hills to camp out on any patch of dirt/grass they could find and picnic.  The garden itself was a bit of a let-down (the fact I haven't even got a good photo of it to put here is a bit of a giveaway) but it was interesting to see where former prime minister Amir Kabir was imprisoned in the 1840's and in 1951 given the choice of how he wanted to die by the Shah (in case you're wondering, he went for slitting his own wrists).

That evening, following a long sermon from the Supreme Leader blasted out all around town, the streets filled as everyone came out to celebrate the 12th Imam's birthday, one of the holiest days of the year for the Persians.  I was shown around town by a group of young boys with furry moustaches, whose English unfortunately wasn't good enough to answer my questions about what was going on.  It was all a little confusing, but a spectacle I'm glad I got to see.

I've had many examples of Persian hospitality since I've been here, but this one was a stand-out.  I was wandering through the gardens when a middle-aged man approached me.  He was a bit podgy and had terrible teeth, and at first I thought he was coming over to practice his English with me (I get that a lot).  I quickly realized that wasn't the case as his vocab consisted of just a handful of words.  He enquired as to why I was Iran – it's the generic question I get asked – and, seemingly happy with my reply, walked off.  Later on he approached me again and said, "Sir I am at your service, my house is yours."  Incredible…!  I of course thanked him profusely.

Early the next morning, before I headed to the bus station to catch my bus for Esfahan, I took one last slow lap of the bazaar.  I struck gold at one tea house and was let up onto the mud-and-straw roof of the bazaar to get a birds-eye view of the town.

    
Fascinating shapes in the domed roof of the bazaar.

    
A pretty "typical" tea house that I found in the Kashan bazaar.  Note the eccentricities and influence of the Zoroastrian religion with the combination of fire and water in the fountain.