Michelle May

Since in Baluchestan i have had to have mandatory police escort at all times, due to several tourists being kidnapped in this border area.  Not many touists come here at all & most Iranians avoid the area like the plague but I am very very happy that I came here.  It is a beautiful region.  Still, i must be with a cop or 2 or 3 at all times:  When i go across the street (rite now, yes!), when i go to bazaar, and when i go to bus station.  THey are even with me when i drive from one city to the next in the region– a police car has to go behind or in front of my car.  I have never experienced such a thing & it certiainly makes travel a bit complicated yet intersting- so much for fitting in with the locals!  It is far from subtle.  I have met a variety of policemen & soldiers of course.  As well as criminals (even more since my bus ride!!!).  I’ve spoken to reckless drivers, crack heads, bag-snatchers, and people who are in general losing it & need to be hospitalized.  Those are the criminals- as far as my policement most have been most sweet, curious even.  However one soldier in Zahedan pushes the curious crowds of kids away from me as i walk around & this really bothers me.  Also, at least in the city of Zahedan photography pf any kind is prohibited at all times.  While in smaller towns around here the police bend those rules for me & them:  they are the ones taking my photo- and they insist i take posed pix of them with their guns.  In general they have been most hospitable- buying me food, acting as my make-shift guides even though i have no idea what they are saying & vice versa.   SOmetimes it is frustrating b/c i feel like i am being babysat, and i always have to wait for the police before i can leave my hotel or do anything.  I am in a rush rite now but will tell you more later.  To tide you over here are some pix of and with the cops!!!  XOXO Love, Meshel

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Unfortunately my rigid Iranian visa does not permit me to leave Iran- if i leave it is final & i have to fly out from Tehran : (  But here is some Afghani flava- i hope you dig it as much as i do- verrry sweet peeps!

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above: last photo I snapped as a “free woman” (without police escort) in Zahedan, Iran

At 6AM Mr. Akbar & I flagged down a bus from Bam to Zahedan.  Even though I was never alone in Bam (due to security reasons, see: kidnapped Japanese tourist story below), i was told by Mr. Akbar that the bus may be my best bet in getting to Zahedan “safely” (whatever that means).  He said if i went by share taxi or regular taxi i had more risk of being stopped by drug smugglers, though they are normally not out much during the day (another point in my favor). 

When i got on the bus i noticed that it was like stepping into another country- it was full of skinny men in baggy white salwar kameez’s; hints of Pakistan were everywhere.  THere were also a few urban-Tehrani types- most noteably the girl infront of me who had 2 black-ish eyes- she was using tissue to clean the clogged blood coming out of her nostrils, she wore a large bandage over a metal strip holding her new nose job in place (the nose job is a bit of a a rite of passage to rich or aspringing modern Tehranis who also wear alot of make up/use alot of hair gel, etc-).  This site reminded me that in fact, i am still in Iran, alrite! 

Pakistani music playing, it made me want to continue on east to Pakistan and eventually to India where thinsg are more colorful & free, relatively speaking.  It all seemed well & good and a bit like a trip down memory lane.  I thought to myself, rather than being a scary trip through drug territory as folks described, it seemed like a nice relaxing journey.  I looked out the window and watched the desert landscape turn from a lunar jagged reddish-brown to a flat tan color.   At times there were decaying carcasses of cow or camel, the desert looking like it was slowly swallowing the body.  As the wind blew in the window it felt like opening an over door full of intense wind- it made my eyes sore & i had to wear glasses for that reason alone. 

Thinigs change when we started making many stops. Too many.  For starters, a scrawny police officer came on with a few convicts who were handcuffed to one another.  THey wore baggy salwar kameezes as an accessory to their handcuffs.  Aside from the fact that they are scary convicts another downside of our new passengers was that they smelled really bad.  The police escorted them to the back, everyone staring at them nonstop for at least a half an hour.  I thought that was wierd, that the police use public transport here to transport prisoners.  Especially since there is just one of his & more of them.  Maybe he needs us?  What was wierder was that a few kilometers further a new-looking pickup truck full of turbaned men- some wrapping their faces entirely - only eyes showing- stopped us and put an entire truckload of gasoline under the bus.  They then shot off on some crude dirl track back into the mountains.  We carried on with our new cargo- but the fumes of gasoline were so strong that many passengers started throwing up.  Seeing everyone throw up made me want to throw up but i didn’t.  I started to think to myself- what was Mr. Akbar thinking that the bus was safer?!!!!   I need to call him.  After about 30 kilometers and a dozen police checkpoints a bunch of bandit looking gentlemen again flew out of nowhere from the mountains in pickup trucks- different colored turbans, big billowy beards of white and jet black- and face coverings.  THey stopped us, and i thought:  Oh God, what now?  hopefully, not wanting any hostages for playing their game with the government.  We were lucky, they just wanted the gasoline we had picked up 30 K earlier.  Good thing, the pungent gasoline fumes also went away.  THey rode off again, into some crags in the mountains.  Who knows who these people are, but they make me damn curious.  I wish i could shrink myself down, and ride along to see just what life is like with all these desert pirates.  As we rode further young boys covered head to toe in gasoline were walking home from “work” I imagined.  I bet they do not make much, relatively speaking, from the trade.  According to a friend in Kerman, what costs the equivalent of 10 cents (gasoline) here can be sold for 18 times that amount in Pakistan at least (not sure the price in Afghanistan, but i am sure it is less than the gov’t subsidized stuff here).  What is most interesting is that the police were with us the whole time, and never seemed phased by this.  THey say where we are, Baluchistan, is a lawless land so i guess they choose their battles focusing mroe on the much more lucrative opium-trade.  It definitely appears to be more out in the open here, and less hidden than it was in Kurdistan near Iraq. 

Moving on, no one was feeling very good with the convicts on our bus.  Everyone on the bus was pretty petite but if it came down to it i think we could have taken them if they made a break for it or tried to hold anyone hostage.  I imagined i was not the only one thinking this.  In my mind, i was a bit more concerned about what to do once in the city since i knew i was suporsed to be with police escort- i decided my best bet was to befriend the folks who had the nose-jobbed friend/family member since that as what i was most familiar with.  I approached them and thought they did not speak any English, with hand-motions they made it clear that i was to go with them & not any dodgy taxi drivers.   Their male friend who called himself Alex picked us up & the only words of English anyone uttered to me were “Zahedan- Danger.” With hand motions they described that their friend once had a big nose &  using a cutting motion they showed that now her nose is smaller.  I tried to explain with handmotions that i find strong, or big- if you will- noses are much more attractive to me, but i do not think it worked.  They dropped me off at my hotel & we took a family photo.  Since that time i have not gone anywhere in Zahedan without the mandatory police escort for foreigners. More on that later….

Tags: Baluchestan, Iran, Zahedan.

Above:  Bam before the 2003 earthquake, image courtesy of wikipedia.

Visting the city of Bam, Iran was like visiting a dear friend who had had a terrible accident or a loss in the family.  You do not know what to say– what can you say really to try to lessen their pain? nothing.  But you feel you must go there just to be of support, if even it is in the form of just being an ear to listen or a shoulder to cry on.   

Bam and it’s famous citadel (above) used to be one of, if not the top attraction in Iran… but at 5AM on December 26, 2003 a 6.6 earthquake changed all that.  i remember hearing the news of the quake when i was vacationing in Morocco (having a less than stellar time, i might add, read about that one in a seperate story!).  I remember hearing of 30,000 dead, people wailing in mourning, and learning that the entire city of Bam- not just the citadel- were levelled.  I could not even imagine… & like many in the world, my heart went out to the people of Bam.

Now when you visit Bam it is like stepping into a very poor, underdeveloped country, with the exception that everywhere you look there is construction.  So much so that maybe it is better described as one big construction site?  Even 5 years on there are sure signs of the quake- huge piles of rubble, tractors carting rubble from one place to another (still!), broken glass, demolished cars, and tons of graves.  According to Mohammed, the son of the owner the of the Akbar guesthouse where i stayed in Bam, everything i saw as far as standing structures is new in the past 5 years.  95% of the city of Bam was completely leveled during the quake.  Of the 5% of the buildings that were still standing after the quake- all of those were seriouslly damaged and had to be destroyed, so in essence it is a new city.  THere are several storage container-looking things around the town, many times there is a business in here feeling a bit like going into a rusted-out railroad car.  There are still a few tattered tents around where poorer families live.  When you look up in the sky everywhere you see Iron rods sticking up, as those are the new foundations of the homes & businesses being built.  It was hard to fathom that everything i saw was post-2003.  As we cruised the streets looking at all the building, rubble, and rubbish, I asked Mohammed if the streets looked even remotely like the streets before the quake and the answer was that basically this is an entire new city- and every week it changes.  Can you imagine this in your city/town city?

Akbar’s guesthouse used to be filled with foreign guests, now according to Mr. Akbar he is lucky if he gets a guest per nite.   He spoke of what happened right after the quake- his gueshouse was destroyed and 2 foreign guests staying there were killed.   Like everyone at that time, they had to then sleep on the streets, eventually moving into tents.  He and his family began acting as translators to all the NGOs that flooded the city, and they offered whatever shelter and food they had to those in need.  He said that there was no time to act or reflect- you just had to move.   As a resilient statement that Bam will not be defeated Mr. Akbar reopened his guesthouse as soon as he could- first it was just a few tents.  Today it is a very basic corugated roofed building with shared toilet.  He is building an even bigger (& better) guesthouse next door to it-as $ permits- it looked about half done.  Speaking with Mr. Akbar it quickly beame apparent that, to be expected, there always will be unresolved emotions around what happened at that time.  I thought it better he just tell me what he wants rather than I ask.  He told me about losing 48 of his close friends (he is a very charismatic guy so i can see him having 100 close friends!); while in fact he was one of the very very lucky ones- his family all survived, while most other familes lost several members, and other entire families were killed.   It seems like even though the town is doing much better 5 years on, and all NGOs have moved out- yet survival remains foremost in everyone’s mind. 

Mohammed told me other stories- his best friend and girlfriend of 6 years were killed in the quake, and he himself was trapped under rubble for over four hours- fiercely awake, but unable to see, yell for help, or move.  Luckily since the quake hit in the morning his family knew here he was sleeping so they knew where to dig him out.   Hearing this rightfully stopped me in my tracks and made me realize how petty my worries are.  Life truly is precious and it would be better if i just cherish every moment for what it is, since you never know what tomorrow will bring.  Bam had never had an earthquake before- so it was a genuine freak of nature.  It could just as easily happened to any of us instead of them.  Mohammed and I visited his best friend’s grave in the Bam cemetary which was a touching place.  It was expanded and quickly filled to capacity right after the quake.  Everywhere you look there are people’s faces either in photo or etched into stone- sometimes entire familes laying next to one another.   We then decided to “lighten the mood” (relatively speaking) and visit the old citadel of Bam (above), once a major tourist stop.  Now it looks more like a crude skeleton of what it once was- scaffolding everywhere, tractors chugging by, piles of rubble, rubble being transported from point A to point B, and DUST.  The guards that are usually there must have been on siesta because Mohammed and I were able to explore parts of the old city that are not yet open again to visitors- this seemed to bring great pleasure to Mohammed, like it was visiting his old stomping grounds.  Since it now looks so different we had to play explorers, finding old places that he had not been to since before the quake.  Although not what it once was, what Bam citadel is now is still much more impressive a ruin site than many other ruin sites I have seen on the planet (like in Central/South America, heck- even in Iran)  which receive many more tourists.  I really do not understand why the tourists have stopped coming, and i think it is a real pity.  If and when they come back I know the locals would welcome them back with open arms and hearts. 

Eventually we found a spot high up but in the shade of an old wall where he used to bring groups of tourists he was guiding.  That day we were the only ones there who were not working there.  Mohammed joked about how the spot he took me to is and was a great place to sip red wine during the afternoon.  As we looked below us what was once the meticulous adobe city, was now mounds of rubble, burning tires, tractors chugging by, and again, dust!  Mohammed spoke about the good energy in that spot, and i agreed 100%.  Again, i was truly moved by the incredible resiliency and positive attitude of the Akbar family, and also of the local Bamis (that is what they call them) I met- they were very open, welcoming, generous & giving ( I know, redundant! but they really were!).  I stand much to learn from them about life.  I will never froget my visit there & i will certainly pass their message on!!!

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I left the mountainous Northwest of the country- headed to the Caspian sea which was lush- a lushness which hypnotizes any living being after only seeing brown, red and grey for so long… THe green was fluorescent, lighting up paddy fields- just like the ones i love in SE Asia.  Odd to see it here in Iran- what seems odder is that the ever-present Black Chador cloaked every female i saw- a stark contrast with the vibrant sultry green.  After that I took a PLANE (yep!) to the Southeast of the country- where i am now- to explore the “Wild East.”  Yee-ha!  A month ago- or even a week ago- i thought i would not come here.  Forget Kurdistan, this is the region everyone really fears- everyone warns you about.  It is definitely a lawless part of Iran where whafts of Opium smoke fill the bazars, dodgy exotic looking bearded men hang out talking about who knows what, and camels have addiction issues… and well, i guess that’s it…  So, there is reason for the caution & fear- as you could guess: this is where the drug runners operate!  Opium.  Well, it is not just that it is smuggled here b/c that goes on in alot of places– the issue is the government and the smugglers play a little game and this is area is the battleground, so to speak.  It goes like this: the police confiscate opium from the smugglers, and then the dealers then kidnap people to get the $ they lost in confiscated drug back.   I do not believe they have ever killed people- at least not foreigners (am i rationalizing?)  When i was at the Irish embassy several weeks ago, the Ambassador told me about this- Apparently one Japansese man was taken right infront of the Bam Citadel (major tourist attraction, well is used to be till the quake of 03).  He was kidnapped there about a year ago, and he just was released now.  The kidnappers demanded the same amount of $ of their confiscated drugs- a figure in the millions.  Before that a Belgian couple was also kidnapped- but i have to say they were driving a  car late at night in Baluchestan-which i think it is common knowledge not to do that- do not go out after dark b/c that is when the drug-runners take over the streets.  So they were taken but for 2 months- and word on the street is that the woman was freed after 2 days due to the fact that she is a woman (another point in my favor).  I have been told that in Bam and beyond i will be escorted by the police.  So as i travel every say, 10 kilometers, i will be handed from one police station to the next- they follow me in a car.  I have seen a friend’s video of this- the police followed him lights blazing, guns drawn & everything.  He said seeing this beautiful land & meeting the kind people out this was well worth the hassle of the escort.  Some people tell me it is probably safer on the public bus (strength in numbers) but that i should try very hard to fit in, which may be hard.  I bought a new black chador today & must admit, i like the relief from attention it gives me (had a harmless stalker on a motorbike earlier- that was enough to set me straight and put me into the black.. Oh no!!! i am doing what i said i would not!!).  i think that i will in fact be fine b/c i will make all movements by car/bus in the morning, with police escort,  not taking many photos or sticking out as a tourist.  I will be home in my hotel by 4PM each nite (no fun!).  It is only about a week that i will be out there- so not to worry.  Others have done it & percentage wise i do think i could much easier be killed by a crazy driver in Tehran or a shooting in San Francisco, than meeting my maker here.  A new friend here told me yesterday:  “Michelle, God is paying alot of attention to YOU- YOU are not about to become one of these statistics.”  That said,  I can still hear you thinking/saying/shouting:  Michelle, why the hell are you doing this?  aren’t there several other places you could see safely in Iran?   Well, for starters- this area is one of the final frontiers & of course, i find that very interesting & appealing.  Also, you must understand that I had my heart set on going to Afghanistan before i came to Iran- but then there was a US military raid in the town of Herat where i planned to go.   Like everyone- I am scared shiteless of the Taleban- they are the real deal, so now no way to Afghanistan… Still, i am left with this real thirst for a flavor more exotic, a society a less modern than other parts of Iran- these flavors however can be found here.  This region is just another one of the strong influences that make up this country, but sadly it gets swept under the rug due to a few bad eggs & isolated incidents.  ANyhoo, so enough of my explanations to you (i am on vacation- what the…), suffice it to say i will be able to fill you in on lots more about the recovering city of Bam, the Opium trade, gasoline smuggling (here too!), & the situation with Afghan refugees as i work my way from Bam to Zahedan, up to Zabol & then north along the Afghan border (by bus) till finally I head a bit west to the the very normal Iranian (see: super safe & travelled) city of Mashhad.  I hope to do that all within a week- will keep you posted every step of the way that i can.  As long as there is internet at my hotel you know i will certainly have the time to update you ; )  Love yas…..      XOXOXOOX

Tags: Iran.

The real behind the scenes story is that being a vegetarian is probably one of the hardest parts about travelling in this country… crazy traffic & biking aside.  Even though i do get sufficient caloric intake here (rice, potatoe, bread are readily available everywhere), my nutrient value is lacking so i am always left feeling that i am missing something.   That ain’t helpful with biking, walking or long sweaty bus rides, that is fer sure… Those of you who know me know that i would rather starve & die than eat any meat though.  So I march on.  Many times well-intended folks here think vegetarian means you want veggies in your meat- or they think you can “eat around” the meat, or perhaps even that you just want a little meat, not alot of meat.  It is difficult.  My saving grace though is the universal presence of juice stands in this country- they squeeze fresh carrot, melon., watermelon, banana into delicious juices- of course, i opt for carrot since my diet here is 70% sweet (Iranians LOVE sweets & they are plenty available & often pushed on you- since i do not do the meat i OD on the sweet).  Carrot has alot of sugar too but i like to think not as much as the others.  Well, i can throw that all the caution to the wind:  a sure sign that i have been assimilating into this culture- i may not be eating a kabob but i now always take my carrot juice with a dolop of vanilla ice cream ontop, just like the locals.  Between that & the cheese puffs, i really think i am turning orange some days- at least my fingers, and mouth are,…not to mention on mantou from using it as a napkin- again, just like the locals.

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Today was spent experiencing the most conservative places in this country.  Well, not all- i still have yet to go to Mashhad (coming up in 2 weeks!), but today i went to the Shrine of Ayatollah Khomeini (Maghbareh Imam Khomeyni), and the city of Qom - where all the hardliner clerics and mullahs go to study & be amongst like minded religious folk.  

Whenever I think of the Ayatollah i think of his framed picture looking down on me in every single business establishment in Iran.  Even more i think of all the young Iranian boys who died after his urges that they to walk into landmines during the Iran-Iraq war, in hopes of being heroic and meeting beautiful women in the afterlife.  I will say more about this some other time.  No matter he is “the man” here; the “Supreme Leader” to be exact.  He was/is the figure head/mastermind of the revolution which still runs this country (on paper at least).  Being at his shrine i saw many people moved to tears in his presence.  It certainly felt very very different to me than visiting the Dervish shrines I did in Kurdistan and Ardabil. 

I then headed to the city of Qom- a holy city in Shi’a Islam where the golden shrine of Fatema (a woman!), sister of Ali Ibm is laid to rest.  The general concensus among Tehranis was that I not to go to Qom- they worry that the hardliner fundamentalists there will give me a hassle for the way i dress.  Certainly i knew had to wear the full chador, and keep my feet and every bit of hair covered.  I decided to hire a translator to take me there and also answer all my questions about this most conservative of places in Iran.  The city was crawling with mullahs, and i only saw 5 mantous- the rest full on chadors despite the 40+ degree heat.  Still, i was happy to wear the black chador feeling much less conspicious that way.  However the way i wear the chador-which is simply a 3 pointed sheet balanced on your head, held closed by hands or teeth- has much to be desired, and often i was reprimanded for being sloppy (even handed  a paper in English that said “mind your things” which meant mind your dress).  A few times i needed ladies to help me, which was no problem.  When I entered the women’s only side of the Fatema’s shrine, i got to see a sort of religious fervor that i have not yet seen in this country: Ladies wailing, laying on the floor praying and crying, pushing and shoving like at a rock concert to touch their personal koran or mantou to the golden shrine.  CHildren were tossed over the crowd to kiss the shrine, others tied green string to the shrine bars signifying needing help with a problem.  Ladies who worked there had larg green feather dusters, which they used to bop people on the head who had stayed next to the shring too long (give someone else a chance, aye?), or not to take pictures (everyone was, but it is not permitted).  I had no idea what was going on and many times, ladies would touch my back, like i was the shirne, just because my position was closer than theirs- i saw this happening with the doors, windows, and carpet too- anything that was an inch closer was possibly considered holy?  It was quite a sight & i had no desire to actually touch the shrine (my guide lied & said i was Muslim to get me in- unbekownst to me!).  I just watched from a few feet away as people looking saddened held onto hope and the possibility of something changing for the better- by finally reaching this pilgrimage site.

Afterwards we went to the soon to be largest mosque in Iran which is near to Qom.  It is still under constuction, but gets visitors b/c a mullah 200 years ago said that on that site the 12 imam would return on a Wednesday- just which wednesday in the length of time, is not known.  There also exists a well there that people write their prayers on & drop it into the well. Interesting b/c the men are the only ones who have actual well on their side- i was told that the women’s side (where i was) does not drop directly into a well & instead just a few womens wishes are chosed to be dropped in the real well on the men’s side, thus being heard.  I saw heavier wailing here than at the shrine.   the most pressing issue needing help that came to mind for me was “More peace and love and less fighting and hate.” I wrote it in English of course.

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Here are some pix of the Shrine of Sheikh Safi od-Din, a Sunni Dervish of the Safavid Dynasty.  Not much time to write now, sorry…

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Clip of Daisuke- Japanese cyclist who has been cycling the globe nonstop for over 10 years now, several new Iranian friends, and Bastien- a Parisian who rode here from France & is en route to India (?).  We were at a random lecture (in Farsi!) about Iranian nomads… so we started entertaining ourselves with my sweet pink flip camcorder.

 

 Bastien & Daisuke: Play Now | Play in Popup | Download

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A video of a serenade offered to me in lovely Kurdistan.

 

 Azaan serenade: Play Now | Play in Popup | Download

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