to Tehran and home
Day 10: Sunday 28 May 2000
Stopping only to look round the gardens of the Asht Belesht palace, we leave for Tehran, via Kashan and Qom.
Leaving the autobahn, we cut across striking high desert country towards Natanz and then up along the edge of the great desert, the Dasht-e Kevir, towards Kashan.
A detour takes us along a delightful oasis of a valley to the village of Abiyaneh. Tucked away at the head of the valley, this place is remarkable in a number of respects. First, it is entirely and uniformly deep red, since that is the colour of the earth hereabouts. Secondly, it is eerily empty, a few aged crows sit or stagger about, including the tiny wizened creature who greets us as we park. Third, the houses are built close to and sometimes almost on top of one another. A stream flows through the village, resurfacing here and there in different channels. There is an old and rather primitive feel about the place, which is at odds with the charming, white, clean and beautiful mosque that we find at the centre and top of the village.
A terrace gives over the valley, with poplars blowing thickly green and silver in the stiff breeze, and two gnarled old vines provide shelter for the central courtyard and customary "overflowing" pool.
Hurrying back the car, we speed towards Kashan and the Elpazir restaurant. This place is run by "Jane" from Lincoln, whose husband is from Kashan and who has been here for 8 years. She also has a restaurant in Mitchum, South London, and travels between the two. "Very much so" (in Northern accent) is her constant refrain, but she is sweet and the food is very good. The elegant "reconstructed" Italian ladies are there as well, and Jane tells us that she has been serving 500-600 tourists a week since March, a big increase on last year. She also says that the current Ambassador, Nick Brown, is "pro-Mullah" and she wonders what the Foreign Office's game can be.
Later, wandering in the Bagh-ye Fin is delightful. These gardens are like a smaller version of the Alhambra, with lovely "overflowing" pools, a hammam and small fountains set in the streams. Pine trees give shade and a sharp, resiny tang to the air, and the whole place is enclosed high plain mud plaster walls, tapering at the top with small guard towers at each corner. Mehdi's friend, also called Mehdi, joins us and they stroll in conversation.
We visit a couple of old house from the Qajar period which, although pretty enough, hold relatively little interest for me. An Abbasian house is more fun, though, and a film crew is preparing it for the filing of some TV drama. It does smell of cat shit, however, which leads to some amusement at my communication of this by sign language to Mehdi!
The other Mehdi kindly buys us some twine for "gabbeh" and we take to the autobahn once more. Since it is now late, we decide to give Qom a miss and press on to Tehran.
Climbing a steep pass, I notice something wrong with the rev counter of Mehdi's Toyota Corolla. It settles down and we speed past an astonishing white salt pan in the desert and later Ayatollah Khomeini's tomb (Imagine, if you will, a turquoise and gold confection from Disneyland, most unappealing). We also see a wrecked car elevated on poles by the side of the road, completely mangled, and with two "blood"-stained dummies arranged in it as an "awful warning" to motorists. Even more gruesome was the sight of some Mullahs having their pictures taken in front of it.
Then, on the very edge of Tehran, the car breaks down. Getting us to the side of the road, Mehdi curses the "Isfahani benzino" and tinkers under the hood to no avail. A passing motorist agrees to bring a mechanic and zooms off. Then I catch the eye of a couple of young men who stop in their car. One is a mechanic and he fixes the car with the aid of a match and some black tape and tries to refuse Mehdi's payment. We set off again, and shortly afterwards, two men in another car start shouting at us; we think a fight is in the offing but in fact it is only the first good Samaritan and the mechanic that he has found; Mehdi pays them some token amount and we spend the next hour in heavy traffic getting to the hotel.
Spaghetti bolognese, a last chicken kebab and some strategic repacking proceed a fitful night.
We leave at 6am the next day, Mehdi plainly having slept in his clothes and not even having taken his suitcase out of the car. With fond farewells and $200 to him, we depart.