Mashhad Pilgrim
Friday 14 March 2008
My trip to Iran required taking a flight to Bahrain and then catching a connecting flight to Mashhad with no direct transfer meaning I'd have to go through security and customs in Manama only to check right back in again. Having travelled many times to Bahrain previously, I was confident that the 3 hour gap between flights would be ample time to make the connection. What I hadn't reckoned upon was British Airways usually punctual and reliable service being disrupted together with the sheer incompetence of BAA who are responsible for the shambles that is Heathrow Airport.
The omens were not good upon arrival at Terminal 4. The place was far more crowded than usual and I was informed at check-in that the flight to Bahrain was very busy and currently running an hour late due to a delay with the incoming flight. Even worse, the security queue was horrendously long and snaked about the entire terminal in a slovenly manner whilst a BAA official directed ever increasing numbers of irate and disgruntled travellers to join the end of the line which didn't appear to be moving anywhere, least of all towards the security gates.
After glumly watching several passengers saunter through the fast-track entrance for business and first class travellers, the mutinous crowd began to get restless as the terminal ran out of standing room. At length, the BAA officials realised there would be a riot unless drastic action was taken and decided the solution was to announce that "another security check-in at gate 2 was now open."
There was a sudden dash towards gate 2 followed by a crushing realisation that this simply re-routed the existing refugee column neatly outside of T4 where there was more space for the queue to grow even longer before merging back with the chaos inside. "Oh, you cannot be serious," exclaimed an American woman neatly voicing all the expletives and incredulity of a thousand exasperated passengers as BAA staff began to herd the troublemakers towards the exits.
I wasn't having any of this bureaucracy nonsense and spotting an opportunity to take a shortcut in all the confusion, I slipped between the barriers that were being moved around and managed to join the front of the security queue whilst everyone else was marched out to gate 2, presumably to be shot by the BAA Gestapo for daring to buy an airplane ticket.
Security checks all finished, there was nothing to do but sit and wait for the announcement to start boarding. Although the check-in staff had said there would be a delay of 1 hour, the flight eventually departed more than 2 hours later than its scheduled time giving me a tiny window of a mere 80 minutes to make the connection.
As we approached Bahrain, I asked one of the cabin crew if I could sit nearer to the front of the plane as I had an urgent connection to make. "The plane is full," was the curt reply from an elderly bloke who could have won first prize in a Bernard Cribbins lookalike competition. Despite there being plenty of space in the cabins ahead, I decided against sneaking in lest a grumpy Mr Cribbins do a headcount check and escort me back to my seat. Fortunately, our exit from the plane was at the far side of Bahrain airport and as everyone else shuffled off slowly, I scampered ahead to passport control and managed to get to through before the crowds had gathered. Twenty minutes later, my baggage had also appeared and within half an hour, I was out on the other side to meet JD and the rest of the group.
With just over an hour to spare, we checked straight back in again for the Bahrain Air flight to Mashhad. The plane was nearly empty with barely 10 passengers on board and the economy seats were comfortable with plenty of legroom, far more than the BA World Traveller Plus cabin. The plane took off rather clumsily and we settled down for the 2 hour flight to Iran.
Saturday 15 March 2008
We landed at Mashhad Airport just after 2am local time and were transferred from the plane to the arrivals building via a bus that blared out patriotic Iranian anthems the moment we boarded. Mashhad is located between two mountain ranges and sits over 3,000ft above sea level hence it was a rather cold 7C with a slight breeze that gave the air a bit of a chill. The arrivals terminal had a large banner proudly declaring that we were now in the city of Imam Reza; the name "Mashhad" actually means place of martyrdom.
The terminal was small and empty with just the two immigration counters manned. Queuing up with the other passengers, there was confusion at first since we had paid an extra USD $50 supplement on our ticket for the VIP service that whisks you through security. A few moments later though, a chap appeared with a clipboard that had our names on and it was back out to the airfield where we were directed onto a minibus that took us to a smaller building just to the side of the terminal.
Stepping inside the VIP lounge (there was no security) was like walking into a grand living room. There were several comfy sofa's arranged in squares on a huge Persian rug with a table in the middle where a steaming pot of traditional Iranian tea awaited with a platter of Iranian sweets. Dotted around the room were a selection of large pictures depicting traditional Iranian scenes from centuries ago. We were the only ones there and sat and made polite conversation with our gracious hosts whilst our passports were stamped and luggage collected. Ten minutes later, everything had been cleared and a driver came to take us to the hotel.
Standing outside and loaded down with our suitcases was a real banger of a saloon that must have been at least 30 years old. Indeed, it was so old I couldn't even tell what it was and if the grey finish was the original paintjob or merely undercoat exposed from years of wind erosion. The trunk was wide open having been stuffed with 2 suitcases whilst a third had been strapped to the roof.
Being the tallest, I got into the front passenger seat where there was more room whilst JD and co squeezed into the back. Going through a set of sliding security gates, we trundled onto the dual carriage where our driver told us that it would be a 15 minute journey to the hotel that was moments from the Imam Reza central mosque. With JD translating into Arabic, I asked the driver what model car it was. He laughed and told us not to be fooled by appearances, it was a UK car and utterly reliable with cheap parts widely available. Most likely British Leyland then although the bit about reliability must have been lost in translation as the last reliable car that British Leyland ever made, and remember that we're talking about the likes of Austin Allegro's and Morris Marina's here, was ...... well, never!
We sped through the deserted roads getting our first glimpse of Iran's second largest city that appeared to be quite different from how I'd expected. There was very little to suggest that Mashhad had been influenced by anything in the last 20 odd years and it reminded me enormously of Pakistan with row upon row of faded shops offering all manner of obscure goods that you couldn't imagine anyone ever having to buy. Unlike other places in the Gulf where most shops stay open late into the early hours of the morning and you can always find at least a few people wandering around, everything in Mashhad was closed with not a soul to be seen.
Before long, we neared the Imam Reza mosque and our driver pointed out the tall minaret glowing brightly in the night sky. There is a sense of excitement coupled with humbleness when you first set eyes upon the mosque, it sits pretty much in the centre of Mashhad and immediately draws your attention from wherever you are in the city.
As we headed towards the building, we drove into a cavernous subway that ran directly beneath the site. Emerging a few minutes later on the other side with the mosque now behind us, we didn't manage to see anything close up but did appreciate just how large the grounds were as the subway was a network of routes and side roads with a vast underground car park for pilgrims.
A few hundreds yards from the mosque, our driver took a right turn at a crossroads and then another right to park outside the hotel Al Ghadir. We had specifically booked here on recommendation by previous visitors to be as near to the mosque as possible and it was officially classed as a four star hotel. With a smart lobby and large seating area, we quickly checked in and were shown our rooms on the second floor which were connected by a private door. It was now 3am local time and a quick inspection revealed that our accommodation would certainly have been classed as a three star hotel anywhere else. Each room had an ensuite and was sparsely yet comfortably furnished with a fridge, television, bedside table and small desk with chest of drawers. The bathroom was small but adequate and peering out of the gloom from the window, we discovered that our view would be of an industrial air conditioning unit and assorted outbuildings that was definitely not the view of the mosque that we had booked. We decided to tackle this the next day as we were all eager for our first visit to the mosque for morning prayers that would begin an hour before sunrise.
Unpacking quickly and changing clothes, we left the hotel via the world's slowest lift to the ground floor and walked to the mosque. As the Al Ghadir was centrally located, we were surrounded by malls and shops with what looked like only a handful of residential places well hidden in darkened side alleys off the main road. Although everything was shut and the streets were quiet, we weren't the only ones heading for morning prayers and a trickle of visitors began to arrive from all directions as we approached the main gate.
The grounds have several entrances each of which is preceded by a large pedestrianised area meaning you can't just drive up and park outside. Our entrance also had a bus terminal and drop-off point that curved around the front in a one-way traffic system. To get inside the actual site, there are separate security checks for men and women that amounted to little more than a quick frisk that you might expect at an airport. However, before going through security, we stopped to read a large notice in Arabic that welcomed visitors to the mosque and offered a prayer for pilgrims to recite.
  Entrance to Imam Reza tombA 360° video clip of the inner courtyard starting with the golden entrance that leads to the inner sanctum of the mosque where the actual tomb of Imam Reza lies |
Once through security, we got our first look at the outer sanctum that was already scattered with people heading towards the mosque. It is customary to greet Imam Reza upon arrival at any of the entrances and so I now placed my right hand on my heart and said "assalaamu alaikum Imam Reza".
The outer sanctum was huge and stretched away in three directions. To our left and set well apart from the rest of the mosque stood a large square building with a domed roof and a fenced off area under construction. Ahead of us was a smaller construction site in front of two gigantic arches that led into another section of the outer sanctum. To the right stretching even further away was an array of smaller arches again leading further into the site which is roughly arranged as a series of massive courtyards with the actual mosque at the centre. In the morning twilight and with the mosque glowing with soft lights, it had an ambience of immense calm and purpose.
Around us, women clad in black abaya glided silently with men in tow towards the inner sanctum. We followed them through the nearest arch and stepped into an enormous courtyard with a mosaic floor, traditional Persian design to the balconies and a centre stand that offered drinking water. A small carpeted area was laid before a beautiful and stunning entrance adorned in gold that led inside the mosque whilst a large fountain and water feature stood in the shadow of the far end.
 Arch connecting inner and outer sanctum |
Various offices and buildings surrounded the public area but it was the golden entrance that immediately demanded your attention. Grand, intricate and utterly beguiling, there was no question that this was the way to Imam Reza.
As with the security checks, there were separate entrances for men and women and at each, there was a counter where pilgrims could deposit their shoes for safekeeping, receiving a small numbered token in return. The inside of the mosque was like nothing I'd ever seen before with glass and mirrors everywhere that reflected the soft yellow light from the dozens of huge chandeliers hung at regular intervals. The golden ceiling rose to a grand height as it followed the contours of traditional Persian architecture. A spotless tiled floor gleamed with polish whilst Persian rugs sectioned off the individual areas with giant pillars that supported the roof. A number of shelves held copies of the Quran along with other prayer books and turba's that are small circular clay tablets used for praying with.
Despite men and women entering the mosque separately, this particular area immediately next to the entrance was the only one where whole families could sit together. For the segregated areas though, a low barrier kept men and women apart with discrete officials clad in a long black overcoat and armed with what looked like multicoloured feather dusters guiding pilgrims to the right sections.
 Inside the Imam Reza mosqueThe end of the clip shows pilgrims standing and praying at a large wall that has a window through which the tomb of Imam Reza can be seen |
A closer inspection revealed that these were indeed feather dusters and although it seemed comical at first as to why these should be carried, the rational was very simple and typical of Iranian courtesy. If a pilgrim inadvertently crossed into a restricted area, the official would gently bar their way or tap them with the feather duster and guide them back to the communal areas. The aim was not to punish or hurt but to ensure rules were enforced and whereas in places like Saudi Arabia where similar officials carry batons and won't hesitate to give people a good whack, here in Iran, the feather duster was a gentler, more civilised approach to crowd control. Occasionally, a child or baby would be fascinated by the feather duster and then the official would playfully tickle them on the face that elicited smiles of joy and was a delight to watch.
As the mosque was still fairly empty due to morning prayers having not yet been called, and also because we had just arrived for the first time ever to Iran, we decided to visit the tomb of Imam Reza immediately. The driver had already told us that early morning would be the best time to get as close to the tomb as possible and so we now set off having first asked directions from an official. Once again, there was a separate path for men and women and as I headed deeper inside the mosque, I couldn't help but think it was like being in a dream with all the glittering lights and the quiet hum of a thousand prayers being read. This is something I would feel on every subsequent visit inside the mosque and I wasn't the only one.
 Tomb of Imam Reza |
The Imam Reza tomb lies in the very centre of the mosque and to keep the crowding to a minimum, you can only approach it from one direction. As a rectangular structure, the tomb is partitioned off equally for both men and women so that although the two are kept strictly apart and hidden from sight, everyone actually goes to the same place albeit from the respective segregated men and women's areas with officials ensuring the flow of pilgrims is kept moving although never forcefully. The tomb had gold lattice walls and a traditional Persian roof. Inside lay a coffin covered with flowers although this is not the actual coffin itself.
It was more crowded here than anywhere else inside the mosque with two rows of pilgrims, one row that was right next to the structure and holding onto the latticework and a second row who jostled behind them, eager to get closer and touch the gilded walls or perhaps catch a glimpse of the tomb. Being taller than those around me, I easily reached out and touched the gold walls of the structure to say my prayers. Imam Reza is known as the Imam who is generous with his blessings and all around, people clung to the latticework whilst asking the Imam for help in mediating with God for their wishes to be granted.
 City view of the Imam Reza mosque |
The call for morning prayers sounded and I found an empty spot to read. This would be the only time I would get to actually pray inside the mosque itself, yards away from the tomb. JD was elsewhere inside the building and we had already agreed to meet up at the entrance to the communal area should we get separated. Now that prayers had been called, people began to crowd in from all directions and in no time at all, the mosque became full as there was obviously no point remaining in the courtyard if there was space inside to pray nearer the tomb.
Morning prayers are the shortest of the 5 daily prayers and by the time we had finished, it was approaching 5am and time to return to the hotel. As with entering, when you leave the site it is customary to not turn your back on Imam Reza whilst stepping through the entrance and so we now all once again faced the mosque and placed our right hand on our heart saying "assalaamu alaikum Imam Reza" whilst backing out of the exit.
The city began to stir as the sun rose and shops stocked up on their wares. We had a wild idea to actually get breakfast but as I hadn't slept properly for more than 48 hours now, I crashed out almost immediately on my bed. Several hours later and just before sunset, I eventually got up and discovered that JD had arranged for our rooms to be changed so that we now had a view of the mosque. The new rooms were identical to the old ones but the view made all the difference. We had an elevated vista of pretty much the whole of Mashhad and for the first time could appreciate just how large it was with distant snow capped mountains providing a stunning backdrop around the margins of the city. In the midst of all the scaffolding and bustle, the Imam Reza mosque was clearly visible, more so in the evening twilight where the golden domes and minarets shone brightly.
 Mashhad Cityscape |
Moving our things to the new accommodation, we headed out back to the Imama Reza mosque for afternoon and evening prayers. The city had transformed completely since the morning and now the sidewalks were much busier with families out shopping, various stalls crowding the pavements and diners looking for somewhere to eat. It had been a hot day so the evening was pleasantly warm with just a hint of a breeze.
Almost immediately upon leaving the hotel, a small boy holding what looked like a pamphlet written in Arabic made a beeline towards us. He couldn't have been more than 6 years old yet was as persistent as the Terminator from the movies. JD told me to ignore the boy since he was tugging at my elbow and trying to stop me in my tracks so I would buy one of the booklets. I think it was obvious from space to anyone that I was the tourist there and the boy managed to pester me for a full five minutes before wandering off to try his luck with someone shorter who didn't take a giant step for each of his three little ones.
>I went through several phases that occur when such things happen. Initially, you feel sorry for the child and are inclined to give them change which is a mistake since you'll then be earmarked as a walking bank and every kid in town will be on your case. Then you feel annoyed with the constant badgering and contemplate giving some money just to get rid of the kid (again, big mistake, see above). Finally, you get real angry at the intrusion and are inclined to just growl and shove the kid away.
The old and needy were also out on the street but whereas the kids relied on aggressive pester power, the elder ones would quietly sit on the pavement to one side and wait patiently for any charity that came their way. And of course, this being the city of Imam Reza, the Imam known for generosity and giving, offering any kind of charity was a must and so we now stopped by an old woman covered from head to toe in black abaya and shivering slightly in the cool of the evening breeze. Rather than give in to the pestering kids, which would have ensured a willing audience waiting for us every day outside the hotel, we gave the old woman our change who acknowledged it with a tip of her head and a small word of thanks.
Arriving at the mosque, it was immediately apparent that evening prayers would be a far busier event. Both the inner and outer sanctums were lit up with the entrance to the inner sanctum in particular looking magnificent. This time, we read our prayers outside in one of the huge courtyards as there was no room inside. Once prayers had finished however, the mosque began to clear and we managed to find a spot inside the inner sanctum where we settled down to read the Quran. I headed to the Imam Reza tomb and although it was more crowded than the night before, I managed to grab hold of the latticework and found a small gap in the crowd allowing me to force my way up close to the structure so I could see the coffin inside.
For many of the pilgrims, being this close to the tomb of Imam Reza would be one of the most important spiritual events in their lives and all around, people wept and prayed fervently whilst talking to the Imam. When a pilgrim had managed to grab hold of the latticework, they would often hang on for dear life, staying there for perhaps hours on end, reluctant to let go as it'd be difficult to get this close again. I stayed there for 20 minutes right next to the coffin offering my prayers and lost in my own thoughts whilst all around, the crowd heaved and jostled for a better position. JD had also managed to get to the tomb but not been able to touch the shrine itself on this occasion so I counted myself lucky.
 City view of Imam Reza mosque at night |
We headed back to the Al Ghadir for dinner that was served in the restaurant on the first floor. Although we got there at 9pm, it was nearly empty with just a few tables occupied. The restaurant was large and spacious so we afforded ourselves the luxury of trying a few tables for size, eventually settling on a bigger table modestly located away from the buffet table but still near enough not to incur a two minute trek to refill our plates.
The starters and dessert were standard fare for a buffet, simple yet satisfying whilst the main was ordered from the menu. As a starter, we tried the soup, salad, lentils, hummus with Iranian flatbread and a kind of yoghurt dish that was very sour. The choice for main course was almost entirely various forms of Iranian kebab although there was a seafood option for the night too that turned out to be little more than a deep fried frozen fish fillet that you might buy from Iceland. Rice, chips or bread accompanied the main meal and drinks were the usual selection of fizzy tooth decayers.
The lamb kebab koobideh was ok, adequate but nothing special; we'd had far better back in the UK when we'd visited even the most basic Persian restaurants. Nobody bothered with dessert that had only two options of fresh fruit and what looked like a plain jelly with vast chunks scooped out.
Dinner over, we headed back to our rooms via a 10 minute delay for the world's slowest elevator courtesy of the Tehran Chelender Lift Co. (Tel. 8906149-8800346).
Sunday 16 March 2008
We rose early again for morning prayers. It was much cooler than during the day and as before, the usually bustling streets were quiet with any immediate activity solely focused upon getting to the mosque. Inside, it was busier again than the previous day and we ended up outside in one of the enormous courtyards that had rolls of carpet laid for prayer time. Once finished though, we headed into the inner sanctum with its golden, mirrored ceiling and air of peace and tranquillity. I was able to get close enough to the Imam Reza shrine once again to see the tomb and touch the gilded walls although the line of pilgrims this time was four rows deep. The Iranian New Year would be upon us in a few days and people had started pouring into Mashhad to celebrate, hence it would become increasingly difficult to get anywhere near the shrine let alone be able to reach out and touch it.
 Courtyard with Persian designA 360° view of one of the outer courtyards showing traditional Persian design and architecture |
We stayed at the mosque to read the Quran and I also had another wander around the inner sanctum. We had been told that the tomb of Imam Reza was accessible from two levels and although I did find a wide staircase that led down to a basement level floor, it had been closed so I was unable to explore any further.
By the time we left the mosque, the sun had already risen and begun to warm the city. On our way to and from the hotel, we always passed by a tiny shop that was empty apart from a large traditional clay oven and a table for preparing dough. As we now walked past, there was a huge queue waiting outside to buy stacks of Iranian flatbread, freshly baked in the oven. It looked like people came from everywhere to this place that sold only flatbread and nothing else and we marvelled at the fact that a single shop making just flatbread could not only be so popular but turn a handsome profit from selling such a cheap and basic commodity.
Back at the hotel, breakfast was about to be served but I decided to retire to my room for a nap as I was still a little tired from the previous day and we had already arranged to be taken out later that afternoon by the driver who met us at the airport. In the event though, the driver called to say he wasn't able to make it and his father, Sayed, would pick us up instead to show us the sights outside of Mashhad.
Sayed was in his late 50's, about 5'8 with a greying moustache, stocky build and a dark complexion from years of living in a sunny, high altitude climate. He was a gracious, gruff and hugely informative no-nonsense type of guy with a humorous turn of phrase, equally capable of handling himself in a tricky situation as he was entertaining us with anecdotes of life in Mashhad. Our transport was Sayed's car, a smart looking Khodro with remote alarm, meticulously tidy interior, large comfy seats and a keen engine that liked to be revved. It was obvious that it was well maintained, Sayed looked after the car religiously and as his main livelihood, it wasn't difficult to see why.
 The road from the mountainsummit back down to Zoshk |
First stop was the petrol station to fill up with fuel that, Sayed informed us, was subsidised and rationed to 100 litres per month for each driver. With most shops and businesses closed during the afternoon, the roads were fairly empty and ten minutes later, we hit the highway and got our first look at the mountains that surrounded Mashhad. There were no gentle sloping inclines or faraway summits dusted with snow, the rugged landscape rose straight out of the ground in all colours and seemed to glower at the city, as if to remind Mashhad who was there first. Entire hillsides would be inscribed with giant Persian lettering that could be read from miles away. Sayed told us that these were either adverts or prayers that had been carved or painted into the mountains.
Our destinations were the villages of Torghabeh, Shandiz and Zoshk, high up in the mountains with the closest, Torghabeh, about 20km west of Mashhad. During the summer months, these villages were popular as a holiday destination and resort for people to escape from the heat of the cities but our trip was mainly to visit a mosque at Torghabeh that housed the tombs of Imam Reza's younger brothers.
The drive there took about 45 minutes and was uneventful apart from two men who suddenly appeared out of the wilderness to cross the highway. Despite the dry, crumbling terrain that baked during the summer and froze during the winter, Sayed pointed out several tiny villages that were well hidden among the mountains and valleys. I also noticed that the diversity of cars outside of Mashhad was far greater with Peugeot, Citroen, Kia, Mazda, Hyundai, Mitsubishi and the ubiquitous Toyota in abundance on the highway.
Having already decided that we would visit the mosque at Torghabeh on the way back, we drove through Shandiz and carried onto the tiny village of Zoshk that was over 6,500 ft above sea level. Zoshk was one of the last villages in the mountain range before you crossed the actual summit itself and Sayed took us further on past the village to where the road narrowed, twisted and climbed sharply. We passed grand houses complete with gated access, private gardens, resorts and hotels that were deserted at this time of year but which, during the summer months, would be full. Every now and then, a car or bus approached in the opposite direction and squeezed tentatively past whilst Sayed moved the car perilously close to the roughly hewn mountain sides that looked like they were ready to start an avalanche if anyone so much as sneezed.
At length, even the houses petered out to be replaced by smooth rock and Sayed told us that there wasn't anything further to see unless we crossed the summit. Stopping by a stream that gurgled its way back down to Zoshk, we got out to stretch our legs whilst Sayed turned the car round. It was beautifully quiet with only the chattering stream for company and the air here was much colder and fresher than even the villages. The sky was clear blue with not a cloud in sight and we could instantly see just why people would want to spend their holidays here up in the sticks. The mountains were a haven of peace and silence, a far cry from the bustle of city life and an ideal opportunity to really get away from everything.
We drove back down through Zoshk and into Shandiz where we stopped for lunch at the Hussam Shish Likki restaurant. It was a large place that nestled at the foot of a rocky cliff overlooked by trees and offered al fresco dining as well as the more conventional indoor room. Outside, instead of tables, there were dozens of what looked like 6ft open trailers parked here and there. A couple of steps led to each trailer with the floor covered by a large Persian rug, the idea being that you sat on the rug itself in the trailer. This was a traditional, very simple and comfortable way to eat outside and as the place was empty, we chose a trailer just outside the shadow cast by the cliff so we could enjoy the sun. As with most Iranian restaurants the world over, there was a water feature in the form of a large pool in the middle of the courtyard that bubbled over a series of fountains.
Apart from us, there were just two other occupied trailers all at a good distance from one another. Sayed had intentionally brought us to this restaurant as it was a well known place to have good food in Shandiz and we each ordered a dish together with rice, salad, hummus and a platter of kebabs and chops. I decided on chicken kebabs and wasn't disappointed when a steaming hot plate arrived piled high with grilled meat. The food was absolutely wonderful and sitting there on the trailer under the sun, in the lovely fresh air of the mountain with nothing but the sound of the babbling fountain, one couldn't help thinking that it didn't get any better than this.
 Tombs of Sayed Nasser & Sayed Yasser |
Sayed started his meal in the traditional Persian manner with a plate of rice and a large knob of Iranian butter. Although the food was piping hot, it soon cooled in the mountain air. However, everything was so delicious that the plates were emptied in no time and we sat for a while just chatting, drinking tea and swapping stories. As the sun circled the cliff, we kept moving around the trailer for a warmer seating position. It was quite bizarre, you could be sitting enjoying the sunshine, content with the warmth of the rays on bare skin and then be shivering 10 minutes later because a shadow had slid over you.
We left Shandiz and headed to Torghabeh for the mosque. This was located away from the main roads and was a much smaller building that could hold 50 at a pinch. Inside were the tombs of Imam Reza's younger brothers, Sayed Nasser and Sayed Yasser who were both murdered upon the orders of the Abbasi caliph. The mosque was cleverly divided so that both tombs could be visited by men and women and we read our afternoon prayers there before returning to the hotel to change and wash.
Back in Mashhad, the sidewalk was crowded as the city had filled up with New Year visitors. Reaching the mosque, it was clear that the influx of pilgrims had begun in earnest. We had to queue for a few minutes to get through security and once inside, were unable to gain entry to the inner sanctum, again reading our prayers under the stars in one of the courtyards. Prayers complete, we headed inside to sit for a while and read the Quran. I made my way to the Imam Reza tomb but there was no chance to get up close this time. The crowd was much larger than before and officials constantly waved people on to ensure the flow of traffic past the tomb did not turn into a crush as pilgrims paused to offer their prayers.
Upon leaving, we passed by the little bakery once again that was as busy in the evening as it had been in the morning. Mashhad itself was becoming more festive for the Iranian New Year, all around us lights danced across the streets and shop windows whilst crowds flocked to the malls and street sellers pitched their wares on the sidewalk.
The peak times for shops and malls are the evening and we decided to have a wander around the bazaars and markets. Iran is famous for its turquoise minerals or fairuz as it is called in Arabic and is one of only a handful of places worldwide where it can be mined with Iranian fairuz widely considered the best and most pure. A relative of JD knew the proprietor of a shop near the hotel called Al Muntada and recommended we visit on account of it offering good quality fairuz. It was a tiny place located in a mall just around the corner from us and sold mainly jewellery and rosary beads. The proprietor was a short, well dressed, oldish man who ran the shop with his son and I was amazed when he greeted me in perfect English with only a hint of an accent. He was one of just two people I met during my stay in Iran who spoke English (the hotel reception being the other) and he told me that he'd visited London many times previously. As a personal acquaintance of JD's relative, we were assured that we'd get the best prices for any fairuz we wanted to buy so we set about inspecting the wares. It was here that we first encountered the confusing denominations of Iranian money.
The official currency of Iran is the Iranian Rial available in various amounts from 1 rial coins to 10,000 rial notes (worth about GBP 55p). All Iranians however, still use the old currency of toman that is worth 10 rials and whilst they accept the newer currency, goods are often bought, sold and advertised in tomans. I had a currency converter on my moby that would be used constantly to convert from sterling to rials with the last zero removed to give the toman figure. The owner, who we called Agha which is a polite word for 'sir' or 'gentleman', was happy to accept both as payment but quoted all his prices in tomans rather than rials. Given that 1 toman was worth around 1/1000 of a UK penny, it also meant that we were forced to carry around huge bundles of Iranian currency. Although the Al Muntada offered us the best exchange rate and were only too happy to take all the sterling and dollars we had, even a modest outlay of just GBP ?80 meant carrying around 1.5 million Iranian rials denominated into 146 notes of 10,000 rials! It also meant that even the smallest of transactions would result in us having to spend five minutes counting out the money to make up the numbers.
The proprietor showed us his selection of fairuz and told us what was considered pure and of higher value. The quality of the stone is determined by its colour and hardness, with the latter judged by the matrix of veins from the surrounding rock in which the turquoise is mined. We spent about an hour in the shop and also had a quick wander around the mall that was arranged over three storeys with an entire floor dedicated to bookshops that we were keen to explore. After the wonderful lunch we'd had, nobody was hungry so we decided to skip dinner and just go straight to bed.
Monday 17 March 2008
We were up again by 5am for morning prayers which was traditionally the quietest time of the day. Despite this, the numbers had swelled at the Imam Reza mosque as pilgrims continued to flood in for the New Year. We didn't stay long as we had another day's schedule planned to visit several mosques outside Mashhad. Our orders were to be ready by 10am so we hurried back to our rooms to change and then waited in the lobby for Sayed to arrive.
The transport this time was a battered old saloon with what looked like a bullet hole in the windscreen. Sayed explained that to alleviate the traffic jams in Mashhad, cars were prohibited from driving into the city centre based upon their number plate and the day of the week. Mondays, Wednesdays and Saturdays allowed those with even numbered plates to drive through Mashhad whilst Sundays, Tuesdays and Thursdays were reserved for odd number plates. Friday was a free-for-all smackdown that allowed anyone into Mashhad and as we headed out of the city, we saw traffic police at the major junctions preventing drivers from entering if they had the wrong number plate, which today were those ending with odd numbers.
This was our first time in a car in Mashhad during normal working hours and it was like a being in a dangerous fairground ride. Khodro's were everywhere and people drove through the crowded streets like their hair was on fire. Twice, I saw motorbikes mount the pavement and use it as an impromptu highway to avoid the traffic, scattering pedestrians left and right whom didn't appear to mind this encroachment. Road markings seemed to exist only to decorate the tarmac and disguise the potholes whilst roundabouts were treated as an annoyance to be dealt with by ignoring any approaching traffic and a refusal to use indicators. At junctions, large digital overhead timers counted down the seconds to when the traffic lights would change which is actually a really good idea. In Iran however, once the lights turned red, several cars would continue to drive though the junction, narrowly avoiding the oncoming traffic that wasted no time in surging forward or more often, causing a blockage that would lead to the kind of jam you might expect if a gang of hungry elephants decided to hold a picnic in the middle of the M25. Yet, there was never that true sense of terror that one experiences when driving with the lunatics that haunt the roads of Dubai and a large part of this was down to the skill of our host.
Sayed drove with the confident and expert precision of a seasoned driver well versed in the laws of the Iranian Highway Code, lesson one of which appeared to be "if in doubt, blow horn and gesture angrily". We marvelled at how he managed to squeeze the old saloon through the tiniest of gaps, tailgate the car in front leaving just enough space to insert a toothpick and avoid the worst of the traffic by skirting efficiently around lumbering buses in order to take an ingenious shortcut that Wile E Coyote would have been proud of.
After a 20 minute drive through the city, the neighbourhoods became more residential and the shops and malls began to thin out. We stopped in the middle of a deserted street that had a complex of houses nearby and Sayed told us that this was an area called Sharah Bashti where all the people who had been persecuted by the Iraqi regime lived. Sayed disappeared and returned a few moments later with another chap whose car we were sat in. Apparently, it had been borrowed as the licence plate was an even number meaning it could be driven through the city and so we now switched to Sayed's car and headed out onto the highway in the opposite direction to Shandiz that we had visited the previous day.
Our first destination was high up in the mountains, a mosque about 17km from Mashhad containing the tomb of Khaje Murad also known as Harthama, a loyal student of Imam Reza. After the Imam's martyrdom, Harthama refused to recognise the authority of the Abbasi caliph who had begun capturing and executing all of Imam Reza's family and friends. Subsequently, Harthama escaped from Mashhad and was exiled to the mountains we were now heading to where he lived and remained in opposition for the rest of his life.
 Mosque of Abu al-Salt al-Harawi |
The journey to the mausoleum was almost entirely by highway that was also the main route from Mashhad to Tehran and the landscape was far less dramatic with lush green hills and smooth mountain tops that rolled away into the distance. Roadwork's tended to appear out of the blue with a single workman waving a flag for traffic to slow down. This was routinely ignored and I have to say that the workman who got the unlucky job of standing in the middle of a speeding highway waving a flag must have had balls of steel.
We left the highway and drove up a very steep and narrow road that led in between two mountains to a small car park that was surprisingly full. No vehicles were allowed beyond this point as the road was little more than a roughly hewn shingle track with a few shops so we got out to walk the remaining distance on foot, a trip that took all of five minutes. The mosque was clearly visible above us but it was still hard going to reach as the hill was steep and the loose shingle melted away under our feet.
A new mosque was currently in construction around the older, smaller mosque so the whole place looked like a building site and it wasn't immediately clear where the entrance was. Because of the work going on, there was only one tiny room of the original structure that we could visit. This contained the tomb of Harthama but it was so dark and poorly lit that it was difficult to see anything. Crowds of people were outside which surprised us because it was the middle of the morning, far from any town or village and there was nothing else here other than the half built mosque. We didn't stay long and left after a short prayer to continue to our next destination, the mosque of Abu al-Salt al-Harawi.
We drove back to the highway and crossed over to a side road that headed in the return direction towards Mashhad and ran parallel to the main route. Along the way, we passed a huge graveyard called Behashet Reza that roughly translated means "Heaven of Imam Reza". At first glance, it wasn't obvious that this was a graveyard as there were no tombstones or marked graves, just forgotten mounds of earth piled here and there. At one end was a row of stone buildings containing tombs. Sayed told us that whilst all bodies could be washed here, only those that had bought a tomb or plot could be interred at Behashet Reza with larger tombs and plots often bought for entire families.
 Tomb of Abu al-Salt al-Harawi |
Travelling along an endlessly straight road, we could see the blue dome of the Abu al-Salt al-Harawi mosque in the distance along with a tall spire of thick black smoke that appeared to come from a huge fire that had been lit in the building opposite. I also saw my first and only BMW thundering towards us in the opposite direction. The blacked out windows and manic driving indicated that someone important was inside and it flew past us before Sayed could check the plate and tell us who it might have been.
Parking up outside the main entrance to the mosque, we stepped into a large courtyard surrounded by high walls and what looked like offices all of which were shut. It wasn't busy and a lone security guard stood discreetly in the shade. A trickle of people were walking to and from the row of steps that led up to a pair of double doors taking you into the mosque. It was large and airy inside with a high ceiling in which birds twittered and flew. There were a few people already present but it wasn't anywhere near as crowded as we expected despite the size of the place.
The tomb of Abu al-Salt al-Harawi stood right in the middle of the mosque and unusually, was not sectioned off separately for men and women to approach and was also adorned with plaques that had prayers inscribed on them. Abu al-Salt al-Harawi was another loyal student and friend of Imam Reza and his story was similar to Harthama's in that after the martyrdom of Imam Reza, Abu al-Salt al-Harawi refused to accept the authority of the Abbasi caliph and escaped from Mashhad never to return. Subsequently, he too spent the rest of his life outside of Mashhad where he lived until his death.
 Plaque on tomb of Abu al-Salt al-Harawi |
We read prayers for Abu al-Salt al-Harawi, gave our donations at the information desk and had a chat with the official seated there who presented us with a small leaflet giving further information about the mosque. I had a good look at the tomb, especially the plaque which I was just about able to read in Arabic, and also wandered around the mosque and grounds. It was a peaceful place both inside and out, the spaciousness and birdsong gave it an air of serenity whilst only the distant rumble of the highway provided any indication that we hadn't stepped back in time. I was curious what the buildings around the periphery of the site were used for but nobody seemed to know.
The return journey to the hotel was much longer than in the morning due to traffic. Four lanes suddenly squeezed into three and the added confusion of not having the correct number plate meant that we didn't get back until nearly two hours later by which time afternoon prayers were due. We also had a mission to ensure that the various monies given to us as donations for the Imam Reza mosque were duly delivered.
Strolling to the mosque, it was hot outside with the sun beating down relentlessly but every now and then, a sudden breeze would bring a welcome chill to the air and remind us that we were at a higher altitude. As it was so warm, we read our afternoon prayers outside in the shade of one of the courtyards. In any case, the inner sanctum appeared full and there didn't appear to be any space inside. Prayers complete, we set off to find the office where donations were made.
Of course, being the Middle East, this was about as straightforward as trying to teach a cat how to parallel park and we traipsed from one office to another as we were passed around by officials none of whom seemed to have a clue where we should go. Eventually, and quite by luck, we were directed towards the far end of the grounds where we hadn't previously ventured and removing our shoes, entered a small annex. We were ushered into a large room that was furnished smartly and had panelled walls, a small library and several suited officials seated at desks with computers. Not being able to talk Arabic, I sat and watched helplessly as JD patiently explained to one official after another that we wanted to donate money. I couldn't understand why it was such a problem for the Iranians until it became clear that there was a specific process for receiving cash and that the official who signed this off bore ultimate responsibility for the full amount so everything had to be audited.
We waited in the library for the official to arrive and had a read of the books, all of which as expected were about Islam and Imam Reza. After ten minutes, the accountant duly turned up and processed our donation and also invited us to choose from a selection of books to take free of charge. As part of an initiative to spread the word of Islam and Imam Reza, donators were offered the opportunity to take any books of which the Iranians had multiple copies and so we ended up leaving with several English and Arabic titles.
>Returning to the hotel, we decided to quickly pop back into the mall for a few minutes and visit the owner of Al Muntada. In the event though, we ended up staying there for the rest of the afternoon as more gems and fairuz were brought out for us to haggle over. Several thousand toman lighter, we hurried back to the Al Ghadir to wash and freshen up before returning to the Imam Reza mosque. The inner sanctum had been closed as it was full to capacity so evening prayers were said outdoors before we headed inside to read the Quran.
Back at the Al Ghadir, I tried the lamb kebabs which were pretty dreadful and trying to ignore the fish that JD had ordered which looked much better, filled up on bread and soup instead. Although the shops were still open, everyone retired to their rooms as tomorrow was an early start with a full days schedule planned to visit Neyshaboor.
Tuesday 18 March 2008
Finishing our morning prayers at the Imam Reza mosque, we headed straight back to the hotel to get ready for the day ahead. Breakfast was served around 7am and the restaurant was a lot more popular in the morning than it was for supper although the food on offer was very basic. There was a choice of boiled eggs, Iranian bread, small fairy cakes and tea, coffee or orange juice. JD and co already gone down earlier and I joined them later after getting changed. Unfortunately, the restaurant was now clearing up and there was precious little food left so I settled for a few glasses of OJ and made a mental note to have a longer lie in next time and not bother with breakfast.
 Qadamgah mosque |
Sayed arrived at 10am and we set off in his car for Neyshaboor that lies about 70km south west of Mashhad. We joined the same highway that we travelled on the previous day but drove right on past Khaje Murad. I spotted a brand new Mercedes behind us that soon caught up and overtook at high speed on what appeared to be on a highly important VIP mission as it was not only the first and only Merc that I came across in Iran but also a fully fledged police car!
As the kilometres stacked up, a curious change began to seep into the landscape. Gradually, the mountains, hills and plains became more barren and turned into a rusty orange red colour until all around as far as you could see, it looked like the entire earth was made from the glowing embers of a dying fire. It wasn't just confined to our immediate vicinity either, huge mountain ranges located miles away were all the same reddish colour and without a patch of vegetation or any other greenery to be seen. There was a very good explanation why.
Sayed told us that the land in which we were now driving through was a place where Imam Reza had travelled extensively during his time and actually walked across the mountains. The story went that when Imam Reza was martyred, the mountains turned red as a symbol of the Imam's blood that had been spilled and had been that colour ever since. Driving through the eerie copper landscape and looking at the great plains and hills where Imam Reza had once walked, you couldn't help but feel that there were greater forces at work here rather than just a natural phenomenon.
 The entrance to the cave and thesmall mosque of Qadamgah |
Gradually, the earth turned back into shades of muddy brown and we drove through an industrial area called Binalood that contained both a wind farm and a large Peugeot factory. There were many villages in the mountains but here, they were clearly visible and interspersed with patches of green fields.
Our first destination was the small village of Qadamgah that was located in the side of a cliff. It was a popular tourist spot as many people stopped here on the way to Mashhad and we passed a number of open rooms made of stone where families could rest and eat. A series of steps, gardens and water features took us to a mosque that was of special significance for several reasons. It was here that Imam Reza gave his very famous Golden Chain speech to thousands of people over 800 years ago upon entering the province of Khorasan. This was a speech confirming the divinity of God's words that Imam Reza dictated verbatim as passed down to him by his father, grandfathers, the Prophet Mohammed and ultimately from God Himself. We subsequently learned that the area we were in now was known as the Imam's Footpath and formed part of the red landscape that we had driven through earlier.
 The tree from which the famous Golden Chain speech was made by Imam Reza |
As well as the mosque, there was a spring that miraculously began providing fresh water from dry ground when Imam Reza visited Qadamgah along with an old tree from where the Imam actually made his Golden Chain speech. Both were also over 800 years old and whilst the tree was now surrounded by barriers, a small stone cave had been built around the spring to manage the flow of visitors there.
Entering the cave involved descending a steep, narrow and very slippery stone staircase that led below ground. I had to stoop to avoid banging my head on the ceiling and there was a constant stream of people going in and out. The stairs led to a circular cavern, around 20ft in diameter with a stone ledge running along the wall. A single pipe around which everyone crowded gushed cold water from the ground where it drained into a small trough. People were drinking, washing and filling bottles of water as it was considered blessed. I wet my hands and wiped my face whilst JD filled our own bottles to take back to Bahrain. As the cave was small and full of people, the air was humid so nobody stayed down there for long. However, getting in and out was single file only and a slow process. If there was an elderly person on the stairs, everyone waited until it was clear to ensure there were no accidents.
The tree from which Imam Reza made his famous Golden Chain speech stood outside the mosque and looked like it had been dead for hundreds of years. A large hollow in the trunk may have been home to something at one point or it could have just been the remnants of a branch that had long since dropped. Barriers around the tree prevented anyone from getting up close but there seemed to be little interest from the visitors who were flocking to the spring and mosque. I felt a sense of awe looking at the tree and for it to have survived for more than 800 years in searing heat and freezing cold once again pointed to forces at work from a higher plane of divinity.
 Actual footprints of Imam Reza |
The mosque was unexpectedly tiny despite the towering dome and impressive architecture. It was roughly octagonal in shape with space for perhaps 20 and I ended up reading my prayers right in the corner to avoid the constant throng of people coming in and out of which they had very good reason. Inside were the actual footprints of Imam Reza on show behind a glass display structure and of course, *everyone* wanted to see this including me.
The usual latticework structure around the display meant it was difficult to see the footprints clearly as you had to be right up near the surface in the exact position to get the angle required for a full view. There was no separate approach for men and women and it was a small window to look through so people constantly jostled for position. I used a height advantage to grab hold of the latticework and was rewarded with the best place from which to take a good picture. Realising that I'd found the sweet spot, everyone else waited patiently until I moved off and then quickly closed the gap to bag the same space.
The thing that struck me most about the footprints were how large they were and, like the tree outside, I again felt a sense of wonder to be looking at something tangible connected with Imam Reza. Sayed Mohammed al-Mahrogh mosque |
We read our afternoon prayers and took a stroll in the surrounding gardens. Of particular interest was a a tree-lined avenue that led to a tall pointed monument which had been built in honour of the famous 11th century Persian astronomer, mathematician and poet, Omar bin Ibrahim Khayyam.
Outside the grounds, a row of shops surprisingly offered mainly fairuz at what appeared to be ambitiously pitched prices. A popular tourist place apparently, but nevertheless, I couldn't imagine anyone coming here and buying jewellery.
Our final destination for the day took us straight through the centre of Neyshaboor which resembled a typically small market town although there did appear to be a significantly large number of stalls selling nothing but oranges! We parked up in a residential area on the outskirts of the village and headed to a mosque that was almost unrecognisable because of the amount of scaffolding erected outside. Here was the tomb of Bibi Shatita and her story was the most touching.
Bibi Shatita was a deeply pious, very old and very poor woman who lived in Neyshaboor at the time of the seventh Imam, Musa al-Kazim who was the father of Imam Reza. Imam Musa al-Kazim lived in Madinah during the second half of the 8th century but was detained and later poisoned by the Abbasi caliph Harun al-Rashid.
Collections of money and goods were often made on behalf of Imam Musa al-Kazim that were used to help the pious, poor and needy people. Because the Imam was based in Madinah, he would send his representatives and companions to neighbouring provinces to make the collections and one of these eventually reached Neyshaboor.
Bibi Shatita could afford only a single dirham and insisted on giving this to the Imam's companion to take with all the other donations back to Imam Musa al-Kazim in Madinah. The Imam very much acknowledged her donation of 1 dirham and sent back a shroud for Bibi Shatita who passed away shortly afterwards.
 Monument of Omar bin Ibrahim Khayyam |
As she was an old and poor woman, few people attended her funeral. However, whilst preparing to inter the body, a man on a camel approached. It was the seventh Imam, Musa al-Kazim who had appeared at Bibi Shatita's funeral at the exact time for funeral prayers, a miraculous event given that the Imam had been in Madinah and would have had no way of knowing about the death of Bibi Shatita or reaching Neyshaboor in time for the funeral. The Imam led the prayers for the old woman, a great honour itself, before vanishing and heading back to Madinah.
The mosque was quite large but it was pitch black inside and I could hardly see a thing as the windows were covered with only the faintest of light coming from the entrance door which was left wide open. Due to the extensive renovations going on outside, we weren't able to explore the grounds either so we read a short prayer and gave our donations before leaving which was a pity as I would have liked to have had a look around to find out more about the origins of the building.
 Mosque with tomb of Bibi Shatita |
By now it was mid afternoon and time for food. We drove back through the main road of Neyshaboor counting the number of orange stalls we passed (7 exclusive, 5 with multi-fruit value propositions) and turned left into a long straight avenue that headed out of the city back to the mountains. Sayed knew of a restaurant here called Aayani and after driving up and down the road several times and then asking for directions we eventually managed to find it. The place was busy with families but the service was efficient and we got a table immediately. I again ordered chicken kebabs that were much better than the hotel fare but not as good as the food we had at Hussam Shish Likki, the restaurant in Shandiz.
Lunch over, we settled down for the non-stop drive back to Mashhad as our schedule was over for the day. The sun was shining brightly, it was warm and cosy in the passenger seat and with the gentle swaying of the car I soon nodded off. Sayed found this hilarious until JD explained to him that me falling asleep in a car, especially after a meal, was as natural as giving a baby some milk.
Unfortunately, as the sunroof was open and it was a hot day, the heat generously cooked my head and I woke up with a blazing headache just as we entered Mashhad. We popped back to our rooms to freshen up, and for me to pop some Anadin, before heading out to read our evening prayers.
 Festive lights in the outer sanctum
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At the Imam Reza mosque, festive New Year lights had been hung everywhere and the number of pilgrims was now so large that every single door to the inner sanctum was closed. With voices echoing across the grounds, we ended up praying in the largest courtyard of the outer sanctum underneath a beautifully starry sky along with thousands of other pilgrims.
As this was our last proper night in Mashhad, we decided to get a cab to the Imam Reza mall located a short distance from the hotel in the more commercial and busier area of the city. The mall was arranged as two long arcades parallel to one another so we started down the right side and then came back up the left. There were many small yet varied shops and at every single one, bargaining hard was the order of the day. We had a good look around and bought saffron, material, sweets and gifts for our friends and families before stepping back out onto the crowded streets that were still bustling despite it being almost midnight. The New Year mood was in full swing with only two days to go and it seemed that everybody was out shopping.
There didn't appear to be any cabs available despite the bumper-to-bumper traffic and it took us several minutes before we managed to flag one down. Arriving at the hotel, we contemplated dinner and decided to give it a try. The hotel restaurant was empty as usual and the staff appeared to be celebrating an early finish that day by packing up to go home so you can imagine how pleased they were to see us. With not much food left on the buffet, we ordered the usual suspects from the menu and I deliberately chose the Iranian fish dish. The waiter arrived with our food and I was horrified to see one of the deep fried frozen fillets making its way onto my plate. This was most certainly not the fish I had ordered! A quick chat with the waiter revealed that this was the only fish on offer that night and that they didn't bother changing the menu to reflect this. I cut through the inch thick batter to reveal a sliver of overcooked fish that was as dry as cardboard. With nothing else but chips to eat, I made a half-assed attempt to finish the meal and then stomped off to bed grumbling as loudly as my empty stomach.
Wednesday 19 March 2008
Our last day in Mashhad was somewhat unusual in that it involved an awful lot of running around. We got up early to say morning prayers at the Imam Reza mosque with the aim of sorting out our lunch arrangements for the day. At the Imam Reza mosque, if you give a donation of more than USD $100, it automatically entitles you to lunch at the mosque as a guest of Imam Reza. This being the Middle East however, it wasn't as straight forward as just turning up at the restaurant and once again, we had to ask several officials before being pointed in the right direction. The procedure this time involved standing in a queue outside what looked like a ticket office next to the exit of the farthest courtyard. Although it was early morning, there were already several people waiting in two separate queues of men and women. The office only opened at 7am every day for around half an hour and you had to go on the day that you wished to visit the restaurant so everyone was determined that we didn't miss the opportunity.
 A bustling Mashhad street
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On reaching the front of the queue which was surprisingly orderly, the official handed us our tickets and told us we could have actually gone more than once as tickets are not given based upon the size but the number of donations with each donation entitling you to additional tickets for your guests. In other words, as we had made several separate donations, we were entitled to several invites to dine at the Imam Reza restaurant.
Back at the hotel, there wasn't anything to do that morning but mooch around so we decided to visit the Al Muntada one last time and collect some of the jewellery that Agha had been keeping safe for us. Afternoon prayers were read promptly in one of the outer sanctum courtyards, there was zero chance of making it inside as many pilgrims now practically lived inside the mosque to be as near to Imam Reza as possible. Constant streams of buses and coaches were pulling up on an hourly basis to dispense hordes of visitors from all over the country. The streets were filled with colour, children were excited and all around, you could really feel the festivity of the New Year coming alive.
Heading in the direction of the Imam Reza restaurant, we were stopped by several frail looking beggars, mainly old women, who asked us to give them our tickets. It was the first time we had ever been stopped by people asking for charity inside the grounds of the Imam Reza site and an official warded them off telling us that begging was still common despite being prohibited anywhere on the grounds. Ultimately this was nothing to do with being hungry and everything to do with the honour of dining as a guest of Imam Reza. Not everyone could afford this, hence the tickets were highly coveted. It wouldn't be the last we'd see of these poor, feebly old women though, indeed, what happened after lunch painted an entirely different picture altogether.
The inside of the restaurant was as noisy as a school canteen and hummed with activity. Tables of different sizes were everywhere and waiters smartly dressed in black with crisp white shirts were busy serving food, clearing plates and herding diners to and from the entrance. The whole operation was efficient, systematic and well managed. For the men working here as waiters and cooks, all voluntarily, it was a great honour to serve pilgrims at the table of Imam Reza and this came across in spades. It was a joyous and happy place to be in, the waiters beamed as they served food, families sat at tables in delight and all around, people were laughing, smiling and greeting strangers as if they'd known each other for years.
Waiters sped up and down rows of tables with trolleys to serve food and clear away empty dishes. The food itself was basic but wholesome, fragrant and utterly delicious with generous piping hot portions for all. We were served rice, meat, lentils and salad together with Iranian flatbread and a large jug of water. This wasn't a place where people dawdled and within 20 minutes, everyone had finished although I suspect a large part of this was also down to the tasty meal on offer. As the food is considered blessed and we had some left, we decided to take this back with us to Bahrain for our families. A waiter bagged it up for us and we stepped back outside into the afternoon sun.
Waiting at the exit gate were another group of haggard, frail old women, possibly the same ones whom we saw earlier, it was hard to tell. However, the begging strategy this time was different and a lot more unpleasant. Food and water from the Imam Reza restaurant is considered blessed and very lucky so the moment, the *very moment* we were outside the gate, those same feeble old women who had previously acted as though they were at deaths door turned into a pack of aggressive vultures. Pawing, jabbing, tugging at the hijab of the number in our group that had the bag of food, poking her in the ribs, the women were determined to get our meal at any cost.
Alarmed at the prospect of causing a scene in a holy place, we handed over the bag to one of the women and hurried away as best we could. I thought that was the end of it but it was about to get a lot worse. Now that the food had gone, the other women shifted their attention to money. They knew that since we had eaten at the Imam Reza restaurant, we had given a donation hence we must have money to spare and they actually broke into a trot and starting running after us. I could hardly believe it! One minute they were a bunch of helpless old pensioners, bent double under arthritis and rheumatism, the next they're sprinting after us as though they're in the Iranian octogenarian relay team!
We waved the beggars away to no avail, tried walking faster, threatened to call an official and finally told them just where to go but no amount of Arabic or Persian had the desired effect. I'd already had enough of this nonsense and was quite prepared to play hardball and bellow at them but JD being the kindest person in the world (perhaps too kind I thought) warned me not to as it'd only frighten them. At length we handed over a few dollars to the women who set about fighting amongst themselves for the spoils. It was an irritating and unpleasant episode that briefly soured our last day at the mosque and we couldn't help but feel angry at the women for both their manner and sheer audacity. We had wanted to give the blessed food to our families and to those who had been unable to visit Mashhad either through ill-health or because of financial reasons. For the women to hound us yards way from the restaurant and then demand money when the food had gone was pushing the boundaries of charity.
 Imam Reza mosque entrance at night |
This being our last day in Mashhad, we wanted to stay at the mosque until evening prayers so our plan for the rest of the afternoon was to visit the on-site museum, the official title of which is the Museum of the Holy Shrine of Imam Reza. This was located in a small yet spacious, modern and airy building discreetly hidden away in the middle of the grounds and arranged over several floors that contained all manner of old Islamic artefacts and historical items. The whole mosque site had been continuously renovated over the centuries and there was a fascinating display of the older tombs that had been built in earlier centuries to cover the sacred grave.
Entry is via a ticket you can buy at the door and the museum also has an art collection with examples of calligraphy for which the Islamic world is well known. Narrative pieces accompanied the bigger exhibits and were written in English and Arabic, offering an insightful and informative description. Every floor had a different theme and we spent a fascinating few hours looking at the exhibits.
 Courtyard decorated with lights
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It was time for evening prayers and the mosque was now so busy with pilgrims that several of the courtyards were full. We always got a measure of just how full by the distance we were from the inner sanctum and this last day was our furthest yet as we ended up praying near the site entrance, a good 10 minute walk from the golden door leading to Imam Reza's tomb. However, there was still ample space for more pilgrims on the other side of the grounds and it really gave perspective as to how vast the entire site was.
Much as we'd liked to have visited the tomb one last time, this was impossible and reluctantly, we said our farewells to Imam Reza. I was sorry to leave the sanctity of the mosque that had offered tranquillity, sense of purpose and above all peace-of-mind. I felt that being there, I had no worries in the world, everything seemed right and that it was like being in a dream from which you didn't want to wake up. I would miss the bright lights, the low murmur of prayers, the feeling of being content with everything and the unity in offering prayers to God with thousands of other pilgrims.
The lobby of the Al Ghadir hotel was heaving with visitors and reception actually had the cheek to ask us if there was any chance that we could vacate our rooms and clear off early. Despite it being New Years Eve, people were still pouring into Mashhad without any reservation and trying their luck with the hotels. We made our point firmly and retired to our rooms to pack that took all of 30 minutes.
As we still had a few hours to kill until our early morning flight, we decided to visit a nearby bookshop that we had seen earlier in the mall. There were a vast number of titles available here, both English and Arabic, which would be impossible to track down outside of Iran. I bought several titles including a thick hardback of the life and times of Imam Mahdi, the last of the 12 Imams of which I'd seldom seen any extensive literature in the UK.
Back at the hotel, rather than returning to our rooms, we went for one last meal at the restaurant just to remind us of why we shouldn't have bothered in the first place.
We still had time to kill so I started to flick through one of the books that JD had bought. Unfortunately, I found that it was missing pages from the middle and the printing had gone wrong making it unreadable. With only 10 minutes to go until closing time, I grabbed the book and ignoring the Tehran Chelender Lift Co., sprinted down several floors to try and get to the shop before the owner left. In a country where people seldom break into a jog even if they were seconds away from being mown down by a rogue Khodro, I was conscience that running through the lobby and out into the streets was the cause of surprise for many. I half expected a policeman to come chasing after me in a mistaken case of Grand Theft Koobideh.
With only moments to spare (the proprietor was actually locking up) I reached the bookshop where the owner promptly exchanged the title without any fuss. Packing everything into our bags, we left the rooms, checked out and waited in the lobby for Sayed who was taking us to the airport.
Thursday 20 March 2008
The Persian New Year began at midnight and Mashhad was bustling with people going to and fro, buying food, visiting friends and family or going for some last minute shopping. As we headed out of the city, we passed by a long row of cars parked outside a large public garden in which tents had been pitched. Sayed explained that for New Year, people came from far and wide and just lived in their tents in the traditional manner rather than check into the hotels that tended to bump up their rates during this busy period. We took our last glimpse of the Imam Reza mosque that lay behind us and then turned the corner for the highway that led to the airport.
Arriving there, Sayed waved away the assembled porters who looked as though they'd been waiting for us all night and insisted he accompany us through security which consisted of a small lobby with two x-ray machines and a quick pat down by a moustachioed official who eyed me suspiciously. I got the impression that some awkward questions were about to be asked but Sayed discretely slipped some cash to the security guard and was allowed through with me in tow. I was astonished by the ease with which an official could be bought for such a fundamental security check and it made me uneasy. Despite having advanced no more than 10 yards, a further security guard told Sayed that he wasn't allowed any further and so we said our goodbyes, thanking him for everything he'd done and insisting he accept the large tips we had collected.
Inside the departure lounge, a single check-in counter was open for the two flights that were due to depart that night to Bahrain and Dubai. There was no queue so we reserved our seats in a matter of minutes on and turned to the more pressing issue of where to sit. There were no shops and couldn't have been more than thirty seats for the entire departure lounge, all of which were taken.
With nothing to do but sit in the few empty chairs next to the x-ray machines and risk a healthy dose of radiation everytime somebody passed through, I passed the time by asking JD about our fellow travellers, more whom were arriving by the minute including a group of very glossy looking girls complete with oversized bags, shades and make-up that appeared to have been slapped on using a butter knife. The girls were wearing very glitzy and colourful attire that deliberately drew attention so it was no surprise that everyone turned to gawp at them upon entering the departure lounge.
JD, who possesses an uncanny talent for observing somebody from 20 paces and correctly guessing where they come from, their age, social standing and the languages they're most likely speak, told me that the girls were Iranian high society and travelling to Bahrain for their holidays hence why they were all dressed up and enjoying the attention of being noticed. A few moments later, a group of boys joined them, all with long hair that JD said was a very Iranian look, and all with short sleeve t-shirts to show off their arms. The two parties greeted each other and it was obvious that they'd checked in separately to avoid suspicion, Iran being a place where open pre-marital relationships between the sexes is frowned upon. What I found particularly interesting were the clothes that everyone in the group was wearing. Back in the 1970's, air travel was considered a prestigious event for which people dressed up and it seemed that the upper echelons of Iranian Society had the same idea, albeit from a wardrobe last seen 20 years ago.
The Bahrain departure was announced and we queued up at the gate to board the bus. Our return flight was a miserable affair, the plane was an older model with little leg space and absolutely packed. Nobody managed to sleep because the whole journey was constantly interrupted by the screams of several brattish kids who had been thoughtfully positioned by the cabin crew around the fuselage for maximum disruption to other travellers. Even worse, none of the parents seemed willing to discipline their kids and I got the distinct impression they'd all graduated with honours from the 'baby knows best' school of childcare. JD and I sat glowering at the nearest mother who was quite happy to have her little darling step all over the other passengers and throw food around the cabin.
The plane landed on time at Bahrain just as the sun was rising and the change in climate was immediate. It was hotter and drier and we were back at sea level in a part of the world where the only cool breeze came from an air conditioner.
Going through passport control, I reflected upon my travels in the last five days. It had been a good trip; I'd seen some of Iran, wandered the streets, enjoyed the food when we weren't at the hotel and best of all, spent a considerable amount of time in the Imam Reza mosque that I was already missing.
JD and I had already agreed that we'd return to Mashhad. Next time however, I would be sure not to order the fish and also bring some ear plugs for the journey home.