by Stephen Orth
It is one of the many days of my trip that I wish I weren’t always on the move, traveling from one host to the next but instead staying a little longer, getting more than just a fleeting insight into the lives of others. There is never enough time for the beginning of a real friendship, but that’s the kismet of backpacking nomads. On the plus side, a whole range of new short-term friendships are waiting in the future, the online illusion of an almost endless availability of human contacts.
As a leaving present, Ehsan fills a water bottle with the forbidden grape juice. “For the road,” he says.
To: Mona Hamedan
Merci! Now its your turn to send me a picture
From: Mona Hamedan
I don’t have piC on my phone you can go to cs & see my profile piC
To Mona: Hamedan
That pic is beautiful see you soon!
From: Mona Hamedan
Thanks dear, but i have some acne on my skin, & i don’t remove my eyebrow now because my cousin passed away & i should stay til the 40th day of her dead after that i go to beauty salon & remove my eyebrow;)
I like the detailed description of her eyebrow problem. It no longer sounds like a ploy but rather very human insecurity. Human insecurity is much more preferable, if I have the choice, than the feared mafia-like prostitution ring luring innocent foreigners via an online travel portal. So I decide to go to Hamedan the next day—it’s on the route to Isfahan, anyway.
From: Unknown Number
Hey.how r u.i m shahin.hamedan c.s. And Mona cousin. whan u arrive to hamedan?Mona coudent host u.i will host how many day?
To: Shahin
I will arrive tomorrow. Would be great if you could host me for 1 or 2 nights! Thanks and see you soon!
HAMEDAN
Population: 526,000
Province: Hamedan
LOVE
WOULD BE GREAT if you could host me, I write back to Shahin. A very diplomatic answer. The prospect of staying with someone who I know nothing about doesn’t appeal to me. My suspiciousness has returned. After a two-hour ride in a Savari cab I’m standing in the middle of Hamedan at a roundabout with a huge stone relief of soldiers and Ayatollah Khomeini. I’m having doubts about whether this stopover was a good idea. Shahin doesn’t initially succeed in improving my mood. At first he tells me on the phone to wait for him at Khomeini Square. Then he calls again: “Take a cab, call me back, and give the driver the phone.” And two minutes later: “Stay where you are. I’ll come and get you.”
He doesn’t seem to trust me to get into a cab alone. This is typical Persian concern and is well-meaning. You feel like an honored guest but one who is four years old and incapable of performing the simplest of tasks alone. There is a fine line between being helped and being mollycoddled. Every expat Iranian on returning to visit the family for a couple weeks can tell you a thing or two about it.
A casual young man in stonewashed jeans and leather sandals gets out of a cab and greets me with three kisses on the cheek. “Welcome to Hamedan,” says Shahin and takes my backpack.
We travel north, changing shared cabs three times. He studies engineering sciences in Isfahan and Kashan. Just the day before, he returned from a fortnight in Iraq, where he worked as a welder. His most recent guests came from Düsseldorf, Bern, and Turkey. We get out of the cab at Juraqan, a suburb near the airport.
Shahin has parked his small decrepit Honda CG125 here. The headlamp seems to have been ripped off, and the speedometer has been attached to the handlebar with a makeshift piece of white cable. “It’s already had quite a number of accidents,” he explains and indicates that I should get on. We rattle off along a dusty road with dusty stores, stopping at a door to a courtyard. “We used to keep sheep here, but now it’s only chickens,” he says. I notice that he belongs to the small group of people who spend more time smiling than not. The house consists of a central living room, with doors leading to a kitchen and two other rooms. His room is simply furnished with a desk, a cupboard, and a carpet, with pants hanging on various hooks on the walls. “My mother and brother also live here, but they are away at the moment.”
“Is Mona your cousin?” I try to delicately introduce a more interesting subject.
“Yes, she speaks the best English of all our family,” he says, adding: “Are you religious?”
Change of subject unsuccessful. “Not particularly. And you?”
“I don’t like the Sunnis because they kill people, and the Shiites only believe in dead martyrs. I am Zoroastrian, but it’s my secret. If the government finds out about it…” he makes the international sign for beheading. Death sentences for apostates, though, are rarely carried out. People who are charged simply have to acknowledge their Shiite belief in front of the court and can continue to live. Zoroastrians, as representatives of Iran’s ancient religion, can expect a greater degree of leniency than followers of other religious persuasions. More than three thousand years ago they were the first to incorporate concepts like good and evil, God and the Devil, Heaven and Earth in their beliefs, thus inspiring Christianity, Islam, and Judaism.
Shahin suggests an outing. “Dumb idea,” I think and say: “Great idea!”
Directly behind the house is a dirt track leading to a hilly field. We ride on the motorbike to a sports hall, where Shahin’s friend Parvis works as an equipment manager, another radiant sunshine boy. We drive a little more to go flower picking. Three men on one motorbike, with me in the middle—that is more bodily contact than I had expected for the day, still not exactly what I was hoping for. Flower picking. That’s right, you’ve read it correctly. Shahin and Parvis are passionate flower pickers. I, however, once had a fun-free vacation job in a garden center. Even if there weren’t a fair maiden gazing at me longingly from the battlements, like long ago the beautiful Gordafarid entranced the warrior Sohrab, I still could not get any pleasure from picking flowers.
Shahin points to a field full of lilac-colored blossoms. “Saffron. For two pounds I can get forty dollars.” So we start picking saffron. A lot of saffron. And a flower that sounds something like “Kalam Kashi.” “Good for the heart and good against Alzheimer’s disease.” Kangar also grows here, a plant with mean spikes in its leaves, and Shahin wears gloves when picking it. In its stem there are milk-colored fibers that you can eat. They taste of nothing.
“Mona doesn’t understand why we love Juraqan so much,” says Shahin, who hasn’t understood that I like Mona very much. Every hour a little more so. Psychologists call this the Romeo and Juliet effect: the greater the barriers to a relationship, the stronger the affection.
To: Mona Hamedan
Hey, how are you? I arrived at shahins place. what is your plan for today?
From: Mona Hamedan
Hi stephan, you and shahin after dinner come to our house & then we going out:)
Things that I find less interesting than meeting Mona on a spring afternoon in western Iran
•Wandering around a bazaar.
•Getting to know a friendly stationer who wants to invite me home.
•Attending the opening of a carpet business.
•Squashing myself between two singing flower-power fans on a motorbike.
•Getting to know a friendly car mechanic who wants to invite me home.
•Photographing Shahin in front of a nondescript stone gate (“for Facebook!”).
•Getting involved in a fight (almost) because an obviously drunk teenager wants to relieve his aggression.
•Getting to know a friendly confectioner who wants to invite me home.
•Watching the TV news (Rouhani promises better working conditions, Rouhani wants more exports, Rouhani stresses the peaceful usage of nuclear power).
•Picking saffron.
• • • • • • • • •
“A FRIEND HAS just called me. Do you feel like playing soccer tonight with a couple people?” asks Shahin. My thoughts extend the list to include playing soccer.
“I would rather meet up wi
th Mona,” I venture.
“Oh, okay, then we’ll have to wait for my brother to get us in his car.”
A couple hours later. I might have realized earlier that I was having a date, had Mona’s mother, two sisters, a nephew, a cousin, and from time to time also her father, an uncle, an aunt, and her brother not been sitting on the expensive furniture in the living room. Maybe then there wouldn’t even have been any need for the memorable appearance of a mysterious relative.
But let’s start at the beginning. Mona looks different from her profile photo—dark hair tied in a bun, eyes like black pearls, casual jeans, exceptionally pretty. Her eyebrows don’t seem to be out of the ordinary, but maybe as a man I’m missing the analytical eye. With great composure she introduces me to her family members, then places me next to Shahin and seats herself next to her mother. On a flat table there are gherkins, kiwi fruit, and unfortunately, a blunt knife, ensuring that conversing and peeling at the same time is a real challenge.
“They’re pretty rich,” whispers Shahin and points at the huge Persian carpets. “Each of those cost 3 million toman,” $750. So, a good catch.
Mona has one brother and eight sisters, and most of them are married and no longer live at home. She likes Shakira but finds rock music too loud. Her major at university is economics, and today she had a midterm exam in electrical technology (very good); otherwise, at the moment, she has to review for a couple English tests.
“What are you passionate about?” she asks suddenly.
“Travel and music,” I reply after a moment of hesitation. “And you?”
“I want to be a dentist,” she says, with little passion in her voice. “Or an English teacher. Or a singer.”
I tell them about my trip—in the meantime the number of my stops usually triggers a certain admiration—and show them my travel photos on my camera.
“I can say something in German: Iesch liebe disch!” says Mona. Conversation meanders along lightly and cheerfully. People come and go, and I notice that Mona often changes places. Sometimes she sits next to me, then gets up to move to one of her sisters, strangely enough, always seconds before a male relative enters, almost as if she has second sight. It is a mystery how she does it.
Her mother is the only woman in the room with a headscarf and smiles at me beatifically the whole time. Her father, however, is a tough guy, a retired haulage contractor, a hat-wearing Persian Sean Connery. Most of the time he is withdrawn, and then suddenly he poses an avalanche of questions: “What do you think of Iran? How much did your camera cost? How much do you earn? What do you do? How much does a laborer earn in Germany? Why haven’t you made any effort to learn Persian?”
I’m not too upset when he says goodnight and goes to bed. Shortly afterward a man strolls in, introducing himself as Mona’s cousin and saying that he lived in France for a number of decades. He looks to be in his mid-forties.
“Parlez-vous français?” he says, suddenly changing the language.
“Oui, un petit peu,” I reply. Four strenuous years at school and a long time ago. He sits down next to me, where seconds before his entrance Mona was sitting.
“Ça va?”
“Ça va bien, merci!”
“Tu aimes l’Iran?”
“Oui, l’Iran c’est magnifique.”
“Il y a quelque chose je veux te dire.”
“Oui?”
“C’est un petit peu compliqué.”
“Okay.”
“Ma cousine t’aimes bien. Qu’est-ce que tu penses?”
“Ah oui? Err… je suis très heureux.”
“Mais c’est l’Iran. Il est compliqué. Beaucoup de restrictions. Tu comprends?”
“Oui.”
First I think he just likes speaking French, but really he just needs a secret language to use in front of the family gathering. A puzzling character. He gets up and goes toward the door, but Mona intercepts him for a short whispered exchange. The living room is big enough to be out of earshot.
Cousin exits, brother Ali enters. People are exiting and entering at such a rate that I feel like I’m at the theater. Ali is a fairly coarse character who likes to be the center of attention and conversation. One of his sisters brings him some rice and chicken, and she also places a portion in front of me, although I’m not hungry and my “No thanks” was misunderstood as politeness and ignored. Ali is a noisy eater and talks with his mouth full. “Come on, lets meet a few friends,” he suggests. Shahin has already begun to say his goodbyes, and also to Mona. Oh, I see. This is going to be a male-only outing, of course. If my host is going, I can’t possibly remain here. So much for the then we going out:) plan from Mona’s text message.
Things that I find less interesting than spending more time with Mona on a spring evening in western Iran
•Racing through the darkness in Shahin’s car.
•Watching Ali crumble the tobacco from two cigarettes onto a piece of cardboard, add some crumbs of hash and then skillfully suck the mixture back into the empty cigarette shells.
•Listening to Persian trance music at club levels during the drive.
•Meeting Sanjan, Puya, Mohsen, and Arash.
•Circulating hash cigarettes in a park.
•Answering questions about Bayern Munich, Adolf Hitler, and the going rates of Hamburg’s prostitutes.
•Learning a few Persian swear words in return.
•Gazing at the lights of Hamedan from a vantage point on a hill.
•Eating melons at home, at 3:30 AM.
• • • • • • • • •
To: Mona Hamedan
Good morning my dear! It was wonderful to meet you yesterday! whats your plans for today?
From: Mona Hamedan
It was a pleasure to meet you too! Tomorrow i have midterm in english institute.i’m studying english like always:)
Shahin is a great guy and a wonderful host. I can’t blame him for anything. But he is also a possessive host. The next day we drive to an old-fashioned village to picnic and drink schnapps under a walnut tree. A nice tour, but I’m not so happy about the feeling that I have no say in the planning of our day. On the way home we visit yet another waterfall at the foot of Alvand Mountain, where there is a cable car to the peak.
“This is where young couples come when they want to be alone and grope each other,” says Shahin chattily. “The moral police don’t come here.” Boulders and trees offer the necessary screening.
From: Mona Hamedan
Where are you now?
To: Mona Hamedan
Near Alvand mountain, did you finish studying?
Shahin asks whether I want to drive to a friend’s to smoke a hookah. I only have a few hours left in Hamedan; my night bus departs at ten. “It would be much nicer to meet up with your cousin again,” I say. He doesn’t say anything at first, but on the way home he stops in front of the family apartment. We gather Mona and her sister, and the four of us take a sightseeing tour. And lots of photos. At the grave of Avicenna, the most famous doctor and thinker of his time, nowadays known from the best-selling novel The Physician. At a stone monument in the shape of a missile nosecone, in front of a mosque, and at a mausoleum.
“You have beautiful hair,” says Mona.
“Can you get me a German girlfriend?” asks Shahin, who seldom leaves my side. Up to the time the three drop me off at the bus stop I am never alone, or even nearly alone, with Mona. Yesterday the extended family, and today sister and cousin. This country is run not only by state surveillance systems but also familial ones. I ask myself how it is possible for people to fall in love and marry under these circumstances. Or do Iranians marry first and fall in love later? Fall in love at high speed? I need to do more research on that.
NEWS
VIENNA—HOPE OF A breakthrough in the Iran nuclear talks: the P5+1 group and Iran are confident that the conflict, which has been smoldering for ten years, can be resolved by the summer. However, the joint statement of the Iranian minister of foreign a
ffairs, Mohammad Javad Zarif, and the high representative of the Union for Foreign Affairs and Security Policy/vice-president of the European Commission, Catherine Ashton, warns that “there is a lot of hard work necessary to overcome differences.”
Tehran—After clear criticism of the human rights situation in Iran by the European Parliament, Tehran retaliates. “This declaration is worthless and deserves no attention,” says Iran’s chief justice, Sadeq Larijani, to officials in Tehran. “It demonstrates the arrogance of the West.” Additionally, he accuses the European Union of spreading promiscuity and homosexuality in Iran.
Washington—The planned appointment of Hamid Aboutalebi as Iran’s new UN ambassador has created an uproar. The Iranian diplomat is thought to have participated in the Iranian hostage crisis in 1979. On Thursday, the U.S. Congress unanimously passes a bill denying Aboutalebi a visa.
Vienna—As a reaction to a report of the International Atomic Energy Agency (IAEA), the U.S. has again relaxed sanctions against Iran. A total of $450 million will soon be made available, according to a spokesperson from the U.S. Department of State. The IAEA announced that Iran had, up to now, honored the Geneva interim agreement of last November. The stocks of weapon-grade enriched uranium have been reduced, and the country has, in the meantime, diluted or converted to uranium oxide 75 per cent of its inventory. “Everything is going to plan,” said a diplomat.
Noshahr—In Iran a young man escapes execution by seconds. According to a report from the Islamic Republic News Agency (IRNA), the condemned man already has the noose around his neck as the mother of the victim forgives him. He had been condemned to death because during an argument he stabbed the woman’s son to death in the city of Noshahr. After China, Iran is the country with the most executions in the world. In 2013, according to official information, 369 people were executed. Amnesty International, however, believes that there were at least a further 335 executions.