Ashura

E-walls have ears and blogs many followers. A selection of my impressions.

When I entered Mashhad some two weeks ago, I was by no means prepared for Iran's second biggest city (3 million inhabitants). I thought 'the first city across the border'.. Probably quite a bit of trade. Maybe some other travellers on their way to Central Asia. But no, this is a huge place, with big express ways connecting the traditional southeastern part of town, to the modern northwest. I took a taxi one night to a soirrée at a friend's place (where I afterwards also couchsurfed for a couple of nights) and it took me 40 minutes to get from east to west.



And not only is it vast in size, it's also Iran's most religious city and its number one pilgrimage center. And on top of this, this very weekend was the prime of 'Ashura', when Shia Muslims commemorate the violent death of Imam Husayn ibn Ali, a grandson of the prophet. Pilgrims from all over flocked together to visit the 'Haram' or 'Holy Shrine': the city's core of blue domed madrasahs, mosques with shiny glass interiors, minarets and marble courtyards with fountains (the whole thing lit up like a football stadium at night). So it was crowded, or rather, congested.

Ashura drum


After one night in a home-stay (a family house gone hostel), I moved to my friend Mohammad's place, in the eastern part of town. On the second day of my stay in the city I discovered that after the almost mythical encounters with 'the storyteller', 'the mother' and 'the player', I now had also met 'the thief', as money was stolen from my wallet. It must have either happened in the hostel, where I left my stuff unattended when I was fixing my bike out in the courtyard, or in the house where my money belt had been detached from my body when my pants were hung out to dry (you have to wear long pants in Iran as shorts are too sexy, but you can only wear the same pair of pants for so long, especially if you cycle for more than a week with them).
Mohammad felt awful about what had happened to me and I felt sorry for having discovered it at his home, as his father immediately drew the conclusion that hosting foreigners might attract more bad luck than good times. I wonder if I have met the thief in person. I wish he or she would have told me about his or her incentives. If it was a matter of urgency I would have been happy to give the money. Now I tell myself that somebody needed urgent surgery and that I was the one making it happen. I just hope the surgery wasn't aimed at remodeling the guesthouse daughter's nose. It is/was fine as it is/was.
Mohammad's parents originate from the Punjab and he, his brothers and his father were running around these days to help out in the organisation of Ashura for the Indian and Pakistani community in Mashhad. I accompanied them to their 'hussayni' (not sure if I spell it correctly, but by this I mean a religious ceremonial center that is used for hosting pilgrims), where I witnessed some of their ceremonies that consisted of praying, singing and self-inflicted pain. The main activity of the pilgrims is to sing a repetitive song that describes the death of the Imam, during which the believers hit themselves on the chest. Some had red bruises from the repetitive blows.



Out on the streets there were massive processions and whole groups of young guys that did similar exercises, but with metal chains attached to a wooden handle bar (like the child on the picture is holding on to; bend the twig and bend the tree).



There were also guys carrying an enormous metal construction of spears decorated with feathers, that looked very heavy. Others took a more relaxed approach and walked behind a light cart like the when depicted above.



Something I really enjoyed was the communal cooking that went on during these days. In neighbourhoods people chipped in money to prepare a thick stew made of wheat, chickpeas and meat. In big kettles (the type Obélix fell into when he was a child) men stir the brown substance with long wooden sticks for hours and hours. They take turns doing this and when the food's ready, it's distributed among the people. That weekend I had at least 5 plates of the stuff (every time served with the introduction: "We've got some traditional food that's prepared during these days..")


(Picture: man and woman)

In the second half of the week in Mashhad another 'micro-life[ formed itself around my second host's group of friends. Reza, the ambassador of couchsurfing in Mashhad offered me one of his spare rooms and told me to feel at home. I did, and had some great evenings at his place. One of them was to close 09 and start 10. Iranians don't celebrate this normally, their new year (No Ruz) starts with the first day of spring - something that makes more sense to me than celebrating a short (but not the shortest) and cold (but not the coldest) night in December - but now that Maria, Benno (a Swiss guy) and I were with them, they hosted a true 'NYE' as Reza kept on calling it.
That night I made 'oliebollen': deep-fried dough balls that Dutch people (from the shoeshiner to the queen; do we still have shoeshiners?) eat on NYE. Iranians like oliebollen. "Are there any oliebollies left?"


(Picture: Koen in the cave)

Benno and Mohammad. Two friends that met each other three years after their encounter on the road. Two fellow cyclists with whom I had a lot to share. Three years ago Benno cycled from Bern to Carnamah (in West-Australia) using roads and boats. He had prepared some presentations to give to the people in Mashhad. One for our microlife, one for the local mountaineering club. I attended both and at times it was as if I was listening to myself. His motivations and considerations are really very similar. But I have to admit, Benno did a better job preparing his trip. He took one year to get his website up and running (the 'le velo rouge' link under crossings), find a good cause (a school in Pakistan, and after he had passed there, a solar collector for the people he was going to meet in Australia) for which he would sell his kilometres (a true inspiration to me, who knows, perhaps I can do something similar in the future) and getting all the paperwork in order. He bought a locally produced red bicycle (hence the name of the project) and freed up time.
Up until Australia he had something like three (!) punctured tires and five days of rain (of which two in Switserland). Now that's what I call planning.

And then Mohammad. He has an equally interesting project: 'We need trees!' (See the link under crossings.) He makes a trip around the world, but does it in parts. He plants trees and gives workshops wherever people are interested in having them. Unfortunately return visits sometimes prove that the trees are not properly taken care off, so at the moment he's thinking of a way to make his project more durable. As his website shows, Mohammad is a first class photographer.
Mohammad invited me and Benno on a night-time mountain walk. His friend Jawad was to pick us up at 10pm the night Benno presented his trip at the club. Things ran a little late, and by the time we had filled the tank of the 4x4 with gas it was after midnight. Jawad than wondered out loud: we can either go to this mountain and walk all night, or we can have a good time, buy a chicken and have a barbecue at my house in the countryside. We bought a chicken. Remarkable that you can still buy stuff for a complete barbecue in any Iranian city after midnight.


(Picture: Benno in the cave)

The next day we did make a walk in the hills and visited a 1,5 kilometre deep cave. After the hike the car broke. We needed another battery, which was brought to us by a friend. A reminder what it means like to be dependent on a machine.


(Picture: Jawad and Mohammad, and Benno under the hood)

This has again turned into a marathon web session. I'm going to press 'x' and face the light. More soon!



OST
Let's start the year with an energetic track: 'Atlas' of the Brooklyn-based band Battles (how's that for alliteration). A song that has guided me on several occasions. I dedicate it to my friends in Mashhad that want to make music and like this song just as much as I do.