impressive

i am always impressed by the islamic penchant for neon lighting. In tehran, this is most evident at the train station, where there are life size palm trees made of fluorescent tubes, ten meter high firework explosions that catch the eye every few seconds (clever that- it means you dont need anyone to light or clean up real ones, just flick the light switch), and the piece de resistance, a full size steam locomotive (complete with neon steam billowing from the boiler) made from red, green, blue, yellow, and violet tubes. like i said: impressive.

and the kindness. at the risk of always taking the side of the underdog, i have never experienced a similar level of kindness and warmth to foreigners as i have done here. None of the brash in your face 'helloooooooooo my friend! welcome to cairoooooooooo!'. Just a subtle, ever present helping hand wherever you go. Front of the train ticket queue with 50 people? of course. Dont have change for the taxi? it's free. Chicken not on the menu? The assistant has aready gone to get it from the nearest place that does have it. amazing.

Today i walked past the old us embassy which was stormed a few years ago and is now used to train 'revolutionary guards'. some nice graffitti on the walls- ' america the great satan will pay',' we hate the US only less than the occupier of jerusalem'. Yikes. head down, keep walking. a good philosophy for life maybe.

the second question

Tehran, Iran

It's always the second question. It follows logically on from the first, and is asked without fail. It is accompanied by what i now understand to be a universal gesture that clarifies the question, and my response universally brings a nod of the head and a look in the eye of utter incomprehension. I don't think that it is that my answer is misunderstood, rather that my answer is not one of the possible answers in the answer list for the question. I'll take this opportunity then to ask my father publicly: How is it that i am from south africa and i am not black?

More kebabs, more buses, a nice train last night from tabriz and as always the grilling in the train compartment. It was funnier this time because of the way it was done, with a farsi english travel phrasebook- not my own- and set questions like : ' what is your name/address?' , and 'where would you like to be seated?'- I answered back by pointing to the phrase that read ' there are very big waves today'- at least they thought it was a bit funny.

Tehran like Cairo but a bit more subdued- nice nice people trying to shrug off the reputations of the worlds second worst villains. Most of these people would not know what an atomic reactor fuel is if it hit them in the head- me neither i suppose.

Here for a few days in search of an elusive tourist- more as it happens
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five in the afternoon

Tabriz, Iran

they say that marco polo came here a few hundred years ago and walked in the bazaar. just like me. i wonder if he had the problem of every second shop keeper approaching him, but then his hair probably wasnt standing up on end like mine. I didnt think it was so bad but a strange guy who approached me as i got off the bus this morning started off his pitch by offering the use of his comb. he even gave me a demonstration of what to do with it.

Samira Makhmalbaf made some movies about afghanistan that i saw a last year, most of them achingly depressing and desolate. its not too far from here, and the scenery is pretty much the same- mountains made from rock and dust and children playing in the dirt and women hurrying around all covered up. on the bus there was a man whose job it was to make sure that a man did not sit next to a woman. amazing.

Each time i think that i am getting a bit nervous about how isolated it is, i have to remind myself that this is these people existence. I f i were them i would have nowhere else to go. I guess that makes it ok ha.

And the smells. I tell you it is like living in the fourth dimension. I do not have the literary skills to tell you how my eyes search for the mint, the tea, the roasting meat, the spices, the carpets, the new shoes, the baklava houses, the petrol, the toilets, the barbers, the perfume sellers every time i pass. But for all the orientalist fantasy, this is the closest i have ever been to flying away on a magic carpet.

More as it happens
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apricots and pistachios

Maku, Iran

I met a traveler from an antique land
Who said: Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read,
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed,
And on the pedestal these words appear:
"My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings:
Look upon my works, ye Mighty, and despair!"
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away.

apricots and pistachios are what i always imagined iran to be made of. its been an interesting day, not least because of the number of vehicles that i have been in, not one of them owned by me. one official taxi, one unofficial taxi, one mini bus, one big bus, an army truck and a private car. all driven by very bushy mustachioed men (which rhymes with pistachioed hen) at surprisingly low speeds.

this morning was spent climbing to a castle in the snow, a poor armenian fellow built it a while ago, had some trouble at the hands of the turks, and its been left to swirl in the mist since then. It reminded me of something we read at high school- i guess there was a reason for us studying it after all.

and yet another day where kindness comes from everywhere, and a smile continues to get me a long way. oh, and the joke at every single border i cross about me being IRA. these guys are more famous than they think.

more as it happens
rx

un pasadıto al mundo

yaya. mosques ın the snow. the call to prayer as the sun sets over ancıent ruıns. thıs ıs what ıt ıs all about. funny how ı am startıng to feel more and more comfortable as thıngs become less and less famılıar, or maybe because they are ın fact more and more famılıar.

tonıght ı share a room wıth two old turkısh guys, or maybe armenıans, ı wıll have to ask. ı hope ı wıll not have to play domınoes to get the bed next to the heater. ı guess the usual backpacker questıons mıghth not be so ınterestıng for them, although they are wearıng proper fes' so that could be a start.

the sun rose thıs mornıng as the bus came through a snowy mountaın range- lıke ı have seen ın my frıend tom`s western chına pıctures. the whole bus wanted to know my name, and ı wasn`t allowed to sleep when the bus stopped, ı guess they thought ı was not able to know when ı should go to the toılet or not.

and so ıt contınues. back to the cold wıth wet shoes and a warm smıle.

more as ıt happens
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toikey

Goreme, Turkey
welcome my friend. welcome indeed. there is a foot of snow everywhere and my idea of escaping the cold of poland for warmer climates does not seem to have worked. think of me as a goose gone wrong.

the kebab is good, the turkish friendly, but i cannot help wishing i had someone here with me who could ride a bicycle amongst the hills and further east.

night strolls through istanbul led me to the bus station, not before remembering very clearly the statement in the teachers handbook from my first job in the middle east which said 'youll get off the plane and the smell will remind you of that certain something in your local corner store back home that you just can't put your finger on.

other than that its fairy chimneys, cold nights, and apple tea. The bus to Van leaves in an hour.

more as it happens
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inspirations

Volando voy,
volando vengo.
Por el camino yo me entretengo.
Enamorao de la vida
aunque a veces duela
si tengo frío
busco candela.

I guess i've had the inspiration- time to go- it could well have been the poster of the trojan horse draped with a turkish flag and big leters saying 'no to turkey in the eu' that can be seen in and around krakow.

Sometimes you wonder. On Monday I'm off to Istanbul and the posts will begin again. This is how i'll say hi so check it once in a while. Man', you can make comments now too :)

More as it happens
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subtitles

at what point in our lives do we start growing up and stop being the people that we always thought were the other- big people, or someone who likes one thing and not another, or someone that we always thought we were not and were determined to never be whoever that other person might be.

funny- one day you realize that your life has been lived by someone else, and that all that is new to you comes with the realization that it is something that you have always heard, and never understood, but finally do.

at what point do you realize that you life has been played out in so many movies whose name you cant remember, but you know the faces of the characters and theyve done it at least once before.

i think its called growing up, and i dont like it. someone said to me yesterday : 'its sounds like you dont want to stop being peter pan'. so true. but there is a half existence that lies between child and adult, and whatever it is that starts the getting old needs to be burned out and cauterized with flaming steel.

two upside down days in your life will turn any old scribbler into poe. I'd rather not be talented.

no croutons

precious ramotswe says: '...life is like that sometimes... you can think and think and think but at the end of the day you still have to eat your pumpkin.'

I agree, but it is difficult if you dont have any pumpkin to eat. So I made some stew. this is what you need:

butter
two big onions
one small pumpkin
two stock cubes
some stewing steak (gulasz wolowy po polsku)
another stock cube
too much pre-ground black pepper
cinnamon
water from a polish tap- which my friend malgosia says will kill you
brussel sprouts

and there you are. in a semi related note i found out that brussel sprouts are not universally hated by humans under the age of 10. on the contrary, Julia, a flesh and blood 5 and 3/4 year old actually asked for more.

more as it happens
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