Friday is the equivalent of Sunday in the west. It is the day of prayer, a day of rest. Shops are shut the streets remain quiet although there is always traffic moving. We have decided to not do too much in one day, as the heat makes life quite uncomfortable, especially for Linda in her long black coat and scarf.
We awaken at 7:15 having missed the alarm. No matter: everything is closed or opens late today. The street below is quiet, with only a smattering of cars passing by. Far away across the rooftops of the city, the Alborz Mountains — the North Star of Tehran — stand shimmering in the morning sun. They were all but invisible yesterday, such is the pollution of Iran’s air.
After a breakfast of eggs bread, carrot jam (!) and chai we venture out into the streets. It is pleasantly cool and there is no one about. We walk up to the Meidūn-é-Imam Khomeini where fountains are playing surrounded by trees and well-kept gardens. It makes an interesting juxtaposition with the giant bulk of the Central Communications Building, a towering structure of grey concrete, from whose roof bristles an array of antenna and satellite dishes.
We walk for 15 minutes along the wide main street until we reach a tiny park with fountains playing into the leaves of tall maple trees and the ground is covered with lush grass. The streets are impeccably clean and it is obvious that they have been swept and washed at an early hour. Our route takes us along a small avenue, past a heavily guarded police station, to the Mūzé-yé Ábginé where we want to look at some ceramics and glassware from over 5,000 years of Persian history
The policeman on guard at the gate tells us it isn’t open until nine so we repair to a shop for some orange juice then return. The collection is housed in an amazingly-designed building whose architecture manages to fuse Eastern and Western styles into a successful blend. It is set in a small neat garden of roses, Corsican pines, and, because no Persian garden would be complete without one, a small tinkling fountain. The dominant feature of the building is the circular, staircase done out in polished wood, which curves outwards, clockwise and anti-clockwise from a central pier.
The exhibits of glassware and ceramics are sumptuous, and a great deal of time and thought has gone into the display. A chart at the entrance describes the chronological sequence of events, showing that the civilisations of Persia are at least 2,000 years older than those of Sumeria, or Myacena.
We spend about half an hour in the museum — it isn’t very big — then buy some postcards and take tea with the curator in his little office which gives pleasant relief from the otherwise airless building.
Walking back towards the park, we pause for a look into the grounds of a Christian church surrounded by very high walls. The compound is an oasis of trees and ivy-covered ground. The church itself is very spartan and functional, but its actual existence is testimony to the tenacity of Christians to worship even in a devoutly Muslim country like Iran. The atmosphere here during the Revolution must have been very tense.
We spend an hour in the park where a row of fountains and tall stands of trees keep the air cool. Many people are there, mainly men in small groups talking earnestly and laughing heartily. The streets are becoming hotter as we make our way along to the bazaar, which is closed and shuttered. Its long streets are dark and mysterious without the hubbub of people which filled them yesterday.
We make our way slowly back towards the hotel, pausing for a Zamzam cola in a small shop and checking out hotel prices for tomorrow night. Eventually, we find a place called Hotel Khazar Sea which will take us for T6001 per night. A vast saving on the T7,300 we are being charged at the Hotel Tehran Göl. Back at the hotel, we pass the heat of the day sleeping and reading.
1 The term “toman” is still commonly used unofficially to describe money in Iran. Although the official currency is the Rial, many Iranians use the term toman in everyday transactions and pricing. The toman is equivalent to 10 rials, which simplifies calculations and conversations about prices, especially given the high inflation and large numbers of zeros in the rial amounts. This informal use persists widely across different sectors of the economy, from markets to real estate.
8:45 PM – HOTEL KHAZAR SEA
We have a smart argument with the management of the Hotel Tehran Göl and leave. We have been out for an afternoon walk between 4:30 and 5:30.
The afternoon heat is still oppressive as we walk up to look at the Madrasé va Masjid-é Sepahsālār, a large mosque with ornate tilework covering its dome. Being Friday it is closed except for prayers. So we carry on up to the Meidūn-é-Bahārestán where fountains play and we can sit in the shade of a leafy tree.
It takes about half an hour to walk back down to Maidan-i-Imam Khomeini. The small grass park on the east side of the square is now shaded by the monolithic bulk of the Communications Building and every bench is taken up with people enjoying the shade. A few souls brave the wrath of a green-overalled park worker with a green plastic whistle and a hose. He wets the grass so nobody can lie on it, even squirting a cheeky soldier who doesn’t get out of the way quickly enough.
Later on, as we walk out of the hotel to get something to eat, the git behind that desk asks for more money. I tell him we will talk when we return. Dinner is chelo kebabi again, very nice and even cheaper than last night at T450 for two.
Back at the Tehran Göl, I argue unsuccessfully with the fucker behind the desk. He insists we have stayed for two nights and wants another US $15 His reasoning is that we arrived at 4:30 am which is still night. So we have already stayed for two nights. I tell him that we will not pay any more and that is his problem. He refuses to budge so we leave.
CurseOfTheTraveller 