Whoa... what can I say?
Completing the pilgrimage to Persepolis, or locally known as Takht-e Jamshid, was not just a mandatory trip down to one of the most well preserved ancient sites of a former glorious empire, its nearby tombs of the former great kings with resume detailing conquests covering almost every corner of the profitable routes and cities shone by the aging sun will not fail to impress even the harshest critic.
Completing the pilgrimage to Persepolis, or locally known as Takht-e Jamshid, was not just a mandatory trip down to one of the most well preserved ancient sites of a former glorious empire, its nearby tombs of the former great kings with resume detailing conquests covering almost every corner of the profitable routes and cities shone by the aging sun will not fail to impress even the harshest critic.
Humane sentiments found expression in the nobility and sheer beauty of the building: more rational and gracious than the work of the Assyrians or Hittites, more lucid and humane than that of the Egyptians. The beauty of Persepolis is not the accidental counterpart of mere size and costly display; it is the result of beauty being specifically recognised as sovereign value. - Arthur Upham Pope
Come to be blown away. The scorching heat crept quickly to uncomfortable limits and it was getting difficult to balance the sandy winds dancing in a desert ghoulish set across the rocky terrain that held the great halls and remnants of great courts, statues of religious and military importance, and the lasting marks of former colonisation as apparent from the missing columns and archaeology pieces, now resting their immortal sleep in the great museums akin to the Louvre and the British Museum. Interestingly, the content one playing second fiddle but no less stunning was the Naqsh-e Rostam bore equal resemblance of past lootings despite retaining quite well (given all the circumstances) its outer facade. What was left to the interior, I had no idea given the access was cut off from a lack of natural stairs or ladder that probably were removed long after anyone had bothered remembering. Any guess was as good as any conjured fantasy of the wildest, richest, and formidable amassing of empire wealth.
Like they said, a little knowledge can be a dangerous thing.
They were still, very hospitable - making sure that we got home safely by squeezing us into a little road nightmare with the rest of the family. A very good opportunity to meet different perspectives but I was beginning to see clearly that beyond the much more promoted rights of women to education and access (such as independence to drive alone - in Saudi Arabia, you can forget about it), their hatred for everything Arabic (they believed, in their very words, those barbarians screwed up their culture by the massacre of their great books and relics) and the pondering of the world beyond. An old friendly tent maker asked us - "Is it better to move to Australia? How different is it? I have many friends here, but should I go for my children?"
Sadly, we didn't have the right answer.
How could we when I was still building a gradual understanding of the place and people? Who was I to hand over a solution?
That night, an earthquake, 6.1 on the Richter Scale hit the town for 15 seconds. More rushed out to the stairwell and we received an endless consolation of advice. This up until today, was the Iran that took us in with a full embrace. And just like a rotten functioning gate with a useless door-stop, it didn't pause in its wave of smiles and bitterness. There was welcoming happiness at times, but there was, not I hope to last though, an ongoing sense of loss and confusion about their identity and the future.
If this entry sounded all doom and gloom, then take heart. In the midst of the earthquake, I ran out into the emergency stairwell and turned to ask hubby "okay honey, now what?" in the most G.I. Jane manner tell-me-the-command-and-I'll-do-it, breathless and adrenaline-charged. Bless him, he not only didn't laugh at my face but adored me!
So you see? It pays to marry the right man because life will never cease to be positive even when you contemplate being possibly buried underneath some Persian rubble. You don't think about yourself, you just think about how to scurry off to look for oxygen pockets and drinking water for your beloved. And he? Just smiled that special smile that only a husband can give.
Call me the eternal sunshine optimist.
Come to be blown away. The scorching heat crept quickly to uncomfortable limits and it was getting difficult to balance the sandy winds dancing in a desert ghoulish set across the rocky terrain that held the great halls and remnants of great courts, statues of religious and military importance, and the lasting marks of former colonisation as apparent from the missing columns and archaeology pieces, now resting their immortal sleep in the great museums akin to the Louvre and the British Museum. Interestingly, the content one playing second fiddle but no less stunning was the Naqsh-e Rostam bore equal resemblance of past lootings despite retaining quite well (given all the circumstances) its outer facade. What was left to the interior, I had no idea given the access was cut off from a lack of natural stairs or ladder that probably were removed long after anyone had bothered remembering. Any guess was as good as any conjured fantasy of the wildest, richest, and formidable amassing of empire wealth.
My contact with the locals was slow, albeit at the most unexpected times, we did make amazing progress given the considerations. Shiraz was much more relaxed (being a relative term here) yet I had quite a task to get a reciprocated smile from the women. Even the children held a curious but stony stare. Those that did pass a quick wave were far and few in between, but always appreciated.
We did meet a local boy who was learning to be a tour guide and he offered to take us around the city for free, in return to practice his English. Prior to breaking much of the ice, we began to learn that he hadn't yet acquired the finesse of listening and not shouting every sentence without a full-stop. Wanting very much to help out the locals, we tried to encourage him without succumbing to questions that went unanswered and a split eardrum.
But the Holy Shrine of Aramgah-e Shah-e Cheragh that he took us was blindingly spectacular. Walking past the strict security, we feasted upon the articulate inlaid glass frescoe within the tombs and peaceful compound punctuated by the hurricane waves of passing doves in a hour magical only by the extra touch of an unforgettable sunset amidst the chaos outside on the polluted roads and mad drivers. Finding my way around a new world through the wraps of my chador, I took myself by the hand and walked into the innocent chambers of wonderment that could only come when one stopped being obsessed with the incessant staring from a curious, strange world around you.
I must said that I wasn't exactly touching the pulse of the nation but so far, I was getting a sad vibe of indifference that was worn by many, but particularly any female above seven, underneath a layer of defiance and desire to break out and find the world beyond. I wasn't sure if many had settled to blend in and accept their resigned lot but there was a pervasive smell of putrid desolate defeat. Many international news websites were banned. Social networking? Forget it.
We did meet a local boy who was learning to be a tour guide and he offered to take us around the city for free, in return to practice his English. Prior to breaking much of the ice, we began to learn that he hadn't yet acquired the finesse of listening and not shouting every sentence without a full-stop. Wanting very much to help out the locals, we tried to encourage him without succumbing to questions that went unanswered and a split eardrum.
But the Holy Shrine of Aramgah-e Shah-e Cheragh that he took us was blindingly spectacular. Walking past the strict security, we feasted upon the articulate inlaid glass frescoe within the tombs and peaceful compound punctuated by the hurricane waves of passing doves in a hour magical only by the extra touch of an unforgettable sunset amidst the chaos outside on the polluted roads and mad drivers. Finding my way around a new world through the wraps of my chador, I took myself by the hand and walked into the innocent chambers of wonderment that could only come when one stopped being obsessed with the incessant staring from a curious, strange world around you.
I must said that I wasn't exactly touching the pulse of the nation but so far, I was getting a sad vibe of indifference that was worn by many, but particularly any female above seven, underneath a layer of defiance and desire to break out and find the world beyond. I wasn't sure if many had settled to blend in and accept their resigned lot but there was a pervasive smell of putrid desolate defeat. Many international news websites were banned. Social networking? Forget it.
It seemed that the government was bend on closing their people's access with the world, "protecting" the precious sanctity of their Shiite devotion from the tarnishing effects of the "West" not realising at the same time, wiping away all the good and nurturing. Many we spoke with were admired for their dedication to their faith yet many more, especially from the younger generation, wished to leave. For every one that rebelled, more were imprisoned. There was no proper auditing and publication on where the funds were going. Public subsidisation did help a lot in building some of the best road infrastructure we can expect yet asked any Iranian, you would most likely to get a grim quiet confession on their distrust to hand the loaded gun to a child's hand when it came to nuclear energy development. They believed it would set Iran on the stage to become the sitting duck of international annihilation.
Yet more disturbingly, many didn't seem to be well informed regarding the general knowledge that could help to understand a past to build a better future. Shockingly, our new friend who took us around the shrine and back to meet his family, whom later treated us graciously to a simple but lovely dinner, got a vote of alarm from our books when he showed a complete disregard to his country's population, Zoroastrian, and the confrontational questioning about things beyond his own culture. It seemed he was totally subjected to the fact that it was "right" to want to cut the throat of Americans because they wanted to burn their Quran. I explained the full course of the recent debacle, and he was proven to be dispossessed of the complete, updated developments. I took pain to help him to understand that for one American and one monkey of a former president that had made the United States of America so unpopular, many more condemned the act of disrespecting the beliefs of others. We tried to help him with his questions, done unintentionally, on the acts of cremation adhered by the Hindu devouts in India. He seemed so out of touch and depth that it was disconcerting to see that a majority of Iranians could possibly be fed half the truth that was convenient to the propaganda's flavour of the month.
Like they said, a little knowledge can be a dangerous thing.
They were still, very hospitable - making sure that we got home safely by squeezing us into a little road nightmare with the rest of the family. A very good opportunity to meet different perspectives but I was beginning to see clearly that beyond the much more promoted rights of women to education and access (such as independence to drive alone - in Saudi Arabia, you can forget about it), their hatred for everything Arabic (they believed, in their very words, those barbarians screwed up their culture by the massacre of their great books and relics) and the pondering of the world beyond. An old friendly tent maker asked us - "Is it better to move to Australia? How different is it? I have many friends here, but should I go for my children?"
Sadly, we didn't have the right answer.
How could we when I was still building a gradual understanding of the place and people? Who was I to hand over a solution?
That night, an earthquake, 6.1 on the Richter Scale hit the town for 15 seconds. More rushed out to the stairwell and we received an endless consolation of advice. This up until today, was the Iran that took us in with a full embrace. And just like a rotten functioning gate with a useless door-stop, it didn't pause in its wave of smiles and bitterness. There was welcoming happiness at times, but there was, not I hope to last though, an ongoing sense of loss and confusion about their identity and the future.
If this entry sounded all doom and gloom, then take heart. In the midst of the earthquake, I ran out into the emergency stairwell and turned to ask hubby "okay honey, now what?" in the most G.I. Jane manner tell-me-the-command-and-I'll-do-it, breathless and adrenaline-charged. Bless him, he not only didn't laugh at my face but adored me!
So you see? It pays to marry the right man because life will never cease to be positive even when you contemplate being possibly buried underneath some Persian rubble. You don't think about yourself, you just think about how to scurry off to look for oxygen pockets and drinking water for your beloved. And he? Just smiled that special smile that only a husband can give.
Call me the eternal sunshine optimist.
