This morning at breakfast, we met two German tourists who are travelling the whole Silk Road. She is an architect, and he is a pilot for Lufthansa. He took a voluntary year’s leave during the economic downturn to travel. They’ve spent several days in Iran, but were unable to get into the shrine – small wonder as they really stood out. So we offered to meet up with them later when we would be going to the shrine if they wanted to come with us.
We hired two taxis with drivers to take us all for a drive to the countryside near Mashad. We stopped for lunch at Shandiz, a very famous restaurant that it seems like everybody who visits Mashad raves about. And no wonder – it has a wonderful setting with seating platforms covered with Persian rugs, creeks, plenty of trees and beautiful landscaping, and great food! However, I did find it amusing that with my lunch I was drinking a Coca Cola, and over the musak playing was Kenny G!
Along the drive home, we passed a huge park with a ferris wheel. Mom looked at it and quietly remarked on how much it was like life- sometimes up, sometime down. I just loved her perspective - especially as she has seen a lot of those ups and downs in her own life.
It’s interesting being in Mashad as opposed to Tehran. Because it is does not have as much foreign business or tourism going on here, and many people visiting here are on a pilgrimage, often from rural areas, I get a lot of people looking at me here. Actually, I have people staring at me most of the time. I never feel it’s particularly malicious, just intensely curious. I suppose most westerners don’t think of coming to this corner of Iran, as close as it is to Afghanistan, and yet it's a world away too. When I tell people back home I've been to Mashad (we came here 7 years ago) and describe where it is, they ask me if I am afraid here. The answer is no. Iran is not Afghanistan - plain and simple. I am no more afraid here than I would be in Phoenix right now with all the violence that's been happening south of the border in Mexico.
In the evening, we returned to the shrine. Stephanie, our new friend from Germany, came with me – luckily a group of women was going into the shrine at the same time, so we kind of piggybacked with their group and were not asked any questions (I was also careful to leave my purse at home!).
It’s hard to describe the shrine. The entire ceilings and walls are covered in mirror mosaics, there are crystal chandeliers, and then the gold "zareeh" or tomb of Imam Reza. The whole place sparkles with light dancing off tiny pieces of mirror and crystals, and underneath one’s feet is the softness of intricately patterned Persian carpets in reds, blues, golds and greens. Simply put – it’s breathtaking. One can’t help but be in awe. But as I mentioned before, it’s also comfortable – I can sit down on one of the carpets and just think, read, pray or talk with others. Or, as I found on a previous trip, if I’m really tired, I can pull the chador I have to wear in the shrine over my head and take a short nap!
As we were finishing up our visit to the shrine, I saw something very interesting. During Azan, the call to prayer, I noticed a young woman in the courtyard holding up her cell phone or MP3 player (I couldn’t tell which), apparently recording the Azan. I am told - and from what I have heard myself I believe it’s true - that the Azan in Iran is different from other places; that it’s more musical. I can’t blame the young woman for recording it. As a musician, I actually find the Azan enchanting and lyrical. I remember an Iranian friend of mine in the States telling me once she really missed the Azan each day, even though she was not particularly religious. I couldn’t understand it at the time, but interestingly enough, now that I’ve been to Iran a few times, I find the same thing. And if I hear a recording of Azan when I’m back at home, I find it makes me a little homesick for Iran. It’s just part of the fabric here, part of the landscape, part of the sensory experience that I know I’ll miss when I return.
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