Day 91 A New Province
SYNOPSIS: First impressions of Tabriz confirm that I am in a different province with different sentiments. Some thoughts about heat, nationalism, a sculptor, and a restoration concept. National pride? A national inferior complex? National tensions?It’s Friday – a slow day in Iran. The famous bazaar in Tabriz was closed and mosques are usually not open for visits on Friday either. I strolled through town without expecting to see much, just to get a feel for it. But as always, six hours later I saw and heard more than I thought I would.The Azerbaijan Museum was open – a fitting start for the new province I am at right now: Azerbaijan – not to be confused with the independent republic of the same name. The museum was a most pleasant surprise. It is small, but was filled with exquisite pieces of pottery, ancient artifacts and most impressive silver objects from the Sasanian and Achaemenid periods; all of the first order.But what impressed me the most was the basement. The artist’s Ahad Hosseini’s sculptural cycle was displayed there. From the brief English introduction I gather he was born in Tabriz, studied in various places in Europe and dedicated these sculptures to his hometown museum. Socialist Realism was my first thought: Depictions of oppressed people, gruesome war scenes and allegories of life. These pieces predate the revolution and therefore must refer to life under the Shah, but taken out of that context and put on a more timeless scale, they could be understood as direct criticisms of the current regime. I have no idea how they continue to be on display. There was a huge bronze cage with tortured people twisting in agony entitled “Political Prisoners”. Another platform entitled “Population Growth” depicted an endless number of small children crowding the limited space, a round and aging mother hovering over them and a skinny father covering his face in despair. A third display entitled “Demons of Death” had a hoard of barbaric cave-men types hurling missiles around, one engraved with the words “Uranium”. Go figure! I thought the sculptures were hideous. But I cannot deny that they grabbed my attention. Speaking of Uranium: I saw posters from the bus on my way to Teheran which read: Nuclear energy for all – Nuclear weapons for none! There is a good point!I had barely stepped out of the museum, when three young guys approached me: “Hello”, “How are you?”, “Where are you from?”, “Have you seen the Blue Mosque?” The usual. But these guys were persistent. After answering all of their questions, they made it pretty clear that they were there to stay, to accompany me, and to practice their English on me. So I gave in. The Blue Mosque next door was my next step anyhow. It is an impressive double-domed complex of mosque and shrine which once was one of the most significant buildings in all of Iran. An earthquake in the 18th Century nearly completely destroyed it. But in the 20th Century the brick structure was rebuilt by the government. The external blue tiling which gave the building its name remains only at the entrance portal.What gave me pause was an unusually comprehensive restoration project under way inside. The building once was covered in blue tiles forming complex geometric shapes. Few patches are left; enough to make out the overall patterns. Most of the lower walls now were covered in plaster, some already outlined with pencil drawings and the patterns were being painted in. The old and the new are clearly distinguishable by slight color variations and also by the material. But I wondered – is that necessary? Is the raw brick building with the few remaining patches not more impressive? Will the effort to create a completed product, which is really an illusion, be worth it? At what point do you accept that natural disasters have taken away national treasures that are irreplaceably lost? I had these and similar questions when I saw the reconstruction efforts at Bam.I then got an invitation to tea and sat down on the grass with my three attachments to chat: There was Hadi, an engineer, one of the few lucky ones with a job. There is Behzad with his baseball hat, studying to become a teacher and Akbar, one of the Bart Simpsons of Iran, who did not say much. Behzad got a text message every five minutes to update him on a very important football (soccer) game that was playing out that very moment: Tabriz against Teheran. But mind you, this was not just one Iranian team against another. These were two nations facing each other and the three made it very clear that their Azerbaijani national pride was at stake. From talking to them I got a clear sense how they considered themselves first to be Azaris, then Iranians. Most Iranians are Persians mixed in with a few other minorities. Azaris speak a Turkish dialect, have their own history, and they often feel that not enough credit is given to Azari contributions. They were very upset, that even abroad their famous carpets from Tabriz are sold as “Persian”. They talked about the government and how they live under the various rules. I got an update from them on the smoking ban – they claim that the ban on the nagileh (water pipe) was not enforceable and that it was lifted again. That would explain why I did see the hookah smoked in a few places but it goes to show that you just cannot trust any information you get on the street. Just to prove the point, I asked them if there were any Jews in Iran and all three of them claimed that they had never heard of any and did not think there would be any. By the time I left, the game stood at 1:1.Tabriz was a comfortable 22 degrees Celsius, the sun was shining and I felt like a fish in water. We sat in the shade and I noticed that all three guys were getting cold! On the way here I had photographed an old guy sitting in his woolen hat who had just slipped off a felt-lined coat only to sit there now in a woolen sweater over a long-sleeved shirt! I walked around comfortable in nothing much but a linen shirt. This morning, when I had checked into the hotel, the heat was on and my room was about 35 degrees! I turned it off and opened all the windows to let in the nice cool morning air. In the distance from my hotel window I am looking at snow capped mountains again. I am so glad, that my final days will be spent in a temperate climate. But how can people have their heat running all day at these temperatures or walk around in winter clothes? I wonder what it costs to run the heat here. I will have to ask around tomorrow. Gasoline is 1.5 cents per liter, or 6 cents per gallon…Good night.