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This is a report of a solo-trip to Iran, undertaken during July 1996 [please note that this was way before the election of Khatami]. I have compiled it from my travel notes, often omitting irrelevant details such as where I ate what, where I slept, and so on, but adding some afterthoughts and hindsights.

Iran, part 2

Pierre.Flener
2004-04-03 19:16:09

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12 - 13 July 1996: - Tabas - Mashhad

After Yazd, it is a long bus-haul north, straight through the desert, to Mashhad. As usual, the bus-ride is quite a cultural experience, and the crew is particularly friendly on this one. Halfway, at 10pm or so, we stop in the Tabas oasis for a picnic under the palmtrees of a park near the bus station. This is where in 1979 the US rescue attempt for the hostages held in Tehran failed after some of their helicopters crashed due to whirling up too much sand when flying low over the desert...
Mashhad-the-Holy turns into a quite harrowing, claustrophobic experience. Indeed, it is "Moharram", the mourning month, and the city is packed with seemingly millions (though it feels more like billions) of pilgrims who converge here to pay their respects at the tomb of Emam Reza, one of the major martyrs of Shi'ite Islam. The "savari" ride from the bus-terminal to downtown, along Kheyabun-e Emam Reza, soon confirms this, and I still do not understand how it was possible that I actually found a place to stay (admittedly, the "room", if one can say so, was the most disgusting one of my life, and I am not known for being picky about rooms).

Near my "mosaferkhune", on Moghaddas square, the throng of pilgrims fills half the boulevard: they are almost exclusively men, clad in black, and slowly shuffle forward to the Haram-e Motahhar-e Emam Reza, the holy precinct with the shrine. Drums are mournfully beaten, group leaders with loudspeakers wail prayers echoed by the pilgrims, and every couple seconds or so, synchronized with a single hollow drum beat, everybody flagellates themselves. No blood seems to be drawn from this, but it is ghostly enough to make a lasting imprint on my mind. It feels unbearable for me as a non-believer, but this is a once-in-a-lifetime experience. So, on the sidewalks, from where women and individual pilgrims observe the organized pilgrim groups on their procession, I work my way ...