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Welcome to the home of the official Vegemite Ambassador travel blog. A chronicle of mildly amusing journeys.

Friday, June 14, 2013

Iran Part I: It's not pronounced I RAN

Where does one even begin? Visiting Iran solo was such a daunting and liberating experience that I am not sure that I have the memory or vocabulary to pen my thoughts on this astonishing place. Be that as it may, I must attempt to immortalise and make sense of the bizarre events of the past weeks - hopefully for both your reading pleasure and my own posterity. This could be long, perhaps a cup of tea is in order? If you want the authentic Persian experience, drink it while it is so hot it burns your mouth and oesophagus. Anything that is just hot, warm, lukewarm or (heaven forbid) cold just won't do; push it aside as it was poison like a good Iranian!

At this point in time, telling people you are going to visit Iran evokes only one of two typical responses in Australia: "wait, what?!" or "why?!". People would look at you as if you are either intending to join a terrorist movement or you are walking into guaranteed kidnapping of some kind. Iran is wedged between some really crazy places (Iraq and Afghanistan) and thus everyone in the west assumes it can't really be different and must be heaving with terrorists. It's also portrayed as an imminent atomic threat to the entire planet and worthy of gun pointing and sabre rattling. It goes without saying that all of these views are foremost in your mind when visiting here but like a Persian cat, curiosity always somehow gets the better of the travelling soul and when you look at a map of the world and see these strange lands that seem so forbidden to you then can be no sating that wanderlust but to go there. Arguably the most dangerous zone on Earth is the comfort zone. You have to get out of it when you can!

To quote a popular idiom, "The mind is like a parachute; it works best only when it's open." and it certainly takes an open, albeit nervous, mind to set off to such a place and see how it truly was and is, and to perhaps also, given the limited interaction between these spheres of the world, give a view in return of your homeland to those there. It was time to put the best foot forwards again to the Middle East; once more the Vegemite Ambassador badge of office called.

Firstly, let me detail some of the difficulties of Iran travel. Iran has some pretty major issues right now; international economic sanctions targeting the country are crippling in many ways. Iran is effectively isolated from the world; you can't fly there directly from western countries (only via a select few countries that still maintain ties with Iran), no bank cards or credit cards work there due to being cut off from the international banking system, foreign mobile phone SIM's will not work there (nor can Iranian phone SIM's work overseas), and most useful travel websites for finding a place to stay and booking flights etc have all Iranian entries removed. To say that tourism here in general is difficult is an understatement.

To make matters worse, getting a visa is a real lottery. You can try to apply from home, but you need an official sponsor and getting one organised can be a case of real trial and error in an industry full of shonky operators. The other option is to simply show up at the airport and as an Australian you should get a visa on arrival - assuming you have sufficient funds, a planned itinerary, a return flight booked, accommodation booked for at least your first night, travel insurance, no Israel stamp in your passport, no alcohol in your bags (which do get searched), you are not a journalist by trade (especially since election time looms near) and you have 70 Euro exactly for the visa. If the immigration office likes the cut of your jib, is confident you will not promote your non-Islamic religion and you meet all of the above conditions you can get in and don't have to fly back home.

Money is the next real issue to face. Largely because of sanctions, the country suffers from rampant inflation as the foreign value of the Iranian Rial plummets each day before your very eyes. While it seems like it is good news for a would-be-traveller at first, it means the prices for goods and services are extremely unpredictable. Anything that requires or involves foreign imported products and services can be dramatically more expensive than expected and local goods can be dramatically cheaper than expected. Guidebook or internet information on the price of anything is pretty much out of date the moment it goes to print, which means you have to constantly stay on your toes and makes budgeting quite a challenge - especially given you need to bring all the money you think you might need with you ahead of time due to the cash only economy. The knowledge that tourists have to bring in all the cash they need on them makes you feel super comfortable too around the dodgy sorts.

Ultimately what this volatile economy means is that you are completely unsure what your money is really worth when paying for anything and to make matters worse, prices can be quoted in Rial or Toman: Toman being Rial divided by ten. Some places only ever quote in Toman, some in Rial, some just indicate the number of hundreds of Toman required. You are just kind of expected to know what will be quoted where. It's just absolutely bonkers to a tourist and due to the typically huge denominations of either Rial or Toman required for any transaction, many a time are you left slack-jawed, thrusting massive wads of cash at people that can be way too much money for a payment, or an insultingly short amount of money for a payment. Either way you will always be confused and the payee usually more so as to why you are struggling with what is obviously such a simple system.

Overall, Iran is a very cost-efficient place to travel and your money, especially if it is in the form of crisp, unfolded $100 US notes, will go a long way. Especially once you meet the Iranian people. And trust me, you will meet them.

The people of Iran make Iran. End of story. They are quite simply THE most amazing, kind-hearted, generous and welcoming people you could ever have the pleasure to encounter as a tourist. To Iranians, the guest; the traveller, is a gift from god. Sharing their life and house/office/shop and everything in their pantry with you, continuously and simultaneously, is a blessing from above for them and you both. My experience at the airport visa and immigration office was the very first taste of the character of the people and worth describing as an example.

The immigration officer was a chubby chap sporting a heavy moustache. He sat at a wooden desk surrounding by a sea of paperwork. It was a warm day and he had a sweaty sheen that the fan situating some five metres above him could do nothing for.

"There is problem with your passport." he said sheepishly as he tried his English on.

It's the last sentence you ever want to hear at an airport on landing, especially if you are the only tourist on the plane and consequently now the only person in the arrival hall. He explained that my passport expires on the 6th of December, which meant it *actually* expires on the 6th of June due to a bizarre six month pre-expiry date expiry date. This super special expiry date fell two days before the end of a standard Iranian 14 day tourist visa, even though I had planned to fly out before this threshold. There were several moments of awkward silence and innocent, sheepish looks to follow. I was confident I had done the right thing, he obviously wasn't confident a 12 day tourist visa was possible.

"Come, sit."

He motioned for me to go around the side of the wall and enter the immigration control office. There I sat, amongst important looking documents, stamps and a pile of money while he proceeded to call what I assume was the embassy in Tehran. Much arguing on the phone followed for 20 minutes and it didn't look good when it culminated in him slamming the phone down and sighing. He then turned to me slowly and I braced myself for another 14 hour flight.

"Friend, do you like to take tea?"

It wasn't what I was expecting at all. We were friends already? I nodded and he went into another room and came back with a silver tray with some freshly brewed tea and sugar crystals on it. Momentarily stunned by what was possibly the kindest and most welcoming border control I have ever seen, I forgot to begin drinking. He took that as an indication that I had no idea how to drink tea and began to demonstrate to me the technique for which I am glad I waited. You don't put the sugar IN the tea around here, you put the sugar crystal against your front two teeth and suck the tea around and through it, much to the satisfaction of dentists in the country everywhere I would imagine. He then cheerily hopped back on the phone and continued intermittent yelling for nearly another 30 minutes or so while I sipped tea nervously, worried for the enamel on my incisors.

*SLAM*

The phone call had been terminated violently again, followed by the same sigh. I thought this time exodus back to Australia was a certainty.

"My friend, do you like to take fruit?"

He left me again and I heard chopping sounds come from the other room. He returned with another platter of fruit, nuts and dates. I casually leaned forwards to enjoy the second course of the immigration office smorgasbord. He urged me to enjoy and eat as much as I liked while he got back on the phone and began his yelling contest again. I ate as peacefully as I could, laughing a little at just how bizarre this all was and suspecting that he gets even less tourists than even I had originally thought. Actually, I do remember the air stewardess on the plane also being completely shocked to see a solo Australian flying to Iran, not for work or journalism, just to backpack. Her disbelief, combined with the fact she had handed her resignation in, allowed her to basically ignore serving the other passengers to sit on the seat next to me to talk about why the hell I was doing this. She told me she had just quit her job for Emirates Airways, and she was to become a mining truck driver; I replied to her "you will also be entering a very foreign and daunting place too then!".

Two hours later the surly immigration man had achieved the impossible. He hung up the phone one last time, leaned back in his chair, arms folded behind his head, smiling slightly. He had did it. The satisfaction on his face was priceless; one man, had taken on the establishment in a class action and had emerged triumphant over bureaucracy. He poured me another tea and we shared a drink, he gave me his email address and the printer produced the golden ticket. I emerged from the immigration office refreshed, well fed, with an extra bag of bonus dates, free to enter Persia ... no more waiting, all that stood in the way was a final passport check ... at a border control that was now no longer manned because everyone had gone home. Ok, turns out there had to be a little more waiting then ...

This initial flurry of hospitality, in what is normally one of the scariest and most nerve-wracking parts of any country entry, was a glimpse of what was to come. The first afternoon in Tehran was spent with two new friends and then another new friend that night. The next day with another new friend and then two more in the afternoon, followed by an overnight stay at another new friend's house after a big dinner in the mountains with even more new friends. In fact, the remainder of the trip was spent encountering and getting to know new people at every turn and then staying with them. It became embarrassingly difficult to remember whom I was staying with and what their names were. This absolute whirlwind of generosity and friendship, all offered by these wonderful people to a total stranger, a friend of a friend of a friend, was completely and utterly humbling. To complete the maximisation of my level of guilt and unworthiness, I found it almost impossible to pay for anything anywhere I went. I would give money to people and they would give it straight back or give it to someone else to give back to me later so that I could not reject it. It was just so damned frustrating that everyone was so damned awesome.

Iran and its people reaffirm my faith in humanity, purely by their ability to be SO kind to a lost and lonely soul in their land. In my view, if you ever do go to Iran, you'll probably come to see archaeological and cultural wonders like I did but you'll leave knowing the same thing as I - it is the people that really make this country a true spectacle and in many ways I want to encourage everyone to visit, but in some ways I only want a few people to visit, and those that do visit to be so respectful and be SO grateful for what they might experience here. I really never want paradise found to become paradise lost anywhere, especially here.

So for all the people that made this journey brilliant (especially if you are reading this and the entries to follow), from the immigration officer in Tehran airport, to my myriad of amazing new friends in Iran, to the numerous food vendors that continuously gave me and my friends free food, to the armies of random people that excitably said "Hello, you are welcome in Iran!", to the teenage kids who are willing to be free tourist guides for hours on end, to the bus drivers who would actually bother to get up and wake me up at my stop, to the underground metro police officers who never seemed to care if I had a valid ticket, to the children who persisted in teaching me Farsi despite my inability to master the "kh" sound, and even the dude in Dubai airport passport control who high-fived when he saw I came from Iran for tourism; I say thank you. Thank you for making this trip so special and allowing me to be so welcomed. How beautiful a thing is this distant and misunderstood land.

This is me signing off for this instalment, but don't worry, there is more to come about Iran, I have so much more to say but I really couldn't start without getting this first part off my chest. My level of guilt has now dropped a notch, maybe.

Wednesday, June 12, 2013

Dubai or not Dubai



That is the question.

For a pretty damn long time Dubai, and the other Arab Emirates were little more than long lost desert outposts that pretty much no one cared about. That is until they found lots of black liquid hydrocarbons under the shifting sands. Now, Dubai and the other Arab Emirates stick out of the desert like a big shiny, expensive sore thumb; oil money coursing through the veins of overwhelming shopping centres.

To most Australians (including myself) Dubai, for all its glory, is considered as practically little more than a super fancy stop over point for long haul flights to Europe and other destinations. Yet, despite this highly practical function, the emirates are pretty keen to make cities like Dubai to be a worthy destination in their own right. Dubai in particular is home to many of the biggest-of-their-kind objects in the world from the Dancing Fountain to the ludicrously big Burj Khalifa to the humble 12” camel sub.

Therein lies the paradox; the conflict between a very strict and conservative religious population and complete saturation of western style consumerism. It feels odd to be in a part of the world that is generally known for despising western culture, yet is embracing the same western consumerism many claim is the root of all the world’s evil. Oh well, I guess if you really are a distinguished Dubian man and must shop for your many wives then you might as well do it in style.

On that point of clothing, when it comes to traditional garb, Arab men really do have the sweeter deal. Wearing loose, long, flowing white cloth in a country with over 350 sunny days per year and 40 to 50 degree desert heat in summer is amazingly practical and when I foolishly walked the streets during the day (I felt very lonely) and was exposed to said heat I suddenly found myself envying their cool looking outfits. But the women wearing all black? Come on, where is it in holy scriptures that says that women must melt in a pool of sweat in the desert sun to maintain modesty? I touched the black fabric of one of these outfits in a shop on the street in full sun and it was like caressing fire. It really just doesn't seem that fair or nice to me but I guess the black is really nice in the winter! No, wait. No advantage there ... there must be some other pro for all black? Ahh yes, it is easier to keep clean then all white when chowing down on a McArabia: the burger of choice for all oil tycoons and their ilk.

Dubai is actually surprising green for somewhere that has a climate similar to hell. The greenery therefore defies all logic, until you realise that pretty much every plant in the city has its own dedicated irrigation channel supplied by water from massive water desalination plants. Basically the entire city's plant based life is on permanent life support and there it shall stay ever green ... well, until peak oil is hit I guess.

The Emiratis are most definitely not afraid of shaping the land to their needs. In case you haven’t seen, look at Google Maps of Dubai. You’ll observe the many man-made islands of the coast places in the middle of the Arabian Gulf (or Persian Gulf depending on whose side you’re on). These islands take all sorts of fanciful shapes and while they look pretty cool, the water around them doesn’t look so great. Nobody read about tidal water stagnation I think when coming up with these grand designs.

Dubai has a varied population, there are many, many ex-pats from all over the world. But one ethnic group dominates all others: the Indians. This city is fundamentally powered by Indians. Without them and their hard work Dubai simply would not work. In fact, the Indian people are often referred to as the fathers of Dubai. While interesting, the main advantage of this I see is simple: access to awesome Indian curries and that my friends is always a beautiful thing.

Dubai, like other Muslim countries in this region, isn't real big on public displays of affection. Should the affection police catch you getting a bit too comfortable with a hug or daring to connect lips then you'll be on the express lane to some desert prison which I think won't be as shiny and well invested. Oddly enough though, despite this hardline stance against the evils of public affection, the area where I stayed seemed to have quite a few prostitutes loitering around. I guess sinning is morally acceptable at home, just not around town.

My time here was short, and most of it spent trying to find my place to stay since they have no working street address system. Dubai is interesting, but not particularly social or historical and overall people wear too much musk. But it has some amazing modern sights and I am pretty sure it is the only desert in the world where you can go skiing. For some this place would be paradise, but it's not really my thing I must say and I certainly was one of the shoddiest looking travellers in the city. Perhaps in my case the Arab saying, "How sweet a visit is a rapid raid." holds particularly true.