22:00
I had to gasp out “Istashion – Istashion” as the dolmus driver on his last run of the evening was just about to drive right past the train station in pitch black (some times their vehicle lights are turned off – to save electricity or out of laziness I’m not quite sure…). All the locals on the bus, balmy with the thought of impending sleep, waved us goodbye.
This is the third time we had come to the remote train station that day. We dashed straight there from the airport in an expensive taxi in the mid afternoon hoping we could get the only train of the week out to Iran that night. The station was completely empty at 3pm and there were only a couple of men painting some chairs. We left assuming that the station was closed for refurbishments, because unlike in Istanbul, very few locals spoke any foreign languages that we could effectively communicate in and our phrase book (well, more like a list) was only about 15 lines long. So back to town on the expensive taxi. Thankfully the gentleman at the tourist office in town rang the station master, who was in fact afternoon-napping, ensured that the station was not closed, but we had to go all the way back to get the tickets. Having just woken up on our second visit, the Station Master told us via various animated signing and drawings that the train that was originally scheduled for 7pm had had “some problems” and that it would depart at 4am instead. Having little money for a temporary hotel room, we literally thought we would need to wait out in the platform in the stark snow till the wee hours of the morning before having to wave down the oncoming train.
But luckily no hypothermia to kill us tonight. At 10pm (we scheduled to get the last dolmus of the evening as we couldn’t afford any more taxis) as we meandered towards what we assumed was an empty platform, a large orange carriage was sitting there on the track – and it happened to be ours!! The prospect of not having to set fire to our spare cloths just to keep warm out on the concrete created exhilarating excitement, and to put the cherry on top we were assigned our own private cabin next to the cabin steward – Hassan, a gentle looking Persian who was courteous and helpful, and made a total fuss over us, bringing us water, blankets, showing us how to use various switches in the cabin etc. We bunked down into somber on the train to the sound of Skimble Shanks the Railway Cat, waiting for the 4am departure.
24/12
02:55
It was quite apparent that Hassan has a total crush on us. Through out the early hours of the morning he kept on coming into check-up on us for no apparent reason, (we locked our doors but he had a ‘special key’) and then three more different officers came through to double and triple check our tickets and passports, and then there were a few other passengers coming in pretending to check if we had taken their seats but was probably just there for a nosey beak at us. They were shooshed away by Hassan, who followed this with a string of apologies, even though he was the one that would barge in unannounced… Despite the interruptions, the bumpy ride which was to last for the next two days finally started some time after 4, and I dozed off like a baby.
07:10
I woke up to a stream of white light. Imagine my astonishment and joy when I looked out the window to find that we were riding through a scenery completely covered in snow in the shadow of a stretch of pure white mountain rage, the landscape to vast, open, bright, completely unspoilt and not a spec of cloud in the dazzling sky. I felt irresistibly refreshed with a feeling of pureness, as if I’ve just been washed under a waterfall. The strangely unearthly feeling of moving slowly through this whiteness is a bit like being pulled on a sled, but then again probably more like flying. Despite feeling the clinking track under my feet, there seems to be no sound except that of the melting snow…
09:05
Hassan comes in unannounced again to announce that we would need to get dressed up for passport control to exist the Turkish boarder at Kapikoy. Its more of a train depo manned by disgruntled public servants than a settlement. Several empty trains parked so still under the mountain range, yellow painted government building lie like match boxes that could be easily blown away. This was beginning to remind me of scenes from World War II movies where POWs or refugees would try and escape the Nazis with fake papers, but
one or two unlucky ones would always get found out and get shot as they ran across the tracks…Inside the office, passengers lined up according to gender, and the men outnumbered women. Our fellow passengers were mostly emotionless, whether from impatience or tiredness or both, making little eye contact or interaction and conversation with each other. Of the women that were present, most were middle aged or above. The teenage girl we tried to speak to to clarify the queuing process (another blog entry all together) was so shy that she hid behind her headscarf and smiled awkwardly replying in Turkish, probably saying that she didn’t understand us.
09:40
We rolled in very low speed passed a thinly barb-wired line that was the physical boarder to Iran. On the other side, a lone soldier was patrolling it with a rifle, his dragging footprints obviously visible in the snow. 20 meters away on a hill, a large singular cylinder shaped forts sits watching on the first hill top, flying the Iranian flag. The carriage moved past a large U shaped single story building that is probably a military compound.
10:00
Snow ceding on the cliffs as we move closer and closer to a dryer and browner landscape, more stereotypical of what I’ve seen of the middle east countryside on television. Small settlements scatter between tickling streams moving steadily around ice and bare stones. The disadvantage is going through countless tunnels and your eyes have to adjust to light and dark in the matter of seconds, like moving across giant chess board. But the great thing of having the train track through the middle of a mountain range is that you can have an incredible view both below and above. Both ways looked endlessly open, and either way you end up being consumed, you would still feel as though you barely exist.
10:25
An Iranian Passport Officer, who was surprisingly dressed like a Texas Sheriff, is on board to OK our visas, which saved us from having to get off and que in another cold sterile building. For the first time, we had to acclimatise to getting fully dressed in headscraves and black jackets whenever we go outside the cabin or when a visitor knocks on the door.
10:45
Iran. Singular highways, power poles, and of course this train – are the only signs of human existence as we move through a flat landscape. Shades of yellow under a mild sunny day and a few long strips of cloud hang above the haze in the distance.
10:50
The farmlands are dry, cracked, and often scattered with bits of rubbish. A flock of sheep was being ushered across the dusty road by an elderly man in a woolen hat and curvy sheppard’s stick that could have just walked out of a Biblical story. Except the Islamic call-to-prayer breaks this thought by being broadcasted through the built in radio of the cabin. Perfect, perfect soundtrack.
Shanti and I simultaneously begin to emotionally-eat.
11:30
Another checkpoint – this time at Tabriz, for the contents of our luggage. Tabriz, one of the major cities on the boarder, where the invading Mongols in the 13th century had once made their Western capital.
The Customs Officer poked half his face through the door. He was joyously friendly with a grey beard and thin long face. Before he even demanded our papers he said in perfect English “Oh I know, you are the Thailand looking Kiwi and the other must be the must be the Australian that is a bit Indistan and a bit Cheenoi. Yes OK know all about you two, nothing out of order you got here right? OK, Welcome to Iraaaannnn!” He beamed and looked at us fondly. News travels faster than this train, obviously.
Out in the corridor more men walked past frequently, and all I am thinking about right now is that on the very first few days we’ll just need to adjust into a new mind set and keep a very low profile. I am quite alarmed at how unpredictable it is for a random officers of any kind to walk in, as we were over-heated I only had on a thin V-neck top, and everytime there’s a knock on the door I’ve had to quickly re-dress in my black jacket and readjust the headscrarf, feeling paranoid that some one will walk past and find us ‘underdressed’. I felt more and more like a recluse maiden inside a veiled chamber, gazing cautiously out through the small gap of the cabin door.
12:00
Its just gone past midday and it has a strange summer feel in Tabriz. The light from outside is a little glowin orange and the overheating centrally aircon is filling up the cabin with stuffy air. It reminds me strangely of the Australian Outback.
More home-sickness for another home resumes. If I was to have a bowl of beef noodle soup drenched in coriander and fresh red chillis in a street corner in Taipei right now over lemon ice-tea, pigs-ears thinly sliced and crunchy seaweed marinated in garlic.
Pigs-ears?
14:10
After Tabriz we passed a few oil refinements (I dared not take pictures).
I’ve been snacking on sultanas, almonds and Shanti’s sunflower seeds all morning. The delay at Tabriz, the heat, and then the slowness time passed in the afternoon was becoming frustrating. Boredom ensues, and we began playing silly buggers, dressing up, conducting facials, nail filing, pimple squeezing, taking stupid pictures, writing a line of poetry each, going slowly insane, I am sure…
15:40
Its amazing how quickly daylight ends in the Northern hemisphere winters. Much more noticeable because the entire focus of my day apart from reading and mucking about with Shanti is the changing view outside. Its only now that I realised that the shorted day was only 2 days ago.
18.00
The ‘culture’ section of the guidebook said to try and avoid the subjects of politics and religions when you talk to the locals. Well anyway. Two Iranian woman, one about in her mid 30s and the other late 50s knock on our door. “Do you mind a few guests?” The younger one said. If we had a male companion in the cabin this would never have happened, but because we are two young women the local women must feel that we were much more approachable.
It turned out that they were Ba’hais, one of the minority religions heavily persecuted in Iran, and they had been living in Turkey working with the Ba’hai refugee community there, many protected under the auspices of the UN. A few more women came to join us, all extremely friendly and inquisitive about where we are from and what we are doing. They urged us to take off our headscarves when the door closed - "We're not Muslims, we don't need to do this." She sounded almost bitter. Then a conversation describing torture, death-threats and imprisonment of their fellow Ba’hais across Iran ensued, both intriguing and disturbing us. Sure, these were not uncommon stories in countries living under autocracies, we've been so desensitised of these stories from the news and campaign emails and posters from human rights organizations… but it doesn’t hit hard until you sit right next to someone in the flesh, who had just been tortured a month ago, with her voice shaking as those shocking memories flicked across
her mind… she was a refugee braving the prospect of reentering Iran to retrieve paper work to allow her to apply for residency elsewhere. Then the phone rang and at the other end was a young child, her nephew, who sang to her and made the whole cabin laugh.22:00
Complimentary tinned-tuna dinner with stale flaky bread, because we’ve been delayed.
25/12
03:00
“Tehran, Tehran, no more sleeeeeeep!!” Hassan shrieked, as he slides the door open and steps in to turn the light on, almost like the bunny girl jumping out of the cake at a party. Except it wasn’t a pleasant surprise at all. We sat under the full-lit cabin completely dressed and packed, but our brains more or less empty of alertness or attention. And wished each other a Merry Christmas.
04:15 (05:45 Tehran Time)
We pulled into Tehran station in the dark, and disappeared into the chaotic morning traffic before the sun even came out.
No comments:
Post a Comment