The Last Bastion
“We are losing the culture of the middle east — thousands of years of culture is being lost. And this culture is not mine, it is important for the world.”
People expressed concern when I said I was venturing off to Iran. I had all kinds of interesting reactions to my intention to visit here. Some think there is active war; many believe that you are at risk of being attacked in the streets; and a lot think that most people live in complete poverty. None of these were true. What I found instead was a culture that looked nothing like what we see of Iran in the news. Beneath the political complexities and despite the violent state control of its people, the people themselves, those who make the culture of Iran are in one word, incredible.
I experienced generosity like I never knew was possible. I drank good quality tea every day and ate delicious, fresh, healthy food almost always cooked for me by someone who had been a stranger just the day before. I visited beautiful mosques, wandered bazaars and explored ancient cities. I met instrument makers, teachers of Persian traditional music and went to concerts of some of Iran’s greatest musicians. We were lucky enough to see Kayhan Kalhor. People around us wept with joy to hear him as for political reasons he had not played in his home country for 10 years. I played games of backgammon and had fascinating conversations with people about the revolution in 1978/79 and what life was like for them from that time until now. People were so honest and some of the stories they told were devastating. However, despite this, the love they held for their culture was immense. All those that I met were determined to keep it alive even when the government has done all it can to wipe it out, and many others have allowed the culture to slip away.
“Look at Syria and Iraq. If Iran explodes we will be divided. Every day people are getting angrier, but we can still live so I have hope. Iran is the last chance for different cultures living together in the Middle East.”
Iran is an island amongst a region that has descended into chaos; an incredibly rich cultural resource where the music and the art and the architecture still survive, evolve and are lived every day. Because I cannot tell the stories of the individuals I met, I thought I would live up to my promise to so many of them that I would show people the Iran that lies outside the human rights abuses, the dictatorship and the disappearances. The Iran that is of the people. This is my tribute to those people who generously shared their culture with me.
Islam is everywhere and is a part of everyone’s life whether they choose it or not. The topic is heavy with implications that I am not knowledgable or nuanced enough to discuss but it was the theme of many conversations in a way that was both beautiful and heartbreaking; a source of both great comfort and great distress.
Bazaars remain at the centre of all commerce in Iran. They weren’t the bustling hive of activity that I had romanticised in my head but they were a visual and aural wonderland. In Tabriz you wander past people selling sheep heads (a breakfast delicacy in Iran) into the dried food market rich in spices, teas, nuts and dried fruits. This in turn winds around towards the oldest carpet bazaar in Iran, a majestic open space which appears amongst the warren of passageways. Men sat amongst piles of carpets plucking each individual lose thread and tying off the ends on their quest for the perfect carpet. Wandering further into this grand old bazaar we found ourselves amongst people purchasing new washing machines and microwaves. There was everything. You could find elaborate backgammon boards, all the brass and copper objects of your dreams, aisles of silver and gold jewellery, ornate plates and glass tea sets. The fine details and craftsmanship was visible in every item; with the exception of the areas that had been swamped with cheap goods from China, one of the few markets still open to Iran.
Craftsmanship in Iran is not only alive but incredibly accessible. Whether it’s musicians, instrument-makers, carpet makers or cobblers — they will all greet you with the generosity of someone truly passionate about their trade. There was a certain reverence for the art forms that are particular to Iran. They held the weight of a skill that has been passed through the hands of one master to another; and those that possessed these skills held them like a precious gift, something that they must honour, respect and above all else, share.
Ancient history surrounds you and is a constant reminder that this time we stand in now is but a speck in the grand scheme. Persepolis sits at the base of a mountain near Shiraz. What was once one of the capitals of the Achaemenid Empire, ca. 550–330 BC now lies destroyed with just hints of its previous glory. It was hard to imagine this place as it was — enormous stone and wooden palaces filled with colour, people and great wealth, known at the time as “the richest city under the sun”. This was a time of a different political and religious era in Iran’s history.
However, it was not so much the incredible feats of architecture that I found remarkable at Persepolis, but seeing how connected the world was so long ago. Carved into huge stone walls were images of men arriving from most corners of the the world each carrying a gift from their country to offer the King. It was incredibly humbling to witness the level of organisational structure and global communication that existed at that time and to remember that ‘becoming civilised’ is not necessarily something that is linear. This huge and great Empire was invaded and destroyed first by Alexander the Great followed by the Arab conquests which brought a new rule of law and a new religion to Iran. These shifts in power still impact the every day life of Iranian people to this day.
The sands of the desert tell the stories of a time when people traveled overland and measured distance by a days camel ride. Caravanserai were lodgings that were built along the main trading route across the Middle East providing food and shelter for passing travellers. Each was one days camel ride from the next. They could stay up to six days with no cost. I sat in this vast ocean of sand and again was humbled by its enormity as I watched the sands quickly rub out my footprints. These had been the passages that connected the world, with huge trading routes. Now these trade routes tend to be reserved for the illegal trades. Camels are trained to walk unguided through the desert trafficking drugs between Pakistan, Afghanistan and Iran. One camel at the front and one at the rear wear bells with a different tone which lead the others on their journey. Iranian border patrols have been known to arrest whole herds of camels carrying drugs over the border because there were no humans with them to arrest.
The desert that we experienced was not one of illegal trades but instead one of ingenious systems for existing in such unforgiving environments. Yazd is a desert city that is 5000 years old. Now just let that sink in for a moment. Marco Polo visited this city in search of silk. That trade has existed here for thousands of years. I began to really understand the prestige behind the Persian carpet. The whole centre of town is built almost entirely out of adobe which allows the imagination to wander back into a time before concrete dominated our cityscape. Surrounded by desert, this city has thrived almost entirely due to the incredible labyrinth of canals, or ‘qanats’, that bring water from the mountains to the city. Created by the Persians in the 1st millenium BC these are sloping tunnels that bring water from the aquifers in the hills to underground chambers in the city giving people access to water, providing cold storage space for food but also a place for people to escape when the summer heat is too oppressive. Many of these are still in use in desert towns around Iran and across the Middle East today.
One evening we wandered through those mudbrick streets as the final light of the day was turning the sky to a deep midnight blue. A young girl of about eight on a bicycle was flitting around us like a fantail, leading us through the streets. As the call to prayer broke through the evening bustle, she pointed down a small street and disappeared off into the night. We found ourselves alone in a courtyard in front of a small mosque with swallows making circles around us as the half moon began to rise above the round adobe rooftops. This was a place of peace.
The Middle East has become a place associated with war, terrorism, destruction, refugees... A region defined by conflict and chaos. Lost amongst this web of human destruction are the cultures that have evolved over thousands of years. Those essential, often undefinable parts of culture that give us shivers down our spines or bring tears of happiness for reasons that we cannot understand. Or just the every day practices that give us a common identity. The music and the architecture and folk traditions are being lost, often reliant on those living outside their countries to keep them alive. In Iran, we were fortunate to meet people who believed strongly in their cultural heritage and held a determination deep with in their hearts to protect it — even when it has been dangerous to do so. I found myself immersed amongst people who were quick to laugh, whose trust and friendship was sincere and almost instant, and who showed me beauty in unexpected places. People who despite everything that you may have seen or read about Iran surrounded themselves with hope and, as one friend impressed on us so earnestly, the belief that “the orbit of life is love”.
Writing and photographs by Hannah Mackintosh. More stories can be found here: https://medium.com/for-all-i-see
