Learning the Art of Picnic in Iran
When life is no picnic, why not picnic!
Iranians have picnicking down to a fine art. They can picnic anywhere, anytime, especially in the summer when temperatures rise and people want to escape the confines of apartment living.
In 2019 it was my good fortune to be in Iran for 18 days and every single one of those days I saw people picnicking: weekdays, weekends, mornings, evenings, in parks, on roadsides, by rivers and streams, under bridges, on bridges, on the side-walk, in the square, in the desert…
I first noticed this phenomena when I arrived in Tehran — it was a Monday! Small groups were camped out in lush green parks enjoying food and one another’s company. Later the next evening while walking across Tabiat Bridge with my guide Golnar, I saw it again. The award winning pedestrian bridge (designed by a young female architect, read more here) joins two parks across a major freeway and people were out everywhere, eating and drinking tea in the cool evening air.
Maybe it is not so surprising as all meals in most Iranian house-holds are eaten picnic-style on the floor. A long rectangular plastic tablecloth called sofre is placed on the floor which people sit around as the dishes are offered. (In one hotel I in Yazd I was given my own tiny sofre to place my breakfast feast on as I sat crosslegged on the carpeted breakfast platform that looked onto a garden).
All you need to add for outdoors is a small stove and a picnic basket full of food and implements, although I saw many bringing much more that that: tents, carpets, shishah(hooka pipe), cushions, blankets, gas bottles, basins.. everything but the kitchen sink!
In Australia we pride ourselves on being able to find the most isolated spot for a picnic. (Well, we have the wide open spaces and the low population). In Iran on a weekend everyone is out competing for the best place, next to running water optimally, even if it’s just a trickle! The Iranian weekend is Thursday/Friday so on those days you can expect the popular spots to be packed but nobody seems to mind and nobody is getting riled up. The more the merrier!
It was a Friday on one of our excursions when after visiting a stunning ancient adobe citadel at Rayen, we headed off in a family group to a waterfall near Mt Heza. Along the sides of the roads other people had found spots next to the mountain stream that rushes down from the falls. We pulled into a place chosen by a family friend. He had backed his car over the rushing rivulet and proceeded to give it a thorough washing while others got the tea on the boil. (The water melon was plonked in the same rivulet, a little further upstream to keep it cold).
First the mat, then the sofre goes down (everyone takes their shoes off at the edge of the mat before sitting) and tea is served in glass cups. In this case quince tea, which was absolutely delicious! (Grate quince fruit, dry in sun or oven, roast a little and hey presto!) While we were sipping, Mahdieh and Fadime magically manifested a spiced rice dish served on china plates. As well there was a yoghurt accompaniment, flat bread, herb salad, yoghurt drink, fresh fruit (apricots, plums, sour cherries and cold watermelon) followed by a calming cup of chamomile tea. (Iranians drink herbal teas of all varieties all the time. If you know me, you know I was in heaven!)
Then we piled back in our cars and drove to the waterfall. An improvised car park packed with hundreds of cars told us we were close. We managed to find a spot and set off on foot along the road, then track, to the waterfall. All along the way dotted amongst the trees, beside rushing stream, family groups had claimed their territory with tents, rugs, shishah pipes smoking, grandpas napping, kids playing; laughter and merriment everywhere.
As we drew closer to the waterfall the atmosphere became more festive. A family of young men out with their mothers carried a ghetto blaster playing traditional music. Although it is forbidden for women to dance in public, you could see many female arms and hips couldn’t resist (mine included). To get to the waterfall view we had to clamber up some steep rocks along with a hundred others: mums and dads with babes in arms, grandpas, grandmas, young kids, teenagers and our ghetto blaster family who added a definite celebratory atmosphere to the marvellous energy of water powerfully issuing forth from the rock. I didn’t want to leave.
A different kind of picnic occurs regularly on Thursdays between 5–8pm in Mahan, the town near Kerman, where we were based. Families gather in the local cemetery to share sweets and fruits over the graves of their departed loved ones. We felt so privileged to be included in this activity as we went from grave to grave being offered delicious sweets: qottab, halwa and date balls. It was wonderful to see a usually sombre place so alive with chatter and movement, laughter and gossip, remembrances and stories; bringing the dead into life on a regular basis, not leaving them in a forgotten place.
I arrived in Isfahan in the late afternoon on a Sunday (remember, not the weekend) and towards dusk walked out from my accom to find the famous Naqsh-e Jahan Square. I got lost in numerous bazaar alleyways but finally made my way out into the vast space.A large rectangular pool in the middle is surrounded by lawn and shrubs — every inch was taken up by picnic groups enjoying faloodeh, ice cream and other local delicacies.
My most intimate picnic experience was on a day tour with my Isfahan guide. She had prepared a cold thermos flask of the traditional thirst quenching drink, tokhm-e shabati, made with rose syrup, iced water and basil seeds. It was a particularly hot day, heading for 40 C and each hour we would sit down in the shade and sip a small cup of the cooling drink. At one of our stops Farinaz, a wonderfully intelligent, chic and astute young woman, (who also runs her own fashion label Insta: @parbyparinazabdi), brought out some gaz, the soft nougat for which Isfahan is famous. At first I thought it was cheese, but when you bite into its stringy deliciousness you know it definitely is not.
Later in the day, around 4 pm, we had another picnic under the famous Khaju Bridge that spans the Zayanderad River and joins the Khaju quarter on the north bank with the Zoroastrian quarter. The river was quite low, which is normal in summer. Parinaz told me that when the river is flowing the residents of Isfahan come alive too.
We sought shade in the archways under the bridge and too my surprise (why would I be surprised by now?!) — all the way across, under every archway, people were picnicking. What else could we do but partake in this wonderful ritual? I contributed a small pack of dried chick peas I had in my bag. Parinaz added some dried white mulberries to the mix and we finished the last of our sharbati drink.
On our walk back along the river we passed another group of picnicking women and children who invited us over and offered plums to enjoy on our walk. Their simple gift epitomized the spirit of Iranian generosity and hospitality I experienced everywhere I went.
As we continued on our way I commented to Parinaz that despite international threats and sanctions (which have raised the price of all goods three-fold and caused much suffering and numerous hardships) people seem to be happily going about their lives.
‘Of course we are worried’ she said, ‘but knowing we can’t rely on anyone else for our happiness, Iranians have become very good at making their own.’
I reflected on the culture of complaint and entitlement that exists in the West and wondered if we might take a few pointers from the Iranian people and their art of picnic.
© Words and photos Jan Cornall 2019.
In June 2019 I traveled to Iran for a ten day writer’s residency at Seven Gardens in Kerman Province.
For easy entry into Tehran I was lucky to find Hi Tehran Hostel, centrally located, run by a female partnership, with fabulous local guides including Golnar and Parinaz.
With some days free either side of the residency I enlisted the help of a local agency Tappersia to help with visa, travel insurance and organise a sightseeing itinerary. Run by a lively crew of universty educated young Iranians their mission is to present a different image to the world than the one we see so often on our western media screens.
In Yazd I can recommend Saman @yazdguide and in Kashan Alex @alexguider1 (message them on instagram).
My heartfelt thanks to all my new Iranian friends who extended their legendary hospitality and kindness to me. Especially our host at Seven Gardens Residency, artist Sarah Malekzadeh (@sarahmalekzadeh) and our driver and translator Mohammad (Sarah’s dad) plus their family and friends who provided such a brilliant immersion into local life.
Jan Cornall is an Australian writer, mentor and workshop facilitator who leads creative workshops and journeys for writers and artists. Since 2004 she has taken groups to Bali, Vietnam, Burma, Cambodia,Laos, Bhutan, Nepal, Tibet, Fiji, Japan, Paris, Morocco, as well as the Central Desert and Tarkine Wilderness in Australia. See pics here. A number of writers working with Jan have gone on to publish with major publishing houses. Jan’s weekly online workshop, Draftbusters (Motivation Mondays, 9–10.30 am and Feedback Fridays, 3- 5.30pm AEST)is available for writers in the Asia Pacific region. Some sponsored positions are available.
Insta: @_writersjourney
