Hauled to the police station

Above:  View of Imam Reza Shrine by night, from my new hotel room at Razavieh Hotel.

About Mashhad

The holy city of Mashhad is home to 6 million people, saffron and the Coca Cola factory. Yes, Coca Cola Iran trade embargo notwithstanding. It is in the far east of the country, near the Turkmenistan and Afghanistan border.
The city itself grew hugely during Saddam’s unneighbourly (and supposedly US-supported) war with Iran. I suppose it is the furthest city in Iran, from Iraq.

This is a city bursting with pilgrims from all over Iran, Iraq, Afghanistan and Pakistan … actually from wherever you find Shiites. They all come to visit the 24-hour shrine of Imam Reza.

At the police station

My room rate didn’t include breakfast so I snacked on whatever I had with me. I planned my day and showered.

At 0800 I heard a knock on my door. It was the receptionist from last night. He wanted me to go to the police station because I didn’t have a visa. I got dressed and hopped into the Paykan (Hillman Hunter) with him and the driver.

At the police station, the officer was just putting on his green uniform. He was very polite. Here’s the “interrogation”.

“Do you have anything to show that you don’t need a visa for Iran?” I showed him my TIMATIC printout (the database which airport check-in staff use to decide to accept you for a flight, visa-wise anyway). He took a copy. I was so lucky I didn’t throw this out when I was having a mini tidy-up at Mehrabad airport yesterday.

“Do you know the attractions and sights in Mashhad?” This is question used by many authorities to separate prostitutes and illegal labourers from genuine tourists. I know my stuff very well here.

The hotel receptionist chipped in with “Have you ever been to Palestine?” A**hole I thought – whose side was he on! I showed him my passport which was endorsed “This passport is valid for all countries except Israel”.

“What do you think of Iran and nuclear?” I think I wowed him with my response to this one. I stressed that Iran’s nuclear ambitions are for energy and not weaponry. Then I added that even if it was for the latter, why shouldn’t Iran be allowed as Israel, India and Pakistan have it too! 

What struck me the most was that the police officer could pronounce the “Nuclear” word correctly unlike the “most important man on earth” (Bush pronounces it as “nucular”). Did your mummy ever say “Say it properly otherwise you can’t have it”?

At the end of it, the officer wrote me a note (taped to my passport) saying that I’m in the country legitimately. This would help me in case his colleagues in other cities are ignorant of the visa requirements for us very special nationalities.

At no time during the ride to cop-shop or during the meeting did I feel anxious. Deep down inside I knew that Iranian hospitality would see me through. The only thing that seemed missing was the (lack of a) cuppa tea.

This note was supposed to lessen suspicion of my visa-free status after my interrogation.

Imam Reza’s Shrine

After some breakfast, I decided to go out to look for more economical accommodation. I didn’t have much luck so I returned to the Abrisham to say I’d stay for three more nights. But they could only offer me two. I went out again to try a bit harder and found Razavieh Hotel, right on the square. They could offer me a nice room with a view of the shrine, with a private squat toilet in the bathroom.

View of Imam Reza Shrine from my new room at the Razavieh Hotel.

I moved over pronto and was ready to explore Mashhad after this morning’s hiccup. First up, of course, was Imam Reza’s Shrine. It was a big complex that’s still being expanded. The historic workmanship and that of the current addition is amazing. It’s a far cry from the workmanship at Imam Khomeini International Airport which betrays the otherwise good architecture.

At the shrine, the Imam’s remains are kept in a cage just like the John the Baptist’s (Prophet Yahya, pbuh) at the Damascus’ Ummayad mosque. And as in Damascus, pilgrims go up to kiss the latticed cage and pay their respects.
The outpouring of grief at the shrine wasn’t as apparent as the Lonely Planet had suggested. Perhaps if I had visited on a mourning day or on the anniversary of his martyrdom, it would be different.

I wandered around and probably entered some courtyards that I wasn’t meant to, but stopped short of the actual shrine. My rule was that if the signage is in English and you can leave your shoes on, then go for it!

At the visitor’s centre, I watched an informational video. The starting music seemed to have been stolen from Star Trek or Universal.

I took a lunch of lamb kebab with rice and some tea across the road before returning to my new accommodation for some rest and more planning.

My lunch venue.

I thought of going to the Nader Shah Museum but it was a military-oriented museum which I probably wouldn’t enjoy. So I returned to the Shrine and explored a few more areas including a museum which housed very nice calligraphy, paintings, doors and somewhat oddly stamps, coins and of all things in an Islamic place, animals!  I strayed into a courtyard where there was a ceremony with chanting involving an empty casket. I probably wasn’t meant to be there.

I grabbed a banana milkshake and return to my room for a rest.

Torqabeh by night

I walked beyond Shohada Square to find the bus to Torqabeh which was famous for its garden restaurants. It was a long walk as I couldn’t cut across the shrine as I had a camera with me. After eventually finding the bus station and then the bus I hopped on.

On the way, I offered my seat to an old man. Two boys offered to share their two seats with me at the front. The bus made lots of stops. Close to the end, as I tried to pay, the driver gestured that the boys had paid for my fare. Aaahh! Persian hospitality. In some countries, the driver would want to collect it again if he could!

As we approached Torqabeh, the boys asked me to hop off. I had trouble finding the garden restaurants. After a fair walk, I did find a few. I had expected the place to be more compact and blamed the boys for asking me to hop off at the wrong place, rather than at the roundabout as indicated in my guidebook. I did realise later that my bus routing was different, so I had done the right thing.

I had a chicken kebab, rice with yoghurt and tea. The food was delicious, the setting lovely and the temperature perfect. I was the only person there. I’m guessing things start late here as one restaurant opened at 2000.

Fearing transport difficulties back to Mashhad, I paid and returned to the bus stop to miss the bus only by seconds. Fortunately it was only a short wait till the next one which took me through Torqabeh town. The hillside town was pretty and bright.

The youngsters on the bus spoke English and were friendly. I think everyone who spoke English wanted to speak to me. One said “You are very nice!”

Back at Mashhad, I alighted at the Haram stop just outside the Shrine but on the far side from my hotel. With my camera, it was a hike back to the hotel. It forced me to explore lots of alleys, bright and dark. And I had to avoid the entrance to the underground motorway!

I was very tired after the excitements of the day in Mashhad. I had enjoyed the cosmopolitan atmosphere. While many pilgrims are Iranians, many are Arabs (including some Iraqis), Indians and Pakistanis. In 2004 the statistics showed over 1000 Brits, 500 US, 75 Australians, 6 Malaysians, 4 Singaporeans and 1 Kiwi visiting the shrine.