Esp'errance

On 12th June in the evening, we arrived at Pondicherry. We had reached the Bay of Bengal, a name full of exoticism. However, we rather had the feeling we were back on familiar ground.
             Beach Road, Pondicherry

The city was calm, and the pavements were wide and clean. We made ourselves at home in a little house in the Muslim quarter. It has a reputation for being the most peaceful area of the city. At afternoon naptime, it felt as if we were in a small city in the south of Europe: not a hoot, not an engine sound. We quietly discovered this city, built from both Indian and French influences.
 

And then, we enjoyed the somewhat peculiar local gastronomy and rediscovered with pleasure some familiar flavours: pasta with cheese, moussaka…and even some baguette for breakfast!

François
(Translation: Yolene Dabreteau)

On 7th June, we left Munnar to go to Madurai, via Theni. It was our first long trip by bus since we had left Iran.

We had been advised to wait for the bus at the depot, to be sure to have seats on the bus. It was rather a good idea: at its first stop, in the centre of Munnar, men flocked to the bus and filled it before it had even stopped completely. Women and children followed, the luckiest joined the seats reserved by the fathers.

For our connection in Theni, we had been promised there would be departures for Madurai every minute. Not wrong, buses left the station bumper to bumper, quickly filling up with the great flood of travellers. We had to force the young ticket inspector’s hand as he balked at letting us get in the bus because of our big backpacks (they were taking up space without having tickets paid for them).

The bus left, jam-packed. Probably not enough though: as the stops went by, new passengers came to stick together in the central aisle. In the bends, these newcomers almost collapsed on the seated passengers. Bam! A bag of mangoes flew and hit my head. ‘They’re fine’, the smiling young lady, struggling against the centrifugal force, seemed to tell me. Our backpacks were probably being used as seats in the front…

We were seated next to the central door, in a very good position to enjoy the show of people getting on and off the moving bus. It was so full that it overflowed. A cluster of people had built up outside the bus, hanging on the bars of the glassless windows. One of the suspended men noticed us. ‘Hello!’ his smiling face told us. He started a conversation with us, only taking a quick look from time to time to see if the bus was not going too close to a tree or a road sign. When he learned we were French, he gave us an admiring ‘Oh’. ‘France, no cricket, only football?’ (In English in the text). We had only just answered him when it was time for him to get off, or rather jump. He made big gestures to us to say goodbye.

François
(Translation: Yolene Dabreteau)

No sooner had we arrived in Honnavar than Maria announced some good news: the next day, Lycie’s brother (Lycie is a member of the team) would get married! Everybody would be at the party, and of course we were cordially invited. As is the French courtesy, we made sure it would not bother them, but we did not wait to be asked twice as we were delighted to go already.

The following day, at 9am, we were ready to leave for the church. On the square, people gathered gradually. The brass band arrived, escorting the bride and groom: white dress for the lady, black suit for the gentleman…how beautiful they were! Lycie introduced us to them. They were not surprised and rather happy to see surprise guests coming from Europe. The ceremony took place in Kannada, the language spoken in the Karnataka region. The priest must have had a sense of humour because we could quite often hear laughter amongst the congregation.
                  Mother Teresa Band


At the end of the ceremony outside the church, the brass band ‘Mother Teresa Band’ went back to work amid the general jubilation. The rest of the ceremony took place just in front of the church in a long building converted into a banqueting hall. Rows of chairs were lined up in front of the platform where two big golden thrones stood under an arch that bore the names of the newly-weds. The latter entered to great applause and went towards the cake that was already awaiting them. They shared a bite, without forgetting a spoon for the witnesses, and let’s get the party started! Was it the end of the beginning or the beginning of the end? They danced in couples and farandoles, and then the bride went out accompanied by numerous girls. The DJ started the first hit-songs and men took over the dance floor. Each had a tremendous time and did not worry about the glare of the audience. We were then invited to join in the dance.
 
The music stopped because the bride entered in traditional clothes: a magnificent dark red and gold sari and a flower headdress that covered her hair entirely. It was all very beautiful! The meal was then served. Each person stood up once their plates were finished, then went up on the platform to greet the newly-weds and give them their presents before leaving…amazing! Our guides made a sign to us to indicate that it was also time for us to leave.
                                 The ceremony of flower garlands

The day was not over. Maria had planned for us and a few other visitors a little trip to discover a Hindu temple not far from there. We were already imagining falling under the spell of old stones…what a surprise when we discovered a huge concrete complex overlooked by a gigantic Shiva (the second biggest in India). Shiva was in the lotus position on top of an artificial rock. We felt really small beside this giant covered in silvery paint. We strolled amongst the diverse representations of the same kind of mythological characters.
                                 Shiva

In front of Shiva, there stands a freshly finished breathtaking tower. It has numerous divinities cast in concrete and PVC windows where pieces of sellotape have remained stuck. This tower gives access to the temple (which is all golden). We entered along with the flood of numerous Hindus who had come to pray and bring an offering. The sun was already setting and by chance we took part in the ritual of the offering of light: the priest offered the five elements to the divinity amongst the deafening noise of the bells shook by the faithful.
 
The mix of fervour and kitsch that reigned in this colossal complex left us doubtful but we dove with pleasure into the lively and popular atmosphere of the occasion.

Gabrielle
(Traduction: Yolene Dabreteau)

It was five in the morning and the train came into the station. After our journey in the north of the country, and many days in Tehran punctuated with numerous visits to the Indian embassy for our visas, there we were at last in this town which the name alone makes people dream: Esfahan! Well, almost…A fellow traveller guided us from bus to bus and to a majestic bridge, which guards the entry of the city. The sun rose, we started crossing. The big stone arches on both sides of the bridge give a view on the large Zayandeh River, which flows in the middle of green parks.

We stepped onto a big avenue that has a central path in bloom; the gardeners were bustling about already. We found a bedroom in a hotel, in spite of the early hour. We took the rest needed to start the tour of ‘half of the world’. This is the nickname of the city bestowed by a French poet who had fallen under its spell in the 16th century.

During this first day, the visit became ever greater: first, the Hakim mosque, the oldest in Esfahan. I sang a little under the dome. With such an echo, the imams did not need microphones! The walk continued across the bazaar. We had the feeling of having entered an underground city. Sheltered by high brick vaults, we went through the maze of dark and cool laneways…and completely empty that day: Thursday, first day of the weekend. What a strange feeling in a place usually so lively!
                               Bazar-e-Bozorg, Esfahan

We emerged from this long tunnel, a bit dazzled, in front of the Shah Jame’ mosque (the biggest in Iran). It was built with the passing centuries and dynasties, the latter having left their imprint. In the inner courtyard, four iwans* each more beautiful than the other. However, we preferred wandering through the forest of pillars that support the building in the shadow and silence of the adjoining rooms. It opens the way towards the huge domes that stand at each end.
                                  Jame’ Mosque, Esfahan

At the exit of the mosque, temptation was waiting for us: the fruit market and all these delicious delicacies of which Iran alone has the secret. Not far from there, we found the bird market in a very small courtyard where hundreds of cages were piled up. The tropical birds were next to the hens, and multicoloured chicks were squeezed up in big card boxes. What a strange racket!
 
After passing again under the shelter of vaults in the bazaar, we arrived without expecting it on the Imam Square (or Shah Square). It was grandiose! We were lost in wonder in front of this huge rectangular complex edged with arcades (the second biggest square in the world after Tiananmen Square in Beijing). In its centre, it has a fountain around which are laid out perfectly kept parks. Families meet there to picnic or chat. Female students were installed there to draw the splendours that are the pride and joy of the country: the Imam Mosque and the Sheikh Lotf Allah Mosque of which the turquoise domes sparkle under the sun.
                  The Imam Square

We went on the terrace of a teahouse. What a surprise! It was the first time since we had started our trip that European tourists surrounded us. Like them, we were enjoying the unrestricted view of the scene that seemed like something from a tale of the Arabian Nights. Maybe this was the feeling that Shah Abbas the Great wanted to give to the people visiting the new capital town. The Imam Mosque is probably the showpiece of this square. When coming from behind its high doors, we did not know where to look anymore with such beauty and harmony around us. We were frenetically taking pictures in front of the mosaics, the domes, the minarets, the vaults, etc. We continued under the dome of its neighbouring building, the Loft Allah Mosque. Birds had invited themselves. We followed with our eyes their flight between the flowers and the poems calligraphed in Persian letters.
                     The Imam Mosque

In the middle of all these treasures of the past, Esfahan lives in the present. We enjoyed the calm of the big parks where chess games are organised beside the self-service bodybuilding machines. We tasted the atmosphere of a sunny weekend, where families migrate along the river to spend the day under the shade of the trees with everything they need for a picnic. Quite often, you would find yourself invited for tea. Some people were resting, reading or studying, while others went for a ride on pedal boats under the big stone bridges. It felt almost like a summer’s Sunday along the Marne River…
 
Gabrielle

* Hall voûté ouvert sur une cour intérieure

(Plus d'images des merveilles d'Ispahan dans l'album photos)

Our first Iranian stop was Tabriz, located where the doors of the Garden of Eden were, according to the Bible. The town is especially known for having been an important stop on the Silk Road. This famous trading road, that brought back the precious fabric from China, crossed Persia from east to west. We happily lost ourselves in its huge bazaar (‘the biggest bazaar made with bricks in the world’, we were told) where we stocked up with dates, halva and other oriental sweets. 
             The bazaar in Tabriz

When opening our ‘Lonely Planet’ during our numerous trips by bus and by train across the country, we discovered the ancient history of Iran, or rather the history of Persia: in 1936, the Shah of Persia (Reza Khan) officially renamed the country ‘Iran’, which means (as near as) ‘Aryans’ country’…probably to align themselves with the political climate at the time. Finally judged too close to Nazi Germany during the Second World War, the British forced him to leave power in order to install his son instead of him (under their control); the name ‘Iran’ stayed.

The history of Persia seemed to us to have a cyclical pattern. A local group or an invader would unify the country, make it a very powerful empire, then this empire would decline before collapsing and being divided up. Another group would then take advantage of the atmosphere of chaos to surface.

The more serious matters started as soon as 550 BC. The Gallic were not in Gaul yet, Rome was only a small city, and Cyrus II the Great founded the biggest empire having ever existed at the time: from Egypt to today’s Pakistan, to the edge of the Danube. Sumptuous parties were organised every year in the capital town Persepolis, where the vassals came to ‘offer’ their tribute to the Emperor. However, the Greek cities resisted and after the defeat of Marathon in 490 BC, the Empire declined progressively until Alexander the Great gave it the coup de grace in 331 BC.
              Darius I receiving homage from a vassal prince

The Seleucids (Greeks) and the Parthians (from the edges of the Aral Sea) founded their own empires, until the Persians took them over in 224 BC. The Sassanids created then the Second Persian Empire. They established Zoroastrism as the state religion. Founded by Zarathustra during the second millenium BC, the main doctrine of this monotheistic religion is the permanent fight between Good and Evil. Its followers were called ‘the worshippers of fire’ because of the holy fire that burnt permanently in their sanctuaries; there are today only a few tens of thousands of them in Iran.

The Empire reached its peak when the Arabs took advantage of a problem of succession in order to seize the whole of Persia in 637 BC without encountering any opposition. The population converted massively to Islam, adopting its minority movement: the Shiism. The meeting of the Persian and Islamic cultures produced a period of intense cultural and artistic development. Unfortunately, from the 9th to the 15th century, the invasions from the Turks Seljukides, Genghis Khan’s Mongols and then from the sanguinary Tamerlan destroyed numerous cities.

When visiting Esfahan, we discovered the splendour of the 3rd Persian Empire founded in 1502 by the Safanides (it is a kind of Persian renaissance). A renowned member of this dynasty, Abbas I the Great, moved the capital town to Ispahan. He undertook to rebuild the city and made it a gem nicknamed ‘the half of the world’ by the visitors filled with wonder (which we were also). The Persian art had then reached its peak. At the death of Abbas, the Afghans invaded the country in 1722.
               Square of the Imam, Esfahan

In the 19th century, the Shahs from the dynasty of Qajars attempted to revive the past splendour: they founded a new capital in the village of Tehran but its high running costs were catastrophic. When we passed Tehran, we visited the Palace of Golestan. It was built with the ambition to rank with the palaces of the European monarchs. It does not mean that the latter were impressed. The Russians annexed the Caucasus and took control of the north of Iran and the British installed themselves in the south.

After the First World War, the Gilan (region along the Caspian Sea) seceded to become a Soviet republic. The British put Reza Khan (a firm-handed officer) at the head of the government in order to restore the country to order and secure a grip on the oil resources of the country…until 1951. The Iranian Prime Minister, Dr Mossadegh, decided then to nationalise the oil industry. The CIA kept an eye open for trouble and in 1953, a coup d’état was organised by the American embassy to rectify the situation. From then on, the British had to share the profits with the Americans.
              The Palace of Golestan

Nowadays, the country is more famous for its original regime of ‘Islamic Republic’. In 1979, the opposition to the Shah had reached a climax: on one side, the Marxists and Liberals who were asking for more reforms; on the other side, the religious groups who wanted a return to tradition. The Shah succeeded in making everybody agree on one point: his necessary departure. The revolution made him flee on 16th January 1979. As soon as the 1st February 1979, the Ayatollah Khomeini (face of the opposition to the Shah) came back from the exile he had been condemned to by the Shah. At the age of 77, he took power, taking advantage of the more or less natural disappearance of the moderate leaders. The Islamic Republic of Iran was proclaimed and the Ayatollah Khomeini became its Supreme Guide. He established the strict application of the charia, the Islamic law, which marked the beginning of the permanent control of all the aspects of the private lives of the population.

In 1980, Saddam Hussein attempted to take advantage of the chaos following the revolution in order to monopolize the oil fields of the Khuzestan, in the southwest of Iran. Eight years of war followed and more than 500,000 deaths on each side for nothing…apart from the fact that the war solidified the new Iranian regime on a long-term basis.

The Ayatollah Khomeini died in 1989. The Ayatollah Khamenei succeeded him as Supreme Guide. In 1997, the Ayatollah Khatami was elected president. As a reformist, he promised the ‘change from inside’. Women could then show their hair, put make-up on…hopes for a relaxing of the regime were big. But the council of the Guardians of the Constitution (directed by the Supreme Guide) kept a watchful eye: it vetoed the reforms and disqualified the reformist deputies for the elections. The Conservatives came to power again and Mahmoud Ahmadinejad was elected president in 2005.

François
(Translation: Yolene Dabreteau)
(source : Lonely Planet)

           Encounters in Jolfa

François
(Translation: Yolene Dabreteau)

Sunday 22nd March

We left for the High Karabakh, a day earlier than the date authorised on our visas, in order to meet Jacques Matossian from SPFA (Protestant Solidarity France-Armenia) as he was leaving this region the next day. This detail of the visas did not bother the customs officer when we went through the passport check. We entered this ‘non existing’ country on a beautiful cloudless day. The High Karabakh, or officially ‘Republic of Nagorno Karabakh’, is one of the self-proclaimed countries in the Caucasus. It is not recognised as such by any other countries in the world, not even Armenia.

          Flag of Karabakh

Around us, spring had already come unlike in Armenia. The trees were budding and some of them were even blossoming. We drove around magnificent landscapes in the middle of luxuriant nature. In a combination of Turkish and Persian, Karabakh means ‘black garden’. It evokes both the fertility of the ground and the wooded blanket that stands out against the bare mountains of the surrounding regions.

          Landscape of Karabakh

This small ‘country’ (about 145,000 inhabitants and 4,400 square kilometres) is a territory populated with Armenians and was incorporated into the Soviet Republic of Azerbaijan during the Soviet period. With the fall of the USSR in 1991, the High Karabakh declared its independence from Azerbaijan. A three-year war followed, during which Armenia and Azerbaijan confronted each other in a violent way. Though smaller and less well equipped, the Armenian forces won in 1994 and a ceasefire was signed between the countries. It confirmed the de facto independence of the High Karabakh.

         The High Karabakh nowadays (source: Wikipedia)

It is estimated that there were 30,000 dead from the war on each side (the total Armenian population is about three millions). The number of refugees is even more appalling: 400,000 Armenians and 800,000 Azeris left their houses in order not to be behind the enemy lines. When we visited the village of Khnabad, we could see in the distance the ghost town of Agdam. It used to be a prosperous Azeri city of 100,000 inhabitants. The advance of the Armenian forces caused the exodus of the inhabitants. Without a final resolution to the conflict, the town has been abandoned since 1994 and has fallen in ruins.

          The ghost town of Agdam

The ancient history of the High Karabakh merges with that of Armenia. During our tours, the monasteries and numerous ‘khatchkars’ (stone crosses) reminded us of Armenia. It was the same currency and the same language. It was like we were still in Armenia. 

          Khatchkars in the monastery of Gandzassar

At the exit of Stepanakert, the capital town (45,000 people), the statue ‘Tatik and Papik’ (‘Grandmother and Grandfather’) is a symbol of the invincibility of the Karabakhtis and its motto is: “We are our mountains”. 

          Tatik and Papik, “We are our mountains”

We found in Karabakh the same warm welcome we had in Armenia, and the same tradition of generosity. The main difficulty for the Karabakh is its isolation as the only open border is the one shared with Armenia. Despite its status as a self-proclaimed republic and the suspended conflict with Azerbaijan, the atmosphere is serene and relaxed. We did not feel any tension anywhere. When we left the High Karabakh (this time our visas expired by one day), the same customs officer recognised us and gave us a big smile. He seemed surprised when we asked him if it was a problem that our visas were expired.

François
(Translation: Yolene Dabreteau)

Armenians have a secret: they seize the day. Add to that an extraordinary sense of hospitality, and here you are, sitting at tables filled with delicious dishes at anytime of the day and wherever you are.

        ‘Little’ coffee with the mayor of Khatchen

During our visits to villages, after a few chats together, the inhabitants invited us spontaneously to have a ‘little’ coffee with them. It was impossible to refuse as the table was already set for us. Do not trust the word ‘little’ here, as the coffee is never served on its own. A selection of delicacies comes with it: sweets, chocolates, pieces of fresh fruit, sunflower seeds, etc. The mayor of the village, the director of the school and the director of the boarding school we met always had an extra-special bottle of brandy for us to taste. When it felt like our mouths were on fire, they told us not to worry, that it was 100% natural!

Our friends invited us to big celebrations where family and friends got together. We entered their universe: in the middle of the dining-room, the big dining table was already set with a myriad of little dishes that gave us the eye. Each guest had a small plate and picked up what they liked. What dish to start with? Cheese (panir) rolled in lavash* with herbs (coriander, tarragon, onions, etc.)? Hmm… Or some pickles: cabbage, bamias*, crocus bulbs, peppers, big Molossol gherkins? Or maybe these little mushrooms picked up in the mountains? Or the soujour* and the pasturma* sliced thinly? But already, more dishes were being brought to us. Where would our hosts put them down?

The dolmas, a mixture of wheat (or rice) and meat rolled in vine leaves or cabbage, are absolutely delicious. Another version, in the shape of morsels rolled in pasta and steamed, reminded us of Asian food. The traditional dish of herbs cooked with eggs was also brought on the table.

Meat lovers were not disappointed. Armenians are specialists in preparing rolovats (large meat skewers covered in spices and roasted carefully on iron skewers – essential tools for picnics) and kebabs when it is made with minced meat. It was not possible to go through a whole week without eating keftas (boiled meatballs and onions, served with a good amount of butter). These different dishes were often served with delicious roasted potatoes.

In restaurants, we tasted lamajos (crusty pancakes filled with minced meat). There is also a vegetarian version of it, called gigalovats, which comes with a mix of all kinds of aromatic herbs (this is a specialty from Karabakh sold in markets).

Of course, we cannot speak about these delicious dishes without mentioning the drinks that come with them! Two glasses would be standing in front of each of us: a small one and a big one. The big one is kept for thirst-quenching drinks: Jermuk (the sparkling water of choice for Armenians), delicious natural fruit juices (cherry, apricot, etc.), Armenian beer. The small glass (for the anecdote) is used for spirits: Armenian cognac, vodka or local brandy (sometimes wine for women). During the numerous toasts that punctuated the meal, we raised this glass to mothers and children’s health, to the Franco-Armenian friendship, and to everything we wanted to wish to each other.

The evenings livened up quickly. From time to time, we all stood up to dance, men as much as women. To the beat of oriental music, arms rose up and waved graciously by drawing many arabesques in the air. Then the desserts would be brought to the table: famous very sweet small pastries that we enjoyed (they are a bit like baklavas). Then, we had coffee and tea always served with excellent jams. The meals often started early around 5pm, and we left each other sometimes after midnight without having seen the time flying.

Gabrielle
(Translation: Yolene Dabreteau)

*Lavash: bread in the shape of large and thin pancakes (see the video ‘Making of lavash’).
*Bamias: small green conical hairy vegetables that are a bit sticky.
*Soujour and pasturma: variety of spiced sausages.

* Welcome to Erevan!

Here we are! The big journey has started.

View from Erevan

We landed at Erevan on Wednesday at 3 in the morning. Arabeck, his son Serob, and two of his friends welcomed us. We met Arabeck two and a half years ago during our first trip in Armenia. At that time, we were picked up while hitchhiking by him at 10 in the morning. By noon, we had been invited to a family party he had organised in his village. And by 4 in the afternoon, he had made us promise we would stay at his place the next time we came to Erevan. We went back to France with a copy of the key to his apartment that he had cut especially for us! Today, we celebrated our reunion.

Arabeck and François

Since our arrival, we have had meeting after meeting with officials (from companies, media, associations and even political life). Bit by bit, we have managed to break through the language barrier and set out our project. We are very impressed by all the help offered to us. This infectious enthusiasm encourages our venture.

Between two meetings, we had time to visit the Memorial to the Armenian Genocide, which is only a minute away from Arabeck’s office. It is impossible to remain indifferent to this great circular space, which is stretched towards the sky and has a flame burning permanently in its centre.

The Memorial to the Armenian Genocide

Our next meeting is today at 2pm with the association SPFA (Protestant Solidarity France-Armenia). After this meeting, we will be able to arrange a program for our next visits that you will soon read about on our website.

Mount Ararat

Gabrielle and François
(Translation: Yolène Dabreteau)