10 - 30.12.2011

Sarif, a couchsurfer from Bandar Lengeh, helps me to get a ticket and board the catamaran passenger ferry to Sharjah in the UAE. The sun is out, there is not a cloud in the sky and the ceaseless wind is as a secure cushion to lean forward against outside on deck at the bow. The suns reflection on the creased texture of the ocean is mesmerizing. The double hull of the ship is like a sword cutting effortlessly through an endless sheet of undulating shining silk.

After more than two hours grey towers emerge on the horizon, while no land is yet in sight. Picture a round patch of bread-mold from its side, its profile. Just so Dubai emerges with the incredible Burgh Khalifa pointing menacingly skywards in its center, while the skyline slowly decreases in height to both of its sides. Several such patches of mold are seen in the distance. I remember what an old friend, Manuel, had once told me of a clear vision he had while he was on a magic mushroom trip. He saw the world in in ancient pure state, covered by dense jungles, immense and unimaginable mythical varieties of creatures. Slowly he saw some dull grey spots emerging in tiny parts of the globe and saw them gradually spreading, parasitizing, taking over and ridding the earth of its life.
"We are like a virus, we are a sickness." I remember Manuel saying in awe, recalling what he saw.

From what it looks now, some weird fungus seems to have indeed lodged itslef on our mother earth. I think in its own perception of time, that of our earth, a second has passed since 1000AD and it is just raising its hand to rub away some of that dirt from its skin. Or perhaps the fungus is slowly learning of its host and adapting itself to a harmonious co-existence. The fungus is modern civilization by the way - not womankind.
I recall "Civilization - its Cause and Cure" by Edward Carpenter.

In Dubai I am hosted most generously by Tanmay for a night and then Ian. Infrastructure and housing is most luxurious; sterile; shining; incredibly spacious. I don't recall ever standing next to a 14-lane highway and being able to breath deeply as well as in a quiet backyard. It is the quality of the fuel I am told; almost zero emissions. Dubai's social life very much hinges upon incredibly massive malls and of course expensive club culture.

At Ians place I meet Debbie from Hongkong and Monika and Elisa from Austria/north Italy. Monika, Elisa and I visit the old market areas and a man invites us to his place spontaneously for lunch. At another time, a man in the metro asks whether we are couchsurfers and introduces me to the Abu Dhabi couchsurfing group. After spending a night camping on the beach right next to the Burgh al Arab with Debbie I take the bus to Abu Dhabi where I am hosted by Amr and his friend from Egypt. I sort out formalities for India there and meet the local couchsurfers at their weekly meetup.

After staying at Fouhads place for a night I hitchike back to Dubai and stay at Isaels house. Isael's mother's family has been participating in freemasonry for generations and Isael too attended meetings some years back. He was also introduced to lodges of the Rose Cross. Some years back he stopped all reading and exercises of an occult nature. He felt he was going to far into unchartered and menacing territory and decided to immerse himself fully again into society and the pleasures of life, to put aside any interests in spiritual matters. He grew up in Rio de Janeiro and tells me much about the economy of Brazil.

Before Christmas twenty members of the Abu Dhabi and Dubai couchsurfing groups meet up for an excursion to the desert, to camp out one night close to the Liwa oasis. I am absolutely amazed at how astonishingly beautiful sand can be. The magnitude of the impression is no less than that of primary tropical rainforest. The desert is a real ocean with its own scale of time. Its waves undulate, magnificent ripples cover the surface in parts; in other places perfect mirror like flatness mesmerizes the eyes. The fine sand at the feet feels soothing. It gives off a distinct high-pitched singing sound under the steps in places, somewhat akin to the crunching of snow under the feet in winter. Nowhere else can the perfect harmony of shapes, contours, colors and contrasts of light in nature be seen so clearly as in a desert. It is a display of mathematical, of geometrical perfection. Just as you can lose yourself in the jungle, just so you can lose yourself in the never-ending and infinitely diverse curves, razor edges and waterfall-like slopes of sand dunes. There is absolutely nothing random or unordered in the desert. Rather it exhibits perfect order and harmony in which not an inch is wasted for the most beautiful artwork. Such perfection could never be seen in a dazzling display of vegetation. The noun 'wilderness' applies just as well to the desert as to the rainforest.

I spend Christmas with John and his relatives from the Philippines. We dance, sing karaoke, eat and exchange presents in a secret Santa draw. Its definitely the craziest Christmas I have ever spent. After spending some nights at Majid's place at the Dubai International City and investigating the possibilities of hitchiking on a boat to India I decide to take a cheap flight from Dubai to Chennai. Its definitely possible to hitch a ride on a ship that way, if not from the UAE then from Oman, but I get my Visa for India and I feel that I should not lose time. I am drawn east.

Persia !

Post-war industrialization has reached you too. You grow fast. Oil squirts forth from your bosom. Western countries vie for your favor. I see people from Turkey and the Persian Gulf, the Arab Emirates, Oman and Bahrain come to you to work, to earn a brighter future for themselves, to let go and get lost in the profusion of bars, disco’s and shady clubs. I see mini-skirts, loose, long, free hair, alcohol, loud and shining nightlife. I see Citroen starting to produce its cars on your lands. I see Shah Pahlavi buying the Grumman company, the manufacturer of the most advanced peace of airborne military technology the world has seen at the time: the F-14 Tomcat. I see Persia building up the mightiest airforce in the middle-east. I see individuals in remote villas frowning, keeping an eye on the earths energy resources, playing chess on the chessboard of the political and economic world, ordaining, changing constellations.

Then – in quick succession. The Islamic Revolution of 1979. The last king of Persia falls. A new government comes to power. Saddam Hussein invades Iran after being made an HONORARY CITIZEN of Detroit in 1980. The eight year Iran-Iraq war, the longest war of the 20th century. I see AWACS reconnaissance airplanes and F-16 planes, which Shah Pahlavi had ordered months before in the US, being shipped to Saudi Arabia and Israel. Billions of dollars are never reimbursed to Iran. I see Germany selling Biological and Chemical weapons to Iraq - gas; I see Brazil selling legions of modern heavy-weight tanks to Iraq; I see France selling its fighter jets to Iraq; I see the US providing intelligence services, special operations training and billions of dollars of economic support to Iraq. More than 500,000 people die of mustard-gas, machine-gun bullets, grenades and bombs; millions more are wounded or crippled for life. Then, at the beginning of the 21st century, European and American councils of men in black suits accuse Saddam Hussein of using chemical weapons. This the Statue of Liberty and the yellow stars on the blue flag stand for. This is what men and women pay for every month with their income tax in San Francisco, New York, Barcelona, Paris, Vienna or Warsaw. This is the bright age of DEMOCRACY and freedom of speech. And thousands of years earlier the authors of the Vedas had already described the coming age, this, our own age as 'kali-yuga,' the 'black age,' the age of HYPOCRISY.  

I see the new government of Iran promising a better life to the people, when only the war passes. Years following the war deep unrest smolders among the people. The economy crumbles. The separation of genders in every phase of public life is enforced most strongly. Alcohol is forbidden, all bars and clubs close. Peoples protests are crushed in bloody confrontations. International embargos are imposed. Luxury goods no longer reach the Iranian people. I see the Iranians making the pilgrimage to Turkey and the UAE for these good, forced to pay horrendous prices and looking for work themselves. A blanket falls on a most cultivated people. Those who still can creep out from underneath.

NOW – eyes see me; shining, sparkling eyes; perfectly-shaped dark eyebrows, that bronze skin, boldly masculine, magnetically feminine. The very archetypes of beauty still shine forth, hailing from ancient India perhaps; those archetypes of poetry and music, of architecture and mathematics, of philosophy - and signs of that profound and timeless irreligious spirituality. 

I am told that thirty years ago the people of Iran traveled their country without having to carry money with them. No matter where you went and talked to the people in the streets, they would invite you for meals, let you stay at their place.

“The people were wealthy. Now the people have more to worry about for themselves. They are not as open anymore. For foreigners it might still hold true though.” I am told by a man on a bus journey.

And indeed it is so. It is close to impossible to travel alone in Iran. You go out alone for a stroll in a city like Tabriz, Shiraz or Isfahan without approaching anyone yourself and it seems almost guaranteed that in the next 2 hours you will find yourself in bright and intelligent company in a clean apartment with delicious food being served. In places I encounter cultivated and intellectual minds, bright artistic work and energetic discussions. Elsewhere opium and women are offered to the male traveler as naturally as the meal and tea. There is not the slightest atmosphere of shadiness in it, not the slightest bit of secrecy. This is Persia truly. Politics and the reality of the people have ever occupied two parallel dimensions. The people may safely disregard their hypnotizing boxes and go outdoors to encounter the open arms of the world instead. In fact certain individuals have vested interest in keeping quiet about the deep effects of prolonged exposure to news broadcasts.

20.11.2011 - 09.12.2011

Hossein and I take a night train to the province of Khuzestan in the south-west of Iran. We arrive at Hossein's family home in Dezful the next day. here it is warm again, the air seems almost tropical, the vegetation is rich and diverse. Apparantly one-third of all freshwater in Iran flows within Khuzestan and due to the rich soil and extensive agriculture the province has been likened to California.

I do not recall seeing such a gentle and kind family father, not particularly tall, but slender, stout, toughened by experience and the mason's work. He seems to be taking care of the plants in the massive courtyard most lovingly. Every single shoot he cuts off the plants, finds its place in some room of the house in a small glass filled with water; not an inch of plant is allowed to die and whither before it is really necessary. I see many such glasses around the house and am amazed at how these little shoots don't show the slightest sign of withering after a week. We have delicious meals and explore the city somewhat.

I learn that organic agriculture is relatively foreign to Iran. A farmer on the fields outside of Dezful actually tells us that it is common practice to pour naphtha on carrot fields as a pesticide:
"Don't you think this has an effect on the quality of the food or that it may be harmful?" I ask him.
"It all dissapears once the carrot is ripe." he answers
"Do you think at all about the adverse effects fertilizers and pesticides might have on the environment?"
"If any adverse environmental consequences are identified, the agricultural scientists are held responsible." The following day we visit Reza, a friend of Hossein, in the city of Shoosh. He is himself an agricultural scientist. He worked with rice-paddie farmers for four years, but resigned eventually as the farmers were ignoring his advice and knowledge.

In Shoosh we visit a most awesome system of water-mills, now in ruins, established by the legion of the Roman emperor Valerian during their captivity in Persia. On another day we make a bicycle trip to the Ziqqurat of Chogha Zanbil, apparently erected by the Elamites about 1200BC. As was the case in Central America, Eqypt or China, this temple formed the center of a large city, itself representing the worship of the Deity. Tunnels stretching over more than 60km(!) connected it with adjacent cities. Today the moisture and smell of sugar-cane fields fills the air.

Back in Dezful Hossein and I visit the shop of Miri, a man who is known to be a Sufi. One of Hossein's brothers, Ali, attends Miri's meetings regularly. Ali saw him and his students perform certain actions many people would perhaps deem incredible. Miri, Hossein and I talk for almost the entire day. I sense incredible power in the meeting. Hossein patiently translates between Persian and English. I am given the opportunity to stay with Miri and learn. However, I feel that I must acquire a certain foundation elsewhere. I am driven east . . . but I will most probably return.

Hossein and I return to Tehran. My Visa lasts only a week longer and since I do not have the original Visa anymore there is no possibility of extending my stay in Iran. I must leave and so I continue south rapidly with buses and hitchiking. I stay at couchsurfers places in Isfahan, Shiraz and Bandar Lengeh and prepare for corssing the Persian Gulf to the United Arab Emirates.

In Isfahan Masood Tadayoni and his friend approach me on the street and invite me to their place. Masood is a talented musician and had been teaching the Setar since he was 15. He plays the piano too. During our discussions he teaches me English vocabulary. Next to playing and teaching music, Masood spends hours a day perfecting his English.

In Shiraz I stay at the place of Alireza. Rasoul calls in the evening and tells me that after many years of search he now found a man who is ready to teach him to control his out-of-body states. Rasoul wanted to test his abilities; the man asked for any object or piece of clothing that belonged to Rasoul and told him that he would tell Rasoul where he lived if he would give him one nights time. He proposed that Rasoul stay at his place for the night. Rasoul however had to return home, but made sure that nobody followed him. The following day he came back and the man started to describe precisely the buildings which are found on the street where Rasoul lives, the details of the entire neighborhood in fact . . . the power of psychometry.

I share this with Alireza and he tells me of people he knows that organize seances Shiraz. They induce out of body states with a specific brew. A skeptic friend of his once wanted to disturb the circle and asked to participate. After taking the liquor he wanted to pretend a spasm. Just in the moment when he threw himself on the floor he saw the entire circle from the top corner of the room, including his body lying on the ground. Despite the shock he wanted to continue acting out the spasm and witnessed his body doing it from the outside. The others in the circle rushed to his side. He wanted to remain in this state and observe the situation, but he found himself back in his physical body again a second later. Despite hearing this from his good friend, Alireza himself remained skeptical. My discussion over the telephone with Rasoul, my reports of Veysel, Jay and my mother now convince him otherwise. Alireza also tells me of a friend of his who had visited India on a student exchange. One day he woke up in the morning with an incredible unrest. He had to leave his apartment and go out onto the street. he did not know where he was going, but he experienced such a bad feeling and unrestfulness that he couldn't stay inside. An old man approached him on the street and spoke to him directly without any greeting or introduction:
"Your mother is in very bad condition. Call your family."
"What is this. Who are you?" Alirezas friend replied.
"Who I am is completely irrelevant, just call your mother." And he left him standing speechless on the street.
Indeed his mother was brought to the hospital the night before in a serious condition. Alireza's friend returned to Iran immediately and gradually witnessed his mother get better, attending her regularly and taking care of her.

In Shiraz I also visit Perspolis, the former capital of the Achaemenid empire. I imagine the palaces and halls in their grand beauty, the ceremonies of the empires royalty, the new-years celebrations.

11 - 19.11.2011

Hossein and Mustafa are incredibly helpful in going with me to the police and I visit the embassy several time to sort things out. I meet Karina again. Our ways parallel. We met in Tblisi, Yerevan and Tabriz before. We spend an evening in good company with Bijan an actor, Bahram a film director, Boris, another visiting couchsurfer from France and numerous further young men and women.

I meet Soroush Parsi, a friend of Rasoul from Tabriz, and talk to him about Zoroastrianism and Iranian society in general. Soroush directed and produced a film about Zoroastrian society nowadays, which follows some families on their yearly pilgrimage from Yazd to a cave temple in the desert. This was a principal refugee for Zoroastrians during the Arabian invasion in the middle-ages. They preferred to face the harsh conditions of the desert to preserve their religion and way of life, than to lose their heritage and adopt an alien system of values. Hence Yazd and Kerman are the cities in which most Zoroastrians are found today. I learn that their principal precepts are essentially those of the 'Bhagavad Gita': The personal self is unified with the eternal flame, Ahoura-Mazda, the Universal Self, or the Hindu Brahma, by means of goodness: Goodness in thought, goodness in speech and goodness in deed.

At a later date Hossein and me meet with Akbar in a student dormitory. Akbar proceeds to elucidate three principles on which all acts that we might call 'magic' are based upon, and asks me which one of these I am most interested in.
"None of them for the sake of physical or psychic phenomena" I reply "It is knowledge of existence that concerns me. I am well aware though, that the first principle, that of Will, is most intimately tied with this." After a long discussion Akbar agrees that a religious life is not a requisite for the dawning of such knowledge, that a critical and curious intellect, intuition and conscience may suffice, without the frames of any particular religion.

"What do you think is the role of love?" Mehdi asks
"We talk much of knowledge, consciousness and understanding, but all that we learn and read, all inner awakenings and flashes of light may be seen as containers. That which fills these, which gives these their living quality, their color, is Love. It is the dynamic power, which makes these profoundly positive to an individual, which fills these with emotional reality" I reply.

Mehdi talks of his own relation with 'supernatural' phenomena. His mother took part in a group working in seances, evoking and contacting spirits. She wanted to introduce her daughter, Mehdi's younger sister, to the group and their work, but Mehdi protested vehemently and repeatedly. One night he was away from home and woke up in the night being completely unable to move. It was as if a horrifying force was holding him down to his bed, inhibiting the slightest of his movements. He was lying thus in absolute horror for the rest of the night, unable to escape, until the first rays of the sun shot forth from the horizon and the Muezzin started to sing the morning prayer. In that instant the barrier vanished. The following night he returned home. At night he woke up to his mother wreathing and mumbling in her sleep and recognized in this exactly the horror he experienced last night. He wrenched his mother out of sleep and while she was trying breathlessly to explain to her son what she had dreamt, he was finishing her sentences for her. She was amazed at how he knew so precisely of her dream and Mehdi told her he had experienced just this state the night before. Mehdi's mother immediately left the seance group and never involved her daughter in it.


Hossein arranges a meeting with Asgher, who is attending a lecture at the US Embassy. The man lecturing is famous for his lectures on Zionism and Freemasonry. Freemasonry nota bene is banned in Iran. The walls of the embassy grounds are covered in artworks portraying rockets, bombs, the stripes of the American flag fading into barbed wire over a map of Iran or the skeleton of the statue of liberty. Only now do I remember that the embassy was closed some 30 years ago. It is now used for other purposes but is still commonly called the 'spying house'. The lecture is in Persian, there are no accompanying graphics and the content is too dense for Hossein to translate, so I exit, sit in the sun in the yard and learn Hindi. I am approached by first one, then two, then three men, evidently trying to tell me in Persian that I am not allowed to be here. They seem somewhat unsure of their cause, but I finally follow them to the front yard of the embassy grounds, where I am told to sit. The gatekeeper chats with me, telling me that it is simply a law stating that no foreigners are allowed on the inner grounds. I sit on the bench outside for some time, it is getting cold and I wonder if there is a paragraph in the law about foreigners freezing their bones off while waiting for friends inside. I stroll back to the lecture hall. On exiting again after the lecture with Hossein and Asgher the gatekeeper is already waiting for me in front of the door, visibly upset by the fact that I went back inside. He calms down after exchanging a few words with the two and mentions that I was the first foreigner inside the US Embassy since Islamic Revolution in 1979.

Asgher equally had out of body experiences, but as the state commenced, he was able to move about freely by his own will. He tells me of how he visited the University in this state once, seeing students and lecture halls.
"But this is not what interests me. I'm interested in the phenomena of parapsychology in politics" Asgher says.
At his apartment he portrays the history and alleged origin of Freemasonry and elaborates on the modes of psychic attack and deffence. I remind him that most information about such societies and psychic practices point in the opposite direction of Self-Reliance, Goodness, Truthfulness and Philosophy:
"It is essential to be informed about all good and bad there is, but nothing should occupy our minds to such an extent that we loose sight of our essential duty: the duty to be happy, to feel good."

07 - 10.11.2011

I meet yet another couchsurfing host hitchiking from Rasht to Chalus. On the way I get out in Ramsar, follow the hint of Babak and decide to have a closer look at the back-country. The air amazes me. It's November, but it feels truly subtropical. The forest is just that. I was aware that Iran is not only made up of desert and that it actually has forests; I was not aware that dense jungle covers parts of it. I hike to a small village in the mountains behind Ramsar. There I ask at a house how the road continues, if I can continue to the jungle or if it leads somewhere else. The family father explains that the road leads to exactly this village and no further. Past it there is only jungle he explains. I understand this as an invitation to hike further and to spend a night breathing rainforest air away from settlements, but find that the jungle and mountains form an impassable wall at the edge of the village.

 
I hitchike back to Ramsar and then continue to Chalus. As I want to hitchhike to Tehran a man stops. Habitually I say: "Are you going to Tehran? I have no money . . . no money."
"Yeah man, take it easy" the man answers in perfect English.
I get in and he asks whether I have any plans for today or tomorrow morning. He invites me to his place in Noshahr near Chalus for the night. I'm tired from hiking, it's getting dark slowly and I'm happy to have the opportunity to get to know another local. Pourya's apartment is luxurious. I join him in his daily two hours of meditation on the multifariously shaped fifteen or so species of fish and the one lobster in his freshwater aquarium.
"This is my love" Pourya says.
He does however live with his wife, who is just visiting her family in Tehran for some days.

In the evening we visit his uncles place. We enter a walled terrain with many enormous villas and finally reach a huge palace of a villa. Inside there is a young girls party, all dancing to pop-music, shouting around and laughing freely. Upstairs we enter his uncles study. Kazim greets us calmly, from among his artworks, which are spread across the whole floor. He proceeds with his work, appearing to dismantle and put together again from scratch a huge flashlight. Pourya explains that his uncle is preparing to go out hunting for the night, pointing out the two guns in the beautifully decorated hand-made cabinet. I am struck by the atmosphere of the room. I sense Kazim going about his work with seemingly infinite peace of mind. His entire nature sings:
'   I   just   do   W H A T E V E R   I   want   ' There is not the least bit of pride or vileness in his energy, but rather constant creativity and productivity.

I learn that Kazim is a renowned architect and most of what is spread on the floor are samples of his custom-made decorative wall-tiles, each one of which costs well over 1000 dollars. The family Shahyeste, of which Pourya is one of the numerous descendants, fled from Tehran after the Islamic revolution. They owned entire neighborhoods. The government worked to break their power, which even led to a family member being murdered.

Pourya and I talk of world civilizations, the developments of history, social structure and traveling. while Kazim interjects most composedly and thoughtfully once in a while, not lifting his eyes from the gigantic flashlight he is now testing on the balcony.
"The development of civilizations proceeds in ever recurring cycles" I say
"You know that this our civilization is not the first to span the globe with flying vehicles and high technology." Pourya adds assuredly.
"We are not in fact rising to a golden age at the moment. We are descending to the depths of a dark age. We are facing an end. In what manner is hard to say, but this civilization is falling" Pourya translates Kazims comment from Persian.

The next day Pourya insists on organizing a ride for me to Tehran instead of myself hitchiking. The road from Chalus to Tehran is blocked, due to heavy snow in the mountain pass and a rock having fallen onto the road. At the blockade the cars turn to go the alternative way over Amol and Pourya walks among the cars and talks with several drivers. After some minutes Pourya calls me to a car. A man, Mehdi, agrees to take me to Tehran. I tell him from the outset that I have no money. He says its no problem at first, but quite soon he asks me for money as he needs to buy fuel. He  notices that he does not have enough himself. I only have Euro bills left. In addition he has difficulties finding the way to Amol. One man on the street he asks for directions, lends him money worth at least half a tank full of fuel. He insists on not taking anything in return. They exchange numbers. The man is a total stranger. Again I am amazed at how people are ready to help each other here.

Mehdi takes another couple and child with him from Amol and we make our way through the mountains to Tehran. We change seats several times and I drive perhaps one third of the way in total, as Mehdi wants to use the phone, smoke or just rest. In Tehran the couple gets out and we make our way to Azadi Square. Mehdi runs out of credit and I lend him my phone. He then stops once again under a large bridge and asks me to drive again. There are mounds of earth beside the road under the bridge and I tell him I'll take a leak there. As I face away from the road I hear the engine wailing behind me, driving off at full speed. Phone, passport and wallet are in the car, along with everything else I had. Im wearing my glasses, sweater, jacket, linen pants and shoes.

In a fraction of a second comes first disbelief then realization. I jog along the road for some meters just to make sure Mehdi hasn't reparked the car or if bad conscience hasn't stopped him somewhere. Fear and anger creep in, but together with the realization that he is indeed gone and that there is not the slightest thing I can do, I let go of it completely. What is left is the wave, the impetus, but without its cold and negative coloration; a wakeful and productive high grows. Only Life can continue my story now.

Two men drive me to the nearest metro station from where I go to Azadi Square. Hossein, a couchsurfer is waiting there for me, but I am well aware that I will reach the square long after the appointed time. I feel a thrill and joy. I taste a crumb of the pure life without credit cards, phones, money, passports and appointments. What I have vaguely desired in some unknown form becomes reality for a moment. Naked as I was born, so I stand again. For the duration of the 45 minute metro ride I float in no-where. From no side is there any pressure, for there is nothing like a cellphone, or contact number with which I could get back in touch with the entire society I grew up in, the society I was in touch with, the society that sketches the outlines of my course of action. From no side is there any pull, for no part of this society can in any way contact me and in fact I cannot do the least in the moment to change this. I have no possessions, perhaps a dollar in my pocket, there is not a thing I can loose. The slightest subconscious thoughts of protecting my own person dissolve in nothingness. I am practically invincible.

I feel an immense health and vigor pushing its way out from my breast and throat through my mouth, nose and eyes. Every pore of my skin breaths out full-throttle from an inexhaustible reservoir of power. I sense in what a sea of incredibly dull energy I am sitting: the metro, city-life, routine. Some eyes turn towards me once in a while. I wield a resistless lightsaber of attention and hold it at every person in my view; not a single one replies to it or reflects it for any appreciable length of time. All the while I am talking to a man who gave me money for the metro ticket. He tells me of his 7-days-a-week job, deep in his tracks of routine, deeply depressed and deeply pessimistic. I lighten him up: Life is beautiful; there is always something to look up to; maybe it is not your situation that is bad, maybe it is essentially very similar for people anywhere in the world; there are always alternatives, perhaps not easy to achieve, but more than worthwhile to dare.

On arriving to Azadi Sqaure I don't look for Hossein anymore. I don't believe he would have waited this long. Under the Freedom Tower my freedom is sacrificed. I touch down again to return to the simple chain of practicalities. I meet three young men to whom I portray my situation. The high begins to subside. They are extremely forthcoming, ready to help and take me with them in their car. For some minutes Farzad and I are in the car alone and I express one of the recognitions which has just crystallized:
"It is hard to be completely integral and truthful in your life without being fully responsible for yourself in all respects. You cannot be truthful to yourself if you are dependent on the whims of others. You cannot be truthful to others if you cannot be truthful to yourself. You cannot attain inner Peace and Power if you are not truthful to the world around you."

At their friends place I access the internet and use their phone. I do not have Hosseins number online, but Ali, another couchsurfer sent me his. Kianoush and Farzad lend me money, for which I am deeply grateful and I meet Ali at Pastor Square. We proceed to his friends place, Ahoura who lives just around the corner. Ahoura plays in three heavy metal bands, performs on underground gigs, directs films and is an avid photographer. Ali tries to call my phone, but it seems to be switched off. He tells me that he will send Mehdi a text on my number, threatening him to give back my things. The next day Ali tells me that Mehdi's girlfriend called him, ready to give back my backpack, at a yet undefined time. I cannot believe my ears, but Ali doesn't fail to remind me that they could just be trying to win time with a false message to have enough time to sell my passport.

I proceed organize things at the embassy that day and meet Ali again in the evening. He does not mention a thing about the backpack at first, but when I ask him he says that he has not received a call back from Mehdi or his girlfriend for specifying a time for returning the backpack. The following day at noon Ali tells me on the phone that he has a surprise for me. In the evening we meet at Ahoura's home. I ask about the surprise and Ali is happy to portray his own presence as the surprise. Ali leaves for the night and later Ahoura calls me from his room, beckoning me out on the street:
"Ali called! Your backpack is on the street. A taxi driver left it there. Ali got a call."
We find my backpack on the sidewalk just around the corner to Ahoura's place. Everything is there except for passport and money. What...?!...Is it my worn out socks that smell fishy?

The following day I leave Ahoura's place and meet Hossein and his friend Mustafa.

04 - 06.11.2011

I take the bus from Tabriz to Qazvin and a shared ride the same evening to Rasht. I am hosted there by Babak. He tells me of his previous guest who came from Melle, the tiny town near Osnabrueck where my dear grandmother comes from. I start out in the early morning next day for a day-trip to Masoule. Mohammed, an English teacher from Fuman, takes me the last half of the way. He is a most avid mountaineer and a living encyclopedia of mountaineering expeditions throughout modern history all over the world. From Masoule we climb fast and swift and have great conversations about the Iranian state of society, the differences between east and west, linguistics and the source of religions. Among other things Mohammed points out that young men and women come here to be together in peace, without the fear of doing something wrong in the eyes of the 'social police'. Mohammed returns to Fuman for his classes and I continue hiking through the mountains. On my return to Masoule I meet a larger group of University students. Eyes from the group shine at me. Again the differences between Eastern and Western states of society are our topic.  Faroogh states in his imperfect, but perfectly comprehensible English:

"Economy in Iran is low, but Love in Iran is big!"

I must totally agree with him.

 

After having a short chat with another couchsurfer from Rasht, that I meet in a cafe of Masoule by chance, I decide to explore the town. The town is built on a mountainside so steeply that many entrances to houses are found on the roofs of the houses below. High in town an elderly couple invites me to their place, calling from their balcony. I have a tea at their place and am invited to marvel at the newly restored and refurbished interior. Mozaffer, another English teacher takes me back to Rasht and again the difference between east and west are a major topic.

While the people in the east are looking up to the state of society in the west, the people of the west, having arrived in it and experiencing as a norm all the conveniences it has to offer, do not find there a fulfillment to their deepest yearnings. They look for deeper qualities of life in simpler conditions, without the distractions and without the isolation technology facilitates. Due to this green and socialist movements prevail and are in many parts of the western world coming strongly to the forefront. Due to this also such an incredible number of travelers embark yearly on the pilgrimage to the east. The motivations between people might differ, but the mass-movement of young generations, the cross-fertilization of east and west is a fact. The west teaches of scientific and technological achievement, of perfect infrastructure and organization. The east teaches of the value of family and social life and of the satisfaction and power that lies in deeper spiritual states and insights. The east is attempting to shuffle off its outgrown chrysalis of religious discipline to attain to a state of outer freedom, freedom of expression. The west is searching in dire need for a sense of direction and guidance from among the results of a freedom devoid of higher ideals.

The following day I visit Ghale Rudkhan, a Seljuq castle high in forest covered hills. With astonishment I find that what I am hiking through is temperate rainforest, lush, humid and fresh, full of wondrous sounds and invigorating smells.

31.10.2011 - 03.11.2011

After a night in Meghri I pass the border to Iran. I remember that I was told to always ask whether the driver wants money before entering a car when hitchiking in Iran. I neglect to do so with the first driver and after he takes me to a town near Jolfa he asks for money. I get mad and make a big scene out of it: his car is not advertise as a taxi and he did not say a word about having to pay when I entered the car. Some men flock around and follow the argument intently. A Russian speaking man translates. Finally I give the man 10,000 Armenian Dram and get 180,000 Iranian Rial. I have no clue how much I just had to pay, but leave with the bad feeling of having been ripped off.

Having learnt the lesson, I hitchike to Marand. In the minibus from Marand to Tabriz I talk to a man who explains the monetary system.
Rial is the official currency used in the country.
12,000 Rial = 1 US Dollar
The people count Rials in Tuman however. Almost all prices are advertised in Tuman.
1,200 Toman = 1 US Dollar

In Tabriz I am received most warmly by Rasoul and his neighbor Asgher. Rasoul starts to portrait life here in Iran. There are two parallel realities: officially there is to be no sex before marriage, adultery is a crime, alcohol is not to be drunk, modern dancing is forbidden, as are all types of modern music. In reality however the concept of girlfriends and boyfriends seems to be far more accepted than in the east of Turkey for instance, there are probably not many countries in the world in which having relationships aside of the marriage is social norm to such an extent as it is here, there are 'underground' parties at which people drink and dance regularly and American pop-music and TV shows are ubiquitous.

I found a sufficient number of people in Turkey to be truly religious although they might not have attached much value to religious form and codex. Here on the other hand form and codex are an external layer, an official necessity, under which simple atheism spreads far and wide. Government enforced repression of pre-marriage relationships stands in the most awkward contrast to media projections of sexuality, dance and party, which find their audience in most households of the country since satelite TV has become readily available some 10 years ago. Rasoul tells me of his own dissatisfaction with the official restrictions, while I catch a glimpse of an episode of 'Sex and the City' flashing on the TV screen in the corner of his room.

I go out to the city the next day with Georg, a fellow couchsurfer visiting Rasoul, who is, as I am, also on the way to India. On the streets and the bazaar I am confronted with the utmost respect as a foreigner from Europe and feel most warmly welcomed by total strangers. I find it hard to feel like a foreigner in fact. People seem cultured, intelligent; shops abound in all products we know from the west and the atmosphere on the streets is bright and clean. Here, total strangers hold together and help each other. There does not seem to be any of the mistrust between people, which seems to be so fundamental amongst foreign people in western cities, which is not even noticed in the west because it has become such a norm. If there is mistrust then it is most effectively concealed by the social norm of politeness and helpfulness.

People take total strangers with them in their car routinely. During rush-hour at larger junctions of the city you may see 20-40 people at any given moment waiting on the side of the street for somebody to take them to a different part of the city. Private cars stop constantly to give the crowds a lift. They stop and in a matter of seconds all the seats are taken. Sometimes not even a word is exchanged between passenger and driver; the destination seems to be irrelevant at first. People which have thus come together in a car might start chatting about their day, what is on their mind or what they are currently occupied with.

Crime, as we understand it, seems to be almost non-existant. Repeatedly I see people walking on the street with large batches of banknotes in their hands; at the gasstation the employees spend their whole day with stacks of money in their hand, while fueling the masses of incoming cars. Should the 'social police' however catch boyfriend and girlfriend kissing on the street, a day or two of imprisonment might follow, a substantial fine should be payed and a letter from the parents should confirm that such an act will not happen again.

Several times I spot particularly noble faces in the crowds on the street, faces of a royal, kingly character, handsome, beautiful, proud and aesthetic; they bring the association of Persian princes or heroes on the battlefield knowing exactly what they want; the long hair combed back, thick, well-kempt, the skin smooth and shining with a bronze tint, the radiation upright, awake and energetic. I am equally reminded of the Indian complexion and sometimes the hair resemble far-eastern types.

Indeed these are Aryans, today's living proof of the once mighty migration of a people, of art, of religion and of science from ancient India through the middle-east to Europe. I learn with the utmost clarity that comparing Arabians and Persians is like comparing Russians with people of the United State. On the surface, culturally speaking, they have little in common, save the same religion somewhere in the deep recesses of history. Persian is spoken here, not Arabic, women carry out the same jobs men carry out, women drive cars just as men do, antagonism against Arabians seems to be widespread, close to 3/4ths of the people are at least agnostics if not atheist and most people are decidedly against the government imposed religious law. Before the Arabian occupation of Persia some 1400 years ago, Persian was written in a pictographic alphabet, comparable to the contemporary Chinese and spiritual thought and practice was governed by Zoroastrian not Shamanic tradition. Within Zoroastrianism can be seen the inheritance of ancient India, Akkadia and Chaldea. In fact the three Magi's that visited Jesus allegedly came from Kashan in modern-day Iran, where Zoroastrianism prevailed.

With Rasoul I meet yet another man who tells me of his out of body experiences. In contrast to Veysel's experiences in Oltu, Turkey, Rasoul did not work on achieving this experience with his will. Since his childhood Rasoul finds himself out of his physical body every two or three nights with no breaks inbetween, looking down on it in as it is asleep. As a child he told his family about it, but they sceptically and sarcastically assured the silly child that he had a powerful imagination. These states continue routinely to this day. Rasoul went to doctors, where he was told that he has a very strong predisposition for such experiences, that his constintution is very prone to such experiences and that they can do nothing to help him. Rasoul went to fortune-tellers, which can be found in great numbers in Iran and are often perceived as absolute problem-solvers, and was told there that he seems to be a master of this practice and that they can give him no advice from their own minor or non-existant experience.

Rasoul himself is quite helpless in this. When exiting the body he perceives exactly the same overwhelming acoustic phenomena, which Veysel and Jay in London have described: extremely loud and frightening white noise, footsteps, whispers and knockings. Once he has exited he finds himself above his physical body in the room and any movement he does with his 'astral' body, takes an incredible amount of energy and willpower, so much so in fact that he usually recedes to merely observing and not doing anything. The further he tries to get away from the physical body, the greater the force seems to be he that he is working against and so he has never yet reached as far as the street outside of his apartment. Lately however he had managed something on which he was working for a long time and which took incredible amounts of energy: he managed to open the eyes of his physical body, seeing how they open from the outside.

While this experience is incredibly tiresome and demanding in itself, Rasoul feels an absolute calmness, freshness and invigoration when coming back to his physical body, so much so that he usually does not feel the need to continue sleeping for the rest of the night. Rasoul of course studied much literature on this subject and equally has the wish to travel to India to find a Master that could teach him how to control that, which he has been experiencing every two to three nights since his childhood.

One evening Georg, Rasoul, Asgher and I visit his home village, where we meet his brother-in-law. We continue to another nearby village where we visit the cabinet of a fortune-teller. The man in his mid-sixties perhaps shows that he has nothing to tell us, but Rasoul remains inside for a couple of minutes. I ask why he has visited these fortune-tellers several times and come to understand that he is simply curious to learn what they are doing and how it comes that so many people are captivated by them. We continue to the ancient village of Kandowan that evening where people live a relatively traditional way of life making handicrafts, selling them to tourists and bringing out their live-stock to the pastures. We have a look around and peak in to some of the rooms which were chiseled out of the rock thousands of years ago and are still inhabited up to this day.

I am grateful for Rasoul hosting me so warmly in Tabriz. I have to add that Rasoul drives like an absolute street-pirate. Hail Ibrahim Tatlises.

Note

Please note that I have added one or the other photo and have corrected minor phrases on older posts from Georgia.

In particular I would like to point out that I have originally posted the link to Dejan's blog wrongly. It is: eonstravelblog.wordpress.com

Most astonishingly he has skipped the travel through the middle-east, meaning that I will not have the chance to meet him in Iran. Dejan has taken a flight from Ankara straight to New Delhi and is now dedicating almost all of his time to playing the Bansuri at music academy.

27 - 30.10.2011

We hitchike towards Sisian. A truck-driver takes us for a while. We pass of stretch of highway, alongside which an earthen wall has been piled up. This is as a response to shots coming over from Azerbaijan recently. We wonder at the speed of the truck, a soviet 'Kamaz'; we could walk as fast with our packs. 

"Twenty-three tons of beer" the driver explains "2600 crates of nine bottles each."

We thank him and leave the truck.

We arrive in Areni, lying in a mountain valley and ask a family sitting on the veranda whether we can set up the tent anywhere close. They beckon us to sit down and serve us a most delicious dinner of fried potatoes with onions, bread, cheese, absolutely delicious tomatoes and burning chillies. Gevgor takes us to his uncles family and then invites us to stay at their place for the night.

The following day we visit Noravank, an ancient monastery at which khatchkars are present with enigmatic, precisely formed holes. Confirming what I have read earlier, these were monoliths employed for specific purposes by pre-christian cultures, often found next to rivers - which were later converted to khatchkars. I think of the extensive knowledge of geomancy that ancient cultures disposed of.

We continue south and pass two police road-blocks on foot, at which all cars are stopped due to snow blocking the road further south in the mountains. We continue as far as we can with Armin, who invites us for the night to his families place in Saravan. We are hosted most warmly.

The sun is out on the following day and we pass Sisian towards Tatev monastery. Two men, Artak and Arthur, take us there in their van. They are delivering sweets and other food all the way from Yerevan to the villages near Tatev. We descend into an incredible abyss of a valley and climb all the way up again to the other side. The two have started to drink home-made vodka and by the time we enter the monastery together, Artak needs to catch himself on his own feet ever so often, propping himself on a wall perchance. The whole area is covered in dense fog, creating a uniquely mysterious atmosphere. Artak talks long with a friendly young priest who repeatedly gives his blessings to each of us in turn. We were planning to wait for Artak and Arthur at the monastery until they they complete their delivieries and take us back to the Yerevan-Goris highway, but now they take us straight away, with all the food undelivered, planning to go back to Yerevan straight away.

"But don't you have unfinished business in the villages?" I ask amazed.

"You don't understand." Artak replies, barely able to hold the van on the road or to shift gears. "This is Armenia; We have just been blessed by an illuminated man. Today there is no more work."

We cannot believe what we have heard. The men drive a van, packed full of food back to Yerevan. Artak drops me in Goris at his friends place, where I can stay for the night cheaply and comfortably. Roland returns to Yerevan with the two. Our ways part. The time spent with Roland will remain in memory as very educating. Thank you.

I continue the next day over a 4500 meter pass to Meghri where I stay for the night.

17 - 26.10.2011

We stay at Yerevan hostel for a night and move to Horatio's place after this, a gifted guitarist. Following this we meet Kush, who had moved here to study medicine with other friends from India and is now making a living in the city, contributing to the health reform which the Armenian government is planning to pass. We meet his friend Arin, at whos place we find an extremely comfortable new home for the rest of our stay in the city.

Roland and I walk to the monument at the top of the Yerevan cascade stand in awe at the beauty of the city. Giant Mt. Ararat dominates the skyline and in general the whole city center makes a most appealing impression in its radial layout. I am at once captivated by it. If anyone were to ask me which place in the world most resembles ancient city of the Golden Gates in Atlantis, I would at once answer: the Yerevan cascade.

We visit the Matenadaran, the manuscirptorium, in which some of the worlds oldest surviving manuspcripts are kept. Apparently the largest and heaviest book is found there as well as a recently studied manuscript, the language of which no linguist worldwide understands.   Ethnologists and anthropologists are now called upon to join the search for the unknown language. Only two small rooms show manuscripts on display. The rest of the enormous, massively constructed, 4-storey building is dedicated almost exclusively to the restoration and conservation of old manuscripts.

We meet Karina, whom we have met in Tblisi before our departure and visit the Garni temple together. This was erected in Roman times, after repeated battles between Roman legions and the Armenian army, and resembles traditional Greek architecture, incorporating symbolic numerological measures. I learn from the information boards that the Armenian regent of the time, King T'rdat, had initiated emperor Nero into the Magian rites, hence those passed down to him from ancient Chaldea.

We read, write, learn languages, cook and spend some nights out. We also visit the Design Cafe at which Horatio plays Jazz and Blues one night. We also share quality time with Kush, Sumit and their friends and finally leave on the day of Divali towards the south of Armenia, after trying a fantastic curry.

10 - 16.10.2011

Roland and I move out towards Armenia next day. A church father gives us a ride, fully clad in his official garment. He drops us at the highway where he going off towards a small village. But he too gets out of his car and persists in stopping cars for us. We try to explain to him that he really doesn't need to do this, but he continues.
"Your definitely on the safe side hitchiking with a priest in Georgia" we laugh
Blessed be our journey. But only one car stops. The driver gets out to get the priests hug, kiss and blessings and goes on again. He finally shows us that he is running late for an appointment and leaves us.

We continue to the Guguti border, walking a long way. We pass towns in which wallnuts are being harvested and we get given many bunches by the locals. A farmer passes with his cart, pulled by a donkey and gives us apples. As night falls we reach the border, where Akaki, a policeman on the Georgian side engages us in an extensive talk about his wish to travel. We share our experiences. On the Armenian side the policeman that gives us our Visas, Karem, opens up an empty housing container, the type you see for the workers on building sites, for us to use at our will. There is no shop around and we knock at a door of a house near the border. The man apologizes that he can give us no bread, but gives us delicious Armenian conserves of vegetables. We have dinner in the container.


"So what is your dream for life?" I ask Roland
"I don't know, I don't really find the time to think about these things usually" Roland replies "To have a family I suppose."
I am surprised.
But then Roland continues: "I don't know if this makes any sense to you, but I get these moments sometimes, maybe once every two or three weeks, in which I kind of . . . dissociate. Its hard to explain. Its like I dissolve and there is just oneness. Its like a higher state of consciousness I guess."
I suspect something great: "It definitely makes sense to me". But the mood in which Roland expresses the experience does not seem familiar to me. So I wish to clarify:
"Do you get this when you are walking, doing exercise, talking to others, or what?"
"No, now that I think about it, it only happens when I am sitting quietly, not doing anything else."
"Since when do you have these experiences" I ask further.
"I remember experiencing this since my childhood. I don't know . . . I'm not sure if it's something common, or something peculiar to me."
"It's definitely nothing common, but your definitely not alone with these experiences either." I reply. "Have you not talked about this to others?"
"I've only started mentioning it to others recently and nobody really seems to understand."


I tell Roland of my own story, fascinated at the wild diversity of experiences and expressions coming from the One fountainhead.


"Is it positive?" I attempt to get a clearer understanding Roland's point of view.
"I guess so" Roland answers hesitatingly.
"Does it feel good?"
"I don't know . . . when I think about it I can't really put it into words at all"
 "The Tao that can be put into words is not the real Tao" I remember the words of Laotzu.


After a long pause Roland finally adds: "It's like I see what drives humanity onwards, what is the driving force of humanity . . . it's like understanding the happenings of the world, the acts of humankind from a universal point of view. It's like seeing a grand sense in it all."


We return to Karem to ask if we can refill our water bottle. Karem gives us water, but also pours vodka into shot glasses.
"We toast to the trinity" Karem proposes.
"I don't want to drink" I say.
"To the father" Karem toasts.
We drink. He pours another shot.
"I really don't want to drink" I say.
"Me too" Karem answers. "To the son"
We drink. He pours a third shot.
"I don't want to drink" I say again emphatically.
"Me too" Karem again replies.
"Then why do you drink?"
"Because it's tradition . . . To the holy ghost"
We drink.
"So is this what life is like on the border?" I ask.
"Only when I'm on duty" Karem replies.


The next day Karem waits until we pack up the tent and takes us to Vanadzor. From there we continue to Dilijan, where we stay for two nights at a pleasant B&B. In soviet times cinematographers and authors used to come here to work in peace and soak up inspiration from the beautiful natural surroundings.

Roland and I hitchike to Parz Lake and hike from there to Gosh village. The majority of the trees in the picturesque village are either apple or plum trees and we set up our tent in the garden of a family, which is just picking buckets of apples from the ground. We help. The next morning the whole garden is covered again. We visit Goshavank monastery and admire the awesome stonework of the katchkars, the ancient stone tablets, in the cemetery of the village. On one I notice the same downward-pointing, five-petaled lotus as is allegedly found on the talismans and woodwork of the Siberian shamans.

After a two day hike in the direction of Lake Sevan, we reach the town of Semyonovka from where he hitchike to Sevan. We set up our tent at the lake. Next morning, just as we are getting out of the tent afisher rows his paddle bat to the shore and calls over to us. He Throws us four fish, round, healthy-looking carp. We are just finishing to fillet one of these when two men, Keram and Hamlet invite us to their house close to the shore. We fry our fish in their kitchen; never have I had such sweet fish in my life! We eat well and have a long discussion about the relationship between Armenians and the Turkish, our travel experiences, beliefs and life philosophies.

"Religions are for the weak. The strong find hold in themselves; they trust only in themselves."  Keram says "There is no truth in religions. Truth is in the hands, in our daily work. There are so many idiots and bad people around us. It is our responsibility to take care of our children, create a caring environment for them and take care of the house and neighborhood.


I show Kerams nephew, Hamlet Jr., some Aikido and after Hamlets and Kerams recommendations for what to see in Yerevan, we depart for the capital.