Glimpses of Tehran - Part 3 - Ken Gibbs

CONSTRUCTED TO CELEBRATE 2,500 YEARS OF PERSIA,
BUT RENAMED ‘AZADI TOWER’ FOR THE 1979 REVOLUTION
(photo: Wikipedia)

While writing about the visit to Iran in 2003 for OXFAM/UNICEF assisting the Iranian Government to prepare for a possible influx of refugees from Iraq, I kept having flashbacks to my first visit in 1975-78, some 50 years ago when the Shah was still sitting on the Peacock Throne and the name Ruhollah Khomeini was almost unknown.

 At that time, we had started out being paid a very poor salary, and with a young family with me, my interests were mostly about survival – and learning some Farsi.

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At the outset, I was accompanied by a senior engineer from our English firm who was my (English) supervisor, and because this was the first meeting of our firm with the Iranian firm, the Iranian who was to be my Iranian supervisor invited us to have a simple pub supper at an English ‘Pub’ with him in Tehran.  We were taken to what appeared to be a standard English pub, with a dart board on one wall, and beer pumps on the serving counter.  We were asked what we would like to drink, and we opted for a beer each.  Our Iranian host ordered the drinks and they were duly delivered.

So, here we have three men standing facing the bar with beer for the English, and some different drink for our host.  Peter, my supervisor from the UK, leant forward to look to see what our host was drinking, and he asked our host what it was.  “Whisky” was the immediate answer.

This hit Peter between the eyes and it took him some moments before he plucked up enough courage to ask, “Mr Akhavi, I understand that this is a Muslim country where alcohol is banned.  Is that not right ?”

Mr Akhavi thought about this for a moment, then said, “Islam says that not a drop of alcohol may pass your lips.  So, when I receive my whisky, I dip my finger into the drink, and shake the drop off it on to the counter – like this. That way, not a drop passes my lips.”  No answer to that one, for sure.

While nominally, alcohol was not allowed, at the same time, Iran produced two wines which foreigners were able to purchase.  They came with – from memory – the two labels of ‘1001’ (hezar-o-yek) for a white wine, and ‘Chateau Sardasht’ for a red wine.  As we were not numbered amongst the upper deciles of the independently wealthy, I cannot remember having sampled either of them.  One shouldn’t be surprised that Iran produces wine when one remembers that the ‘Shiraz’ grape originates in Iran and was still being widely grown in the Shiraz area at that time.

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Peter and I were in the same hotel, so after the pub visit, I walked with him back to our lodgings.  I have a fairly good ‘bumf of locality’, so I guided him which way to turn and how to cross the street to get back to our hotel.  The first street we were to cross was a one-way street and I just managed to pull Peter back on to the pavement as he was almost run down by a car going the wrong way in the one-way system.  I had read quite a bit about Iran before coming on this venture, so was aware of some of the hazards.  Peter, on the other hand, was a dab hand at technical calculations but naïve when it came to other cultures.

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The family had been placed in a simple house in Golhak in Tehran where English was not spoken at all, and we were not welcomed, so we generally kept to ourselves.

Very soon after our arrival, we discovered an Aer Lingus pilot and family who were living not too far from us, and it allowed the wives to meet up to chat and compare notes.  They had a dog – a spaniel – which was quite gentle, and the children took to her very easily.

On one occasion, my wife and our two children were walking to meet up with the Aer Lingus family when an armed soldier stood in their way, indicating that they should not proceed any further.  It was not clear what was the matter, so my wife and children returned home to try to phone to let the Aer Lingus family know what had happened.  The phone call was immediately answered because their tea-hosts were lying on the floor in their kitchen trying to avoid the bullets which had broken a number of their windows above them.  The fusillade was short lived and it appeared that this had been a terrorist/protester from the Tudeh Party (roughly equal to the Communist Party) who had been pursued by soldiers who drove him into the local bread shop where the battle was short-lived.  At least my wife couldn’t claim that she led a dull life. . . . .

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Early in the start of our time with Mr Akhavi and his partner Mr Balman, I was sent out to obtain my work permit.  I was told where to go.  I was civilly received and they asked the usual questions and finally said that I could have the work permit, but first I had to show them my residence permit.  I had no residence permit – but was told where I had to go to obtain one.  Once in the Residence Permit office, I went through exactly the same process as I had with the work permit application – to be met with exactly the same response.  Please may we see your work permit before we issue your residence permit ?

I went back to the office and explained my conundrum, and Mr Akhavi laughed and came with me and, after a quiet, unseen handover over of two 1,000 toman notes, everything was resolved.  Economics, Iranian style, hard at work.

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FOUNTAIN, UNDERGROUND, BELOW THE AZADI TOWER

First time visitors to Tehran Meherabad Airport are met by the Shahyad Tower which marks the city’s western entrance, commissioned by Md Reza Pahlavi (the last Shah) to commemorate 2,500 years of the Persian Empire.  The ceramic tiles are exquisite and as the photos show, considerable care was devoted to its design and construction.  The underground fountain once seen, can never be forgotten.

This Memorial Tower was used as the focus of protests in 1978 which led up to the flight of the last Shah and the arrival of Ruhollah Khomeini, and may, in historical terms, be more remembered for the end of the short-lived Pahlavi dynasty than for 2,500 years of Persian Empire.  What was it said by someone long since forgotten ?  “Be careful what you wish for. . . .”  The memorial was renamed the ‘Azadi (Freedom) Tower’ following the 1979 Revolution.

In retrospect, I have little sympathy for the Shah himself – but some sympathy for the Shahbanu (The Empress) as she seemed to fill a role of a philanthropist particularly focussing on women and their education - she founded the Pahlavi University in Shiraz - and on Persian art and artifacts.  She facilitated the buying back of Persian antiquities from museums abroad.  She was very active in charitable organisations and has continued this work after the death of her husband.  She had the singular advantage of having had a very rich husband to fund her interests. . . . .

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The joint-venture of which I was the first Briton, lasted – for me, at least, exactly 365 days plus a statutory one month’s notice.  It was a sham and the British end of the joint venture seemed not to read the details that I fed back to them every two weeks.  This left me in a delicate position as I would have to pay my own way back to Britain.  Happily, the British and Iranian portions of the joint venture spent around 6 months debating whether I should have submitted my resignation letter to the Iranian or British parts of the joint venture – despite the fact that I had submitted it to both parts.  Luckily, a USA group undertaking the Iran National Water Plan was short of an engineer and I came with both the right experience and was able to move around relatively freely because I had gained enough of the language to operate the taxis, buses, trains and airplanes – which none of the US staff was able to do.  I was interviewed and offered a salary many multiples of what I had been paid up till then, which allowed us to move further up towards the mountains (and thus above the smog levels), into a simple house that had a small swimming pool.

We could afford to send our daughter to the English kindergarten school – and it was from this school that we learned that the house opposite ours was owned by the Number 2 in Savak – the much feared secret police enforcers of the Pahlavi regime.  Curiously, our daughter and a son from the house opposite would talk to each other while they waited each morning for the person doing the school run that day.  The Number 2 in Savak lasted only a very short while after the Shah had left the country, and it was said that he was treated just as badly as Savak had treated opponents during the Shah’s reign.  I shudder to think of how the child from across the road was treated when his father was tortured and killed.

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Because we now lived above the smog levels, we always were the first to have snow fall on our flat roof.  This was a deficiency in design because we always had to keep the roof clear of snow to avoid having the ‘roof’ collapse.  If there was a light dusting of snow, I usually could handle it by myself, but when there had been a heavy snow, we would await the snowmen who would call out, “barfi-ya”; to be followed by a bargaining session.  I found that I could encourage a lowering of the price as I knew what a motorised snow machine would cost – one which would blow the snow over the parapet, and would threaten to go out and buy one to avoid having to employ the ‘barfi-ya-ha’.  Snow also affected the traffic and a couple of my colleagues would ski down to our office in the morning and would return by bus or taxi in the evening when the traffic had warmed the city and the snow had melted.

OUR DAUGHTER TOBBOGANING IN THE STREET ABOVE OUR HOUSE IN TEHRAN

Living for 3 years in Tehran meant that we celebrated Christmas there when the snow was often falling and the children wanted to play.  Avid readers of the blog might remember mention of Santa Claus’s hapless helper – The North polar Bear – and how he managed to damage gifts before they had even been delivered.  Click here to take you to ‘Curious Christmas customs’ where the North Polar Bear features.

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