Ashura in the Snow

Last week was Moharram, the 10 days in which Shia's mourn the death of Imam Hossein, the ultimate day known as Ashura. During Moharamm I was warned that the Basiji stop more people, so I should make sure whatever I was wearing wasn't too tight, too short, too bright etc. As well as black and green flags and banners saying Ya Hossein hung up everywhere across town, a tent also appeard down the road. Lambs were tied to a lamp post outside, to be sacrificed later. The tent was divided with a big cloth down the middle, so men and women can sit separately and listen to the Mullah's nightly sermon and enjoy a cup of tea or some food on the house. Although the tent filled up every night, life still continued as normal outside of it, dressed up boys and girls going about their nightly routine of shopping, flirting and coffee drinking. On Tasoa, the night before Ashura, my cousin called and asked if I wanted to head out to see Dasteh, the mourners who walk the streets, in groups organized by their mosque, dressed in black and beat their chests with their hands or chains. I was eager, as I hadn't seen it since I was a kid, and was wondering what I would think now. Four of us piled into a friends car, all having put on our black Maghneh (as Moharamm is about mourning, we had to wear black if we wanted to get near the action), and went Dasteh chasing. We drove across town looking for the signs… an empty bus that would have brought the group from their homes, drums or a PA system on the side of the road, lights outside a mosque. Asking around it seemed things would kick off at 8pm. As well public mourning, companies, schools, families, whoever feels like it really, give Nazri- food or drink as charity during this period. My cousin gave a running commentary on the best place to get food, and the different things she had eaten each year. As we drove all we could find was free tea, not quite what we were in the mood for. At 8pm sharp groups of Dasteh appeared all over the place, we'd see one on one side of the street, then drive down in the other direction and get stuck in traffic slowed by another group. All in all we saw 8 different groups, although none as big as I had been promised, and all with lots of young boys, sweetly banging drums twice their size, or swinging their chains but missing their bodies. Using chains with blades on them is now illegal, so the overly evocative images the news always shows of blood soaked mourners just don't exist. In fact I didn't even see any crying, and some were chatting on their mobile phones, beating their chests with their free hand. We were so hungry we couldn't hold out until 10pm, when most places were giving Nazri, so ended in another particularly Iranian place, a fast food restaurant. Full of fashionably dressed young people, I was reminded once again, that while out on the streets it seems that Moharram has taken over the country, there are plenty of people not involved at all.

Dasteh coming down the mountain in Qamsar

The following morning I headed to a family friend's house in Kashan for the night. The 3 hour journey through the desert was incredible, the scenery is forboding but never before had I seen it like this. In some places one side of the landscape was covered in white snow, and the other red from desert sand.

Snow covered desert

We went via Natanz, famed for its pears, knowledgable population and atomic energy. Although no one had said they were hungry, the idea was that we would get food from somewhere giving Nazri. We drove around town for about an hour; either the food wasn't ready, or it had all finished, or you needed your own pot to take it away. I was reminded of a phrase I learnt a few years ago 'Isfahani goftes, bokher ke moftes' (the Isfahani said eat because it is free). Eventually we happened on the best of all, a newly built old people's home, that didn't require your own cutlery, and even had a room with a gas fire and sofreh (table cloth spread on the floor) for us to sit an eat. Happily we chowed down on khoresh gheimeh (lentil and lamb stew) and rice, salad, plus tea and dates for afters, and promised we'd be back the following day for lunch on our way home.

Ancient houses in Natanz

In Kashan I found something I had been hoping for since I arrived in Iran, a korsi (a low table over a heater and covered in blankets). Since I was little my dad had told me stories of winters spent under the korsi. All the family packed under, doing homework, eating dinner, any usual daily activities undertaken layeh korsi to keep warm. A recent flick through a family album I found a photo of my dad, all his brothers and sisters sitting under the corsi, school books and tea cups on top and smiles from ear to ear. As one who hates the cold, I always thought it sounded like heaven. Straight in from the snow my cousin and I headed under it. Careful not to put our feet on top of the electric heater and pulling the covers under our chins we let out deep, content sighs. I didn't move for the rest of the afternoon, and sat reading, playing cards, napping, eating fruit, drinking tea and gossiping while the combination of people around me shifted, everyone at some point settling onto the mattress and taking a turn under the warm blankets.

Layeh Korsi!

The family we stayed with are an important family in Kashan, from what I could gather not particularly religious, but fairly wealthy and because of this every year they give Nazri for the locals. In the alley at the side of the house a huge fire was lit, and an enormous black pot (I could fit in it) was pulled off a pick up truck by 5 men and a ladder. Phone calls were made to families across town, and steaming rice and more khoresh were dished out to everyone who came out in the freezing temperatures.

3 men and a ladder That is me inside the pot

The next morning we all went for a drive in the mountains of Qamsar, but our car got stuck in the ice. First 3 men warming themselves by a fire started directing us, then about 30 people piled out of the mosque we were in front of, then my aunty and uncle got out too. Everyone making different suggestions and gestures, my cousin driving managed to saty completely cool, while us in the back were in fits of giggles. Eventually making our excuses we started on our way back to Isfahan, not wanting to admit we had a lunch date in Natanz.

Eating Nazri on the sofreh

This weekend I think I really saw the '2 sides' to Iran that so much literature on the country always mentions. Religious and irreligious side by side; everyone happy to get Nazri, even if everyone wasn't quite mourning. The wealth of the family in Kashan, indulging in coffee and cake under the korsi, and the poverty of their neighbours up the mountain; warming themselves by a wood fire as they have no gas. Even the contrast of the sand and snow across the mountains.