Iran

 Iran

I went to Iran once. Thirty three years ago, so back in the early nineteen nineties. I was invited to give a series of lectures at the Tarbiat Modares University in Tehran, jointly with a postdoctoral scientist from Oxford. A fascinating country, and a charming and worthy people. 

Why do I bring this up now, you may ask. Though I fear I may have left it too late, I feel it is my duty to share my experience. I suspect most people in Britain will be as near to totally ignorant of Iran as I was before my trip; ignorant of both the geography and the history of the country, and of the people. 

        I was invited, I suspect, in an attempt to forge links between our universities; more that I might learn about Iran than that their students might learn about 'Transport across Biomembranes'.  I returned to the University of Newcastle conscious that I was meant to be an advocate for closer relations between my university and an equivalent university in Tehran. I tried, but found that our pro-vice chancellor for overseas students had got it into his head that Islamic countries tended to default on paying fees. Some past problem with Libya, I think; possibly related to the Lockerbie bombing. But how stupid to confuse Maghreb arabism with Aryan Iran; as though Islam taught commercial duplicity, which is pretty rich coming from 'Perfidious Albion'. I indignantly protested that Iran had a very good reputation for business probity, but to no avail. I was in any case pretty sick of my university, and life generally at that time; and I left it at that; a dozen lovely memories, and as many photos. 

The Iran Air plane, an enormous Jumbo-Jet, filled up with well-dressed Europeans, like any other international airliner. The only oddity being signs announcing the times for prayer, and the direction of Mecca. However, no sooner had we taken off than the women all produced and donned head-scarves from their handbags. How would I recognise my fellow lecturer, who I knew was on the plane somewhere? It turned out not to be a problem for, after touring around the giant plane for 5 minute, I saw coming towards me a figure who could only be the Dr. Saira Malik I was looking for, a bright young Oxford biophysicist of Pakistani heritage, albeit wearing a headscarf. She seemed as confident as I was, that she had found what she was looking for: a British biochemist/biophysicist in mid-career and a fellow Oxonian. 

After chatting awhile and making a plan to link up on arrival, we returned to our seats; in my case to read the highly relevant book I had bought at Heathrow airport – "What is Islam?" [1]. That brought me swiftly from bottom of the class to a midway position able, in rural UK, to pontificate on  the 114 surahs of the Qur'an, Fatima, Ali and the Shi'ah, the role of the Jewish bible, relationship with Christianity; the Assassins, the Whirling Dervishes, and Sufi mystics. I looked nervously about me as I read of the Satanic verses, and the murderous, 1300-year-old, vendetta between Sunni and Shia sects. I marvelled at the enthusiasm these people bring to their beliefs. 

Our Hotel was the old Hyatt Hotel, lying just off the Chamran Highway in the extreme northern part of Tehran city, commandeered and renamed the Azadi Grand Hotel in 1979, along with other American assets. I cannot remember how we were met at the airport. But the morning after our arrival we were taken by car a mile or two south to Tarbiat Modares University. Saira and I gave our lectures alternaltely; she on membrane fluidity, I on the bioenergetics of solute uptake.  We lectured on a raised stage to slides projected onto a screen behind us. After the lecture, cups of sweet tea were handed round to all, starting of course with the lecturer, who then took questions. 

We had free time. I made cautious scouting trips round the blocks near the hotel, enchanted by early April almond blossom in the quieter streets, little artisan bakeries making the flat-bread discs that are their starchy staple. And, gazing northward to the majestic, snow-covered, mountains where the Shah had built a ski resort, before he hurried off to the States in 1979. On one of our free afternoons, academic colleagues took us walking into the city; leafy streets, with a runnel of clear water next to the pavement, and a welcome paucity of cars. (The revolution of 1979 had interrupted the import of new cars. However, the traffic down in the lower city was admittedly rather polluting.) 

On another free afternoon we were taken up above the snow-line on the ski-lift to the Shah's chalet. There we slid down a snowy slope sitting on an inflated truck-tyre. 

(Image by WorldAtlas.com)

Most enjoyable for me was a walk by myself from the hotel out into the foothills of the Elburz Mountains. There were well made stoney tracks following up the river valleys. The terrain was extremely rocky, the business solely recreation. There was no cultivation, and no sign of grazing animals; scarcely a green leaf, except for some poplar trees down by the rushing water. There was a sprinkling of recreational walkers, including women clad in black from head to heel. Every now and then I saw a mule carrying a load presumably to a restaurant further up the valley. It was idyllically peaceful. The Iranians drank great quantities of what looked like 'Coco-Cola' but was presumably made locally to their own recipe. The restaurants offered neither tables nor chairs, but a low platform on which, after removing your shoes, you could sit and eat, enjoying the dappled shade of the trees. (I learned some years later from an Iranian student that, for an ordinary Iranian at home, it is perfectly normal to sit on the floor to eat.)  I found it wonderful to be able to walk straight out from my hotel deep into the wilderness, and back, in an afternoon. The almond blossom, the rugged path, the rushing water, the mules, the women clad in hijab – I had never felt so close to Omar Khayyam.

One of my tutees in the Biochemistry honours course at Newcastle was from Tehran. She had asked her parents to call for me at my hotel and show me round Tehran. Neither speaking English nor owning a car, her parents had nevertheless taken the trouble to hire a car with an English speaking driver. I saw some lovely views of the city, and for a few miles out on the road northwards, towards the mountains and the Caspian Sea. But I was also invited to their home, where I was offered some hospitality. I greatly appreciated their kindness, and this brief opportunity to meet another culture, at home.

Sixteen months later I was able to repay their kindness for the mother of my student came over to see her daughter receive her degree. I do hope mother and daughter enjoyed the  coast and castles of Northumberland as much as I had enjoyed my week in Tehran. 

REFERENCES

[1] "What is Islam?" By Horrie & Chippindale, 1990, Virgin Publishing, London