Iran > Kurdish food in the park

Iran - The Sanandaj Museum is housed in an old traditional trading house

In the center of Sanandaj I walk into the courtyard of the old Jamai Mosque. I am immediately noticed by a group of students. They are drawing the mosque. “Where are you from?” A question I will have to answer many more times in the coming weeks. “Holland,” I call back enthusiastically. The story goes that the architect of the mosque was blinded after completion, to prevent him from ever creating such a design again. Ironically, right next to the mosque, in the same courtyard, now stands a modern Quran school. I agree with the sketching students that this building is hideous. The mosque’s caretaker happens to arrive just then. He is willing to open the door of the mosque for me. I take off my shoes and step inside the structure from 1227. The mosque floor is covered with a layer of sturdy carpets. Despite its simplicity, the mosque is beautiful. I continue on to the Sanandaj Museum. The museum is housed in an old merchant’s house. I find myself paying more attention to the beautiful old stained-glass windows than to the collection itself. It is special that the cellar is open, with its old fountain.

Iran - Vendors at their stalls in the bazaar

Across the street, I enter the Asef Vaziri House. This is also an old merchant’s house. As I step into the courtyard, I see that this house is far more extensive and beautiful than the museum. Through the narrow streets I gradually enter the bazaar of Sanandaj. A maze of alleys. I had seen in a brochure that there is an old hammam. This ancient bathhouse is said to be beautiful. I ask several times for directions to this hammam. I am referred to a door. Unfortunately, the door is closed, and garbage is piled up against it. Fortunately, the bazaar has plenty to offer: colorful stalls and many people in Kurdish dress. The men wear wide trousers with a low-hanging crotch. The women wear colorful robes. I go in search of the Mishir Divan traditional house. The Lonely Planet says you can knock on the door and maybe be let in (“use the speakerphone and hope”). But the door is already open. Construction workers are busy with restoration. They gesture for me to come in. This old merchant’s house is in poor condition. Restoration is urgently needed. The wooden frames hang crooked, and several windows are broken. The caretaker proudly shows me around the complex.

Iran - The covered bazaar of Sanandaj

With gestures, he points out the old hammam. A beautiful bathhouse in the corner of the courtyard. A pity it hasn’t been maintained earlier. There is still a lot of work to be done to fully restore this house. I wander further through the city to another hammam on the map. Unfortunately, this one is closed as well. The shopkeeper next door tells me it shut down because there was too little interest. Not surprising in a city where hardly any tourists come. With probably the oldest taxi in town, I let myself be driven back to the hotel. In the late afternoon, I walk from the hotel to a nearby park. When I ask two boys for directions, I strike up a conversation with them. Siamak and Keivan are two Kurdish boys. Siamak speaks a little English. He is a lawyer, but starting tomorrow he must serve ten months in the army. He dreads it. Keivan is a filmmaker. They want to know everything about me and everything about the Netherlands. They ask if I have already eaten. They invite me to eat in a small nearby park. Keivan orders food from a stall. They insist I don’t pay anything. I feel a little uncomfortable about it, but I let the Iranian hospitality wash over me. A little later, I am sitting down to a Kurdish meal of warm yogurt and a kind of folded flatbread pancake with vegetables. As I eat, I draw quite some attention in the park. Several boys want to take a photo with me.

Iran - A meeting with Siamak and Keivan in the park in Sanandaj

Although these boys speak much better English, I keep the interaction short. After all, I was invited by Siamak and Keivan, and they seem to appreciate that. After tea in a nearby teahouse, I say goodbye to the boys. I wish Siamak strength for his military service. I walk back to the hotel. At the reception a surprise awaits me. I have to pay 320,000 rials for the laundry. That is over 16 euros. I suspect there has been a misunderstanding between toman and rial. Many prices in Iran are quoted in toman but paid in rials. One toman equals ten rials. No matter how much I try to explain that this is extremely expensive, the receptionist keeps writing down the amount. When I complain to the hotel manager, he tells me the price is correct. What a lousy hotel. With a strong feeling of being cheated, I go to sleep.