The Moon — one year later, but more than one year elder

Ghazal my dear,

What is age, and what is aging, if everyone uses a different measure for this. This came to my mind when I did another picture of the moon tonight. Tonight it was once again the night of the Persides meteor shower. But since nothing could top the spectacular meteor that we saw together with you at the same night in 2010, I put more attention to the moon again (1). A year ago at the same night, we have been at the Bulgarian blacksea coast, and then the Persides night fell together with the full moon. This year, however, the same day in the year (11th to 12th of August), the moon looked completely different.

Its shape was already ascending to less than 25%, whereas full moon was already 10 days ago (exactly at August 2nd). So it is of some interest to understand why according to the solar calender exactly one year passed by (and even the Persides meteor showers declined to this (2), but the moon implies something different. As a proof, the picture on the left shows the shape of the moon as of tonight, and you can compare with the picture from a year ago.

The reason for this asynchrony is that the circular rotation of the moon around the earth and relative to the sun happens once every 29 days, 12h and ~4min. This means, that 12 month for the moon (or one year for it) take only 345 days, i.e. 11 days less than a normal year of 356 days. Therefore the full moon of August 2012 was visible 11 days earlier than the full moon of August 2011.

This means that for people who rely on the sun as their calender reference, a year has some 11 extra days, as compared to people who rely on the moon as a calender standard (like muslims). In the long term, after 33 solar years (which the western civilisation and the Persians use) an extra year has already accumulated for people in the islamic world. I have no clue if muslims indeed celebrate their birthdays according to the moons calender, and count one extra life year every 33 normal years. And it is not completely unlikely, that the processes of real biologically aging (or lets call it maturing) is influenced to some degree by the imagination of aging. Maybe somebody who really feels elder, if he or she suddenly discovers that instead of 33, he or she is already 34 years old. So therefore you might conclude (together with the early Beatles) that it is better to “….follow the sun”:

Sun is definitely good for a couple of physiological functions (vitamin D synthesis, production of serotonin which makes us happy and satisfied), but in higher doses it is doing the opposite: You know better than anybody else how UV-A and UV-B can accelerate the entire aging process, since you work on this issue and even got a scientific price for this. The Isar island, where some black ashes might still mark the site of our camp-fire, and which looked pretty uncosy and barely populated three weeks ago, today saw masses of locals who followed the sun and took advice from the 1960 Beatles song, rather than from your 2011 publication in Mutation Research.

I guess that now you’d like to know why I waited for an entire year, before sending you another photograph of the moon again. The reason was that after the Persides night in Bulgaria last year, my camera broke. I somehow smashed the display, and from then on it was totally black. But I did not want to throw it in the waste bin right away, since this camera was always a brave and reliable companion to us. So I left it untouched on my desk, before in a quiet moment three weeks ago I started to take it apart (like I did it with your wrist-watch two years ago). I soon realized that the broken display can be removed carefully and replaced with a new one. And soon I found through Ebay a possibility to get even seperate display units for virtually every single digital camera. I quickly located a provider with the funny name of GLOBAL-SHINING (3). Mr. or Mrs. Global Shining appeared to be a Mr. Ho, living with his GLOBAL STAR SHINING in Flat S30 1/F, Shopping Arcade, Tsuen Wan Centre, Tsuen Wan, Hongkong (4).

When I received Mr. Ho’s delivery, the small parcell contained not only the brand-new Samsung camery display, it also had as a little extra a special screw driver (not only fitting the microscopic steel screws that held together the camera back, but also of perfect size for chinese fingers) and a handwritten piece of paper saying “Thank you for considering GLOBAL SHINING as business partner”.

By help of the microscopic screw driver and some forceps from the lab I quickly managed to replace the camera display, and the pictures on todays post are the proof how well the whole camera is working again. Since I was so happy about revitalising the nice camera with the Mr. Ho’s help, I decided not only to give him excellent reference points on Ebay, but also send him some words of gratitude on a postcard showing Castle Neuschwanstein. It is nice to imagine how Mr. Ho mounts the colourful postcard to the wall of his Flat S30 1/F in the shopping arcade of Tsue Wan, Hongkong.

Is there a final take-home message from this post for you, Ghazal ? Maybe you will find one.

Take Care my Dear

Michael

 

Footnotes:

(1) Surely you know that the Moon symbolizes the pure, innocent beauty in Persian classicla poetry. This is independent of the exclusive role of the Sun in ancient, pre-islamic Persian culture, philosophy and science. But because poetry is very much influenced by arabic traditions, their spiritual preference for the moon as symbol in religion and arts got access into the poetry of Hafez, Rumi, Atta and Omar Khayyun.

(2) The Persides Meteor shower lives up to its name: same as the Persian people do, it follows precisely the sun’s calender. I guess that it follows in a precise and constant time after Persian Nouruz.

(3) Initially I could not figure out, if the name of the company GLOBAL-SHINING was referring to the moon or the sun. But now that I know that it is a Hongkong based company, I guess they even mean the Shining Stars.

(4) I guess Mr. Ho wont mind having his business address published here on my blog. But it might further promoted his excellent business. Just that Tsuen Wan does not have a postcode might discourage Hongkong tourists to drop into his store and buy camera displays.

Maryam Akhondy — the voice of humanism interprets Omar Khayyam

On the occasion of the finissage of the “Servus and Salam – an insight to Iran” exhibition here in Munich, the great music singer Maryam Akhondy with her ensemble Barbad gave a concert in the Maximilian church. A strong voice, for which the term Diva would be approbiate, also she is anything else than diva-like. Her music and her very special kind of humor for me was the only valid interpretation of the Omar Khayyams poetry.
When I read his rubbayat (naturally in the famous english translation by Fitzgerald) I was always touched by the wisdom, fine lyrics and human feelings that emanate from them. A very free author, great scientist, amazing spirit and precise observer put down in words how he saw his life, the pressure from the society, his love for beauty and for human desires, and all this about one thousand years ago in a poetic language that seems very clear, not modern, but of an ever lasting diction.

A while ago, however, I started to worry, if my unconditioned excitement by Omar Khayyams poetry might be the result of a very naiv misinterpretation. A friend of mine, a persian book-seller and philologist recommended to read Paramahansa Yogananda “The wine of the mystic”, in which the author claim to provide the only valid interpretation (or better called decryption) of Omar Khayyams rubbayat. So for each 4-line rubbayat, Yogananda writes about 3 pages interpretation. Already in the introduction, the authors warns us that each time that Omar Khayyam mentions “Wine”, he refers to the “Divine Spirit”. Similarly, when Omar Khayyam writes about “Love to Girl”, Yogananda wants us to believe that this means nothing more than “Love to the divine spirit”. For me, this so-called spiritual interpretation of Omar Khayyams rubbayat is nothing more than a violent misinterpretation, a unsuccesful attempt to clear his most beautiful, human and real eternal poetry of all value and of all its real spirit.
Yoganandas book is a bad example of the attempt to misuse a former great piece of literature for religious hypocracy, be it christian, islamic or this yoga-guru style of Yogananda (he later founded an organisation of Self-Realization Fellowship, which in my view is a religious cult like a million others, with the ambition to be in possession of the final truth).
Eventhough I immediately developed a strong antipathy for this “modern” spiritual interpretation of Omar Khayyams lyrics, there was one strong argument. Yogananda was able to read Omar Khayyam as the original persian text, therefore claiming that his spiritual interpretaion is more authentic than the secular western ones (beginning by the english translation of Fitzgerald and later by the german version of Rosen). Yogananda complained that all western readers simply valued Omar Khayyam by the wrong idea that he praises love, wine and the beauty of the world in the way we used to do it in the west. Unfortunately, this was a strong argument, although for Yogananda Persian was a foreign language as well. It might even be that he did his “modern-spiritual” interpretation based on Fitzgeralds english translation as well, rather than reading the original text. Yogananda spoke hindi, and there are quite many similarities betwenn Hindi and Persian, two indo-european languages.

But to my greatest relieve, Maryam Akhondy, a true persian, a modern singer, a woman that does not need to attract followers like a guru, she obviously interpreted Omar Khayyam, one of the greatest representatives of classical persian poetry, in the same modern and human manner as I intuitively read his rubbayat. For me, Maryam Akhondys songs are the only valid interpretation of Omar Khayyam, but for the best and dedicated readers, his poetry is completely self-explained. Omar Khayyam does not need gurus (like Yogananda) who try to build an ideology around his beautiful and clear lyrics.

Passion for long words

Ghazal my Dear, When we met two years ago and exchanged e-mails and messages after work, I was initially worried why you write everything in this short format, like an emergency SMS. This was such a contrast to the endless sentences I got used to write to you. You asked me what would be the longest word I could imagine, and I found it today in the Munich subway.

The entire title (in an non-hyphenated form) would be
BEDÜRFSNISANSTALTENBENUTZUNGSORDNUNG.
The proper english translation would be
“Regulations for the usage of public lavoratories“.
But if I try Google Translator, look what comes out:
“proper use of information on nursing homes need” (What a total confusion !)

Are long words, or long texts in general, a potential source for a severe misunderstanding ?  Is it really better to use pictures instead, as you prefer to do, to guarantee an easier reception of the message ? Does a picture really says more than a thousand words ?

I think that you are indeed a very visual person, Ghazal, this I understoud when I saw how quickly you answered an e-mail that contains some pictures or even a video sequence.
You know what is funny:  that in general men are considered to be more visual, whereas woman are more verbal. Woman are considered to love through their ears, meaning they respond very much to words, to nice talks and romantic stories and in particular to verbal compliments and charming speach.
Men, in contrast, are considered to be much more influenced by images. They like and love what they see. In this sense, Ghazal, you carry a bit of males psychology in your soul. You respond to visual sensations.
And in contrast to this, you are not typical female in the sense that verbal compliments, charming words that praise your beauty or your talent or your inspiring character, they are all not very appealing to you. To such words, whether they are told you in a personal talk or they are written in an e-mail, you seem to be very resistant.
This is a pure, scientific observation, my Dear, and I could pretend that is has little to do with my own feelings for you. I could pretend that I am just interested to understand you, and find out what makes you happy (in addition to chocolate and fast cars, of course :-) )

I can not even be sure that you still read to this point of my e-mail, maybe you have already deleted the mail as soon as you realized that it is too much focused on youself.
And I am afraid that you even dont like to hear any words that have to do with you at all, whether these are words that praise your beauty or words that pretend to be of pure professional or psychological interest.

What appears to be a conflict of communication is that for me visual information is not so important. If I see a picture of somebody, I instictively distrust this picture. I know how little it tells about the person. If I see a picture of you today, it is only important for me to remember how you have been here 2 years ago. It helps me to remember your deep, dark voice, your laughter, how you used to move smoothly like a cat. I can close my eyes, and immediately I recall how your face began to smile in certain situations. But if I see a picture of you today, I might think that “well, Ghazal was probably working hard these days when the picture was shot. She looks a bit tired”. But at the same time I know that you still would move the same way along the corridor, and it still would be the same smile or the same laughter that breaks out of you when I tell you some silly stories. And you still would speak with the same dark voice, and your eyes would still focus to something that is lightyears far away form our world.

So what is so difficult to understand for me is that words are so meaningless for you, and at the same time you cannot imagine what all of these words end endless mails could be good for. I have to tell you, Ghazal, I have no answer for this myself. I just can say that for me words are a way of getting along with imaginations, fantasies, thoughts, with the conflict between reality and dreams.
For you, maybe words dont help. But I doubt that pictures help a lot. And think pictures only produce more fantasies, and the conflict to reality becomes even bigger. But maybe I am right when I believe that you use music, to discover another reality. Music, of course, is also another type of language, and maybe you understand the music as a language, with tunes and melodies who are like words, that please your ears. Maybe I overinterprete some cultural aspects here, when I say that Persia had the richest poetry of all cultures, and that poetry is much more than words, but very close to songs. So it would be natural, that if your parents tought you poetry in childhood, you developed a special sense for lyrics. And the simple prosaic language that I used to use is simply to uncivilized for you.

Ghazal, my Dear, maybe you remember I always run into problems with my lectures extending the maximum allowed time. I’m afraid its the same with my e-mails. I’m afraid you already fall asleep after reading the first 10 lines of it (like some students do after 10 min lecture).

Therefore I have to wake you up with some more hard facts:  I hope that you will have nice and relaxing and recovering time in August. I hope that life and people treat you very well and you enjoy every second of your free time.
Hopefully, we will manage to visit Israel this year. Marina has some relatives there, our son learned hebrew in school (with very bad marks, of course, but at least he could serve me as a translator), and I will hopefully have soon a colaboration with a group in tel Aviv.
The stupid thing is, that to visit Iran next year together with Omid, I will have to get a new passport, because Iran does not permit entrance visa to  people, who have already a visa stamp from Israel. Isn’t this stupid, Ghazal ???  I hope that this is the old generations laws, and the future will see people more tolerant (like you).

best greetings
Take Care
Michael

Kim Jong-Un, the King of Rock’n Roll

For all those who still had doubts that the King of Rock’n Roll is still alive: Here is the proof that Elvis Presley is doing quite well, and will start his comback soon in the first North-Korean Hard-Rock Cafe.
Thanks to ground breaking medical rejuvenating methods in the country, the King looks younger than ever. Rumors have it that Kim Jong-Un, the interims leader of the communist state with its single ruling party will soon make space for the King of Rock’n Roll to take over power. North Korea will soon be renamed Disney Desert and the capital Phoeng-Yang will be Graceland.

Island in the Stream


 

Ghazal my Dear, do you recall this place ? It was dark at night two years ago, and we had a camp fire there, and the river had less water, so we could enter what now looks like an island. You tough me the arts of flipping flat pebbles over the water surface, and when we went home later at night there were hundreds of fireflies that made the nocturnal sky looks like your hair. This year it is still pretty chilly, fireflies are still waiting for warmer days. The lonely fisher-man has to wear a wet-suit. But surely, later at night there will be camp-fires again, and people who wade through the water to gather with their friends.

 

Pebble Island in Isar river, north of Oberföhring reservoir

Take Care,

Michael

Größere Kartenansicht

Violation of human rights – The complete HBO documentary on Iran

Dear Michael, three years after the 2009 post-election movements in Tehran, Swedish TV broadcasted a long documentary about the situation of human-rights in Iran (what means “situation” ? One can only see a complete absence of any human rights). The documentary seems to be an extended version of the one you posted recently about the murder of Neda Agha-Soltan. It is produced by the same US TV channel HBO. We watched it a couple of days ago with my mom and Shava, and we felt very frustrated. It seems that the violence against people, in particular state violence against woman, has not ended. We live here in the western safety, but we know that friends and relatives who did not left the country can be victims of this regime every day. For everything that is part of our normal life here in the west, wearing modern cloth, having our hair blown by the wind, going to the beach or to a bar, driving a car, reading whatever we like – friends and relatives in Iran would face prosecution, torture or even death.
Take Care
/ghazal

——————————————————————————————–

Dear Ghazal, thanks for the link to this extended documentary. Some of the scenes (about the punishment by hanging or stoning) are so cruel, so inhuman, that I thought that if there would have been video or TV already in the mideaval times, during european inquisition or the 30 years war in the 17th century, the pictures would probably have looked like these from Tehran after 2009. How can people do this to other people, this pleasure of seeing somebody suffering and loosing life. Have you recognized the human-rights lawyer Andreas Moser (in the documentary at around 18min and 44min) ? I recently met him on his blog Happy Hermit, and he is probably the only German who had the “honour” to spend a week in Evin Prison, after he joined the Green Movement on Tehran streets. Take Care Michael

Leaving home with unknown destination – Marina Keegans legacy

Marina Keegan, still a Yale student in her last term, 22 years old, on track to become a writer for “The New Yorker”, wrote this essay “The Opposite of Loneliness“, that became her emotional legacy. Shortly after publishing her text in Yale Universities “Cross Campus”, Marina Keegan died in a car accident.

Throughout her essay she expresses a very clear, rational view on the conflict between our destiny as members of a complex, more and more annonymous society and our archaic desire to find a safe place in a community. She knows about the impossibility to harmonize these two forces, but she does not end in despair.

“We don’t have a word for the opposite of loneliness, but if we did, I
could say that’s what I want in life. What I’m grateful and thankful to
have found at Yale, and what I’m scared of losing when we wake up
tomorrow and leave this place.
It’s not quite love and it’s not quite community; it’s just this
feeling that there are people, an abundance of people, who are in this
together. Who are on your team. When the check is paid and you stay at
the table. When it’s four a.m. and no one goes to bed. That night with
the guitar. That night we can’t remember. That time we did, we went, we
saw, we laughed, we felt. The hats.
Yale is full of tiny circles we pull around ourselves. A cappella
groups, sports teams, houses, societies, clubs. These tiny groups that
make us feel loved and safe and part of something even on our loneliest
nights when we stumble home to our computers — partner-less, tired,
awake. We won’t have those next year. We won’t live on the same block
as all our friends. We won’t have a bunch of group-texts.
This scares me. More than finding the right job or city or spouse –
I’m scared of losing this web we’re in. This elusive, indefinable,
opposite of loneliness. This feeling I feel right now.
But let us get one thing straight: the best years of our lives are
not behind us. They’re part of us and they are set for repetition as we
grow up and move to New York and away from New York and wish we did or
didn’t live in New York. I plan on having parties when I’m 30. I plan on
having fun when I’m old. Any notion of THE BEST years comes from
clichéd “should haves…” “if I’d…” “wish I’d…”
Of course, there are things we wished we did: our readings, that boy
across the hall. We’re our own hardest critics and it’s easy to let
ourselves down. Sleeping too late. Procrastinating. Cutting corners.
More than once I’ve looked back on my High School self and thought: how
did I do that? How did I work so hard? Our private insecurities follow
us and will always follow us.
But the thing is, we’re all like that. Nobody wakes up when they want
to. Nobody did all of their reading (except maybe the crazy people who
win the prizes…) We have these impossibly high standards and we’ll
probably never live up to our perfect fantasies of our future selves.
But I feel like that’s okay.
We’re so young. We’re so young. We’re twenty-two years old. We have
so much time. There’s this sentiment I sometimes sense, creeping in our
collective conscious as we lay alone after a party, or pack up our books
when we give in and go out – that it is somehow too late. That others
are somehow ahead. More accomplished, more specialized. More on the path
to somehow saving the world, somehow creating or inventing or
improving. That it’s too late now to BEGIN a beginning and we must
settle for continuance, for commencement.
When we came to Yale, there was this sense of possibility. This
immense and indefinable potential energy – and it’s easy to feel like
that’s slipped away. We never had to choose and suddenly we’ve had to.
Some of us have focused ourselves. Some of us know exactly what we want
and are on the path to get it; already going to med school, working at
the perfect NGO, doing research. To you I say both congratulations and
you suck.
For most of us, however, we’re somewhat lost in this sea of liberal
arts. Not quite sure what road we’re on and whether we should have taken
it. If only I had majored in biology…if only I’d gotten involved in
journalism as a freshman…if only I’d thought to apply for this or for
that…
What we have to remember is that we can still do anything. We can
change our minds. We can start over. Get a post-bac or try writing for
the first time. The notion that it’s too late to do anything is comical.
It’s hilarious. We’re graduating college. We’re so young. We can’t, we
MUST not lose this sense of possibility because in the end, it’s all we
have.
In the heart of a winter Friday night my freshman year, I was dazed
and confused when I got a call from my friends to meet them at EST EST
EST. Dazedly and confusedly, I began trudging to SSS, probably the point
on campus farthest away. Remarkably, it wasn’t until I arrived at the
door that I questioned how and why exactly my friends were partying in
Yale’s administrative building. Of course, they weren’t. But it was cold
and my ID somehow worked so I went inside SSS to pull out my phone. It
was quiet, the old wood creaking and the snow barely visible outside the
stained glass. And I sat down. And I looked up. At this giant room I
was in. At this place where thousands of people had sat before me. And
alone, at night, in the middle of a New Haven storm, I felt so
remarkably, unbelievably safe.
We don’t have a word for the opposite of loneliness, but if we did,
I’d say that’s how I feel at Yale. How I feel right now. Here. With all
of you. In love, impressed, humbled, scared. And we don’t have to lose
that.
We’re in this together, 2012. Let’s make something happen to this world.”

Shades of Grey Eyes

Saturday afternoon I used to spend at Hugendubels book store, to escape into the world of newly published books or to discover literary treasures I have missed so far. These days, EL James’ “Fifty Shades of Grey” and the steam-hot reviews in some literary journals suddenly brought a lot of femal customers to the book-store, who are usually more interested in combinations of cooking-books, weight-loosing advisors and spiritual well being manuals. Internet book-sellers always try to attract lovers of this impossible triad by recomending: “customers who bought “The Complete Barbecue Guide for the Modern Lady” also bought “How I lost 30 Pounds in a Fortnight” and “Smashing the Mirror – The Secrets of Femal Pride and How to Achieve Total Selfsufficiency“. Today, however, these ladies came here to have a look at this female day-dream of the journalist Ana and her obsession with a sado-maso type relationship between her and a young entrepeneur. A couple of woman quickly localized the table with the literary novelties, and some grab “Fifty Shades of Grey” from a big pile, hide it between some unsuspicious travel guides and return right away to the counter. It seems they all pay in cash today, thus avoiding the risk of their husbands discovering the secret literary interest of their wifes on the next credit-card statement.

But there is also another type of woman, undecisive rather than obsessed, the type woman who heard about the book from friends, but themselve are usually more in intellectual literature. They first want to give it a trial reading right here, browsing through some chapters in the bookstores coffeshop, where all the seats soon got occupied by other “Shades of Grey” readers.

What am I doing here, with my sober pile of Suri and Bals maths novel “A certain ambiguity”, the first ever German translation of Ayn Rands “Atlas shrugged” and the only book with a small erotic aspect, Philip Roths “My life as a man”? I did not saw a special announcement at the entrance of Hugendubels, warning everybody that due to release of “Fifty Shades of Grey” seats will be very limitted today and the stuff will be very busy ordering new supplies of the book. And in particular, there wasn’t any note telling me that the subject of this book and its explicit language make it advisable to keep some distance to woman who are just in the process of reading. Does this mean I am better advised to leave this place, where woman deeply dive into the secret world of an rather unknown english author, who verbalises her fantasies of a sado-maso relationship, and easily fuels the readers own sexual phantasies. Perhaps they feel intimidated by my presence here, disturbed at a time when they would like to have all bookstores in town being declared “Womans only” for at least a month?

But I never before allowed others to chase me away easily, I rather develop a stubborn will to stay if somebody wants me to go. We life in an open society, I recall to myself, and I can sit and read in a public bookstore whenever I want. So I decide to carry on reading my books as I used to do on every Saturday. Even though I try to avoid any suspicious glance onto the cover-pages of the grey-shaded womans bestsellers or their readers all around me, I cannot ignore the feeling that at least some of the woman from time to time lift their eyes from their books and look at me. Is this supposed to be a hostile request to get me out of here? Or a polite hint to look for a more appropriate place to read my Philip Roth?

When I finally catch the eyes of one lady – the only one who does not turn her head back down to the pages of her book – I realize that her eyes have this innocent and hard to describe expression of looking to you, but at the same time also looking right through you into another universe. And aboard of this far-reaching glance she has already taken you away with her, into a daydream where she is the main character in “Shades of Grey”. In her fantasies she has taken you hostage, captured you violently and kicked your books away. Her eyes are under a layer of misty blurr, her mind is so far away that she does not realize that here in the reality of the bookstore you have already catched her double-focussed glance that rested on you since minutes. What is she doing with you, in this parallel world, or what does she wishes to be done to her by you ? What character has she invented for you in a movie that has its scenes right from the book and its launch party is scheduled for today.

I dont want to be the party-pooper for this womans wellness afternoon, but I have to turn down my part in it, feeling that somehow I got misused as the cristallization seed for their hidden day-dreams. As much as all attempts to chase me away have always mobilized my will to stay, the more does the suspicion that someone wants to force me to remain causes an even stronger reaction, but in the opposite direction.

And now, as she realizes that I grab my pile of books and are about to leave without even finishing my coffee, she arouses from her wet day-dreams. And just as a little child who just listened to the last words of a beautiful fairy-tale, a smile forms on her face. And when I pass along her table on my way to the counter, I ask almost in a routine sounding voice: “Is it worth reading?”, and a multi-vocal whispering expresses their deep affirmation. There was, however, also some note of disappointment in their reply, about me leaving this place too early, before they finished their “Fifty Shades of Grey” reading session.

Shall I read the book myself now ? I think the afternoon in the bookstores coffeeshop has given me more insight into womans hidden wishes than all three volumes of EL James oevre. Words, not only the ones whispered into their ears, but equally well those written down in a book, exert a magical power onto woman, they can seduce them to all sorts of irrational activities. And when their eyes suddenly hide behind a veil of shaded grey, and they look through you as if your face is an open door into another dimension, you must beware of the spell they might put on you.

PS: Later I read in the weekend literary supplement, that the management of an English hotel offers their guests to exchange the holy bible, which usually lays in all rooms, with EL James “Shades of Grey” trilogy. And mens clothes shops recorded an increase demand for grey-shaded ties, whereas some urban DIY shops suddenly had to sell steel chains, pad-locks and carabiner clasps to a new class of femal customers.

Third anniversary of the Tehran students protests

2009 was a year of great hope for a democratic change in Iran, followed by the the worst nightmare of state-sponsored violence against the democratic movement. Many of the progressive and brave students who rallied for the democratic candidates Mir Hussein Moussavi and Karoubi were beaten on the streets, arrested and tortured in Evin prison, banned from continuing their studies or even killed like Neda Agha-Soltan. Her story was writen by Arash Hejazi, the medical doctor who tried to rescue her life after she was shot by a basidj thug at Karekar-Boulevard on June 20th of this year.

 

Servus and Salam

When Benedict Fuhrmann, 34 years old photographer realized that on his planed road-trip from Germany to Vietnam the mountains and plains of Iran marked only half of the entire distance, and after he had to spend some days on the turkish-iranian boarder to be checked, but later was invited by the boarder policemen to stay there for an hour-length tea-break, he changed his further travel plan and drove around this country for 3 month. Not that he was afraid of the ever-present officials who did not let any doubt of their careful surveillance of this suspicious lonesome travellor, not that he was ignorant about the well-known violations of human rights in Iran, but he felt that all the news headlines in the international media missed a major point: That a country as big as Iran with a population as complex and colourful as its cultural heritage is only poorly described in political categories.

Mr. Fuhrmann describes his intention as “We say ‘yes’ to transcending borders and are adding a personal perspective to the image of Iran propagated by the media. Hidden from view by every regime are the real people, the people who live in a country.”

After 3 month of shooting photographs and videos, Benedict Fuhrmann returned to Germany with a treasure of yet unseen impressions of this country.

Fuhrmann is currently crowd-raising money to present his images and videos under the title “Say Servus and Salam” in a private Munich gallery (“Servus” is common south-german/austrian slang for Hello). You can read about his entire project on his english website or have a look at a selection of his images following this link.

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