Crossing the Caspian
Baku, Russia, 1905
After two days on the train, Nasrollah finally arrived in Baku, a city that had changed hands between the Russians, Ottomans, and Persians several times. Baku was forever lost to the Russians after the end of the Russo-Persian wars in the early 1800s. In many ways, Baku reminded Nasrollah of Persia, a city where the Persian language and culture were still very much alive.
Baku was swarming with Persians, both resident and migratory, and they were seen everywhere as shopkeepers, mechanics, masons, carpenters, and businessmen. The name Baku itself was derived from the old Persian name of the city, Badkube, meaning “wind-pounded city,” due to its renowned harsh winds. It was these same winds that made traveling by boat quite uncomfortable in rough weather on the Caspian Sea.
Nasrollah booked his passage on one of the Russian steamers that carried mail back and forth between the two countries, leaving that evening and scheduled to arrive in Bandar Anzali two days later.
The best of the Caspian mail-boats was most uncomfortable in rough weather. It was not uncommon during inclement weather for three or four attempts at leaving Baku for Bandar Anzali, only to return from less than a mile off the port, back to Baku. Nasrollah was not expecting a comfortable ride, especially after hearing the stories his fellow passengers shared. He became anxious when he heard that for some travelers, this was their second attempt, and even for a few others, their third try to get to Persia.
Fortunately for him, the journey was not a long one. The steamer was dirty, and the mosquitos sharing Nasrollah’s sleeping cabin were plentiful and voracious, not to mention the bed bugs inhabiting his mattress that made sleeping difficult.
During the second night of the trip, before they were to arrive, the weather turned stormy. The water became exceedingly choppy, as the size of waves on the treacherous Caspian sometimes rivals the height of oceanic waves, reaching above twenty feet. The movement of the boat in a rolling sea was tremendously disturbing for Nasrollah.
Every moment it seemed as if the trembling ship was going to break up beneath the force of the waves. Nasrollah was terrified and nauseous by the motion of the vessel. Wondering if he would ever see his family again, he questioned whether an early grave was waiting for him at the bottom of the Caspian. The little time he did close his eyes and let his mind wander, he was disturbed by visions of being hurled into the deep, with seaweed wrapped around his face, sinking to rise no more.
Lucky for him and the rest of the passengers, his worst fears were not realized. In the morning after the rough night, the storm had abated, but his seasickness had not. He went outside to take some air. As he stood on the deck with the view of Persia now in sight, he hoped that on his return to Russia, he would not have to traverse the Caspian ever again. He vowed from then on to take trains for travel whenever possible. As he stood there, breathing in the fresh air, he began to feel better but could not wait to take leave of this ship and pursue his journey on land.
Standing close by was an officer, who, unlike most onboard, was not a Swede or a Finn but a Greek. He was waiting to see if the ship could steady itself enough in the winds the storm had left behind to allow the flatbed rowboats to approach for transferring the cargo and passengers to port. The two men acknowledged each other and began to talk about the last evening’s storm. The Greek officer mentioned that having traveled this route so many times before, he was used to the Caspian’s temper tantrums.
As they continued chatting, the officer said, “You know, whenever I cross the waters of the Caspian towards Persia, I always wonder how it would have been traveling with Alexander the Great, on his expedition to Persia two thousand years ago.”
Nasrollah, still feeling queasy, responded with little patience, “My dear sir, to a Persian, there is nothing great about Alexander, the man who destroyed our ancestors’ realm. We Persians refer to this man as Alexander of Macedonia, nothing more!”
The Greek officer, who was not expecting Nasrollah’s defensive reaction, felt offended and countered boldly, “So, Monsieur, please tell me then, why is it that many Persians name their sons after conquerors who have destroyed their country?” He continued, “You have children named Iskandar, the Persianized form of the same Alexander you just belittled, or they name them Chengiz, I assume in honor of Genghis Khan of the Mongols. I have always wondered why? Was it not he who brutally slaughtered your ancestors?”
Nasrollah, impressed that the man knew so much about his country’s history, realized he might have been somewhat unpleasant in his initial reply. So, he smiled and said, “This is the paradox of the Persian: on the one hand, he despises the conqueror for the destruction he causes, while at the same time, he admires him for his ability to conquer.”
The Greek officer laughed and mentioned he had a relative living in Persia, right in Anzali. He said, “My cousin came to your country many years ago and has fallen in love with it the same way Alexander did, and like the Macedonian, he also decided to stay for a while. But instead of destroying anything, he built something in your land, a hotel. If you wish to get breakfast before continuing your journey, he does serve a tasty fresh salmon. It will be the best remedy to rid your body of seasickness.”
Even though the winds were still strong enough to hinder the rowboat from attempting to reach them, a well-seasoned and enterprising navigator finally made his way to the steamer, and Nasrollah hired the boat on the spot. Once his cargo was loaded on the small vessel amidst the constant bumping into the ship, he got on and made his way to shore, riding on top of the breakers, getting soaked every time the rowboat’s nose dipped into the waves.
After a harrowing thirty-minute turbulent boat ride, the expert rower finally got them to shore safely. Nasrollah, still feeling under the weather, took the Greek’s advice and had breakfast at the officer’s cousin’s hotel. He then left for Tehran through Qazvin by carriage, traveling on the cart road that had just recently been constructed by the Russians. The building of this road, however, was not out of the kindness of the Russians’ hearts but more as a system of quick communication between their Caspian base and the capital city, Tehran.
Two days later, and after a tiresome journey of two hundred miles, Nasrollah finally arrived in his hometown with an ever-increasing excitement that he had surprisingly lacked when departing St. Petersburg weeks earlier.