As remembered by Ara Michaelian
March 1, 2021
Surprisingly, some of my most memorable experiences have been in settings where I least expect them. I often take a second look–just to believe what I’m seeing through the lens–yes, the vision actually does exist right in front of me, in plain view!
Our summer vacation would start when my mom would take us — my brother, sister, and I — on a day and a half long train ride across the country from Abadan where we lived, to Isfahan where my maternal grandparents lived. We would spend three months with my grandparents every year which I absolutely loved and I will cherish the memories with them as long as I live.
When visions move in slow-motion, and seconds seem to last for hours, I rely on my roots to see what I have in mind. Skeleton sketches pour into the viewfinder and fade away in a flash. Sometimes, a single shot from those sessions becomes a vivid memory of an entire experience that I always carry with me.
A youngster’s curiosity
As a youngster I developed habits to entertain myself and to satisfy my curiosity. These habits have played a role in shaping my core vision and how I see things today. I’m not quite sure how deep-rooted these influences are, but I often find myself falling into the habits that, in my mind, trace back to my roots.
With that in mind, I offer a story; how my interest in photography got started and what is the driving force behind it today. If nothing else, I’m hoping readers will enjoy reading a summer vacation essay about an unknown young boy, traveling through a part of the world not visited by most citizens of the United States. This boy made the best of his imagination to entertain himself, instead of getting bored on first day of his summer vacation.
The train would leave in late afternoon from the port city of Khorram-Shahr (meaning Lush City due to Karoon River running right through it) which was about an hour drive from Abadan.
In early morning hours just before sunrise, the train would slowly pull up to Dorud Station which was on the outskirts of Dorud city (pronounced Dough-Rood). The station was as picturesque as train stations get. It was located just inside the first mountain range after leaving the Khorram-Shahr station.
The landscape at that elevation was mostly overlapping hills with dark rich soil that was covered with giant boulders and rocks of all sizes. On wet years with a longer spring season, Red Corn Poppies–also known as the Remembrance or Field Poppy–would still bloom, along with variety of other wild flowers, under the shade of larger boulders and rocks where the soil was still moist. The scenery on the hills around the station was captivating everywhere I looked through the train windows.
The regions around Dorud and nearby Massched-Solaiman cities were famous for the stunning Red Corn Poppy-covered hills at the height of spring. The early morning sun rays, diffused by cool misty mountain air, would reflect off the rocks wet from the morning dew and paint them with soft hues of light pink, purple, and blue shades. It was a visual feast, with colors changing in very subtle ways depending on the angle of view. By the time I was fully awake and managed to get to an open window towards the platform, the train moved to what seemed like a different planet.
A most memorable breakfast
As the train pulled up slowly to the station food peddlers would run up to open windows and eagerly raise their breakfast trays to hungry passengers looking to buy breakfast. Everything was homemade by the peddler’s families, who lived in nearby villages. The most tasteful and memorable breakfast of my life was from the food peddlers at this station.
Two of the signature breakfasts at Dorud Station were the fresh cream from buffalo milk in small clay bowls, and a reduced version of same cream dried into very light yellowish crisps about 1/4 inch thick. The warm and thick wholewheat flat bread was the third piece to complete the classic local breakfast that Dorud station was famous for.
We would eat the cream by dipping small pieces of thick but firm warm bread into the cream bowl to scoop it up. We would make bite size sandwiches with same bread and cream crisps to top off the heavenly breakfast. The breakfast experience at Dorud Station is still one of the most memorable and mouth-watering topics of conversation with my high school classmates that have had the same experience. (I still keep in touch with many classmates and we get together as often as we can.)
Gazing out through open windows in walkways was the highlight of the train ride. I could watch my “show” as long as I could keep the spring loaded window down while balancing myself on narrow heater cover ledge that ran alongside in the walkways about a foot or so off the floor. When I found a window that I could pull down and keep it open easier than the others I had tried, I would hang on to it literally as if my life was depended on it, especially when it was towards the end of train and I could watch almost the entire train approaching a tunnel ahead from my window on the concave side of the curve.
The monster
When the landscape and the lighting surrounding the tunnel entrance was just right, I could make believe that our train was being swallowed by a monster up ahead, one car at a time, in slow motion. Then I would keep the window down to experience the full effect of the game I was playing. I wanted to make it more realistic in my mind and stretch out my entertainment.
The thick black diesel smoke would rush in and blanket everything into darkness quickly. The screeching noise of steel wheels rubbing against the curved rails would start to echo in waves, especially when all the cars were inside the tunnel. It was like getting banged around in a smoke-filled and noisy metal chamber, and it felt like hours instead of minutes.
After passing the mountain ranges, the landscape would give way to fields of wheat, barley or lentil. These would eventually blend into clusters of small villages, spread out on foothills or mountain ranges rising behind them. Looking from the moving train window with the changing perspective, the round tips of thick mud and straw walls on village homes would sometimes catch the rays of the late evening sun and light up, creating random lines and patterns that entertained me for a while.
The train would reach the end of the line at Arak Station in city of Arak. Getting to Isfahan from Arak Station was another four to six hour ride depending on transportation type. Most of the time transport was a crude oil tanker truck with all four of us in the front bench, fit in like sardines with the driver. The scenery was dotted with nearby villages on both sides and crop fields starting from the road. The fields were often separated with Aspen-lined narrow streams which lead to villages nearby. I was exhausted from the day-long train ride, but I still found it entertaining when the leaves of those mature Aspen trees would dance in gentle wind, like a school of small fish changing directions constantly.
As far back as I can remember, abstract shapes and patterns catch my attention and amuse me, even if the image lasts for few fleeting moments or hours on end.
I’m sure there is a good dose of imagination on my part to compensate for the boredom of travel and to add color to my days. But the memories of those experiences as I remember them, exaggerated or not, are real for me and will be part of me as long as I live. They’re my earliest memories that somehow have colored and shaped what I see today in viewfinder.
I attribute my passion for photography to these early mesmerizing experiences. I had not realized how liberating photography can be, until my dad bought me a classic Cannon FTb Film (remember those) Camera for my college graduation. The first time I raised that camera to my eyes, It felt like as if I was given a license to see.
When I’m out on the field with camera or making music at home, I find my true self and live my life as who I am. The accumulated weight of needless pain and pointless conflicts on my shoulders, slowly starts to lift, the “train window” starts to glide down effortlessly in slow motion, and my show gradually starts to take shape. My train has slowly pulled up to Dorud Station and I’m about to have my favorite breakfast of my life, every time.
In summary, I find peace and comfort for few hours in my life through photography and music. Without them, my soul would drain quickly and my life would be empty.
The whole point of MultiMediaAra is not only to share the experiences that have lifted my spirit, sometimes when nothing else could, but to be an open book for anyone interested to know little bit more about me and my roots; where some of my work comes from. There are plenty of self expressions and subtle, but clear, traces of life-long confessions as well, if one looks for it. That’s what my work is all about, to share the happiness and the sorrow in my life as who I am.
It would be humbling to know, if others also find few minutes of solace or happiness in their lives because of me, rather than just me.