Road to Damask: a grand old man of Iranian enterprise talks to Michael Griffin about his life and his latest venture—organic rose essence for the high-end cosmetics market

Middle East, The, July, 2006 by Michael Griffin

"Then something strange happened. I ordered the paper for the books from Finland and they were put on a ship. This was the time of the fighting over the Suez Canal. In my contract was an article of force majeure, but I knew that this would not help poor Afghan kids in Shomali or Mazar-i-Sharif. Then I remembered I'd seen an old plane one time at Beirut airport. So I went to Beirut, hired a fleet of DC3s, turned the ship from Alexandria to Beirut and airlifted the paper to Tehran. Every penny I made on the contract was spent on the airlift, but I delivered the books. And for the next 10 years, I did the books for Afghanistan."

On the death of his father in 1973, Sanati inherited responsibility for the family orphanage, whose assets included a few thousand hectares of semi-desert in the Lalehzar valley, 120 miles south of Kerman on the Iranian Plateau. Situated at 3,000 metres, the valley experiences extreme winters and intense sunshine in summer. Most farmers were cultivating opium for the domestic market and making a good living at it, but Sanati was looking for alternatives.

"Somehow, it was again due to my grandfather. He was against opium smokers and wouldn't have them in the house. I noticed that everything in that area had a very strong fragrance. I would eat mint for lunch and then go back to Kerman for dinner and have mint there, and there was clearly a difference. I got this crazy idea of producing smells, looking at smell as a product. I wanted to test the idea and the only test that came to mind was rosewater, because it is our national drink."

So he went to Kashan, the centre of Iranian rose growing, and purchased 100 plants. When told by the laboratory 18 months later that the essence in his petals exceeded Kashan averages by 50%, he determined to go into rose growing as a business. Local farmers thought he was crazy for not growing poppy. "Farmers are strange. If someone is doing something that nobody else is doing, they think it is a shame on them, some affront to their dignity. But I persisted and planted the roses myself with my bare hands."

One year after the overthrow of the Shah, Sanati was sentenced to five years in jail, though whether this was for his work with Franklin or his political activities is not clear. Zahra had been doing well in a small way, producing rosewater for the local market, but the business fell apart while its owner was away. "Water rights in Iran are very important. I was in jail so the farmers didn't let my roses have any water. If I were not in jail, I would never have allowed it to happen, even if I had to kill someone. The roses I had cultivated with my own hands were like my children. I would not let them go thirsty and die. Then the strangest thing happened. Despite the lack of water, the roses didn't die. And this had a tremendous effect on the farmers. When I came out of jail, there were at least a dozen other rose fields around."

His spell in jail allowed the Lalehzar valley to reveal its lofty secret. The extreme altitude and low annual rainfall of 7-12cm are ideal for Damask roses, which need heat in the growth stage hut must be kept from high temperatures and moisture at harvest. The more the flowers are subjected to intense thirst, the more exquisite becomes their scent. Perhaps more importantly, water boils at 85[degrees]C at 3,000 metres so distillation is more efficient, fewer volatiles are lost and a fuller fragrance is produced.