From Shiraz With Love

Last week I went to Shiraz to visit my family. My mother comes from Shiraz, a small city in the southwest of Iran, famous for being the city of poets, love, roses and of course the Shiraz grape (the oldest sample of wine was found in Shiraz, dates back 7000 years).

The cities outside Tehran are relatively more traditional, and in general you see more chadors and black. This was also the case in Shiraz, although the character is known to be less conservative and quite laid back. Shirazis are also famed for being lazy, and opium seems to be a big problem (most families have one addict). The city is surrounded by mountains on 3 sides. Dervishes wander around with a tiny canary on their hand who pecks you out a Hafez poem-which tells your fortune-for a small fee.

In Shiraz I finally experienced what I kept hearing from people who visited Iran: the family bombardment. Something I am familiar with of course, but now to a new extent. Eating, visiting, buying, eating, eating, visiting. (It seems I've always just lost weight, and never eating enough. I think they are waiting for me to get fat, so they can ask me why I gained weight.)

Most important is however, recounting the tale, down to the tiniest detail, and not once, not twice... For example, I can't tell you how many times I heard what I did on Thursday, as my grandmother thoroughly explains our day's events to family in Iran and around the world. It went something like this:

"Yesterday we went to Takhte Jamshid (Persepolis). We thought to take a taxi, and we inquired at the Agence. They said it costs 200 toman ($.20) per kilometer for a Pride or Paykan and 250 for a Toyota. But then Sudabeh said her husband goes to that area every morning and we could ride with him. On the way back we could either wait until the afternoon and return with him, or take one of the transportations they offer from there on our own. But then I said well let's see what her husband says, if it's really okay with him... So he said yes, and that he would be going a bit later that morning, at 10am, which was a good time for us. But then Nahid said, well if you want to go at that time, my class finishes at 9:30 and I'll come pick you up. She said maybe Sudabeh would come along too. So she came to pick us up at 9:30, and we went to wait on the street so she didn't have to make a U-turn. Sudabeh also came along. We got to Takhte Jamshid at 10:30, because the traffic was really bad in Marvdasht... And you know how far you have to walk now to get to the site from the parking lot, how much we walked! Of course we walked around up there on the site, and then we sat somewhere and had an apple and orange........"

This was just the beginning; and it went on, over and over... It's definitely an unusual world for me. But I enjoy it, in a strange kind of way, and some moments are so bizarre and funny.

One afternoon we were sitting looking through stacks of old photos, and one of my aunties turned on the Sat.TV: From Russia with Love was on, dubbed in Persian. I don’t know how they worked out the translation, but watching Sean Connery say "nokaretam" (I'm your slave) is something very hilarious...and of course British spy games always a fun theme here. At one point a sexy scene came on, and my old auntie, who normally complains incessantly of her various pains, (It seems everyone in Shiraz has some ailment, but it is up to your will of complaint to trump the next person's illness with your more serious and painful one) couldn't stop giggling. She kept teasing my old uncle if it was okay to keep it on the channel. Oops, she said, I've disturbed the class!

Or like when my great aunt put on her prayer chador and settled at the table to pray. Meanwhile, the rest of the gang got on the subject of religion. They talked about how only 2 out of 6 of them know how to pray, and only one of them actually ever does it. Then they went into a rather critical discourse about religion and the present state, cursing this one and that. All the while, granny is praying right next to us. And it's completely normal.

Similar type of grandmas often think nostalgically about the old times. When they used to have regular women's meetings organized by municipality and the head of the gendarme wore a mini-skirt, when hejab was a choice that some women made, when they shaved the ends of their eyebrows for the fashionable 'Mr. Spock' look, when their family was still around, when "things were better" and they didn’t have to double lock each door in the house...The time of "God rest its soul." Of course they see things from a very particular angle, nonetheless important.

Another afternoon one of my aunts took us to her class, she teaches English Literature to young students at Shiraz University. She said she wanted to challenge her students' (boys and girls) image of the "West" -that it's not all Hollywood, make-up and fashion, like some of them think. One of the girls was wearing golden sneakers that the kids were drooling over. The students asked us questions in English, in order to practice. Some of the questions:

Could you live in Iran, or would you rather live in America? How do you feel wearing the hejab? What do you like about Iran? Which states have capital punishment in America? Why do each of the states in America have different laws? Which Iranian food do you like? Have you had kaleh pacheh (Iranian dish, boiled lamb head and foot), and did you like it?? Do you like our president? Have you been to Hollywood?...

A shaggy headed boy taught us what they call a ‘proverb’ from Shiraz: “veleshhhh” (“let it go”). They were great kids. The girl with the golden shoes who asked about Hollywood was daydreaming. I kept thinking any moment she might tap her heels 3 times and transport to the Stars on Hollywood Boulevard.

The Shirazi accent is sweet and melodic. They have a sort of southern drawl, knocking off syllables and adding "o" at the end of many words. I even had "Shiraz" wine, some homemade stuff. Though it tasted a bit like garlic and dirt.

With another aunt I went to the public swimming pool. (This one is a sports coach in high school. Her girls are in basketball season now-they also play golf, badminton, chess, and many other things throughout the year.) Surprisingly, the pool was the best, cleanest public pool I've ever been to.

And of course I visited all the poets' tombs and the gardens: Hafez, Saadi, Khajoo...and Baba Koohi's ("Papa Mountain"--a dervish who lived in on of the mountains above the city) tomb which is just above my grandmother's place. Sadly, a lot of the tea houses have closed, this was also the case in Esfahan...maybe because too many kids were hanging out and having some kind of fun. Around Hafez's tomb, young and old gather and wander the gardens, reading and reciting his poems together. You can see that he means a great deal to Shirazis and Iranians in general.

I’d have a very different life here. In Tehran I'm pretty much on my own, though I have some family here also. And I really appreciate being alone, which no one here really understands. It's also however interesting to experience the crazy family thing like I did in Shiraz. I learn so much about food and Iranian traditions, and real life history, plus it makes my grandmother really happy. So once again, I am torn! I always want the best of both sides, and there never seems to be enough time. I want to live on my own here in Tehran, and at the same time I’d love to live with my family. Like I want to settle and have children, but I’d also love to be one of those wandering eccentric couples who never have kids. Like wouldn't mind being one of those urban business women, or a college professor, but I'd also love to be a farmer...

Wheat Farm Outside Shiraz