I'm leaving because the weather is too good. I hate London when it's not raining.

Title: Groucho Marx

A week before I came back to London, I spent the day with a friend. He spent his whole life in Tehran, I just showed up 4 months ago. Walking around downtown, I kept pointing things out to him that he had never noticed. He sees things more historically perhaps. And my radar for weird details is always on high, because everything is still new to me, and I’m probably constantly comparing. We realized that we each saw the city in very different ways, and this amused us.

Every time I take a trip, the return always feels really bizarre. It is like I’m going on rewind, back through the same route, the same places and steps which I came from. But everything is backwards. The tiny details are different, or perhaps those details you pay attention to, but the overall sensation is something like déjà vu.

In the Imam Khomeini Airport, A huge group of tourists from India were returning home after a pilgrimage tour. They must have been from a village in India, and it really seemed like they had never been in an airport before. It was like having a page from National Geographic transported to Tehran’s airport. They all wore their village clothes and sandals, plastic bags, and the pilgrimage tour’s t-shirts of course. Some of the women actually wore the tour’s head-dress (‘maghaneh’) which is something like a nun’s hood, and the official head-dress code for the Iranian Islamic woman. It must have said something like: “I went to pilgrimage in Iran and all I got was this holy t-shirt!”

One of the women came to the front of the line, and then tried to get 30 of her friends to join her. I realized then, something that is probably so obvious. Some people just don’t have the concept of queuing or waiting in line. Let alone going through a security station, stopping, being searched, one at a time. Iranians are like this, but these tourists proved it to another level.

At layover in Baku, exiting the tiny propeller plane, my hair blew freely in cold wind for the first time in months. Inside the transfer bus I quickly re-applied my head scarf, it was blistering cold.

Upon arrival to the Baku airport I was mesmerized. The first thing I saw, passing the duty-free shop, was a check-out girl leaning on the counter. She was wearing a fitted black dress with a patent red belt slouched on her curvy hips, her long bleached-blond hair swept across a bored, expressionless face. My jaw dropped wide open. It was like a scene from a film, dodgy but somehow very glamorous. I headed straight for the toilets, and inside a group of similarly dressed women, lounged on the bathroom’s counters smoking cigarettes and reapplying mascara. It was the store’s dress code. Out in the waiting room, a few old men were finishing off a liter of vodka they bought in the free-shop. On the airport TV, Charlie Chaplin’s Modern Times was playing, interrupted constantly by commercials for various travel packages, mobile phones, and for Baku’s state-of-the-art airport. In the ads, the airport looked so cosmopolitan and stylish. Theoretically it did have some of these qualities, in terms of certain infrastructures and décor, nice cafes two identical duty-free shops located 10 steps from each other, much more than Tehran had to offer. In practice however, it appeared dusty and awkward. There was some sort of failed glossiness over everything.

How did I not notice all this before? I must have been too transfixed on what my next stop, Tehran, was going to be like. So here I was, in the same place, but from a different angle.

When I was young, I used to get really embarrassed when my mother looked at people. But I realized recently, I do the same thing--maybe I am better at hiding it though. Sometimes, I stare at someone to the point of falling in love with them. On that day, I fell in love with this young girl. She could have been of Afghan origin, about 8 years old. She had an angelic face, with robust cheeks and soft yellowish-white skin, slanted eyes and small lips drawn like a doll’s. She dressed like a small lady, with all matching accessories and a silky head scarf tied neatly and professionally.

I wish I could describe why I fell in love with her, but I’m not sure I can. I guess it was something about the air of dignity she exuded, even at that age. Her clothing all matched very smartly, with soft shades of beige, and she wore a fluffy coat. One yellow-haired doll poked out of her jacket’s pocket and every once in a while she would pull it out and prance it about for a couple minutes. She was so calm and composed, all these hours in transit and on the plane.

She sat next to me on the plane, and that made me happy. We each had the whole isles to ourselves, and I think this made her feel grown-up, and special. Sometimes our eyes met, and she would just barely crack a shy smile--the timid proof that she actually was a little girl! She wore her head scarf the entire flight, and often readjusted it. Her hair was thick and straight, and awkwardly cut short and jagged.

When we were loading into the elevator, it was getting too full so for a moment the conductor made her get on, and her father stay out. I saw a look of panic rush over his face, the thought of being parted from his girl was unthinkable. We made space, and he made his way in to the elevator, but for just a moment he showed something so utterly vulnerable and raw-it was so many things-uncomfortable, awkward, scared, helpless. It was just for a second, but I’ll never forget it.

The only thing unruffled about the girl was her ratty yellow-haired doll, which still peeked out of her pocket. It was as if nothing much fazed her-that was her look at least. It was the look of a lady. I briefly fell in love with a couple other people on that trip, but she left the biggest impression on me.

Back in the London, heading towards Finsbury Park Station, and every thing’s still going backwards. Although some things look different…there are some new things I’ve noticed about London, and some old things that I always loved, and still do.

London Notes and Nutshells

It rains a lot in London, but in return you get cleaner streets and a variety of green parks-from wild-Hampstead to tame-Hyde Park, and hundreds in between. When it’s party cloudy, London has one of the most beautiful skies. The clouds are super fluffy (‘The Simpson’s Clouds’ Slobs calls them), black and blue like a giant bruised face. The sky can turn shades of purple and pink. And when it is sunny, they are some of the brightest blue sunny days I’ve ever seen. While in New York you think about square-footage, flat-seekers in London think about ‘bright sunny windows’: the bigger the window the better the room.





London is a graphic designer’s dream. The city’s architecture is full of straight lines, stacked all around with neat bricks, buses and brightly colored signs. The colors of the city are perfectly thought out: Red bus, blue signs, yellow letters, green highway signs, blue and green rubbish bins, red bricks, blue sky, green trees. And everything is cloaked by a subtle layer of thin green moss. Sometimes it looks like a healthy head of hair, and sometimes it looks just like the fuzz on bald man’s head.



We went to a stand-up performance, and one of the comedians noted that London has the most colors of doorways. It’s true, every other doorway is a different color! Real Londoners tend to wear dark boring colors, with one red accessory: like a red jacket, a purse or a car, or red hair. Sometimes the one-accessory is green or blue. Are they subconsciously matching with the colors of the city, the dull buildings and brightly colored doors? And of course, some people wear summer clothes in the dead cold of winter.





There are tons of old signs that have lost or changed their reference point, or are just plain weird. For example we saw a sign that said “This way to the ‘The Pumping Station’.” For all we knew, it could very well have been an old fire-brigade station turned gay club. Another huge, and perhaps dated, one by London Bridge says, “This Way to the Air-Raid Shelter.” Many signs and orders are carefully worded into friendly requests: “Please Mind the Gap” or “If you notice some suspicious behavior please notify the driver.” We saw one yesterday, upon exiting the Petrol Station, it said “Please Call Again.” It reminded me of the Texas saying “Ya’ll Come Back Now!”

"Anti-Climb Paint?"

I think they are serious this time

Here they say "Fouling of Land is an Offence", we would just say "Don't Mess with Texas"

She's been made redundant, but just can't move on

One of my favorite places in London is ‘The City’, the downtown financial district, the oldest part of London. If you go through at certain busy times of the day, it looks just like that old photo of men in the city, all wearing a black suit and the same black hats, a sea of suits and hats (anyone know or have this photo?). Everyone frantically rushes about in black suits and skirts, but the best thing about it is that a couple hours later the streets are completely empty. I love going there on a Sunday, when everything is dead and abandoned, a ghost town. In this quiet solitude, a brief lapse from madness, the grand old architecture is especially magnificent.

I love all the neighborhoods around central London, which are actually quaint villages transformed into city escapes for young couples or bohemian hippies. But I love our’s the best because of its indistinct boringness, and what I call ‘real people’. All around the city, what used to be horse stables are called “mews” and they are turned into trendy little secluded apartment blocks or office spaces. Actually many things here once pertained to horses.

MacDonald’s and Starbucks are disguised as trendy little village shops, and next door may be a local butcher or fruit stand. KFC doesn’t do such a great job at disguising though, maybe the red rubbish bins give it away?

Pubs-‘Public Houses’ or ‘Freehouses’-have a very special place in English culture. The pub beneath our house is a real ‘local’. You find the same old geezers (with their kids) in there everyday. Those people who permanently smell like ashtray, dust and mildewed curtains. On Sundays, the crowd is very interesting: I think they are either former church members or future church members. Or maybe they actually came straight from church.

Ex-Dairy Factory now a Pub

They eat things like Meat Roast, Meat Pies, Yorkshire pudding (which is actually some squishy bread with gravy), Bangers and Mash (Sausage and Mashed Potatoes), or Toad-in-the-Hole (sausage baked inside squishy bread), or Beans on Toast. The day after Sunday roast, they traditionally eat something called Bubble & Squeak (leftover veggies fried up until they are brown).



Watching people here is fantastic, even though sometimes it can be a little pathetic. Like the
other day, on the bus, and woman with her two daughters was screaming and crying on the phone to her boyfriend. The two girls followed her around, as if everything was completely normal.

It is true that people are a bit cold here, out in the streets or on public transport for example. No one talks to each other much. If you do talk to someone, there is usually a sense of paranoia, and defensiveness. Although every one is extremely polite.

Once on the tube (subway), this woman was way too drunk. The tube attendant helped her on the train, and kept telling her, don’t forget you have to get off on the next stop to change trains, promise me you won’t forget! Of course, she totally ignored the stop. Several worried people sitting near her tried to remind her, only to get snapped at: “I know where I’m going! Lived here all my life, don’t need yours or anyone’s help.” So she continued in her wretched state, ripped pantyhose, bloody feet, and near crying when she realized she had no idea where she was. And everyone thus ignored her.

On another note, the way people naturally queue up (line-up) everywhere is just amazing!

Walking and riding around the city, my eyes are wide open like a child’s. When I walked around in the grimy snow of Tehran’s busy streets, which was actually a giant candy shop, I paid close attention to everything. Being back in London is a similar feeling. At times, it almost looks like a giant Swiss village.

I guess that’s why I enjoy traveling so much. When I come back from somewhere I experience a new perspective of things. Although you can experience the same feeling in other ways: reading a book, watching a film, meeting a new person. I had the same feeling when I returned to Texas after being away a year, everything was so exotic. People had always asked me if anyone there wears cowboy hats, and I finally realized that they really do!

There is a restaurant in Stoke Newington called, The Dervish: Experience the Taste of Authenticity.” I wonder what it tastes like, authenticity, and if people actually go in because of this sign?



Some more London in Nutshells:

Consumerism in Disguise (just because the shops are smaller and look villagey doesn’t mean…)

Industrial revolution meets Elfin Village

Yummy Mummies

Royal family meets Pub-flies and

WAGS

Victoria Beckham

Victorian Age meets Strip Club

I’m-not-realllly-a movie-star-but-clearly-am-Raybans (as opposed to giant, unapologetic movie star sunglasses)

Spice Girls meets High Tea with Scones

Curry vs. Fish and Chips

‘Hejab Barbie’ meets ‘Oh this t-shirt is actually a dress’


And just for fun, some British word usage & colloquialisms:

can’t be bothered (don’t care)

to be sorted (to fix a problem)

bloody (very)

fancy (to desire)

Council house (projects, government housing)

"Denton" Council House

Cash and Carry (a store that you pay cash and carry the goods away yourself…?)

Off-License (place that sells liquor—‘off’-premises, as in you can’t drink it there)

all-nighter/ bender

snog (to kiss)

wanker/tosser (idiot)

bang on about/to waffle (go on and on)

whinge (to whine)

botch up (ruin)

geezer (guy –usually cool, confident, macho)

lad, chap (guy)

slapper/tart (tramp)

sod-off/ bugger-off (get lost)

bugger all (nothing, cheap)

fit (in shape, nice body)

chat up/pull (to flirt with someone, try to pick them up)

cheeky (naughty, smart ass)

bits (genitalia)

chav/chavy (lower-class origin who dresses in sportswear and shiny gold jewelry)

queue (line)

rubbish bin (trash can)

give a ring (to call)

Ring

pop in/by (to stop by)

row (a fight, rhymes with cow)

the fuzz (police)

The Fuzz

made redundant/redundancy (to be fired/laid off)

lovely (nice)

brilliant (great)

cheers (thanks, ciao, also for drinking)

dodgy (suspicious)

bloke (dude)

mate (friend)

Uni (university)

flat (apartment)

quid (pounds-money)

cunt/twat (annoying person)

arse (ass)

bum (butt)

bollocks (no good, rubbish)

dog’s bollocks (fantastic)

faff (to procrastinate)

faffing?

chuck (to throw)

knackered/zonked (tired)

knickers (underwear)

nick (to steal)

take the piss (to make fun of, joke around)

pissed/sloshed (drunk)

smart (to be dressed well, to look sharp)

cuppa (cup of tea/coffee)

fringe (bangs)

barmy (mad/crazy)

royal (so and so) for example “a royal pain in the arse”

isn’t it? / innit? (don’t you think)

hiya (hey)

blimey (darn, yes they really say this!)

How have I changed? I actually wondered if I have changed since moving to Iran. When Slobs came to Tehran, he pointed out that when I would talk to him or explain things I always tap him on the leg or knee, which I never did before. Not sure what that means.

I guess living in Tehran has inspired me a lot, given me a lot to think about. It has been unlike any other foreign place I lived, probably because it’s not actually foreign completely. I still don’t understand it, not even close.

Well a lot has changed, so I’m not sure if I can account it only to living in Iran. For example, having a permanent partner has given me a certain confidence. This is not just because I am married, but because of who I am married to. Just as I edit his words for grammatical English mistakes, he reads everything I write for my confidence. I won’t say I couldn’t do it without him because that’s lame, but I must say that he helps me immensely. And I also can’t deny that he is probably a big part of why I love London so much.

Neenee in London rrrr!