On the Road

Below the kitchen window of our tiny London apartment lies the garden of a dingy local pub, where neighborhood people with nothing better to do hang out and get drunk every day.

"The only thing you fear is fear itself!" were Jonathon's repeated words of wisdom.

The girl wore her bleached blond hair back in a ratty tail. They drank beer at separate tables in the garden, it was Wednesday around lunchtime - her with a chubby girlfriend him with the sports paper. She has recently broken up with her boyfriend, and can't get enough of talking about herself and asking everyone for advice. Jonathon is her broken ego's new victim, but he doesn't seem to mind giving his 2 cents anyway, even if it means looking up from the sports page for a half-hour or so. It's two days in a row now, we've been listening to her whining, as we wash the dishes and watch the clouds. Jonathon has just convinced her to give the ex-bloke a call.

"We love Jonathon!" she moaned, flip flop-ing over to give him a hug.

As her face contorted back into seriousness, "But deep down, from the bottom of you heart, Jonathon, you think I should really call him? Is it not chasing?" And then started the exact same conversation over again.

.................

"You fucking bAAAAhstad" a loud grumbly voice wailed. The typical weekend night drunken cry in our street, sometimes accompanied by smashing glass. "Yoouuu Wankaaah!" He continued, and on and on, in that cartoonish voice of impotent anger, like an R&B voice who lost its soul.

...................

So I'm back in London, it seems. 2 Weeks ago I left Iran, after 8 months. Believe it or not, I did hear some pretty funny things out of my Tehran window on a weekend night: mostly cars racing each other's engines or speakers, people screaming and clapping to loud Iranian music, the occasional lonesome dude strolling down the vacant street playing an accordion. Although the greatest street sound I ever heard would have to be in Paris, one late late night several years ago: After the noise of a car backfire 'BOOM!', one feeble sounding Frenchman cried softly, rather frankly, "Ouch." I laughed in bed for an hour.

I was sad to leave Iran... although, I was also excited to leave, returning to London and to my own bloke. But then I was very sad to leave my friends and my strange life there in that crazy country. (I'm trying to resist these modern-global-villagey feelings of wanting to be everywhere always, but it's difficult, having loved ones scattered around every corner of the place.)

Admittedly, Iranian society was not an easy one to live -or float around- in, having grown up in the West where we take for granted those tiny everyday freedoms (even though I lived with an Iranian family), which in Iran are imposed by the state, society, culture and family.

For a while in my life now I've done pretty much what I wanted, all on my own, often alone, which was an empowering feeling - whether I knew it or not. I could do this in Iran as well, but not without consequences, albeit usually minor ones (and not always of course). Those minor dissuasions however eventually wear down on you, and just the fact that you are technically doing something unlawful most of the time sort of effects you psychologically. To most of the young people and women in Iran however, this is probably a more normalized feeling...Ironically I got hassled about "bad hejab" only once in my entire stay, on my very last day.

Being an Iranian myself, I realized that because of understanding the language and culture, I sometimes felt more sensitive to various things that bothered me. Interestingly, I also realized how much the western way of living has influenced my tastes, although not exactly western but some nominally obscure melange of tastes I've picked up here and there. For example, I love the straightforwardness of Balkan and Arab hospitality, whereas the games played in Iranian hospitality and the whole 'taarof' business aren't really my cup of tea. The 1000 faces thing also really drives me crazy, and my memory isn't so strong.

Or maybe I have developed some sort of new-found magnetic repulsion to things "Iranian"...why should I love Iran (most Iranians do, excessively) so much when there are 100s of other interesting countries and cultures with interesting things to offer? I just happened to have parents from there. It's something similar to a mother for bragging about her kids, when there are millions of other babies and kids out there with great traits, who have accomplished even bigger things...hmm. Plus it's just embarrassing when your mom brags about you.

Yes, I had mostly good things to say about Iran, and those were all true. There were plenty of not so rosy things as well, but that's everywhere. All in all, I guess it could also be called a very normal experience...quite often I was just doing what you could call 'hanging out'.

As I was preparing to leave, I thought about when I was first arriving. And, like many of my memories from how I used to be a few months ago, I thought how naive I was, and how much more of a practical perspective I have now--though hardly complete. I remembered that I thought it was a new chapter in my life...and if that was the case, now the chapter would be coming to an end. But my newly rooted and more mature self didn't see it that way any longer. It felt more like one long chapter, or maybe a volume with lots of little topical chapters inside. Maybe it was a chapter then, but not now.

Arriving in London -leaving Tehran was much less dramatic than first arriving- we immediately headed for Amsterdam to visit some friends. (Btw I just love that suggestive "OOOOH" response whenever you tell someone you are going to Amsterdam) But really, I love Amsterdam. Maybe it had something to do with the strong contrast, coming from Tehran and all it's social complexities...

As our ferry approached land, the port in Holland looked just like a Lego land, with neat little colored boxes and trucks, tidy square shaped machinery with techno gadgets to sweep them to and fro, windmills, giant pipes towers, and and a neat little road for just about everything.

First Views of Holland:

Legoland!

One of the best parts of our stay, aside from all the tasty beer (and drinking it in public!), was probably the The Hague Jazz Festival. Not only was the music excellent and diverse, it was also the most 'civilized' festival I'd ever witnessed. This 'jazz crowd', we discovered, is definitely of our style: Old, mellow, coool, eats bagels, drinks Lavazza coffee, those cheesy-used to be-cool but now just lazy and normal but still likes to have fun and get-down every once in a while kinda crowd - congregated in a 'dirty'-but-controlled environment. Every few meters was a stand selling goodies, refreshments (not just overpriced bad beer), snacks, and other fun consumer stuff.

Waiting in one line, the old jazzy geezers, holding their fiery bladders to see some eclectic world music, actually got in an argument. It was quickly doused with some beer and take it easy snaps, when a 60 year old woman with a giant blond bouffant bun turned to us and said not to miss the after party at the so-and-so hotel - she went last year and was woken up in the morning passed out on the couch, she then smoothly proceeded to have breakfast at the hotel. We didn't make it that night...maybe I'll have my second wind by the time I'm 60.

Sean Kuti and the Egypt 80 at The Hague Jazz Festival

Also excellent was the little Balkan-Diaspora reunion we joined at a sweet new restaurant in Utrecht (a sweet little bicycle controlled town near Amsterdam) called Noa...which started with a pork feast dolled, and ended up with the owner of the place playing a bunch of balkan-nostalgie on the turn-tables and breaking glasses in his own place, girls (and boys) dancing on tables littered with rakia (a domestic brandy), and male machismo tearing out of it's thin skin of european-culture.

Serbs Gone Wild

Finally, we experienced the famous Dutch spa (although we went on the women's only day) - similar to any spa experience, except add a bunch of lovely naked old dutch women tanning their red leathery skins on the roof - smoking ciggies, knitting, gossiping, while sipping on a cold beer - this is the life.

The greatest thing about The Netherlands is, of course, the bicycles. As a bicyclist you have nothing to worry about--everything is perfectly set up for you, you just ride. And girls ride around on bikes in skirts and red heels. By contrast, in Tehran there are about 10 bicyclists (I know a couple of them personally) in total, and they all deserve a war medal.

There are plenty of other quirky things to love about the city also...for example fact that everyone has this slight grin of content smeared across their faces all the time, people hanging out or even living on boats, supping in front of canals, the whole Lego look. Although the architecture is fantastic, the fashion isn't always the greatest, which I find charming.

Boat Crossing (Slobs is excited)!

Fashion?

Children of the Corn supping on the canal

"Venice of the North"

To sum up Amsterdam -and my Netherlands experience in general- it's like a village where the world comes to you -a third the size of London with the same number of living nationalities- a real 'global village.' Like having the world in your pocket!

Tropical (Anthropological) Museum

Royal Health Foam

Anne Frank

Theater Tuschinski built in 1921

Neenee on the ferry

Allo Landan?

Guessing Game

I spotted this walking down the street today...Can anyone guess what it is?

Funny Valentine

During my return to Tehran something I noticed, that I forgot to mention before: Several people seemed drunk not only entering Tehran but also leaving. And when it comes to airport activities, such as waiting in line or loading baggage through security for example, all male chivalry is flushed down the toilet.

Speaking of toilet-flushing and male chivalry...

1. I have to get used to NOT flushing toilet paper, once again (thanks to Tehran's shady to non-existent plumbing system. It's great for saving trees though.)

And 2. I got back to Tehran just in time for Valentine's Day! The romantic holiday named after 2 Christian Martyrs called Valentine. What's this got to do with Iran you might ask?

Downtown, on the famous Karim Khan Street all the card and gift shops were transformed into flashy red showcases, displaying all sorts of over-sized plush Valentine goodies: Boxes and Bears, and other strange pudgy creatures.

I wonder what the 'X' means? A punching bag?

In the same area, Coffee Shops were overflowing with couples, many of them wearing red. Traffic was even worse than the usual Thursday night.

Feeling a bit of post-Ashura blues?...Valentine's is here! And with Nowruz just around the corner, it's a jam packed season.

Valentine's Day has been gaining popularity in Iran over the past years, although there have been attempts to ban it or curb its popularity, especially by giving the shops selling Valentine's products a hard time. One government official even suggested keeping the tradition but switching the day to the birthday of Fatima (I think it was her?). This didn't happen, and even this year the stores were bustling with squishy red hearts, chocolates and kissing bears.

Proof that Iranians love to love.

Yes, they really love to love.

And they are even safe about it (click here)

That poster is actually hanging, for all to see, outside a pharmacy near my house. When I passed by it, I literally froze...and had to backtrack. In Persian it says something like: "Femore gel, for the woman's sexual inability." Perhaps this is proof that North Tehran is looking more and more like California.

It may be about love, but Valentine's Day is also about buying. The shops were packed, and for the first time I saw Iranians queuing up. Outside a store, as most of them are too tiny for these kinds of crowds. The message I picked up seemed to be, bigger is better. Not only the stuffed animals, but also cards, boxes, bags stuffed with confetti and shiny tissue were size extra large. Alas...consumerism wins the battle on this day (and most days), in all it's curious ways.

Competitive street peddler: Would you like a tooth or a donkey on the moon?

For more on V Day, check out this documentary a friend of mine made a couple years ago: "Valentine's Day in Iran"

In the evening the Brazilian Embassy hosted local band 127 for a rare, and cozy, live concert. The band unofficially released their new album: Khal Punk. The word "Khal" comes from "Khaltoo" which is a genre of very old Iranian pop music.

All in all it was a beautiful first V day in Tehran. Sorry this post is pretty crappy...hope you enjoy the photos at least :)

Love, Neenee

See more photos from the day here:

Valentine's Day in Tehran

Snowy Weather

On Friday, I called a friend:
"What's up I said" (probably in some kind of sombre voice)
"Ohhh" he said "It's Home Alone 2: Lost in Tehran!"

"Yes" I admitted, laughing the cracks out of my throat, "it's been a bit lonely since Slobs left. And with this weather. It's very pretty, all snowy and white. But it's also just giving me an excuse to hibernate..."

I read in the Economist recently that French farmers used to practically hibernate in the winters. It proved in their advantage economically, as they burned less energy and thus consumed less. Yes, makes sense.

Okay, so I ventured out! It was snowing again, but this time those beady little cruel flakes, more like pellets. They kept getting stuck on my hejab, so I could see the little runaways from the corner of my eye. The wind drew swirly designs with the snow pellets on the gray sky canvas.

We went to an exhibit about the Hejab, more specifically the "Kashf-e Hejab" (this is when the Shah forced women to unveil on January 7 1936), along with the history of hejab-wearing around the world...The exhibit was massive, though a bit shabby.

In one corner, a series of cartoons illustrated the logical development of a young girl on the wrong path: It starts out with the shrinking of the hejab and wearing of heavy make-up and tighter clothes. Then she watches foreign films which display decadence and immoral behavior. Eventually she starts hanging around those "bad-boys" with spiky hair. She is introduced to marijuana and in the next drawing her eyes are heavy and strung out. She goes to parties, takes ex and dances with strange boys. She pierces her lip and wears tight clothes with holes in them. Starts shooting heroin.....In the last slide, the girl is getting into a stranger's car, to sell her body it appears, when she sees the man to whom she had refused marriage earlier in the story. He is overjoyed, driving by with his fresh new bride.

So the moral of the story? 'Bad hejab' is a gateway drug. Just say no! It sounds a bit like my parents reasoning when I was a teenager (they will probably kill me for this!) I do admit it came in handy with all the snow. The exhibit took place accordingly in "Hejab Street." Recently, they also had a fashion show, which you can read about here.

It's still snowing. People make fires along the sidewalks in front of shops, and shovel snow off the tops of roofs without looking to see if someone is passing down below. I've seen teenagers dressed up all fancy, girls with full make up and high-heeled boots, having massive snow fights. Some people, especially taxi drivers, go around in slippers. My friend's landlady came to collect her rent wearing pajamas beneath her coat.

Most of the school's and public offices closed for a week, and the airport was a complete disaster. One German football team was stuck in Tehran for 3 days, several of my friends made 3 trips to the airport before finally departing. I kept my man for 1 extra day, though it was 1 chaotic day. Yesterday was Slobs' birthday, we haven't spent it together in years. Have we ever?? Hopefully it's the last one we spend apart.

I've heard several things over the past week:

1. Everything closed for so long not only because of local conditions but also, in solidarity with small towns who were experiencing gas and electricity shortages, for overall conservation. (In a country with one of the highest reserve of gas and oil)

2. The reason many flights were not (and maybe still are not) taking off from the airport is because of a shortage in wing dryers (wings must be dry before take-off or else they freeze) due to sanctions on various plane parts--including wing dryers.

3. The new excuse when something wasn't available: "Mamlekat ta'teel ast" ("the state's on holiday") wee heeee

4. Intro of one radio show: Woman: "Sard-e!" (It's cold!)
Man: "Pas goosh kon ke garm beshi" (So listen, and you'll get warm ;)

5. It hasn't been this cold, or snowed this much, in anyone's memory.

Today I go back to school...and my other life starts once again...


Here is an overview with some photos of the past snowy weeks....click on image below--->

snow in tehran

Disco Fever

Massoud's magnetophone (reel-to-reel) with an eclectic party mix!

Streets

Seoul Street and Palestine Square are other favorites...

Ljubaf and Azad (neenee and slobs corner!!)

"Babi Sanz" click-->(Bobby Sands) St.--Location UK embassy.
French Embassy is --> "Noflochateau" Street :)

click--> Hejab

School

Today was the last day of school.

A part of my life I haven’t yet mentioned is the Persian class I take. I go to class Saturday through Wednesday from 9:30 am to 12. I take a shared taxi in the morning, up Vali Asr Street, straight to the Persian Language Institute. The shared taxis in Iran have straight line routes all around the city, you can hop on and off along the way. My journey costs around $0.25. Taxi's are often shared, men and women uncomfortably squeeze into the back of a tiny Paykan, while in buses women must sit in the back.

The 10 people in my class come from all over the world. I am the only of Iranian origin. The first day of class each student introduced him/herself and explained why they were in Iran. (Great intelligence material!) Suspects are as follows:

1 Lebanese man—in car business, in Iran, he says, because of “dushman Israeli” ("enemy Israeli")

2 Yemeni diplomats-here working at Yemen Embassy

1 Ukrainian girl—married to an Iranian, they met at a yoga conference in India

1 Syrian-Kurdish lady—her husband works at the Syrian Embassy

1 Iranian-American—here to explore her roots…or is that too cheesy?

1 Moroccan-French lady—her husband works at Embassy

1 Cameroonian girl—who was here studying but has disappeared

3 Korean girls—not sure exactly why they are here, I think they just find it fascinating. They all live in dorms and take buses everywhere, hardcore!

It’s a very interesting place. Other students come from Germany, Switzerland, Italy, Indonesia, India, basically a mix of diplomats and hipsters studying Iranian poetry…and it’s probably rated second to British Embassy for being what they call “den of spies.” There are also some great opportunities to be invited to Embassy parties…where champagne tends to flow. (During holiday season especially-they are allowed to order a certain amount of booze.)

cafe

Our teacher is a fiery young Iranian lady. Language seems to be her passion, as she is always jotting down notes, about new teaching methods and the different meanings-especially English and Arabic.

And all the students are lovely:

The Lebanese man seems to be very religious. He talks about his car business, praying, going to the park, and visiting the holy cities of Mashhad and Qom. And he always tries to introduce the most complicated words and sayings, while he can hardly speak a simple sentence. The class suspects that he memorizes what he reads in newspapers. The first day of class he told us he was staying at Esteqlal Hotel-one of the most posh. Since then the teacher hasn’t stopped teasing him about being rich. He is awkwardly polite, always picking up the papers she drops, while reciting from memory the most formal Persian phrases: “I am at your service…always!” and such.

One of the Yemeni men always talks about women, and marriage. He says he is working on getting an Iranian wife (second wife that is), and our teacher gives him a very hard time-all in good fun, though we are still not certain if he is joking or not. He says the woman’s place is at home, in the kitchen,and that life in Yemen is much cheaper so a man can afford to have more wives. Our teacher and the rest of the class did not agree at all. The other guy is like the quiet young sidekick with a mustache.

The Ukrainian lady is into yoga and spirituality. She is very delicate, picky with outside food if it seems dirty, afraid she will be poisoned. But today we went to Superstar Burger for lunch, and she had a double cheeseburger, mashalla. She always talks about the “tragedy of her country,” with a quivering voice. That since the fall of USSR, bad economy and poverty has driven her countrymen into severe alcoholism, and that all the Ukrainian girls want to marry foreigners because of this. She came to the right place!

The Syrian-Kurdish woman is one of those know it all mothers who you can’t help but love. Everything she says is very matter-of-fact. She is a diplomat wife, living in in various countries no more than 2-3 years each. Her favorite place was Kuwait, because of all the lovely malls and restaurants. She also loves Iran, she feels it’s very close to Syria.

The Cameroonian girl, who is 18 yrs old and here on a scholarship to study science, has disappeared after 3 weeks of class. I think she may have been traumatized. Iranians are not at all used to seeing black people in person and, if not out right racist at times, they definitely have a strange and not so subtle sense of humor. On Saturdays we describe in class what we did on the weekend (perhaps more intelligence info??). Once she said, “Thursday I didn’t leave the house.” Why, we asked? “Because Iranian people are bad.” Although other black visitors I've heard had a better time here...No one in class knows what happened. Luckily she did have some family here.

The young Korean ladies are my favorites. One of them was a singer in Seoul and she wears pink converse high tops everyday. Today after school, all the girls from class came over to my place, and she sang us an Italian opera song. She also studies the Daf and Santur, traditional Iranian instruments. They all would sneakily shed off their head-scarves inch by inch in class, and by now just take it off immediately. The other 2 seem to have some kind of humanitarian interests. When they found out I’m married you should have seen the look on their faces, such a shock! They were extremely pleased, “Ohhhhhh!” with mouths wide open…and asked me all sorts of questions with sweet inquisitive eyes. The oldest lady seems keen on getting married. In class conversations she often uses the example “If I had a boyfriend, I would get married.” And when we explain the weekend’s events, all three of them always say the same thing: “Thursday, I went to my Korean friend’s house, and I cooked Korean food. It was very delicious.”