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:
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 FestivalAlso 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 WildFinally, 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 
Neenee on the ferry
There are several reasons for this. One of them being, that children would be more free to express themselves naturally than an adult or teenage woman or even man...they are less political, sexual, etc. Therefore, in order to make their films seem more realistic, many directors opt for a child centered plot. This, as some of you might know, worked wonders in International film festivals.
While in Iran, I discovered a similar phenomenon in the billboards around the country. Children are also billboard stars. And it wasn't only the toy stores or sweet shops. Any type of store would employ the use of children for advertising, from photo shops to corner stores, various billboard product ads, or shops that sell specialty Iranian cooking products.
Say Cheese!
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