Assimilation

The day I no longer receive odd, quizzical looks from people in my daily transactions will be a happy one. I can usually get through the little ones- like buying bread or milk, without too many raised eyebrows, but I sit mute in taxis, having been warned hundreds of times that if they realise I am a foreigner they will rip me off! It seems I am an enigma.. if it looks like a duck and sounds like a duck, but I don't sound like a duck, yet. I asked about new exercise classes in the gym, the instructor's face completely contorted and she then asked 'Musalmun?', meaning are you Muslim, and therefore Iranian, and not Christiam and therefore Armenian, which could account for my odd grasp of the language. I replied Musalmun, but then had to go into and explanation so as to categorise myself so she didn't think I was a complete weirdo. In a recent taxi journey I sat mute, simply umming and ahhing as the driver went into a monologue about traffic, road accidents (we saw 2 in a stretch of 50 meters) and how things have got worse. It resulted in a free taxi ride, as the driver turned to me and said 'Can I say something to you? I don't want you to get upset, but you are very pretty. Congratulations to your mother and father' I thanked him and reached into my pocket for money to pay him but he stopped me and said 'This one is on me'. I am quite sure my quietness is what endeared him to me, so maybe it is working in my favour? (An aside on supposed Iranian male creepiness/ sleaziness- was this taxi ride and episode of this? Or was it a demonstration of Iranian generosity as my Ameh claims? The ironic thing is I sat in the front seat to avoid the possibility of being cramped in the back with male passengers who, I have been told, won't miss and opportunity to feel you up. In avoiding one creepy situation had I walked into another? Walking alone in the street everyone stares at you anyway- male, female, young, old- and apart from 'Hey beautiful' and 'Cheer up moody face' (heard that one before!) it doesn't seem any worse than France or Spain. I have been warned that I should steer clear of my boss as he might want to make me his second wife, a new situation to avoid, but seeing as I only go into his office to get books I think it will take quite a while for him to try and woo me)

I recently discovered that blowing your nose in public is extremely rude. How did I NOT know this? I was sat at my desk at work, happily blowing away, when a colleague interrupted and told me it was really rude in Persian culture. 'What, am I supposed to go the loo everytime?' I replied. It seems so. For someone affectionately known as sniffles, this seems both ridiculous and problematic. I've worked with Iranians before and quite sure I must have blown my nose hundreds of times- did not one of them have the heart to tell me? Or had they all been in the UK so long that they'd forgotten what is, in my opinion, a silly, silly notion? And what about my dad, how has he failed to mention this? In fact he positively encouraged nose blowing when I was little and bunged up and for some reason found it difficult. I suppose he does head up the trombone section of the nose blowing symphony, with me on lead trumpet, so perhaps he agrees it is ridiculous. I will have to ask him…

Seems I have a lot to learn still. Even the relationship between ta'rofer and ta'rofee is changing. Ta'rof is a truly Iranian concept- an overly polite relationship between, well everyone, where things are offered and things are declined repeatedly, as a matter of politeness, respect etc. For example, 2 people at a doorway 'Please you first' 'No, no, after you' 'No, no I beg you, please' and so on, until someone bites the bullet and enters. Iranian hospitality is one of a kind, and if you have guests over you must serve them endless rounds of tea, fruit, nuts, cookies, (shireen-y) and repeatedly fill their plates with food at the dinner table, even if they say they don't want anymore. See your guest could be ta'rofing, being polite and saying they are full. Or they could be fit to burst and you are the one ta'rofing by being over generous. My teacher says she thinks these incidents make a lot of people feel really uncomfortable as it almost seems as if your host is watching what you are eating the whole time- swooping in with a plate full of rice when you put your knife and fork down. It seems there is a new ta'rof backlash, especially amongst the young. More and more often I hear people say 'If I want I will help myself and if I don't I won't'. Freedom at last! In my mind it makes for a much more relaxed evening, as the host isn't on tenterhooks waiting for an empty plate to fill and the guest isn't sat wondering 'How many times will I have to say no, I am full thanks, when really I want a second helping of dessert?' There is always the risk that if you insist too much it will back fire and you will miss out on that last round of tea. Wanting to fit in I do tend to ta'rof as much as possible, maybe over compensating for my foreigner status, but pleased to see this new 'ta'rof consciousness' amongst my peers. At least it means when it is just us young folk things can be quite easy-going, and I can leave a party as full or as empty as I wish. Living with an old lady this tradition is still strong, and whether my cousin, who pops round every day, or my Ameh's husband comes over with some chicken he has bought for us, I must immediately stand to attention and ferry plates of fruit, nuts and tea from the kitchen no matter how many times they insist they don't want anything. My granny wouldn't have it any other way for a 'guest'.

A few things for anyone who reads this... I haven't learnt how to put a quote under my photos yet (does anyone known how? please explain) but they should read: Me, looking like a duck; Shireen-y, Fruits and Nuts; Some of the pretty places I have been visiting

Don't know if you have this problem but somtimes I get directed to the Mega Site of Bible Studies when trying to get to my blog, if this happens please go to blogger.com and find me there. I will try and write more often, guess that can be my new year's resolution. I wish I was a better photographer, but regardeless I will include more photos (just takes forever to upload them). And finally I am not used to writing Farsi words in English, so sorry if I butcher them, but do suggest any good spellings.

2 Weeks in Isfahan

After a 6 hour drive through the desert (beautiful scenery but I slept most of the way), and a couple of pit stops to buy yogurt I arrive at my grandmother’s house in the centre of Isfahan. An Ameh (Aunt from my fathers side) is already here cooking lunch and after we finish eating slowly but surely different family members drop in. By 9pm I count 20 of us. Debates ensue about my new haircut- better longer or shorter? Have I or haven’t I gained weight? Which beauty parlour shall I go to to get my eyebrows done (everyone agrees I must do something about the)? Finally, the topic that really gets everyone going is marriage. It seems that, universally, I am at a healthy marrying age. The fact that my older sister is not yet betrothed doesn’t matter anymore- the fact remains I am ripe, if not perhaps getting a bit past it. I sit quietly while everyone debates the likelihood of me finding a suitable match while I am here, debate gets quite heated when talking about good qualities in a husband and why an Iranian is clearly better than a foreigner ( a recently heartbroken cousin doesn’t agree). My dad offers up a middle aged, heavy weight, balding Sufi he knows to anyone who will take him but there aren’t any bidders. Finally my Ameh declares that it doesn’t matter what he looks like as long as he is rich and kind, and that is the end of the conversation. The familiarity of it all is both soothing and overwhelming. Everyone looks the same.. a few more pounds, a few more wrinkles.There is a timeless quality to my grandmothers house where nothing much changes; old photos of family members living abroad adorn the walls, including a faded picture of me at 7 years old with no front teeth.

I spend my first few days being escorted around town with family, running errands. My Ameh helps me apply for my id card, which I am grateful for as the I cannot understand the form and would never have been able to find the office which is basically someone’s flat down a little alley. It will take 4 months to process though, so not sure if it is much use for me! I go to an aerobics class with my cousin, which is really good and will definitely help burn off all the rice and meat I’ve been eating. It seems for all the serious looking work out gear ( I can’t help but giggle at the lime 2 piece), most of my class mates have a full face of make up, don’t really break a sweat and all are shockingly uncoordinated. I also get taken to get my eyebrows threaded, of course. There is a bride in the salon and my cousin and I are hypnotized as they rub various potions all over her body, while someone else fiddles with her hair and another her nails. It has been fun going to all these private female places (sadly no one will let me take photos). Getting to know normal, every day things that I never see when I’m just here for two weeks. Both the gym and salon are forbidden for men to enter, and are so hidden from the street that I never would have found them on my own, I think this is intentional, but no one is very sure.

A few days later I get to the Isfahan I love and head to the bazaar with my cousin. We’re both a bit down but the beauty of Imam Khomeini square soon cheers us up. No matter how many times I come it still takes my breath away. The bazaar itself is on one side of the square, with a turquoise domed mosque and Ali Qapu Palace (all dating from the 16th-17th century) on the other.

We don’t have much time, so ignore the rows of spices, shoes, teddy bears, glass wear, dried fruit, and head straight for my favourite bit that is full of antiques. Trays, lanterns, jewelery, carpets, table cloths, bags, mirrors- I want to buy everything I see but manage to hold back. The first visit is always just for looking, the second for serious bargaining.

Slowly but surely I am getting in to the rhythm here. I began by getting up around 10-11, ready to go out and do something, but then having to have lunch or take a nap (!) as the city shuts down from 1-5pm. I like this Mediterranean pace and love good siesta but when you have nothing to do it is hard to force yourself out of bed in the morning. I am not used to all of this sitting around, eating, gossiping, sleeping. I am beginning to get a routine too. After testing a few Farsi teachers I have found one and go to her language institute 3 times a week. All of my cousin’s either take or have taken private English classes and have been touting my services as a native speaker around town. I now have potential jobs at 3 different institutes, including editing an English language newspaper and leading free discussion classes where I can basically encourage the students to talk about any subject I choose. I accompany my cousin to her free discussion classes to see what they are like and end up taking a chair, centre stage while a barrage of questions are fired at me. It goes something like this: How old are you? Are you married? Which is better, England or Iran? Have you been to the USA? What is your religion? What is your favourite Iranian food? Can you get me a Visa? What is your job? What is your salary? Then a few questions are posed on paper, students to shy to ask out loud: Do you have a boyfriend? What do you think of the mullahs?

I am continually amazed at how generous my family is, and don’t complain when someone offers to collect me from Farsi class, but I feel like screaming when my cousin escorts me to my exercise class-around the corner from my house! I tactfully explain that I need to learn do things on my own, and that I actually like spending time on my own. Tanha (alone) is pretty much a bad word in Farsi. My grandmother asks repeatedly why my mother, father, sister and I all live separately and comments on how odd we are. Some of the family really understand why I am here, and I am grateful when they leap to my defence while my grandmother worries: ‘She’s travelled all over the place. She went to Brazil for god sake! Iran is nothing!’. I knew it would be this way and essentially it is very touching, everyone wants me to have a good time and to make things easier for me. I know that as I settle in to a rhythm I will find the time with myself I need, just with everything in Iran, things take a bit of time.

The beginning

Dum de dum...Here comes my blog. Figure this is the best way to write my impressions of my trip. I can come back to it and anyone who is interested can read it. So why have I come to Iran, and why am I planning on staying for awhile? To improve my Farsi, I can speak, make myself understood and chat about a variety of topics, but not perfectly. Far from it. I realised if I didn't come, then my Farsi would stay as it is, which isn't good enough for me. Without language there will always be distance between me and Iran. Ok, so language, that is my main goal. But I've also come to see what it is like being a young woman here. I've come every 4 years, always with my dad and my sister, for 2 weeks or little more. Constantly surrounded by family it is impossible to get a minute on my own- except in the shower. I've never been left to my own devices to navigate everyday life in this Islamic Republic, so I've come now, alone, to work out how that is done. I've also come to spend some real time with my family. I'm always amazed that although we only ever come for 2 or so weeks every few years, you can walk into a room filled with people and feel full of love for them, even though I debate how well I really know them. My relationship with this country and with my family has always been navigated through my dad, but it is time to explore my own relationships here. If he has fallen out with one of his 8 brothers or sisters it doesn't mean I can't see them does it? I hope to learn to cook from my Aunties, so I can go home and make a big Persian feast for friends and family. I hope to understand a bit more about Iran, and how I fit here, and once I return to Britain how my Iranianess fits with me. A British mother and an Iranian father, and never lived in Iran so I can't be really, truly Iranian can I? It isn't a mathematical equation of course, although my dad tells me I have 75% of his genes (it is true that I don't look any different here), and only 25% of my mothers English ones. If so, then do I understand 75% of this culture? Do I feel 75% Iranian? We shall see. I guess that explains why I've called myself Kebab & Two Veg- the Iranian national dish combined with a perfectly British one. I should have gone for something about a flower with no water or a bird trapped in a cage, something very poetic and emotional.. but instead I've chosen something vaguely amusing- guess that is my
%25 English genes.

The things I will write here are my impressions of what I see around me. It's not that these are the first time I have had these thoughts, just the first time I've written them down. I find so many people here filled with paranoia and have debated how honest I can be in the things I write, but as a friend in London reminded me the government does have bigger fish to fry! So I will be as truthful as I can, this is simply a record of my trip and the thoughts I've had, nothing outwardly political or untoward- think I'll be ok..

My first few days in Tehran have been lots of fun. On entrance to the new Imam Khomeini airport all seems bright, modern and relaxed. Only gets truly Iranian in the completely disorderly queue to put your suitcases through the x-ray machine when all the chadori women push in and I have to fight to keep my place in the line. First few days spent getting to know the area around the apartment and how to get around. Queue for 30 minutes to buy piping hot bread- and that is at the least busy time of day.
I'd forgotten quite how big, dirty and busy Tehran is. Taxis only take you to certain points so to get from down town back to the house I took 3. I was sent out to buy Gata (or Qata?) an Armenian bread that is sweet and round, but my dad says I've got the wrong thing but then tucks in quite happily. After inspecting the local shops I realise I didn't need to bring 60+ tampons with me as I can buy them right here! Sure they must be very expensive, but I remember when I needed some a few years ago and we had to drive to a pharmacy on the edge of town where they sold them in ones! In the local bookshop I have the option of buying a variety of English titles including: Mozart: A Life in Letters, Young European Designers or The Bean Diet.

I head out alone one evening to meet some friends for dinner. I try to get out of the cab but can't as my seat belt is still fastened-oops. I then try again but my headscarf has somehow got completely entangled in the seat belt, so take a good few minutes to unravel it. Cabbie is very sweet and patient and thank god no one else in the cab. So still need to work out quite how to manage my hijab, although I am very happy I have brought a long black shapeless dress with me as I can wear this under my coat so when I go out to dinner I can take my coat off (it is so uncomfortable trying to eat in a thick over coat) and still be %100 Islamic Republic friendly- wahey! Tandis is a shrine to north Tehran's neuveaux riche. Full of designer clothes (still can't work out what is real and what is fake), customers in tight clothes (men and women) and fake noses (men and women). Dinner in the Blue Duck, a trendy, all you can eat restaurant, is great because of all the people to watch. All the woman are so chic I wish I'd brought another pair of skinny jeans with me and debate other dress/ jean combos I could get away with wearing in public but I remind myself I haven't really come here to test what type of dress is acceptable- my freedom is safe at home in London, so I should probably just obey the rules. I am shocked to see women in knee high boots and skirts- with some leg showing! How do they get away with it? I guess if you go from house to car to restaurant you aren't really out on the streets to get picked up by the basiji. I do wonder how easy it is to get lulled into a false sense of security though, if you are able to get away with this and that do you just think that is the norm and then get a big shock when you get in to trouble for having wine in your car or too much hair coming out of your headscarf? Or is the getting into trouble just something else that you get used to?

My time in Tehran is full of small victories as I manage to get onto blocked websites and buy air freshener by asking for a spray (e-spray in Persian English) that gives good smell.
I also eat pepperoni pizza (not the real stuff but tastes a lot like it). I'm looking forward to getting to Isfahan, seeing the family, cuddling my granny and starting Farsi classes. I do wonder though if with all the family around if I will manage to do much on my own, which is what I am here for.