Mama Khanoum khayatee doost darad

My grandmother likes to sew

3 Months

I have been in Iran 3 months today. I feel it is timely to give myself a 3 month review, like a good boss should give you in a new job (no, I didn’t get one in my last job). Have I set out to do what I wanted? Have I learnt anything at all?

My Farsi is definitely improving. I can speak with a better accent and more fluency. I can use a few idioms here and there, and I can imitate an Isfahani accent (although have to try hard not to speak with one, I’m trying to learn proper Farsi, like the Tehranis speak, innit). My reading and writing is still slow, but it doesn’t make by brain ache like it used to. I can now say the following tongue-twisters:

Ghouri-ye gol ghermez (the teapot with the red flower on it)
Koshtam shepeshe shepesh koshe shesh pa ra ( I killed a louse that killed the six legged louse)

Ladies enjoying the view on Si-o Se Pol, Isfahan

I’ve learnt my way around my father’s city. I know where Jolfa ends and Sichan starts. I know the names of the bridges in town (Pol-e Felezi, Si-o-Se Pol, Pol-e Ferdowsi, Pol-e Khajoo). I am even beginning to fit Tehran together, a big puzzle with pieces from various visits through the years. It makes a lot more sense than it used to, as long as I know where Superstar Burger is I can find my way home.


I've had a few cooking lessons with some Aunties-Khoresht-e Bademjaan (lamb and aubergine stew), Khoresht-e Karafs (lamb and celery stew), Morgh-e Alooche (chicken with prunes) but so far not so much experimentation on my own. Living with and old lady means I am well looked after, as she is always thinking of my belly (I think she tells me to eat something on average about 7 times an hour, unless she is napping, but then it is likely to be the first thing she says when she wakes up), and all of her children are always thinking of hers, so food is either brought over most days, or a feast is cooked up while I am at work.

Ladies playing in the snow in Niavaran Park, Tehran

I’ve learnt what to do if stopped for un-Islamic behavior; ‘be cool man, be cool’. But, I can’t say I have adapted so much that I am sure I will be cool if I am stopped. That’s not true, I was stopped, but they spoke to the guy I was with who immediately said I was his wife when asked what our relationship was, and then they told him to tell me to pull my scarf forward, too much hair showing at the front. I stayed cool throughout, but apparently they were particularly polite. So will see how I react if there is a next time.

I can walk out into 6 lanes of oncoming traffic, erratic drivers behind most wheels, and can manage to get to the other side of the road without breaking a sweat.

I still find trips to the grocers, butchers, tailors, pizzeria, furniture shop, clothes shop, headscarf shop, coffee shop, sock shop, and anyone’s house exciting.

Cleaning up the snow in Tehran

I’ve grown much closer to my family. I can talk to them about things I never could before. I can understand the songs my grandmother sings to herself, and make my own ones up too. I don’t find questions about my parents divorce as frustrating as I used to, because I can explain myself better, and as the family know me better, they also understand my answer. I’ve realized during the short visits over the years I’ve understood people better than I thought, I remain close to the people I’ve always been close too, and there are still ones I don’t have so much to say to. I’ve listened to stories about my great-grandmother, a woman to be reckoned with, and looked at old photos over and over again. I think I have a better picture of how my family saw me and my sister all these years, we were the strangers, of course accepted with familial hospitality, but nonetheless we were gharib (distant). For us they are pretty much all the family we have ( 50 on this side, and only 2 on the other).

It only takes me two go’s to get my maghneh on for work in the morning, it used to take me 3 or more. My headscarf still falls off every 15 minutes or so, and I’m still not as stylish as most of the girls around me, even after my care package from London.

I’ve been reminded of how ethnocentric my view is. I can’t help but get irritated by the inherent lack of customer service in every transaction I make, or snigger at the disorganization at the beginning of the new term at work, or bristle when I am forced into a disorderly queue, and think ‘this isn’t how we do things where I come from’. These reactions aren’t exclusively reserved for life in Iran, it’s what happens when we travel, but maybe I feel more conscious of them when I am trying to embrace a culture as my own.

Cleaning up the snow in Isfahan

I’ve gotten used to being here without my sister, but still miss her immensely at times. There are moments I want to laugh/ scream/ cry and I know she would immediately understand the reasons why. Right now she is in a bikini on a Brazilian beach and I am in hijab on an Iranian street.

I still don’t think I could drive here, although I kind of want to try (blatantly a really, really bad idea and don’t know who would actually let me behind the wheel, I probably wouldn’t even be able to get out of my alley and on to a main road).

People have a magnificent way of asking a hundred personal questions but then not giving anything about themselves away. I’ve learnt how to politefully decline form answering.

I’ve been reminded again how lucky I am to have a British passport, that I can get on a plane as easily as getting on a bus. I don’t have to think twice about where I want to travel, just in case I am not allowed in. I am not prevented entry to countries because of the politics of my leader, which in no way represents me.

Fancy dessert in Boulevard restaurant, Tehran

I still haven’t decided when I should move to Tehran, if I even should, or if I should stay in Isfahan and come back for another extened stay in Tehran. It takes a while to get into a routine, to settle in, to make friends, which is what I am doing in Isfahan. Tehran doesn’t feel quite so far from home; it is big, bustling, dirty. It is more azaad (free). But did I come to Iran to be in the lap of its modernity? Isfahan is much more traditional, somehow more authentic. Then the Anthropologist in me is appalled that I even think this way; Tehran is still Iran, as authentic as anything I deem ‘preserved’ (don’t get me wrong Isfahan really isn’t so far behind Tehran). But then maybe I have a point; are the things I like about Tehran the things that make it like London? Fancy restaurants with menus only in English (clearly means it is very chic), shops with REAL clothes from Europe, REAL shampoo from Europe, REAL chocolate from Europe. Of course, I’ve mainly been exposed to life in North Tehran, sure this doesn’t all ring true in the rest of the city, I guess if I move there I will find out.

Not so fancy breakfast in the park in Isfahan

I still have a long way to go, not that I expect to arrive at a certain point. Sometimes it feels Iran is like an onion and I have to peel through all the crusty layers to get to the part you can use. Or maybe more like an artichoke, the leaves are still tasty (if a bit furry) but the heart is by far the best bit. Maybe this metaphor is completely pointless; onion, artichoke, either way I know Iran is not a banana, it doesn’t open up that easily.