Things I've seen and heard

Conversations I've had and places I've been to over the past few weeks

View of the Zaiandeh Rood (the river running through Isfahan)

In the bank (served by a young woman):

Ah yes, I remember you, you came with your mother to open your account? No, my dad.
So you've come from over there? Do you like Iran? Is it better than your country?
Well yes there are lots of good thing here and lots of bads things, same as in my country.
Ah, do you have a bank account over there?
Yes, but you get a lot more interest on bank accounts here.
Yes you do! 12 %! Ok, so you fathers names please? And how much are you depositing?
(Pause)
Are you married?
No, not yet.
Ah! Well hopefully you will find a good husband here!
Um, yeah, hopefully.

As a guest in an all male English class (ages range from 19-41):

How old are you?
26. Yes, I know what you are going to say, I look younger!
You look 14 years old!
What is your favourite colour?
Blue, Turquoise
Ah.
Ah What? What does it mean?
It means you are very honest.
Have you ever been to Madame Tussaud's?
No.
I think it is very expensive yes?
Yes it is. You know, when you live in a city you tend not to do the touristy things.
Oh yes you are right. Are you married?
No, and I don't want to be!
(Chuckles).
Why not?
Too young!
Can I have you email number?
Do you mean my email address?
He means your email address and your phone number!
No because if you call my house my grandmother with shout at you.
(Chuckles)
Have you ever seen any famous people?
Yes I've seen quite a few.
Like who?
Um, Justin Timberlake.
(Blank faces)
You know Britney Spears' ex- boyfriend. Who is Britney Spears?
Um, the girl who shaved her head? Um, ok Gwen Stefani?
(Blank faces)
Bjork?
(Blank faces)
Pamela Anderson?
(Blank faces)
A room full of boys and none of you have heard of Pamela Anderson?
(Chuckles and more blank faces)
Why do you like Iran, and you can't say because of your family?
Well, it is hard to explain, but when you have come somewhere many times you feel connected to it. Um, I like the food and the architecture. I like that everything is dusty, even though it gets all over your clothes. I hate the driving, but like that it is so busy. I guess I like that none of you have heard of any of the people I just mentioned, why should everywhere be the same? I like that people are so friendly, at least to me. I like that my Aunt goes to the butcher who is the son of the butcher my Granny used to go to, that the Doctor she went to when she was a girl still has an office in the same street and his son practices there too.
(Chuckles)

View from my office window (Maryam Church in Jolfa, Isfahan)

A male work colleague who rarely speaks to me:

So, How long are you planning on staying here?
Until about July.
Very good. Are you married?
No, Are you?
Yes I am, I got married very young, I have a 2 year old daughter. Want to see here picture?
Yes sure.... Ah she's adorable!
Want to come to here birthday party? Would be a pleasure to have you there.
Er, sure.
Are you looking for a husband?
No not really.
Good, make sure you don't marry an Iranian. Go back to your country and marry someone there.
Er, ok. Why?
They will just want to marry you to get out of here. They're no good.
Ok, thanks for the warning.
What is your religion?
Um , I am Muslim.
Well done! Do you where hijab over there?
Um, no.

A family friend (my age):

So do you want to get married?
Yes, I suppose so but not yet.
Do you want to marry an Iranian or a foreigner?
For me it is not that important, just as long as they are a good person.
I think Iranians are better.
Really, Why?
Well, they will really look after you.
How so?
Well, I think it is important to help my future wife around the house, in the kitchen etc. Like I help my mum.
Ah, so obviously looking after the house is her responsibility?
Well, if I am at work then yes.
But what if she works too?
Well then yes, I will help her.
Oh I see.

Si-o-Se Pol (Bridge of 33 Arches) on the Zaindeh Rood, Isfahan

Pedram, 22, a private student I am prepping for his IELTS exam as he is going to University in Birmingham in the autumn:

Seeing as I studied at University in England, shall I tell you what it is like?

Oh yes please do.

Well firstly, have you heard of Fresher's Week?

Sort of.

It is the week you register, get your library card and then there is a fair where all the different clubs have stalls and you can join up. Plus people go out a lot and get very drunk.
Oh, really? Will I have to?

No, only if you want to. But let me warn you, bars and clubs will be full of students drinking heavily. You will see people being sick on the streets, kissing, fighting.. all sorts.

Why doesn't the government do something about this?

Well, it is illegal to drink on the streets I guess.

Ok, what do you think the other students will be like?

It is hard to say, a big mix. You are studying engineering right? In my experience engineering courses always have a lot of foreign students.

Yes, there is a whole group of us going from Iran.

My advice is to make friends with people from other countries too. What is the point of going to another country if you are just going to hang out with people from your own country, right?

Oh yes, I want to make friends with other people. Plus it is the only way I can improve my English.

Good, good. And of course your classes will be mixed. Relationships between boys and girls are very different.

Yes, I know. Here our university classes are mixed, but the Professors do as much as they can to split us up. It is ridiculous. At university they make us all take a course about relationships between men and women, but then the course is single sex!

Kind of defeats the point doesn't it?

Exactly! But then to be honest I don't like talking to girls very much.

Really? Why?

Well I guess I am not that used to it. And a lot of them are very immature.

So would it be easier for you if I was a man?

Yes, I guess it would. But you are different because I can tell you don't think like the girls here.

All kinds of people think in all kinds of different ways. Not all the girls in England think how I do either.

I know. But, let me explain. I had a girlfriend for a couple of months, but the whole thing was just silly.

Why? What happened?

Well after a week she asked me when my family were going to call her family. I didn't know what she meant so I asked my mum. As soon as we started going out I told my whole family. That way if the police stop us and phone our parents, they will already know so we can say we are engaged, as otherwise we are breaking the law. Anyway, I asked my mum and she laughed and said she is asking when you are coming to ask for her hand in marriage. It had only been a week! So I broke up with her.

Fair enough.

Then we started talking again and she apologized and accepted it was maybe a bit soon, so we started going back out. But then any time I suggested going out she said no; we couldn't go to the park because her dad worked nearby, we couldn't go to the river because her uncle worked nearby, we couldn't go shopping because we might see her sister. So there was no point in even being boyfriend and girlfriend. Just to speak on the phone or send text messages. I couldn't be bothered.

I understand.

I mean if she had just told her family in the first place it would have been a lot easier. Instead once we were going out again, after another month she started mentioning engagement again.

If her family isn't as open as yours then I understand why she would be scared of bumping in to them. I agree it was a bit early to talk about marriage, but I've heard a lot of stories like this. From what I understand, you almost need to get engaged so that you can have a proper relationship and then see if you actually want to get married no?

Yeah, it is like that. It's ridiculous.

Ok, well I wouldn't worry to much. You probably won't have these kinds of problems if you get a girlfriend in England. But you never know, they might still want to marry you!

**Did you spot the question that often comes up?**

Ashura in the Snow

Last week was Moharram, the 10 days in which Shia's mourn the death of Imam Hossein, the ultimate day known as Ashura. During Moharamm I was warned that the Basiji stop more people, so I should make sure whatever I was wearing wasn't too tight, too short, too bright etc. As well as black and green flags and banners saying Ya Hossein hung up everywhere across town, a tent also appeard down the road. Lambs were tied to a lamp post outside, to be sacrificed later. The tent was divided with a big cloth down the middle, so men and women can sit separately and listen to the Mullah's nightly sermon and enjoy a cup of tea or some food on the house. Although the tent filled up every night, life still continued as normal outside of it, dressed up boys and girls going about their nightly routine of shopping, flirting and coffee drinking. On Tasoa, the night before Ashura, my cousin called and asked if I wanted to head out to see Dasteh, the mourners who walk the streets, in groups organized by their mosque, dressed in black and beat their chests with their hands or chains. I was eager, as I hadn't seen it since I was a kid, and was wondering what I would think now. Four of us piled into a friends car, all having put on our black Maghneh (as Moharamm is about mourning, we had to wear black if we wanted to get near the action), and went Dasteh chasing. We drove across town looking for the signs… an empty bus that would have brought the group from their homes, drums or a PA system on the side of the road, lights outside a mosque. Asking around it seemed things would kick off at 8pm. As well public mourning, companies, schools, families, whoever feels like it really, give Nazri- food or drink as charity during this period. My cousin gave a running commentary on the best place to get food, and the different things she had eaten each year. As we drove all we could find was free tea, not quite what we were in the mood for. At 8pm sharp groups of Dasteh appeared all over the place, we'd see one on one side of the street, then drive down in the other direction and get stuck in traffic slowed by another group. All in all we saw 8 different groups, although none as big as I had been promised, and all with lots of young boys, sweetly banging drums twice their size, or swinging their chains but missing their bodies. Using chains with blades on them is now illegal, so the overly evocative images the news always shows of blood soaked mourners just don't exist. In fact I didn't even see any crying, and some were chatting on their mobile phones, beating their chests with their free hand. We were so hungry we couldn't hold out until 10pm, when most places were giving Nazri, so ended in another particularly Iranian place, a fast food restaurant. Full of fashionably dressed young people, I was reminded once again, that while out on the streets it seems that Moharram has taken over the country, there are plenty of people not involved at all.

Dasteh coming down the mountain in Qamsar

The following morning I headed to a family friend's house in Kashan for the night. The 3 hour journey through the desert was incredible, the scenery is forboding but never before had I seen it like this. In some places one side of the landscape was covered in white snow, and the other red from desert sand.

Snow covered desert

We went via Natanz, famed for its pears, knowledgable population and atomic energy. Although no one had said they were hungry, the idea was that we would get food from somewhere giving Nazri. We drove around town for about an hour; either the food wasn't ready, or it had all finished, or you needed your own pot to take it away. I was reminded of a phrase I learnt a few years ago 'Isfahani goftes, bokher ke moftes' (the Isfahani said eat because it is free). Eventually we happened on the best of all, a newly built old people's home, that didn't require your own cutlery, and even had a room with a gas fire and sofreh (table cloth spread on the floor) for us to sit an eat. Happily we chowed down on khoresh gheimeh (lentil and lamb stew) and rice, salad, plus tea and dates for afters, and promised we'd be back the following day for lunch on our way home.

Ancient houses in Natanz

In Kashan I found something I had been hoping for since I arrived in Iran, a korsi (a low table over a heater and covered in blankets). Since I was little my dad had told me stories of winters spent under the korsi. All the family packed under, doing homework, eating dinner, any usual daily activities undertaken layeh korsi to keep warm. A recent flick through a family album I found a photo of my dad, all his brothers and sisters sitting under the corsi, school books and tea cups on top and smiles from ear to ear. As one who hates the cold, I always thought it sounded like heaven. Straight in from the snow my cousin and I headed under it. Careful not to put our feet on top of the electric heater and pulling the covers under our chins we let out deep, content sighs. I didn't move for the rest of the afternoon, and sat reading, playing cards, napping, eating fruit, drinking tea and gossiping while the combination of people around me shifted, everyone at some point settling onto the mattress and taking a turn under the warm blankets.

Layeh Korsi!

The family we stayed with are an important family in Kashan, from what I could gather not particularly religious, but fairly wealthy and because of this every year they give Nazri for the locals. In the alley at the side of the house a huge fire was lit, and an enormous black pot (I could fit in it) was pulled off a pick up truck by 5 men and a ladder. Phone calls were made to families across town, and steaming rice and more khoresh were dished out to everyone who came out in the freezing temperatures.

3 men and a ladder That is me inside the pot

The next morning we all went for a drive in the mountains of Qamsar, but our car got stuck in the ice. First 3 men warming themselves by a fire started directing us, then about 30 people piled out of the mosque we were in front of, then my aunty and uncle got out too. Everyone making different suggestions and gestures, my cousin driving managed to saty completely cool, while us in the back were in fits of giggles. Eventually making our excuses we started on our way back to Isfahan, not wanting to admit we had a lunch date in Natanz.

Eating Nazri on the sofreh

This weekend I think I really saw the '2 sides' to Iran that so much literature on the country always mentions. Religious and irreligious side by side; everyone happy to get Nazri, even if everyone wasn't quite mourning. The wealth of the family in Kashan, indulging in coffee and cake under the korsi, and the poverty of their neighbours up the mountain; warming themselves by a wood fire as they have no gas. Even the contrast of the sand and snow across the mountains.

Tis' the season to be jolly

The past few weeks have been full of festivities. It has been hard to find many signs of Christmas or New Year, but I've been participating in some Iranian ones.

First we celebrated Shab-e Yalda on the longest night of the year, December 21^st. It is an old Zoroastrian hoiliday and we are supposed to read the poetry of Hafez and eat 40 things… nuts, melon, fruit etc. I think we managed the eating, but there was no poetry. My threshold for Iranian poems is quite low, so not sure I really missed it, but I am working on it. Think sometimes the meaning is lost in translation, so perhaps as my Farsi improves my interest in poetry will also increase? The most wonderful thing happened on Shabe Yalda though.. it snowed .I'm often told how great the weather is in Iran- perfect 4 seasons (obviously incomparable with rainy and grey England), and I saw so with my own eyes. Ever since then the weather has been cold but bright, and from different spots around town you can see the snow on the mountains. The rest of the country has been experiencing the worst weather for 40 odd years, with Tehran coming to a standstill and people freezing to death. So far the proper snow hasn't hit Isfahan, but I am assured it is coming.

Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow

Since Shab-e Yalda it has been Eid something or other and then Eid Ghadir. I haven't done anything for these holidays except had a day off work, so keep them coming please. I don't really know what they were about either, and should probably find out, especially as I am in Iran as and Iranian and therefore a Muslim, so maybe I should try and learn a bit more about the religion? The problem is that as these holidays are essentially religious and absolutely no one around me is , it is hard to be informed.

It's felt very odd being in a country with no Christmas or New Year's celebrations what-so-ever. I have seen some Christmas trees in big hotels, and shops selling decorations around the Armenian area I live in, but not much else. It has made me a little homesick... if only I could walk into a shop playing a cheesy Christmas song by a rubbish band, or into a pretend Christmas market and sip mulled wine. A weird desire to have a nose in the church on Christmas beset me. But alas, there was no ice skating rink in the courtyard, and no jingle bells blaring out (I don't really think that is what happens in English churches at Christmas, but that is what I was missing!). I realized if I wanted Christmas I'd have to make it myself, but first there was the new year to celebrate.

Baba Noel

I couldn't go through the year without somehow marking the New Year, so I arranged a party for all my cousins at another cousin's house. I cooked enough pasta to make strega nonna jealous, decorated the flat with lots of tinsel, and then we danced, dance, danced. Everyone agreed we could dance to my khareji ( foreign) music, but when I put it on only one person was willing so it was quickly changed. I'll get 'em next time! My cousins bought some disco lights- strobes and everything, and we even got our hands on some booze, throw in some E's and we've got a rave, especially as I guess by Iranian law, it was completely illegal. We also ate a big home made cake, which took the edge of I guess, and everyone bought me presents too. It took me completely by surprise and I was very touched, although I kept saying that in my culture we don't by presents for New Years. Not that I am complaining, I was missing Christmas wasn't I?

Ravin!

After New Year came Christmas, we were working to the Orthodox calendar I suppose. My dad and I decided to cook a proper Christmas dinner for everyone. Debates raged for a week about how to cook the turkey, one Ameh suggesting we needed to boil it first, I insisted that we just had to stick it in the oven but no one wanted to listen. It then took awhile to convince people that it would still be a meal without rice and that yes, the potatoes and stuffing would fill us up. We found the biggest turkey possible (we had 25 mouths to feed), and trips to various green grocers proved that both overpriced parsnips and brussel sprouts are available. In a pork free country we couldn't find any replacement for pigs in blankets, but got sour cherry jam instead of cranberry sauce, and made the best homemade stuffing (which we never bother doing in UK). For dessert we had a carefully smuggled Christmas pudding, stewed apples and custard. Sadly no brandy, so we couldn't set the pudding alight, and I think its magic was lost on everyone. All in all everything went down a treat and was great to be able to invite everyone over instead of always being a guest.

I've never seen a potato...

.. or turkey this BIG before

Turkey with all the trimmings

The holiday season continues, as Moharram is just around the corner. The roads have been decorated with black and green flags and any day now men and women will take to the streets. The holiday is mainly celebrated by crying a lot for the martyred Imam Hossein and partaking in self flagellation (Is that the right word? The one that means hitting yourself, NOT farting). I guess it is like national group therapy, maybe as cathartic as carnival, just in a very different way….

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.