Last Saturday, 19 April, was our twentieth wedding anniversary. Long ago we had decided to buy new wedding bands to commemorate the anniversary, so last Monday we went to the Grand Bazaar of Tehran to look for a pair of simple wedding bands.
The Grand Bazaar of Tehran is a warren of covered narrow alleys developed over the years into a maze. I only know two entrances and can come out the same way, but those who work there seem to know it like the back of their hand. In the middle there is a mosque, formerly known as the Shah’s mosque, with the gems bazaar and a jeweller’s alley nearby. This gem bazaar is my favourite destination and a pole of attraction for foreign tourists, who come here in search of agate and turquoise rings, gem worry beads, antique silver jewellery and small decorative items made of lapis lazuli and other semi-precious stones.
Similar traders are grouped together in the alleys: once when I went in search of black fabric, I managed to end up in an alley selling only black chador fabrics. The quality and the price range was simply amazing: I never thought there would be so much variety in what seems to be, simply, a black covering.
So Hossein and I went into the underground main gold bazaar, specialising in wedding rings, second hand jewellery and gold coins (we came across an Elizabeth II gold sovereign, retailing at about £170 at today’s prices). The current fashion in wedding rings is white gold with little diamonds for both men and women. Row after row of shops displayed a variety of this theme: a mix of shiny and matt gold, some D-shaped, some rounded squares, some angular, but almost all of them set with diamonds. But no simple wedding bands anywhere.
We came out of the underground bazaar and went into the alley next to the gems bazaar. Same thing all along. We were beginning to consider buying silver rings, when I saw exactly what we were after. We went in. The amazing thing was that there were two identical rings in their tray and they were both in exactly our sizes, as if they were waiting for us.
We paid for them and came into the gems bazaar in search of an engraver’s stall. While he sat down to work engraving our names and the date of our wedding, the old man next to him offered us some peanuts. I declined the offer, but in true Iranian fashion, he insisted so much that I took the peanuts, not because I felt like eating them, but because I didn’t feel like refusing anymore (that happens to me a lot).
We then walked off in the direction of the alley selling small electrical appliances, munching on the peanuts. As Hossein was looking at a twin tea-maker, I coughed once, tried to swallow something that I felt was stuck in my throat and felt that I couldn’t draw breath. I was so short of breath I couldn’t tell Hossein what was happening. I panicked, not knowing what to do. I fanned myself with my hand; closed my eyes, which filled up with tears at the precariousness of my life, tried to calm myself. Hossein found a stool. I sat down and bent my body forward. After several deep breaths, the discomfort eased, but I wasn’t comfortable until late at night.
As I lay in bed that night trying to sleep, I remembered what Seneca called his frequent asthma attacks: Meditatio Mortis, a rehearsal of death. At least when death comes for real, I will know what to do: nothing.
Thursday, 24 April 2008
Monday, 14 April 2008
Language School
As luck would have it, Athena’s English teacher at the Adaptive School suggested that she be entered for the PET Cambridge Examination. The Director of the language institute and examination centre (who turned out to be a fellow UCL alumnus) asked if I would like to teach there.
And so it happened that last Sunday I started teaching two groups, the first about six months away from the KET examination and a young Flyers group, both of them with seven students.
Before I started, I thought that all students would be children and I was a little bit nervous because I have never taught primary age students. But on Sunday I found out that the KET group is made up of adults (one law student, one accountancy student, a 35 year old biologist, a writer) and two high school girls.
The young Flyers group is made up of seven 9 or 10 year-old girls, who according to Iranian school culture, stand up ever time they addressed by the teacher. I didn’t realise why they were doing that to begin with: when the first one stood up I though she was about to ask for permission to go out. But no: she answered the question and sat back down. I was very impressed by both groups, but especially by the little ones. They were all keen to speak, despite making mistakes, which is not the experience I have with older learners. About five of the girls said that they started learning English at nursery!
Which goes on to show, catch them young.
And so it happened that last Sunday I started teaching two groups, the first about six months away from the KET examination and a young Flyers group, both of them with seven students.
Before I started, I thought that all students would be children and I was a little bit nervous because I have never taught primary age students. But on Sunday I found out that the KET group is made up of adults (one law student, one accountancy student, a 35 year old biologist, a writer) and two high school girls.
The young Flyers group is made up of seven 9 or 10 year-old girls, who according to Iranian school culture, stand up ever time they addressed by the teacher. I didn’t realise why they were doing that to begin with: when the first one stood up I though she was about to ask for permission to go out. But no: she answered the question and sat back down. I was very impressed by both groups, but especially by the little ones. They were all keen to speak, despite making mistakes, which is not the experience I have with older learners. About five of the girls said that they started learning English at nursery!
Which goes on to show, catch them young.
Tuesday, 8 April 2008
The Nowruz (New Year) Holiday
On Thursday 20 March 2008 at 9.18 am, at the precise moment when the earth entered the vernal equinox, spring and the new Iranian year (1387 Anno Persico, or Solar Hijri year) began.
At 9 o’clock Hossein, Athena, Yusef and I went to elder sister-in-law’s house to see the new year in. Then a long round of visits ensued, lasting the whole of the first twelve days of the year. According to the custom, first we visited Hossein’s elders, his four maternal uncles (no elders survive on his father’s side), some of his older cousins, a few friends, with some paying our visit back a few days later. In the space of these twelve days we saw people we don’t normally see throughout the year; in fact, Iranians appreciate the custom a lot, because it re-affirms familial ties that tend to loosen throughout the year, as people are busy with work and everyday life.
However, for some people this is the only time in the year they can get away from Tehran for a few days, which has three main effects: they miss out on the visiting; popular destinations like Mashhad, Shiraz, Isfahan and to a large extent all over Iran, overflow with visitors and it’s almost impossible to find accommodation unless planned well in advance. (for the third effect, see below). Even flights out of Tehran TO ALL DESTINATIONS were fully booked about six weeks before the start of the holiday. I know; I tried to book tickets to Athens. We didn’t really go anywhere over the holidays (mainly because I can’t stand the crowds) apart from visiting, a day trip to Qazvin (historic city to the west of Tehran) on the 24th and a wedding on 27th of March.
The third effect, the best of all in my opinion, is that Tehran empties of people, especially during the first week of the holiday. It took us forty minutes to reach Shabdolazim by car; on normal days it takes twice that and often more. And the weather is normally clear, the sky blue and the Alborz mountains seem so near that you think that if you stretch your arm you’ll touch them.
But this year, due to a bizarre weather phenomenon, the air was full of fine, sandy dust, blown over from the desert in mini-twisters, which filled the whole of the city and made the temperature rise to summer levels. This lasted for most of the holiday until a few days ago, when strong winds cleared the air.
This morning’s rain in Tehran meant a new veil of snow on the mountains, and more water in the summer. So we’re spared the heat for maybe another month or so.
At 9 o’clock Hossein, Athena, Yusef and I went to elder sister-in-law’s house to see the new year in. Then a long round of visits ensued, lasting the whole of the first twelve days of the year. According to the custom, first we visited Hossein’s elders, his four maternal uncles (no elders survive on his father’s side), some of his older cousins, a few friends, with some paying our visit back a few days later. In the space of these twelve days we saw people we don’t normally see throughout the year; in fact, Iranians appreciate the custom a lot, because it re-affirms familial ties that tend to loosen throughout the year, as people are busy with work and everyday life.
However, for some people this is the only time in the year they can get away from Tehran for a few days, which has three main effects: they miss out on the visiting; popular destinations like Mashhad, Shiraz, Isfahan and to a large extent all over Iran, overflow with visitors and it’s almost impossible to find accommodation unless planned well in advance. (for the third effect, see below). Even flights out of Tehran TO ALL DESTINATIONS were fully booked about six weeks before the start of the holiday. I know; I tried to book tickets to Athens. We didn’t really go anywhere over the holidays (mainly because I can’t stand the crowds) apart from visiting, a day trip to Qazvin (historic city to the west of Tehran) on the 24th and a wedding on 27th of March.
The third effect, the best of all in my opinion, is that Tehran empties of people, especially during the first week of the holiday. It took us forty minutes to reach Shabdolazim by car; on normal days it takes twice that and often more. And the weather is normally clear, the sky blue and the Alborz mountains seem so near that you think that if you stretch your arm you’ll touch them.
But this year, due to a bizarre weather phenomenon, the air was full of fine, sandy dust, blown over from the desert in mini-twisters, which filled the whole of the city and made the temperature rise to summer levels. This lasted for most of the holiday until a few days ago, when strong winds cleared the air.
This morning’s rain in Tehran meant a new veil of snow on the mountains, and more water in the summer. So we’re spared the heat for maybe another month or so.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)