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.
Sunday, 9 March 2008
A Cemetery Visit
SATURDAY 8 MARCH 2008
I still continue to have problems with signing in the blog and posting new entries. I’ve finally decided to write up the entries in Word and post them whenever I’m lucky enough to be able to sign in, so you may notice that the entry date and the posting date may be out of sync. As the Iranians say, forgive me in your kindness.
Yesterday Hossein, the children, my elder sister-in-law and her family and I went to visit our dead at the Behesht-e Zahra Cemetery. Aqa jun and maman-jun, my in-laws, are buried in a two-storey grave (don’t imagine a tall grave; both storeys are below ground) with a granite gravestone level with the ground. It was a triple occasion: a Friday, the anniversary of the Holy Prophet’s death and of the third Imam’s martyrdom, so the cemetery was full of people giving out pledges of thick potage (ash) and saffron rice dessert (shollehzard).
Hossein spread a rug on the next grave and sat square-legged to read the Ar-Rahman chapter from the Holy Quran. This is a chapter about the blessings that God has given the world. A little girl came round and offered us sweets in exchange for a prayer for the dead. A little boy with torn trousers scattered wheat seeds on aqa jun’s and maman-jun’s grave. My brother-in-law gave him some money: the good deed of feeding the birds gives comfort to the souls of the departed.
Beyond a few rows of graves, a young man bent down to a grave and kissed the gravestone. Than he sat square-legged and started crying his eyes out. I listened to Hossein’s reading for a bit, and looked at the young man. The weight of the whole world on his shoulders, he remained bent over the grave, one hand spread on the gravestone as if trying to reach out to those he’s lost.
Two women with faded, patched chadors came over and exchanged hellos with us. They had known aqa-jun when he used to come to visit maman-jun’s grave every Thursday. One of them, Zahra khanum, told him that she had no heating in her room. Aqa-jun promised to get her a small gas stove she could use for cooking and heating. (Aqa-jun was an informal but well-known charity worker: many gave money or things to charity through him, as he knew many needy people and helped out whenever he could.) A few days later he brought the stove in his decrepit pick-up truck (if you haven’t read this blog since the beginning, see entry 28 July 2007) and waited for her for almost two hours at the grave to give her the stove. He was a good man, she said. May God rest his soul and give health and prosperity to his children.
I still continue to have problems with signing in the blog and posting new entries. I’ve finally decided to write up the entries in Word and post them whenever I’m lucky enough to be able to sign in, so you may notice that the entry date and the posting date may be out of sync. As the Iranians say, forgive me in your kindness.
Yesterday Hossein, the children, my elder sister-in-law and her family and I went to visit our dead at the Behesht-e Zahra Cemetery. Aqa jun and maman-jun, my in-laws, are buried in a two-storey grave (don’t imagine a tall grave; both storeys are below ground) with a granite gravestone level with the ground. It was a triple occasion: a Friday, the anniversary of the Holy Prophet’s death and of the third Imam’s martyrdom, so the cemetery was full of people giving out pledges of thick potage (ash) and saffron rice dessert (shollehzard).
Hossein spread a rug on the next grave and sat square-legged to read the Ar-Rahman chapter from the Holy Quran. This is a chapter about the blessings that God has given the world. A little girl came round and offered us sweets in exchange for a prayer for the dead. A little boy with torn trousers scattered wheat seeds on aqa jun’s and maman-jun’s grave. My brother-in-law gave him some money: the good deed of feeding the birds gives comfort to the souls of the departed.
Beyond a few rows of graves, a young man bent down to a grave and kissed the gravestone. Than he sat square-legged and started crying his eyes out. I listened to Hossein’s reading for a bit, and looked at the young man. The weight of the whole world on his shoulders, he remained bent over the grave, one hand spread on the gravestone as if trying to reach out to those he’s lost.
Two women with faded, patched chadors came over and exchanged hellos with us. They had known aqa-jun when he used to come to visit maman-jun’s grave every Thursday. One of them, Zahra khanum, told him that she had no heating in her room. Aqa-jun promised to get her a small gas stove she could use for cooking and heating. (Aqa-jun was an informal but well-known charity worker: many gave money or things to charity through him, as he knew many needy people and helped out whenever he could.) A few days later he brought the stove in his decrepit pick-up truck (if you haven’t read this blog since the beginning, see entry 28 July 2007) and waited for her for almost two hours at the grave to give her the stove. He was a good man, she said. May God rest his soul and give health and prosperity to his children.
Monday, 18 February 2008
Taxi drivers
Taxi drivers don't usually talk with female passengers, but sometimes I come up with some interesting types.
Two days ago, I got off the Mosallah metro station on my way to the publishers I do some work for. An old Paykan car (modelled on the British Hillman- remember those?) is parked outside. The battered boot bears this inscription:
"Everybody fears Death; I a dishonest friend"
I flag him down. A few minutes later we get stuck in traffic.
"Don't know where all these people are going in the middle of the day," he gripes.
"Shopping for the New Year maybe," I answer, and commit the mistake of giving away the fact that I am not Iranian. Maybe I smile too much.
"Are you foreign, lady?"
I assent, bracing myself for a round of questions.
“So what are you doing here? This is not a country fit to live in.”
“Well…I like it...your culture is interesting,” I venture.
“What’s so interesting about it? We live here because we’ve got no choice, but you?” He pauses. “Is your husband Iranian?”
“Yes, we only came seven months ago.”
“Before he gets too involved, pack up and go. This is no place for you.
Last week, I came across a really funny taxi driver; he managed to extract a free introductory tutorial on modern Greek language and culture. He asked how we say hello and good morning, whether Greeks have a special sensitivity about their wives and daughters (used to, I said, but nowadays less than before). So, we are quite similar, he concluded, and I agreed.
Imagine having to drive through this traffic all day long. One needs to find something to occupy the mind. And what I find quite remarkable is that the vast majority of drivers are SO calm. Iranians and Greeks are unlike each other in this respect at least: Greeks lose their cool very easily when they drive, as if they feel the world is out to get them and they damn and blast their way through the crowded streets. On the contrary, Iranians are mostly unruffled by traffic and by the impudent motorbike who's just shot out of a side street and cut across them without even looking. What will be, will be.
Two days ago, I got off the Mosallah metro station on my way to the publishers I do some work for. An old Paykan car (modelled on the British Hillman- remember those?) is parked outside. The battered boot bears this inscription:
"Everybody fears Death; I a dishonest friend"
I flag him down. A few minutes later we get stuck in traffic.
"Don't know where all these people are going in the middle of the day," he gripes.
"Shopping for the New Year maybe," I answer, and commit the mistake of giving away the fact that I am not Iranian. Maybe I smile too much.
"Are you foreign, lady?"
I assent, bracing myself for a round of questions.
“So what are you doing here? This is not a country fit to live in.”
“Well…I like it...your culture is interesting,” I venture.
“What’s so interesting about it? We live here because we’ve got no choice, but you?” He pauses. “Is your husband Iranian?”
“Yes, we only came seven months ago.”
“Before he gets too involved, pack up and go. This is no place for you.
Last week, I came across a really funny taxi driver; he managed to extract a free introductory tutorial on modern Greek language and culture. He asked how we say hello and good morning, whether Greeks have a special sensitivity about their wives and daughters (used to, I said, but nowadays less than before). So, we are quite similar, he concluded, and I agreed.
Imagine having to drive through this traffic all day long. One needs to find something to occupy the mind. And what I find quite remarkable is that the vast majority of drivers are SO calm. Iranians and Greeks are unlike each other in this respect at least: Greeks lose their cool very easily when they drive, as if they feel the world is out to get them and they damn and blast their way through the crowded streets. On the contrary, Iranians are mostly unruffled by traffic and by the impudent motorbike who's just shot out of a side street and cut across them without even looking. What will be, will be.
Sunday, 3 February 2008
Still Here!
The translation of the teenage novel was finished last week and now my focus is on preparing a taster session for a series of English workshops I am planning to run with a friend.
I finally got my belated copy of MSLEXIA magazine ('for women who write'; if you haven't come across it, do check it out on www.mslexia.co.uk) for Jan/Feb/Mar and I was very pleased to see they published the letter I had sent them when I read the previous copy. Here is the letter dated Dec 07:
"Dear Mslexia
Trust Mslexia to have the finger on the pulse –or is it synchronicity? I moved to Tehran last summer and I received my Oct/Nov/Dec issue only last week with its main feature on Iranian women’s literature. This issue, along with the Writer’s Diary, have been the first items I received in my new PO Box; to me, this was a message of connection at a time when I am working on a non-fiction book aimed at making Iranian everyday culture more widely known to the West. Check out my blog www.movingouteast.blogspot.com (erratically updated, thanks to good old dial-up connection and other ‘technical difficulties’).
Many thanks for a great magazine!"
Talking of the book on Iranian culture, I hope to hear from the North American branch of a British publisher, who have shown strong interest in it. The bulk of the research is now completed and I'm waiting for the offer of a contract before I get down to writing the whole thing. Fingers crossed.
More everyday news: Hossein is in London since Saturday evening but he'll be back in about two weeks. The snow is slowly melting, but we had another white night the night before last. At least the temperature is higher now, so the snow turns to mud instead of ice.
Will be back soon (that's what I always say.)
I finally got my belated copy of MSLEXIA magazine ('for women who write'; if you haven't come across it, do check it out on www.mslexia.co.uk) for Jan/Feb/Mar and I was very pleased to see they published the letter I had sent them when I read the previous copy. Here is the letter dated Dec 07:
"Dear Mslexia
Trust Mslexia to have the finger on the pulse –or is it synchronicity? I moved to Tehran last summer and I received my Oct/Nov/Dec issue only last week with its main feature on Iranian women’s literature. This issue, along with the Writer’s Diary, have been the first items I received in my new PO Box; to me, this was a message of connection at a time when I am working on a non-fiction book aimed at making Iranian everyday culture more widely known to the West. Check out my blog www.movingouteast.blogspot.com (erratically updated, thanks to good old dial-up connection and other ‘technical difficulties’).
Many thanks for a great magazine!"
Talking of the book on Iranian culture, I hope to hear from the North American branch of a British publisher, who have shown strong interest in it. The bulk of the research is now completed and I'm waiting for the offer of a contract before I get down to writing the whole thing. Fingers crossed.
More everyday news: Hossein is in London since Saturday evening but he'll be back in about two weeks. The snow is slowly melting, but we had another white night the night before last. At least the temperature is higher now, so the snow turns to mud instead of ice.
Will be back soon (that's what I always say.)
Saturday, 12 January 2008
Snowed Under
Christmas didn’t really feature much here, although we put up our tree from mid december until 6 January. The children were meant to be in school on Xmas day and New Year’s day, but Athena persuaded her other four classmates not to turn up on Christmas. Then, when children in Englsnd went back to school, it started to snow.
Tehran has been under the snow since Thursday before last, and school has been closed too, which felt like a belated New Year holiday, only enforced and unplanned. This has had an impact on my work, which is home-based, but thankfully, schools have re-opened today.
My news on the professional front: I am quite busy, and may soon be busier still with interesting things. I am doing freelance translation for a government publishing company where a friend of mine works, and who have just given me a teenage novel to translate from Persian to English. The publishers think that this novel stands a chance of doing well at an international competition.
Another friend of mine, a Clinical Psychologist, has proposed that we prepare a series of ten English workshops for Clin. Psychologists. If it proves successful , we might repeat the same pattern with different content for different groups. On the whole, and despite the negative aspects of life in Tehran (traffic, pollution and overcrowding mainly), things are much bettter than I hoped, for me at least (Diet Coke is widely available too.)
I’d love to update the blog more often, but the dial-up connection is so slow that I get fed up with it. Today luck was on my side, but, to be fair, I woke up before everyone else, before the server gets overwhelmed.
Tehran has been under the snow since Thursday before last, and school has been closed too, which felt like a belated New Year holiday, only enforced and unplanned. This has had an impact on my work, which is home-based, but thankfully, schools have re-opened today.
My news on the professional front: I am quite busy, and may soon be busier still with interesting things. I am doing freelance translation for a government publishing company where a friend of mine works, and who have just given me a teenage novel to translate from Persian to English. The publishers think that this novel stands a chance of doing well at an international competition.
Another friend of mine, a Clinical Psychologist, has proposed that we prepare a series of ten English workshops for Clin. Psychologists. If it proves successful , we might repeat the same pattern with different content for different groups. On the whole, and despite the negative aspects of life in Tehran (traffic, pollution and overcrowding mainly), things are much bettter than I hoped, for me at least (Diet Coke is widely available too.)
I’d love to update the blog more often, but the dial-up connection is so slow that I get fed up with it. Today luck was on my side, but, to be fair, I woke up before everyone else, before the server gets overwhelmed.
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