Lee_in_iran's Blog

Half the World

leeiniran — Wed, 17 Mar 2010 16:01:59 +0000

Florence of Orient, Persia’s masterpiece, the Intrigue of Iran and the half rhymed famous adage “Esfahan Nesf-e Jahan” (Esfahan is half the world) all are to describe the splendour of Esfahan. Beauty, wide open spaces and the wisdom of the ages are steeped into the city.
Esfahan is content, has a rhythm and is not at odds with any extraneous surroundings. While modern amenities exist the ancient is venerated and preserved. Motorcycles weave around a myriad of bicycles and the various eras in history proudly displayed in a myriad of mosques bridges palaces and gardens. In Tehran the crow and pigeon dominate. In Esfahan children are taught to love, appreciate and feed the duck and the wild heron who gracefully bathe and gather in social circles across the vast river.
Never more is all that is Esfahan experienced more than through a conversation with Ahmad Tazee, old bent and wizened. As though sent from the guardians of the ages he asks – ‘are you happy in your life’ and that to him was the single most important thing he needed to know about me as he invited me to share his sack cloth spread across the cement bench to ward off the morning cold. In that moment I felt warmth spread through me realising that this was my first encounter with a keeper of time in this ancient city. This was the first interaction that while completely unscripted and random in its unfolding was one where there was no functional purpose in the exchange occurring. I was acknowledged individually and asked to SEE, REGARD and ACKNOWLEDGE the person in front of me – to be cognisant and conscious of the exchange I was witnessing but was also part of.
And in a shaky voice resolute in the purpose of delivering the message and secrets held by the mosques, palace and fountains n Imam Square he proceeded to explain the historical significance of all around us. He knew the days of old but wizened by way world is now. Spritely with surprising speed stooped over cane tiring after a km of walking and pausing for 3 minutes to catch his breath.
I know not why I was chosen or how – but the 30 minutes transformed much of what I was experiencing. This was no longer a journey of observation where I took in all around me, but became an exploration where all my senses became keenly invested and immersed and involved in all around me. I was not looking at what is Esfahan – I was now part of Esfahan.
This feeling I presume is what leads human beings to seek a way to leave evidence that they have seen have witnessed and have experienced. This is why the sad evidence of humans leaving their mark (with vandalism and graffiti) on the walls of ancient ruins and relics so carefully preserved. It seems it is not enough to just know that we have experienced, something must be left behind. Evidence that we exist and have experienced. For me this is not housed by an ancient ruin in which others before me had etched their names, but in Ahmad. In the memory of our exchange and in the hope that as I will remember him, I have left something with him that is worthwhile to be remembered.

The mosaic is comprised of many tiles

leeiniran — Tue, 10 Nov 2009 09:35:57 +0000

The past few weeks have been really busy, but very interesting. The beauty of being out of your comfort zone in a completely new environment is that you spontaneously observe all that is around you with the keen sense of a child. Every experience, observation taste and smell sometimes feels oddly familiar, but mostly it’s as if life is happening for the very first time.
Scientists have long rated the cockroach as the most resilient and adaptable insect around. The last few weeks in Iran however have led me to the conclusion that they are completely misguided and incorrect.
The most resilient and adaptable insect has got to be the mosquito.
I have come across a breed of super fast, super skelm mozzies that have evolved to such an extent that they somehow figured out that when biting a female in Iran you’re likely to only find dinner on exposed hands and somewhere on your face ; everything else the mosquito reasons, is probably covered by the hijab. The problem with this behaviour pattern is that this is the mode of attack at night when you’re trying to sleep as well. Result you wake up in the morning in an alarmingly chicken pox looking state with bumps all over your hands and face. The smartest bit however lies in the mozzy’s exit strategy – they do a nose dive and hide under the bed.
So after a week of mosquito induced insomnia I resorted to tonic water, which a friend helpfully suggested as it supposedly decreases the yumminess factor in your blood.
Luckily, I’ve been able to identify a few other things that are really yummy – like saffron ice cream and dinner at Monsoon. I think I may have found the home of the best sushi, Asian and fusion cuisine right here in the middle of Tehran. A feat which I think adds to the growing wonderment I have for this country. Monsoon transports you straight to the heart of Soho London with its classy minimalist décor, trendy lighting and subtle music, but similarly leaves you amazed that you’re not eating in Tokyo.
There are a few things though that reminds me of home. Like the dozens of mini-earthquake tremors that I feel every day. That reminds me of the days when the mines were active and they would blast dynamite causing our house to shake a little. The eyebrow-lady also makes me feel as though I’m right back in Fordsburg having my brows threaded and wondering just how bad it would be to get a Russian special with extra cheese from Akhalwayas.
It has started snowing on the mountains and I can feel the chill in the mornings and evenings which means that pretty soon I’ll be back in winter. Somehow the mountains look a lot like the Toblerone mountain and that makes it worth it.
With the snow on the mountain comes the rain in the city. The effects of rain are universal – the city’s dust settles and the air clears. Steam rises from the tarmac as though the earth too breathes a sigh of relief. The colours are brighter and the wind fresh and even the crows with their rain-spiked feather heads (which are strangely reminiscent of a teenage boy with serious gel) seem less ominous.
Murphy of course could not let the opportunity pass for a little trickery – the next morning I woke extra early to the coldest morning since I’ve been here. I turned on the shower and of course the water was even colder! I rushed over to the geyser turned a series of knobs and pressed a few buttons to no avail. So after a very tentative shower I rushed to work leaving a note for the building supervisor to fix my geyser. Of course when I got home the supervisor comes up and presses the same buttons I did and the geyser springs back into action.
With the snow comes the season for snow-boarding! But before I even think of acquiring a snow board, it seems I need to find a chair for the office. I have always taken the humble chair for granted – assuming that it is a general commodity found in offices everywhere. What I have discovered here though is that the chair is a precious item of which people are highly protective over. Despite the fact that there seems to be more chairs than people on our floor, each chair seems to either have someone’s name on it (literally) in tippex or on a printed sheet of paper stuck on the back.
That is not the end of the chair ownership signs though, no chair is unmarked and each morning begins with people scurrying to identify their chair (or claim the one you’re sitting on is theirs) based on a random scratch or mark located in a ridiculously obscure area.
In the meanwhile I’ve employed the Msanzi -inspired hijack tactic and hijacked a chair from the corner of the room and added my own sheet of paper and identified a few markings on it – which now miraculously become my unique chair-identifying, title deed bestowing characteristics. Still – I have the feeling I better find a camper chair and haul it to work every day as there’s no telling when the chair-pirates will claim my seat as their booty.
The funny thing about exploring though is that even though the adventure broadens your view and adds to your experience log, it also makes all things about home so much sweeter. This was made very evident at the South African ladies lunch at the South African Ambassador’s home. The experience was incredible and I doubt it would’ve had the same impact had the same scene been replicated on home soil.
The minute we passed through the gates and entered the world behind the 10m high wall I felt as Alice must have when she emerged from the rabbit hole. It was now easy to understand how magnificent ancient Persia must have been. The entire home and gardens were awash with colour – which is often lacking in central Tehran. It was interesting to meet people from diverse South African cultures, all embarking on their own unique adventure and all interpreting the experience in their own way. I saw old friends, made new ones and couldn’t help but think that TV is missing one component of the wives series. We’ve seen Desperate Housewives, Footballers Wives and Army Wives – what we really need is a series called Expat Housewives. The expat housewife is a complex fun being. One who invariable was a professional in her own right back home and has packed up to move to a foreign land with her husband and children and now needs to navigate this new terrain. I also knew that ironically while there is much to learn and see in Iran, the greatest lesson and exploration in this foreign land might to some extent be a South African one.

The many faces of Tehran's skyline

It’s all black and white right?

leeiniran — Sun, 11 Oct 2009 15:42:57 +0000

I’ve been here just over a week now and have realised that more than anything else, Iran is a country of contrast. Not the black and white contrast of a chess board, but the white to grey to black contrast on a 1980′s TV set.
The rigid rules designed to create order and control the moral compass of its citizens seem to have given rise to an alternative underground society of sorts. I cannot help but notice the irony and underlying contradicting parallels that pervade Tehran. Women wear hijab while walking down Nelson Mandela Avenue. There is a melting pot of tradition and progression that run side by side on the streets of Tehran.
The city is noisy and polluted with the fumes from too many cars and pedestrian crossings may as well be a chequered flag at a Grand Prix, but look out window 6 floors up and the air is fresh, the Alborz mountains majestic and the perimeter green. The bustling metropolis quickly gives way to startling scenery and space which in turn adds an air of lightness to the spirit.
In the serene skyline framed by mountains which become a ski and snowboard Mecca in winter there is no hint of the social idiosyncrasies which exist here. At various intervals red or green clothing is ’banned’ and certain websites are available and then for almost no reason become the latest victims of censorship. Just as peculiar are the behavioural rules which are expected. Dancing in public is strictly forbidden and women may not sing aloud.
By night the city reveals that rules which seemed designed to curb any social interaction have no bearing on just how socially inclined Iran truly is. In a society where outside perception is that existence here can be nothing but drab and possibly laborious, the reality is that Tehran is not inclined to sleep. People descend on restaurants and convenience stores en-masse in a time honoured, neon lit tradition. Kebab eateries flourish alongside the greatest concentration of pizzerias I have come across anywhere.
The nation’s penchant for confection is evident in the string of bakeries and ice cream stores scattered across the city. Hidden in the side streets and maze-like alleys are the greatest gastronomic surprises of all – Mexican, Chinese and Indian restaurants.
A growing number of international food and clothing brands bear testament to the globalization of modern day Iran. And all of this is evident in a ten minute radius around central Tehran.
As I continue to scan the skyline from a 6th floor window I know that this is a city with much to show, share and insinuate. I also realise that there is no chess board here, just a myriad of colours and contrasts which demand exploration and absolutely no preconceived expectation. A task, while wearing my hijab, I will most happily do.

Life is a journey

leeiniran — Sat, 03 Oct 2009 12:42:11 +0000

I’m finally in Iran! Somehow I figured that being here would be the beginning of all insights, adventures and strangely melodramatic mishaps but I was sorely mistaken. It seems that the most eventful part of this escapade lay in getting here.
There have been several changes to flight dates, lots of red tape to negotiate and numerous farewells to plan and more commonly cancel…..
Finally however I found myself on board a flight to Dubai – tired, relieved and mindful of the imp lurking inside me rubbing its hands in glee at being on the verge of something greater than a run of the mill adventure. I was on the brink of finally beginning a grand ESCAPADE!
The problem however was that any escapade worth embarking requires a store of energy, which I (due to several late nights) was in short supply of. So in an uncharacteristic Lee on a plane fashion I nodded off before the doors even closed for 3 hours!
I awoke expecting to see nothing except the glimmer of moonlight on the edge of the clouds as we cruised several thousand feet in the air. Instead, as I looked out my window at 01h40 am – roughly 3 hours after boarding we were still firmly on the ground at O R Tambo!!! Immediately I assumed my 3 hour nap was probably just a 3 minute cat nap, and that’s when I heard the announcement.
‘Ladies and Gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. Unfortunately we cannot seem to adequately troubleshoot a technical error and I am now cancelling this flight. Please disembark and we will re book you on the next flight tomorrow afternoon’.
A general murmur of disdain erupted across the aisles, but I however, in true crazy lady style, could not suppress a fit of laughter. I had just been on my longest flight to nowhere and after the rigmarole of getting and keeping a flight date, finally saying goodbye, checking in luggage and boarding a plane here I was – still not gone!!!
After collecting my luggage, I was whisked off to a hotel and assured that I would be on a flight the next afternoon. The next morning I rushed off a shuttle, quickly found my colleagues and proceeded to wait in line for a new boarding pass….it was then that I realized that my journey from shuttle to line striding to the sounds of Pink from my iPOD was only that easy as I had forgotten to take my bags with me!

In an effort to maintain composure and a sense of pimped out diva coolness I mumbled something to my colleagues and strode off mid-pace until out of sight where after I bolted at high speed to the drop off point to find my luggage. The shuttle of course had left, but a quick phone call to the hotel resulted in my bags being returned to me in under five minutes.
This time though, I did leave – and the further I got from home the more I became aware of sense of nostalgia, anticipation, introspection and excitement.
Through extensive on board entertainment I was transported through a plethora of memories and emotions as I listened to everything from Wamdue Project’s ‘King of my Castle’ to Alesha Dixon’s ‘Breathe Slow’. I felt like I was in the process of synchronizing a large portion of my life with who I am now and realigning goals, dreams and resolutions long forgotten with this new journey.
I also discovered from two different passengers on both the flight to Dubai as well as the flight to Iran that warm towels for some reason remain a source of confusion for many as it was used to wipe faces, feet, licked, smelled and even to wipe the personal television screen on seat backs.
Filled with a sense of peace and satisfaction, a wry smile on my face and the last glass of wine for a long time in my hand I toasted the ensuing madness, growth and experiences that would no doubt arise and accompany me on this new escapade

The Preamble….

leeiniran — Fri, 28 Aug 2009 07:45:55 +0000

Here begins a brand new escapade. I’ll be jetting off to Iran in about a week’s time for a year and this is where I’ll bring you the news, info, scoop and my view of life in Iran – think ‘Confessions of a crazy expat in a burka ‘
I’m not all packed, but since life’s a journey, I’ll get around to it pretty soon …….
Please feel free to check out this blog every once in a while and to post your comments and thoughts – it’ll always be good hearing from you all back home.
Chat soon!