Arriving in Iran

My flights were all quite pleasant, if crammed. The NY-Istanbul flight was amazing; full of folks going to Turkey, Africa, Russia/Eastern Europe, Iran, Israel...my seatmates were going to Kenya and Tanzania. On the airbus from plane to airport I was standing between orthodox Jews speaking Hebrew and two Persian women speaking Farsi. Aaah, right at home. The airport in Istanbul was a crush of people and chaos; it was totally unclear where to go for my flight and I peeked over at peoples' passports as they pushed and rushed; Mongolia, Azerbaijan, Egypt.....at one point an older Mongolian man said something to me and picked up my violin; I took it as a kindly offer to help me with my copious bags/coats. And then a minute later he almost walked away with it! I grabbed it back (of course I'd had my eyes glued to it the whole time) and spent the next 5 minutes wondering if he was being sweet and forgetful, or if he had more nefarious intentions.

I found a bathroom for the costume change and headed over to the terminal for the Iranian flight. It was quite subdued and mostly consisted of men. The flight was not too packed and included a boisterous sports team. One bad-ass stewardess spoke firmly to one of the sport team guys, “DON'T TOUCH ME!” and then, “I'm sorry. I AM sorry. I'm sorry that I had to tell you four times!!” I gave her a look of “Jeez, can't believe these creeps” and we had an awesome men-can-be-such-pigs moment.

We landed in Tehran and someone told me to go to the foreigner's passport line; the man there was very sweet and after chatting with me, stamped my passport and assured me I'd have no problem exiting the country. Um....yeah. Not that I'd asked. There was a TV playing “news” which mostly consisted of quotes from President Ahmadinejad about peace and prosperity. Dad met me right away, and as he leaned over to help pick up my bags he said a bunch of things in Farsi. I nearly started crying, wondering if it was somehow dangerous to speak English publicly as he was looking at me as though I should obviously understand what he was saying. So I just nodded and followed, and a minute later he realized and laughed, “Oh I'm speaking to you in Farsi! Hahah!” Ha ha ha.

We found the car; he said it'd be an hour from the airport which seemed alright. Then we missed a turn, and went down another road until,
“Oh yeah, they haven't finished this road yet” (back the other way) and “Oh, yeah, they close this road after midnight because they are still working on it” and finally “Oh, this road is closed too.” “Now I don't know how to get home!” At this point I was completely out of juju and just closed my eyes and went to sleep. 2.5 hours later we finally arrived. 

Dad's apartment is huge and weirdly furnished; a cross between ugly german leather couches and weird Louie the 15th chairs. Also ceramic logs in the “fireplace” and random christmas ornaments/plastic flowers for decoration. 

Needless to say I was exhausted but also starving. We ate bread and feta, and he cracked walnuts from his trees and fed me apple juice from his apples, freshly juiced. Yum!!! We shot the shit and ate for a while, then spent a ridiculous amount of time trying to get the internet to work. We failed. Finally I laid down to sleep around 4AM Tehran time. EEK!!!

First Day: Family, Family, Family

Today I woke up and looked out of my balcony at this sprawling city of 12-14 MILLION people. It is ridiculously huge and of course very poorly planned. We went over to Dad's sister Pari's apartment in the building next door. My Aunt greeted me “welcome home!” and kissed me a bunch. I knew my grandmother was not well, and she was indeed lying on the couch looking so tiny and frail. I leaned over the back to hug and kiss her and she grabbed hold of me, kissing and hugging me and not letting me go. Tears welled up and I just couldn't hold it back anymore—Dad translated her “Do you remember me?” and my “Of course!!” Finally I had to excuse myself to the bathroom and just sob for awhile.

We sat down to lunch—a spread of beautiful saffron/currant rice, chicken with sauce, and salad. After lunch, tea and sweets. Then fruit. 

Later Dad handed me the first portion of his memoirs that he has started writing. It is fascinating and comprehensive and clearly written by a Persian with extra flowery language, bizarre poetic metaphors and many illustrative little stories. I read that his father always thought his birth brought bad luck and that his younger brother's birth brought good luck. Somehow that explains so much. Maman is unwell and shuffles unhappily between kitchen and sofa letting out little grunting moans. Dad encouraged me to ask her questions as this helps her forget her discomfort so I asked what she remembered from her time staying with us in the states for 2 years.
“You and Nike would dress up and put on these shows for me!”
“Did you know what we were saying?”

“No I would just watch.” Which answers another question; what was I passionate about as a kid? Dress-up and drama! Again, explains so much.