Iran in the mourning month of Moharram

My mother and I are back! must admit that 17 days was way too much to spend in a country in official mourning of Hosseïn. Though Isfahan still holds its centuries old charms and beauties despite the terrible damages of newly build horrible buildings. The most damaged area is our beloved old NewJulfa!

More old Armenian houses are destroyed( including ours) and ugly boxes are raised fortunately not too high for the town is somehow protected by the Cultural Heritage office's.
Avenue Nazar in its western part (Gevik's family house) was covered in the black veil of mourning with its incredible motto's openly condemning any other religion than Islam, inviting people to be patient and see how the day of the last Imam, that hidden Mahdi, will come and how the world will kneel down before the light brought by Islam (sic) and how Islam 'll conquer at long last the whole world! frightening, I know!
My search of Gevik's house was unsuccessful as the whole avenue Nazar in its Western part was burried under the Hosseinieh flags.

Now you wouldn't believe this part. Nowadays Avenue Khaghani is known to locals as Isfahan's Champs-Elysées! All along the side walks you'll come upon little tastefully arranged fashion boutiques with fake branded items priced just like Europe. 40 € will get you a colorful, short sleeved, Versace sweater! don't laugh for it isn't as ugly as you think! there are now at the crossing point of Khaghani with Hakim Nezami a very modern shopping center, totally American style, with advertising of more stores openings, signs of 50% sales in English....this time quite distasteful. Not mentionning the fast foods (a good place to re-create all fast food brands of fried chicken, including Kentucky!)The funny part is that in the 12 days I was crossing the streets there was never ever any sign of a customer or any business going on. One day I caught one of the stores Clerc snoring with an open mouth! only some respect to people's privacy refrained me from shooting the odd sight.
The store owners have done some beautifying in that dusty weather and planted pansies and some other flowers in front of their stores on avenue Khaghani and spend most of the day watering them or spraying water to dust off dirts.
In this point I must mention that the streets were incredibly clean. The fashion ruling the backstreets of Isfahan's Champs-Élysées and around Vank church was raven black hairs styled in 60ths high buns (chignons), barely covered with a head scarf, 60thies eye make up and extended artificial eye lashes which looked like the wings of a black crow, lips highlighted by strawberry red lipsticks all hang over tight jeans under tight manteau's and stilettos. Store windows were a show case of the fashionable colors of the day: berry reds!
All of it barely a street away from the mourning black flags covering avenue Nazar! A captivating paradox in itself!

I enjoyed enormously my walks, all around town on both sides of the river. I even had tea all by myself ( only once) under 'siossehpol's khahvakhaneh' and loved the peaceful sight of the water and the bridge. The tea was so flavorful, so delicious.
Our most special time was spent in the old Armenian graveyard with its beautiful sober stones some dating back to 17th century and even older times. A part of the cemetery is covered disorderly with graves of Armenians converted forcefully to Islam, by the late Shah's father, Reza shah, and someone told me that they were forced into circumcision.. Our grandparents grave in the catholic side of the cemetry, under the shade of a dusty oleander, along side my father's sheltered by our old pomme granata tree, the very one that was in our yard and now protects the stones of our beloved graves. We walked to the graves of all the people we knew then and some more.

For Emma it was of course mostly days of lunch invitation ( they called it ' noon paneeree bokhorim, literally breaking cheese and bread!!!!!) meaning huge amounts of various khoreshs and polos. A show off of Persian cooking in a most lavish way (I'm not exaggerating!) and endless talks of past and present days.

Walked for hours and hours. there are now, new bridges and people are relaxing under them, in the shady, leafy parks, having a pic-nic or enjoying tea or just a walk. Many women walked alone exercising etc( There were exercise area with the usual health mottos)while lovers walked holding hands.

At this point I have two unique isfahani tales: One morning Bobken left home and twenty minutes later two young guys (Muslims) rang the bell. Mary, his wife opened and found out that the boys are bringing back Bobken's lost and found on the street's ground valet! they had opened and read the address on the ID and cared enough to bring it back with its contents. There was nothing missing. Money and papers were there. Couldn't help but think that how in any other country most probably they 'd ripped off the money and throw the valet in a trash can.
The other story goes over Emma's talkative ways with everybody including taxi drivers. The one day she went to the big bazar, on the way back she chatted as usual with the balck cladded taxi driver, who told her about his family cooking a meal in order to fullfill a vow (sofreh nazree) and that he must absolutely bring us votive food dedicated to Imam Hossein! Getting out of the car, Emma pointed out the door and the guy thanked him. The next morning at 8 AM sharp, Emma was under the shower when the doorbell rang. I opened and got three packaged meals of polo khoresh gheymeh, each covered with a piece of flat bread and a plastic spoon. It was our last day there but we managed to share one of the meals as according to Emma having the blessed food was a holy act.
Isfahan was beautiful at any time of the day and looking like a dream at sunset and a shiny jewel with the nightly lights artfully arranged on the bridges, reflecting them on the dark waters. There are new pedestrian bridges with areas to seat, chat or look at the water. People were seating over stone chairs, chatting, or relaxing in the Parks area below the bridges, playing chess and drinking tea.
Throughout their ordeals, Iranians remain friendly and smooth talking yet they complain that their traditional warmth and affectionate manners are gone and that nowadays brutality and modern ways are standard.

Tehran was all together another story. One could call it the Middle Eastern Los Angeles! The area of our hotel (Parsian Enghelab, on avenue Taleghani) in midd-town seemed to be steeped in religious totalitarianism. It's also the very location of the bygone US embassy, whose erased Great Seal is still stubbornly visible!
I walked all around visiting the Taleghani metro station and the leafy streets in the end of which on a clear day, one could see the white peaks of Alborz mountains.went to the Peetcheh Shemiran and till Ferdowsi's place. The sculpture is still in his place, overlooking the astonishing backward progress of the present time.
The upper Northern area of Tehran have a less polluted and more newly acquired money feel. We went to my friend's new appartment in Zaafaraniyeh and to another friend's family place in Velenjak. Both had such a different feel than the center of the city.
On the day before the last, I got arrested by a sinister looking motorcycle rider belonging to some "settadeh..." a kind of security police. He intended to confiscate my camera and blamed me for photographing streets etc ( I had shot ex American embassy and the new metro etc.) he also said that some muslims (in overtones of good law abiding informant citizens) had called to inform him of a lady busy shooting photos! to which I coolly replied that he could get lost cos it isn't illegal to shoot photos of public places and that I knew well where should I ask for permission. My only worry was Emma; whose health wasn't at the best that day and she was having a rest in the hotel before we go out to a friend's place. I thought my God what if he forces me to go to their headquarters and calls Emma to tell her that her daughter is being held. Sure she'd get a heart attack! Fortunately, after some show of force from both sides, the guy admitted that no it's not illegal to shoot photos in the street and let me go. I wanted to ask him to pause for a souvenir shot but of course refrained myself as it could be taken for provocation and subsequent consequences that I don't even dare to think of.
Afterward, I went back to the hotel walking nonchalantly and shooting some more photos just to make it clear to myself that I wasn't that shaken either!
But what happened is that I got a creepy paranoid feeling of being followed and it took me a huge amount of will power to not look back and remain "cool".
We went to another lunch invitation that day, in the velenjack area and met nice and interesting people living in Canada, joked a lot and told funny stories; however that creepy scary feeling stayed with me till the very last moment of boarding the homebound flight in IKIA(Imam Khomeiny International Airport) which, aside its name, is like any ordinary modern airport with its amenities and a losy security check at boarding.
For me what most characterized Tehran was the emptiness left by its absentees and the loneliness of a forlorn ugly place.

Boy how I loved the moment we landed in Amsterdam. Ah! the feel of freedom and security that Europe always gives me. The delightful sight of frozen winter greens, the orderly highways, the civilized driving...I could go on and on.
As I was sipping a wonderful strong road side coffee with Francis, I vowed to try hard and remain polite next time I'll come upon some Iranians complaining about Belgium.

Flora