|Laleh the Swede, Marjane the cartoon character, and Mehdi the madman who starts fires for giggles|
16 September: The Visa Lady
After disembarking, the first person I met in Tehran was the Visa Lady. The people at Imam Khomeini Airport had thought it suitable to plant this petite lady in front of the visa office as the coordinator, because the said lady also happened to be a thunderous sasspot who threw thrice her weight and made her presence known constantly. Walling herself into a perimeter with tape barriers, the Visa Lady was able to deal with the tourists, one by one, without any hint of being ruffled whatsoever. "You! Go to the insurance counter. You! Go and line up at the bank terminal. You! Go sit in the corner and wait!". There must have been a hundred of us, with just one Visa Lady! Occasionally she gave visa inquiries a pause and let loose a strident announcement: "Where is my pen? Somebody has taken my pen -- Give me back my pen!" Her voice sliced through the air like a scimitar, jerking awake a few tourists who were beginning to doze off in their seats, and the pen was always returned sheepishly to its rightful owner. Just the one lady, and her one pen!
17 September: The Two Mareks
The two Mareks are father and son. The son is a hardened traveller who is addicteed to biking and has arrived at Tehran after a few months cycling on the road from the Czech Republic through Romania and Turkey into Iran, and the father tags along (after much persuasion from his son Marek) for good fatherly company. We had breakfast together. Breakfast was splendid because of koloocheh, flat buns infused with cardamom and fillings of brown sugar. The other highlight is feta, which, to the great surprise and confusion of Masoud, are made from cow's milk in this country.
17 September: Masoud, the Kurdish Guy who runs the Hostel
Masoud comes from Bookan, in far west of Iran, where he grew up speaking Kurdish. He learned Farsi only after he started his undergraduate studies. His Persian friends could never believe it whenever he told them that part of his history. What a shame -- If only we spent the morning singing Xoş e Hewreman together and left the other guests no peace to eat their breakfast! He wished me luck with the presentation as I checked out to visit the Chaldeans, and I left too soon.
17 September: The Chaldeans
|Click for slideshow|
|Archbishop Ramzi of Tehran, Bishop Jean-Paul of Calatia, and whoever it is who is on their right; has anyone seen that dude before? No one?|
The Chaldeans had icons for sale on the shelf. I had been tasked my my mother to buy them home. However, the uncle here said to me that the only guy who has the keys to the cupboard was away at Hamedan for a few days. Drat! It seems I will have to come back to Iran another day to get them.
|Gift for the Chaldean community from my parish (need more gifts ugh)|
17 September: Mahdi, the Carpet Guy of Tajrish
Mahdi studies Chemistry at the University of Tehran. At night he helps out at his father's carpet store, where one day he came and said "ni-hao" to me and made friends and sold me a carpet so I have something to bring back to my mother. His carpets are made of sheep wool or silk, with different weaving techniques involved. The shop has inexplicable received name-cards from diplomats and other dignitaries for some reason (did these people all have an urgent need for a carpet whenever they stop by Tajrish?). Mahdi wanted to sell two, but I bought one and left and got lost in the market and wound up at the mosque that he liked to pray in. How splendid to have your workplace and your worshipping place right next to each other! I shall enjoy Holy Cross as long as I still can.
18 September: The Watering Holes
|Nobonyad Metro Station|
18 September: Walking on Streets
Walking the length of Andrazgoo Boulevard was not the most pleasant thing to do on a Sunday evening. The next day I walked to Nobonyad Square, where the roads were narrower, houses were castles and the vegetation lush and manicured. The Ambassador of Venezuela has a place to hide here, where the angry mob has not yet been able to reach. I learned that crossing the road anywhere takes you a roughly 50-50 mix of false confidence and total trust in the goodwill of strangers.
18 September: Saint Abraham's Church
PSA: In case some of you are Jesus freak like me and also happen to want to go to Iran at some point in spring or summer, I have on hand the full mass schedule covering the city; yell for it in the comments! You can choose from mass timings for liturgy in the English, French, Italian, Korean, Assyrian, or Armenian languages. Said schedule has been passed to me by the kind Fr. Paul Lawlor despite his hellishly packed schedule as the only priest of St. Abraham's Church.
St. Abraham's Church sits delightfully close to the metro station at Enghelab Square, and strangely attracts a sizeable following of Persians. Christians, or Muslims who are just visiting? It was hard to tell. The website boast many fruits borne in the community: translations of hymns and prayers to Persian, ecumenical dialogue with Shi'a leaders, artwork, masses, and receiving visiting Dominican fathers from all over the world. That and the Instagram location-based post aggregator of St. Abraham's Church would tell the story much more eloquently than I could ever do, so I leave you with them.
18 September: The Selfie Man of Azadi Square
Gilsie has introduced to me the existence of this hilarious monument. For all the hype surrounding its famed firewall, Iran has not be able to halt the scourge of the selfie.
A similar statue was unveiled the other day at Amasya in Turkey. Vandals stole his phone, so he needs a bodyguard now.
18 September: Niavaran
Niavaran was the Shah's old stomping grounds. Nicolae Ceaucescu was his buddy. His children loved looney tunes, and his wife hoarded modern artwork and pagan idols. Such used to be life in Niavaran.
The Polish scientists said that Niavaran reminded them of the palaces of Communist Poland, the sort one could still find standing in Warsaw.
19 and 20 September: Conference
|Yikes! Someone caught me doing my first oral presentation ever|
"Doogh" turned out to be yoghurt mixed with salty water. The particular version served at lunch came with a touch of mint. Still, it's not everyone's kind of stuff, even if you were from Iran. Majid laughed at me as I chugged the drink and said that it would make me sleep like a log all afternoon. So I nodded back in agreement, and nodded off to sleep for the next two lectures.
16 to 20 September: Tiger Balm
Coming to a place where gift-giving is so much a part of the social fabric, I figured that I might as well participate.
This habit actually started with Chinese tourists in the middle east, particularly Egypt. Despite being made infamous for all kinds of bombastic shenanigans, they have also been welcomed in Egypt for bringing along handy and fun-sized capsules of ointment to give away.
Hey! We make Tiger Balm Oil here in Singapore. We're famous for that stuff!
The ride back to the airport took two hours. Who would have thought the airport could be located so far away from town? The uncle who drove me looked like he could use Tiger Balm very much. He got to have my remaining two jars, and my short trip to Tehran concludes here. Good bye for now.