Ayatollah Khomeini
The Dekhoda institute for Persian Language Study is a well run place. Bustling with students at all levels of Farsi, of all ages, and from all corners of the globe. I met an undergrad from Princeton, an anthropology graduate from Columbia as well as an accounting student from China, a middle aged Korean couple settled in Tehran as expats, and a smattering of bohemian European students. It was very interesting to hear broken Farsi spoken with a Japanese accent.
In the evening I walked down Valie-Asr with a 22 year old Irani, Hassan, whom I had met in a shared taxi. He had offered to take me to a nearby electronics store to get an adaptor plug for my laptop. I asked him whether I could wear my earing in Iran. He advised me against it, as “this country has many strange laws.”
The currency here boggles the mind. I carry around a million Rials in my pocket on a daily basis. No one quotes any prices in Rials however. They use a denomination called “Toman” which is equivalent to 10 Rials. So when I need to pay 2000 Tomans, I must hand over a 20,000 Rial note. It’s so easy to make a mistake and pay 10 or even a 100 times as much as I need to. Fortunately, most people think I’m Persian until I open my mouth, so they don’t try and rip me off from the start.
In class we discussed unemployment in Iran. The reason for the mass of cabs and supermarkets became clear. Since jobs were so hard to come by, anyone with a car tries to make a little extra money by plying the main streets of the city for a few hours each day, offering pedestrians rides to the next square or intersection. These taxis are really the most convenient way to get around, and provide a faster alternative to the metro and buses. Similarly, anyone with an extra room on the ground floor of a well travelled street will stock up on all sorts of provisions and open up a convenience store - right below their own home.
I met a member of the Iranian Revolutionary Guard today. No, actually, that isn’t correct; he was actually a member of the Basij – an elite and semi-autonomous militia that has its origins in the Iran-Iraq war, where the Basij undertook the task of mine clearing. Today, the Basij wield enormous power and are a major player as a conservative watchdog over society and the state. I was standing outside my house trying to call up hotels in Esfahan (where I will be going day-after). My guidebook had conveniently forgotten to provide area codes so I was at a loss. I asked the passing Basiji and his companion if they could oblige me with the necessary area code. They must have been on break from guarding one of the nearby ministers’ homes. He was eminently polite and happily assisted me. He was a big beefy man, with a stubbly beard; he wore combat fatigues with the crest of the Islamic Republic on his shoulder. We chatted a bit about where I was from and then I thanked him and waved him and his friend on their way.
The food is disappointing. Perhaps it’s my fussy Indian palette which demands dollops of spices with every dish. While the world-famous Kebabs are tenderly cooked to perfection – they are still essentially just rolls of meat, with little in the way of flavor. The rice which accompanies the quintessentially Iranian Chelo Kebab (Kebab Rice) dish is similarly bland. I suppose I will just have to survive, until I find a more exciting staple for my time here.
I found a more exciting staple. I headed south to Park-e-Millat (national park) off Valie-Asr where my guidebook told me there was a cosy Indian joint with very spicy food – exactly what I was looking for. First I strolled around the park to take in the approaching dusk. It was a remarkably calm oasis amidst the cacophony of central Tehran. I wandered amongst the shady paths and well manicured lawns. Clearly this is a favorite amongst locals of all ages – from old couples, families with young children, and amorous teenagers sitting behind secluded hillocks covered by the shrubbery. The Indian restaurant seemed to have disappeared in the four years since my guidebook was published (prices have also tripled), so I settled for the Zam-e-Zam foodcourt (Iran’s first food court). I feasted on spicy Aglio Olio pasta in an Italian restaurant set apart from the food court (which incidentally only had a coffee shop and a fast-food burger joint to offer).
A young couple strolling hand-in-hand at Park-e-Millat
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