A Glimpse of Another World

One of the things I wanted to do most here was go camping
and trekking. Upon expressing those desires to my family, they simply laughed at the silly notion of me wanting to do anything by myself, much less in the wilderness, and have since informed me that I am legally unable
to do so, and must be accompanied by family or a
guide, because I am a woman. This was less than
uplifting news to me, as my list of limitations in what
I can do with my six months here seems to be growing at
the rate of the population in hell. So I wondered, what do people here actually do?

Weekends, here, are Friday. That’s it. It’s quite
sad, I know. So on Thursday afternoon, my cousin took me to this
famous coffee shop to talk about
my trip to Turkey, and trips I wanted to take around Iran. We walked into
the café and I immediately smiled upon hearing the
familiar sounds of Coldplay. Interestingly, this was
a CD of Coldplay covers done by what sounded like
Tibetan monks chanting and humming. It was incendiary. I hadn’t drunken any caffeinated drinks for
three weeks, as hangovers are not an issue for me here,
nor is doing anything which requires early mornings.
My first espresso after such a long abstinence nearly
killed me. For six hours I felt like my heart was
palpitating so fast that it was on the verge of flying
right out of my chest. As I gazed at the stacks of
antique books lining the walls of the café and tried
to suppress my looming heart attack, my cousin and I
got down to the business at hand.

After much debate with my family, I have
begrudgingly conceded to do most of my traveling with
the assistance of a tour group. This is,
unfortunately, the only way I am legally and feasibly
allowed to travel about the country as a single
Iranian woman. Seeing my disappointment in the limitations I would have to encounter traveling here, my cousin, being the most fluent in English out of all my
family, took it upon himself to explain to me
some ways in which Iran is different from the US and
why I can’t do certain things here that I can do in
the states. I was shocked to discover that in
thanking the waiter for my espresso, he had probably
perceived my acknowledging him as a come-on. When a
woman looks a man in the eyes, they also perceive that
as a come-on. I guess that is why most women walk
around with their heads down here. Also, it is
apparently common knowledge here that if a woman is
standing alone on a street corner, she is a
prostitute. So all those times that I had to leave
the house to smoke my cigarette on the street corner
because it’s not good for women to smoke in front of
elders, I was getting millions of stares not because I
look like a tourist, but because everyone thought I
was a prostitute! Supposedly prostitution is big here
and a lot of girls run away from their families
because of the social restrictions, but they soon find
out that they have no other choice but to sell their
bodies to survive. The choices for women in the
workforce are so few, even though there are more
educated women than there are men here. Women cannot
work in any service jobs, so that eliminates a ton of
jobs for young women right there. They can work in
some womens clothing stores but even then, most of
those jobs are taken by men, too. This is unfortunate
because in these cases, you can’t try on the clothes
that you want to buy because there are men there. You
just have to hope that they fit you, which is totally
ridiculous, as it is such a hassle going to the mall
anyway. My first time in a mall here was quite
hilarious as I hadn’t learned about the trying on
clothes restriction and when I asked them where the
dressing room was, they just shook their heads “no.” In a
lapse of self control, I loudly blurted out “what do
you mean, ‘NO’?!” They soon realized that I was a
tourist with no concept of their rules regarding
buying clothes. After a little coaxing, they actually
let me go to the back room to try the clothes on, an extremely sweet gesture.

I also learned from my cousin what my name on my
passport, Neda Seyed Mahmoud Baraghani, means. "Neda" apparently
means "good voice," "Baraghani" is derived from a village
in Iran called Baraghan where, I suppose, my ancestors
came from, and the "Seyed" part means that I am a direct
descendant of the prophet Mohammad. I don’t know what
the Mahmoud part means yet, but it is mind boggling to me that
I’m a descendant of one of the most famous prophets in
the world, especially considering my aversion to
religion of any sort.

After the tutorial at the coffee shop, we ventured to the home of my cousin’s friend. There were a couple of
guys and one girl there. They are all a little older
than me and are freelance tour guides so they do a lot
of traveling, especially in India and China. One of
the guys resembled some sort of happy Buddha character. It
made me giggle just looking at him. They were incredibly
obsessed with India, and upon hearing that I am
visiting from America, immediately inquired as to why
I didn’t go to India instead of Iran. They were especially delighted with the fact that in India, you can supposedly smoke
weed in front of police offices there without fear of penalty. It was then that I realized I was having my first encounter with Iranian stoners, my cousin being exempt from this group, for what reason I do not know. It perplexed them as much as it did me. Now I have to say, I felt a different vibe going into that house, as if all the worries and frantic nature of the city had lifted from this tiny little apartment and now I knew why. They seemed...relaxed! And happy! I know this seems like an odd thing to say but the general vibe of Iranians is basically the opposite of relaxed. Everyone seems to be worried about something, be it themselves or others - usually others. The
excitement of actually hanging out with worry-free, interesting, happy people, and them truly being hilarious, had me
giggling and smiling the whole time I was there. They told
me about their travels in India, I told them about
mine in Patagonia, and we talked about eating
dog and scorpion in China. It was such an amazing time. We left with hugs and
kisses.

Afterward I felt invigorated, which is what meeting people will do when you're best friend for the past month has been an eighty year old obsessive compulsive grandmother. We left the happy house and my cousin decided to
drive me around the mountains so that I could see the
whole city. It was the time of day right before
sunset when the weather is cool but the light is
strong. It came in at an angle right above the
mountains and just beamed magic onto the whole city.
Somehow, the smog, and rubble, the construction, and
everything else that makes Tehran a bit unsightly
dissipated to reveal this shining white sparkling
kingdom. It was totally magical and I just gaped in
awe happily at its beauty.

Heartbreak in an Iranian Hotel

I just had quite the embarrassing cry today…the first
cry here in Iran. I woke up this morning rather
distraught from a dream I had last night of getting my
heart broken by someone that I loved. I had been
writing in my journal all morning about the dream and
my mind seemed to grow into this dark forest where I
lost myself to its hopelessness and an inevitable
shadow came over me. I began to think very
forebodingly about the love in my life. There are
times when I can see things so simply, and I am
appalled at myself for complicating them needlessly in
order to justify my own weakness. But if you’ve ever
been in love, you would understand. There are things
that you might want but that you cannot ask for
because you know that you won’t get them, and you
don’t want to lose what little you actually have. So
you complicate the situation in your mind, so that you
don’t have to confront it directly and sadly realize
that you aren’t getting what you want. I don’t know
if I’m making much sense but let’s just say that I
loved a boy who didn’t love me back. I tried to give
it time, but he never quite came around to loving me
fully. I tried not to love him but still be in his
life, and that didn’t work either. He cared about me,
but it wasn’t love. I had never really been so
uninhibited with my love before. I came up with
excuses for myself as to why I should wait for him
even though it was becoming more and more clear that I
shouldn’t. Every time I felt that there was
reciprocal love, he informed me that it simply wasn’t,
and every time I wanted to abandon him, he pleaded
with me not to for the sake of friendship, not because
he loved me back. But friendship is not possible when
it comes to unrequited love, and the littlest gesture
of his had my heart pounding with some vain hope
renewed.

I don’t know when it started happening exactly, but I
began sacrificing the best things about myself to fuel
this destructive fire. I gave up my power completely,
to someone who was unconcerned with me. I gave up all
the love, which I originally had for myself, to him,
and then realized that there was none left for me when
I needed it. I gave him my thoughts, and my time, and
my care, and after all this giving, I had crippled
myself beyond recognition. Obviously, it didn’t work
out. Don’t ever love someone who doesn’t love you
back. It is an utter waste of your self esteem, among
all other good qualities that are yours to contribute
to the world. I realized how much I had changed
because of it. There was a time when I felt on top of
the world…I really thought that no one would ever be
able to bring me down. I walked differently then. I
walked like I loved myself, and that that love was
unflinching. I did things for my own satisfaction,
and only surrounded myself with people who made me
feel amazing and totally irreplaceable. However, once
you love someone who doesn’t love you back, that whole
state of mind is substituted by one of self doubt and
emptiness. Realizing that you are never going to get
that love back and that it is wasted forever is
utterly depressing; accepting that you waited so long
in vain for something that was never coming is even
worse.

Right when I was thinking about all of this, a song
came on my computer and I burst into tears…that is all
it takes sometimes. Right then, I heard my aunt in
the other room saying that we had to go and see some
family who we had agreed to let dye our hair when they
came over yesterday for tea. The thought of trying to
understand their speedy Farsi, and answering the same
questions for the fiftieth time, and then sitting
there idly while conversation about old lady things
ensued, right when a spark of tear-induced inspiration
had just hit me seemed all too much for me to handle.
On the other hand, trying to explain to them why I
needed to sit and write at the moment instead of
getting my hair dyed seemed even more difficult of a
task. Fighting my tears, I put on my uniform and was
fiddling with my impossible scarf when my aunt came up
to me to fix it. She saw that my eyes had been red
from crying and asked me what was wrong. I collapsed
into tears right in front of her and my grandmother,
holding my head in my hands helplessly. They thought
I was crying because I didn’t want to get my hair
dyed. But explaining to them why I was actually
crying with the little Farsi I know was just pathetic.
Both of them married men that their families
introduced them to – they didn’t have any option. I
still don’t know if they know what loving someone who
doesn’t love you back feels like. Plus, according to
them, I’m not even supposed to be cavorting with boys
at all. So in the end, I just ended up saying that I
like a friend who doesn’t like me back – quite a
pathetic excuse to break plans with family, I know.
Frustrated and drained of any energy to try and
explain myself further, I walked into my room and
started writing this blog. Right now…this very
minute, I feel like I’m at the very bottom of my
depths for what feels like the umpteenth time. I feel
empty, and foolish.

Iran: Past and Present

I’ve been reading quite a bit about the history of
Iran recently. Interestingly, Tehran is the site of
the very first ever CIA coup. They ousted a man named
Mohammad Mossadegh, who was prime minister of Iran, in
1953. He was responsible for nationalizing the
then-named Iranian-Anglo Oil Company after Britain
refused to offer Iran a fairer share of the company’s
profits. He was also named TIME’s “man of the year”
in the same year, and was a powerful proponent in
urging developing countries to progress past their
colonial bindings. After Britain concocted a campaign
to slander his name and the integrity of Iranian oil
because of this, Winston Churchill allegedly persuaded
the Eisenhower administration to get rid of Mossadegh.
There were two attempts, the second obviously being a
success. As a result, the company was denationalized
with the US now holding a forty percent share of the
company’s profits due to their involvement. There is
so much other history here that goes back all the way
to 2500BC but I won’t bore you with it all now.

I did see a really interesting cartoon/commercial
today at a family member’s house though. We were
watching some Iranian version of Looney Tunes and then
came this five minute long propaganda commercial where
a cartoon general, obviously a symbol of the US, is
sitting at this table studying a map of the Middle
East and smoking a cigar. He’s bulbous and has a
really angry and menacing facial expression the whole time. It
starts out with him outlining Palestine on the map and
then it flashes to a group of cacophonous army tanks
approaching a peaceful and homely city in Palestine.
They proceed to totally bulldoze this scantily
furnished hut where the only decoration visible is a
family picture on the fireplace mantle, and then it
shows blood running out from beneath the rubble. This
is followed by similar scenes of the general
sinisterly laughing while nonchalantly outlining
Afghanistan, Iraq, and Lebanon. And then we see the
various ways in which the peaceful cities in them are
completely annihilated by air strikes and boorish foot
soldiers with their machine guns. This, again, is
followed by blood running from out of the destruction.
Then, all of the sudden, these bright green vines
begin to spring up from the spilled blood on the
ground. They grow slowly at first, and then rapidly,
grasping the army tanks like snakes, and then
completely covering the tanks, eventually stopping
them in their tracks. At the end it says, “In order
to achieve victory, we must unite.” It was my first
experience with anti-US propaganda here and it was
clearly directed at children. I was so captivated by
it that I just sat there the whole time with my mouth
hanging wide open and my family just laughing at me.
Supposedly, there are anti-US propaganda murals that
are painted at the site of the Mossadegh coup which I
plan on seeing and hopefully snapping a couple of
secret pics.

It seems like Iran’s isolation from the rest of the
world is also reflected in the fact that they do not allow pictures taken virtually anywhere you go. It
totally escapes me as to why they wouldn’t want people
to have photographic evidence of this beautiful
country. I was in the Bazaar today, a totally public
place, and I almost got arrested for taking pictures
there! My uncle had to save me as I was clearly not
in a position to save myself. They don’t even allow
you to bring cameras into most of the museums and
furthermore, my family gets really uncomfortable
whenever I want to take pictures of anything in
general. It’s strange. It’s like everything is a
secret. I’m not sure what to do about my picture
problem; I am already weary of taking my camera out of
my bag without the fear of being arrested for picture
taking.

A Light in A Dark Place

I have considered the possibilities as to why last
week was so difficult for me and have settled on the
theory that my general distaste for life was due to a
few minor things which should be taken into
consideration before I deem myself a total downer in
the midst of such possibility and opportunity.
Firstly, there is my monthly vaginal hemorrhaging,
which conveniently comes along with its few
undesirable side effects such as cramping and a
general sullen attitude towards life. Then there is
the fact that I have been abruptly cut off from any
substances at all. This involuntary alcohol and cigarette
withdrawal could also be a contributing factor to an
incontrollable irritation which has characterized the
past week for me. Finally, I think that my past of
self-imposed isolation from family, and anything to do
with family, has finally come to seriously take it's toll on me. I am constantly surrounded by various family members and have been completely deprived of any privacy ever
since I arrived at the airport here. I’m not used to
having people around me all the time, much less a
close-knit family who doesn’t seem to believe in
personal space. Anyway, I will just have to get used
to it. In fact, it’s high time I finally learned to
deal with family like a mature adult...

In other news, I have hit a Neda jackpot here in
Tehran. I have discovered the subway, oh yes. And do believe that I will be all over it from here on out. The closest stop is
a forty five minute walk from my house and I plan on
traversing it daily. My family is
frightened silly that I’m going to get kidnapped or
lost forever in this gargantuan city but there’s no
choice for them. Curiously, the subway actually bears
quite a resemblance to the subways in Boston and New
York. The only difference is that instead of a
diverse population of passengers who tend to mind
their own business, I have to dodge the uninhibited
stares of close to twenty metrosexual looking Iranian
boys. I can’t get over the staring; it is so
shameless. I wonder what the root cause of this
behavior is. Is every tourist as obvious as I
supposedly am, and if so, are tourists really that odd
looking, or do boys just generally stare at girls as
if they’ve never seen one in their life? I don’t
think I’ll ever get used to the blatant lack of
personal space and privacy that seems to be so
ubiquitous here. Anyhow, I am much in luck as most of
the signs for the subway are written in English as
well Farsi. Hooray for modernization in Tehran!

First Inklings of Culture Shock

I asked my family if we have an army here. They told
me that we do, but it’s more like the CIA than an
army. Instead of attacking other countries, they
attack their own people. My aunt said that once they
showed a woman getting stoned to death on TV and she
was the only one she knew that watched it because
everyone else was disinclined to feel “uncomfortable.”
Women don’t like to think about the fact that they
have no freedom here. They just drink their bootleg
vodka (which is gross, by the way, because of how it’s
made and stored) and make jokes and forget that it
sucks to be a woman in this country. I’m appalled by
their indifference but at times I understand it. My
aunt said that at first, women protested the new
regime but they soon met with the burning sensation of
teargas in their eyes. She also told me that they
would arrest female protesters and cut up their faces
so bad in prison that you could tell who didn’t agree
with the regime by the deformities on their faces.
Now there’s nothing anyone can do.

My family is considerably wealthy for Iranian
standards. Like America, the middle class is
disappearing here and my family happens to be on the
more desirable side of the gap. One of my uncle’s
in-laws has a male maid from Afghanistan in their huge
country house. We went there for a party and,
naturally, I was curious about his story so I tried at
every possible moment to “find myself in the kitchen
at the same time as him.” They caught me trying to
talk to him and made me leave immediately. They
couldn’t understand why I was trying to communicate
with him at all. Later, I found out that Iranians
have a bit of prejudice towards Afghanis because most
of them blame Afghanistan for the decline of Iran. I
don’t know which is better, my original assumption
that they are just hoity-toity bourgeoisie, or their
seemingly ridiculous prejudice.

In any case, they are a bit high class for my
standards. They are more concerned with clothes, and
makeup, and material things than anyone I know and
they are totally uninterested the things that I’m
interested in. It’s quite the challenge trying to fit in
with them. I don’t know what to do. I’m entering a
mild depression here. I feel that I have no freedom
to do the things that I want to do. I ought to just
suck it up, though. I am in a new place, and I don’t
have to work, and I’m meeting new family, and learning
Farsi, and reading, and writing. I have to remember
to make the best of things while I’m here. But
everything seems to bug me lately. Hair in my face is
just an annoying symptom of this scarf covering my
head. Heat is an annoying symptom of my dumb uniform.
I feel physically imprisoned in this thing. I look
like a black amorphous blob floating down the street,
sweating, and irritated by everything. Everyone is
unbelievably nosy here too. And why does everyone look at
me? I’m not doing anything out of the ordinary. My
cousins say that I just look like a tourist. I’ve
taken to just staring back at everyone and waving.

I have so much time to think here. It’s nice to able
to think about things without any outside influences
because I can’t talk to anyone about anything anyway.
I miss having girlfriends so much though. I miss
having a best friend. I miss friends. I get so
depressed without them. I don’t even see the
prospect of making friends actually happening. How am
I to meet them? Men and women are not supposed to be
seen together in public, so there is nowhere to meet
anyone unless you meet them through family. All my
aunts met their husbands through family. Boys and
girls seemingly aren’t friends here, it’s too much of a risk, I
think. The only time boys and girls converse is when
they are courting one another; so you either have a
boyfriend, or you simply don’t talk to any boy unless
he’s your relative. As for girlfriends, and all my
cousins met their girlfriends through school and even
so, they mostly just hang out with their sisters. I, in turn am a hopeless case seeing as I don’t go to school and my family is totally
non social. Now I can see why my dad left to come to
America. He is the only adventurous one in the family, and
this is confirmed by other relatives too. I’m in a
terrible bind. I’ve only been here two weeks and I
feel like I’ve exhausted my patience already.

A Note On Youth Culture...

We found them drinking red bull, play fighting in the
yard, and running around like psychos. They were
bursting with life and excitement and energy. It was
so thrilling to be around exciting girls, finally. My
cousin’s school friends took quite a liking to me as
well and I felt that for the first time, I had
actually found people that were like me. Her other
friends (these were her closer friends) were slightly
more subdued. They didn’t seem to like me at
all…maybe it was because I was American, or maybe I was
because I am totally strange. In any case, I didn’t really
bother with them. It was clear to my cousin that I
preferred the crazy ones to her closer friends so she
just left me alone with the crazies for the rest of
the day.

Their school was like a Hollywood movie set.
Everything was covered in marble from floor to ceiling
and there were marble fountains on every floor as
well. They had their own swimming pool and a huge
prayer room lined with Persian carpets for whoever
chooses to pray during school hours. They go to the
most expensive school in Teran, and I was there for an
exhibition of their work – like parent’s day and a
science fair melded into one except without the
parents. Curiously, the students were there looking
at each other’s work and displaying their work to
other students instead of their own parents. There
was food and delicious cakes in every room we went to.
In the religion room, the cakes were made to look
like open Korans. On a side note, all the students
are taught Arabic, so that they might be able to read
the Koran, and English too, because it comes in handy.
The artwork was utterly breathtaking. These high
school students were working at the level, and with
the materials, of the graduating college students at
my university. There were these amazing pieces of
stained wood and black paint, and intricately indented
copper pieces. Likewise, the science projects far
surpassed those at my high school. I found myself
genuinely “oooh-ing” in wonder. I’ve never seen such
a quality facility with such a level of education
before. My cousins tell me that though their primary
and secondary schools far surpass the level of ours,
our universities are far better than theirs. I’m not
so sure about that though.

On another note, nose jobs are all the rage here. Men and women alike,
run around sporting mummy-like bandages on their noses
as if it’s a fad. I don’t know why. I didn’t think
that Iranians had especially big noses but I guess I
was wrong. The procedure is ridiculously cheap
compared to other countries. To quote my sage little cousin, “In
America, they get boob jobs; here, we get nose jobs.”


As for street life, traffic here is insane. It is everywhere, even in
residential side streets. Somehow, it’s even worse
than LA. The lines for gas are about an hour long and
it goes for less than forty cents a gallon here. The
cars don’t seem to follow any kind of order on the
road; meaning, they don’t have or obey any lane
separators. They just go where they can fit their
cars and will drive in between two lanes for longer
than they will in one actual lane or they will drive
with 80% of the car in one lane, and 20% in the other
lane for the whole time. The honking is interminable and
people will walk on the side of, and sometimes
through, the freeways. It’s total chaos. One day,
our taxi actually drove on the wrong side of the
street downtown to forgo traffic. Some streets in the
middle of downtown are blocked off to all cars except
for buses and taxis because there is so much traffic.
Tehran has a permanent cloud of exhaust looming over
it, and the city is so huge, that the size, as well as
the pollution, prevents you from seeing to the other
end of it. Thankfully, most of the cars are small,
prius sized vehicles. My cousin, six of her friends,
and I, managed to pile into one of these cars,
miraculously, with our heads hanging out the windows
and people strewn about on top of one another, it was
insane.

The motorcyclists are the craziest though. They follow no
rules whatsoever. In addition to weaving through
traffic at all hours of the day and quite dangerously
too, they run red lights, ride on whatever side of the
street they want to, they even ride on sidewalks.

This is not an easy city for a pedestrian. Cars won’t
stop for you and you have to worry about getting run
over on the sidewalk. Once I waited to cross the
street fifteen minutes and even then no cars stopped
for me, I just stopped caring and walked right out in
front of them. People get their cars scrapped all the
time but they usually just yell at each other in their
cars and keep on going. This type of accident is more
common than a full on fender bender because cars are
always trying to squeeze into places they clearly
don’t fit in, as opposed to just not paying attention.
It’s too much trouble to stop in the middle of
traffic to get someone’s insurance info. They’ve made
talking on cell phones illegal in cars though, not
even passengers can use their phones, apparently.
What I don’t understand is why they don’t use a small
portion of their police force to control the crazy
traffic here, or at least to stop motorcycles from
riding on the sidewalks. These guys get to ride
around lawless as if Tehran were their own personal
playground but if I have to worry about being seen
with a man in public? It’s totally ridiculous.

Family Gatherings: Not so Bad?

For the past couple of days my family has taken me to
the mountains. They know that I enjoy that type of
sightseeing rather than going to the malls, although that would be interesting
in a much different way. It’s a shame that I’m unable to
go hiking freely like I am in other parts of the world
because people just don’t do that here, and I can’t go
alone. I can’t travel around the country like I
wanted to because as a single woman, hotels will not
let me buy a room by myself, nor with any other single
woman, nor with a man who is not my father, and so on.
As far as I know, they don’t "like" you to camp either,
so in other words, I essentially can't. The only
way I could do the type of traveling that I’m used to
is if I hired a certified male guide to take me around
privately but it far too expensive and fussy for me.

But in consolation, these day outings with family are
highly entertaining, especially because my family,
with the exception of my grandma, are just amazing
people that I have endless fun with; and the only
reason that I don’t have fun with my grandma is simply
that she’s too old and stubborn and worries too
much. As I was saying, we went to the mountains
yesterday and I was positively camera-happy, to the
disconcertment of my family. For some reason, they
don’t understand that I like to take pictures of the
scenery and buildings equally as much as I like to take
pictures of family and I think because they don't understand it, they become quite irritated at it. Because of this, it’s difficult for me to stop and take as
many pictures as I’d like when I go out with them.
However, on this particular trip, it was so beautiful
that I decided I simply couldn’t let their irritation
inhibit me, so I proceeded to take pictures right, left, and
center for the entire time.

It was so beautiful up there. We walked around this
really old city in the mountains with old houses and a
stream running alongside the path. There were narrow
stone staircases, and tents with people selling nuts
and dried fruit underneath, and mosaic buildings
hidden in path corners, and beautiful trees with
really beautiful bark, and I could really go on forever. We ended up
in this outside “coffee shop” and it was splendid.
There were shallow pools made with beautifully
designed tile and contained big goldfish, which are
good luck here, and fountains. Amidst the shade of
the leafy trees, there were benches, but not just any bench. They were 7 by 7 foot
square benches with a back on two sides, covered in
Persian rugs, where everyone takes their shoes off and
sits cross-legged, or with their legs hanging off the
side, in a circle. Above our heads were draped these
big lengths of sheer fabric, hanging from two poles on
either side of the bench/table, through which sun
light could seep through but not bear down on us
uncomfortably. The café workers brought us tea and we
had already bought some chips from their kiosk. Then,
to my utter delight, they brought out a big beautiful
hookah and we smoked hookah and drank tea and sat on
our rugged table in the middle of this gorgeous
courtyard with fountains and pools in the mountains.
It was so wonderful I just couldn’t stop smiling. On
the way down the mountain we stopped at this tiny
bakery and got some freshly baked flatbread, it was so
delicious and somehow managed to intensify the feeling that I had stumbled upon some kind of oasis in the desert. There
were so many things I had never seen before such as huge sheets of fruit roll-up type foods hanging
from a string connected to two trees. There's too much to say, but once I get
internet on my computer, I will post the pics.

I can’t wait to see more places. My life here is
really simple. It consists of walks, reading,
family gatherings where everyone actually wants to be
there including me, and learning most of all. I’m
learning about so many things at once here. Yesterday
my cousins taught me Persian dancing and then we
danced together while the rest of my family sat around
us in a circle clapping and snapping to the music.
They said they couldn’t believe I didn’t know how to
dance before that. It was flattering. My cousins
play these really unique instruments as well. One of
them plays a Persian hand drum and she is 11 but she
sounds like she’s been doing it for ten years. It blows me away. There’s another one that
plays something that looks like a really big
tambourine but is covered on one side like a drum so
that you can beat it with your fingers and shake it
like a tambourine all at the same time. I’ll have to bring back some authentic Persian
music. Life is simple, simple...and I’m very happy
right now.