What I Did on My Summer Vacation (Part 4 in a Series of I Don't Know How Many Yet)

The big day has arrived. The day that I will share our wedding woes and enlighten you with that experience. Best wishes.

Originally emailed June 23, Seriously Enhanced August 3

Our wedding yesterday was pretty strange. Shahin and I went to get our hair done by the beautician, who got her post because she bought a compact of 50 colors of eyeshadow and thus was the most qualified. She colored my eyebrows red and used theatrical makeup to make me white (i thought i already was but apparently you're supposed to be porcelain white, who knew) and started to put a ponytail on the top of my head when I finally had to intervene. Instead of doing what I asked, she tried to sell me on what she wanted to do, which was something out of Boughaz Weekly. I ended up with a lopsided french twist and some brown-red makeup on top of my porcelain skin, which still looked pretty bad but was 1000 times better than what she first did. And i got my eyebrows shaped by a professional, so they look a little better. Oh, and I got a good shave. Yes, she shaved my face with a straight razor sized for women. She got peach fuzz from my cheeks and held it up for me to look at with a look on her face like "oh, see all this nasty hair coming off your face." that's when I decided my degree of maintenance was just right, and that i would from here on out forgive myself for having hair on my face. As long as it doesn't grow in thicker and coarser than before.

I was ready to get the hell out of there as soon as Shahin got her makeup done, so I suggested we just get dressed at home. We called Ali to have him come get us only to learn that he was on his way with Mack and the photographer. We put on our dresses in about two seconds flat, got all of our crap together, and as I started to put my headscarf on and walk out the door, Shahin said to leave it off. I opened the door to a handsome but annoyed Mack, heard the words ACTION, and received a bouquet of red and white roses. Apparently we didn't do this impromptu exchange very well because we had to redo it a couple of times. I walked to the car, the first time I'd been outside without a headscarf in more than a week, and climbed in... with Shahin, Laila, Mack, Ali, and the photographer all in a compact car in formal wear. Let the sweating begin!
I was positively glowing!

We walked into the courtyard and Mack's aunts immediately started singing something. Because I'd been conditioned over the last 10 days I started clapping to the beat of their song... not recommended. I think the bride is just supposed to be still and smile and dance when the people want her to. So I stopped clapping as they brought out some burning sage and waved it over our heads. We took our seats on the marble deck-turned-stage and watched our DJ and singer set up their enormous speakers. It was going to be entirely too loud up where we were so we relocated our chairs to the courtyard amidst the other chairs. Cherries and bananas and peaches were out on all the tables, and as soon as the DJ started up, the dancing ensued.

It started inside, where I was told to sit so my makeup wouldn't melt, but when I couldn't stand it anymore and went outside, the dancing followed. I asked Mack's dad, Tom, if I could have a cigarette... not because I wanted the nicotine but because I wanted the habit that doubles as an excuse to get away for a minute. He laughed, whether it was at my desperation or my dramatic eyeliner, I have no idea. My legitimate smile was morphing into the God-I-Love-Jesus-So-Much-I-Could-Explode one that I see on preacher shows... a little coma stained with numbing mind control. I hope I looked delightful, but I doubt I was fooling anyone. Mack was trying to pull off the same look that I was, and I could see how badly he was executing it, so I can only assume I was just as transparent. Luckily, it got dark pretty quickly and lots of people started showing up.

I got a bouquet of flowers from one of Shahin's relatives and a ring from another. People just kept coming and coming, all of them shaking my hand and saying things I completely didn't understand. I just said, "Salaam" and "Merci" whenever it felt right. Some of the women were really beautiful with hair that went past their butts when they took off their scarves, and the men were all over the place. Young, old, ancient, babies.

Everyone danced. And danced. And made us dance. And we are not dancers. I wish I could upload video because there are some dance moves on there from Jaffar that are youtube worthy. They also do this fantastic shoulder shake thing that basically vibrates their shoulders without moving their chests. I tried it and my boobs were flopping like a stripper on The Sopranos, so I decided just to stick with the wavy arm move. And to try to dance as little as possible. At one point, we had a belly dancer girl who was about 14 with quite a tank butt but a good dancer perform for all of us. She was wearing a white mini skirt, a shirt that accentuated her pointy bra boobs and some white thigh highs that peeped out from under her skirt on certain movements. I was proud of her outfit, but after a few dances she was asked to put on some pants. That kind of made me mad, but she didn't seem to bothered by it. An Iranian tradition is for the groom's family to give money to all the people dancing, so when Shahin walked out with a wad of tomen, people got out of their seats and started shaking even more. I'd earned enough gold this trip, so I didn't dance for dollars.

At one point we had to do our first dance together as a couple. We took dance lessons at one point a few years ago and learned the waltz and the box step and the swing and the foxtrot. The music came on, Mack started doing a box step that was robotic even by my standards, and our attempts to loosen up and have a good time failed. I kept telling Shahin if she could get us a few beers we'd dance our heads off, but alas. While we were sharing this forcibly intimate, awkward moment, Mack mentioned that the song sounded really familiar. It did. I got visions of shootouts in a restaurant setting. Where had we heard this? Then he said, "It's the song from the Godfather!" How appropriate.

We knew dinner was on the itinerary, but we'd already been fed fruit and cookies and ice cream, so we were thinking maybe the itinerary had changed. Not quite. We were herded into the neighbors' courtyard where tables had been set up with soda and lamb kababs and rice and salad, and we all stood around the tables and pigged out. It was pretty good food, but it was quite a challenge to shovel rice into my mouth from 2 feet away. I filled up pretty quickly, snuck back over to our courtyard, and snuck into the bathroom to pee one last time while no one was around.

The music, which rubbed my tolerance for techno completely raw, resumed, and I danced one final time for the remaining guests. It was so funny. I can't dance the way they do, so when I stood up, I just did my typical arms-in-the-air, I-can't-care-what-you-think-this-is-how-my-body-moves dance. Then everyone else started trying to do my dance. They all tried to imitate my move and I thought, "Dear God, don't let them think I'm a dancer to be copied."

About 11:30, that would be four and a half hours after our nuptial soiree began, we snuck into our bedroom and hid behind the door so no one would see us. I practiced the shoulder shake, realized it would just be one more dance move I'll never absorb, laid down on the floor behind the door, and fell asleep. About 30 minutes later, Shahin woke me up, told me to wash my face, which was one of the most painful things I've done, and the day came to an end.

It wasn't at all the wedding I would have made for myself, but it was really wonderful to be able to get Mack's entire family together and to celebrate our relationship with them.
Shahin, Me, Bobba Bezorg (Shahin's dad)
Me and Momma Bezorg (Shahin's mom and the hardest working woman I've ever met in my life)

What I Did on My Summer Vacation (Part 2 in a Series of I Don't Know How Many Yet)

I know, I know. You're all anticipating the wedding photos, updates on the stubble, and other Iran-related material, but you must be subject to the same stuff I already sent in the order I sent it. Deal with it.

Originally emailed June 18, revamped July 28

Salaam all the people I love,

Hope this finds you well. Life in Iran is ticking by as expected. We've tasted boredom, only because all the fun available is G-rated or sweetened. We've also tasted pizza, which is peculiarly enough served without any sauce but with packets of ketchup. I think it's better without the sugary paste, but everyone else seems to be a fan of the modified pizza. Mack's been wowing audiences with his magic abilities... until their Iranian natures ruin the magic and start messing with his tricks.


And we've been enjoying demonstrating our mastery of the "bounce a matchstick on the carpet" trick that we learned on day one and that has been shown to us every day since then. Oh, I've also been painting flowers on toes and fingers with my Sally Hansen French Manicure kit and a bobby pin. Good times.

Today we went to Mack's mom's sister's house. Marzia and her husband, Hamid, have a house a lot like his grandparents, only more modern. We basically sat on the floor for six hours, breaking up the time in 15 minute increments to take in fruit or tea or ice cream or sunflower seeds or rice or tea or tea or tea. Hamid turned on the tv at one point and you should have seen my face light up when he flipped to the Croc Hunter movie. Then he changed the channel to some music video with a blonde Iranian acting all a floosie, and we went back to sitting on the floor and eating and drinking tea. Marzia and Hamid have two kids, Razia, who is a little chubby, shy, sweet 11 year old girl who stares at me like I am a movie star, and Amid, who, sorry for Seth, has agreed to marry Betsy. He's cute if you ignore the broken front tooth and the occasional bursts of BO. Everyone is incredibly sweet and the way I talk about them now really is a direct result of sitting on the floor for six consecutive hours.

I have rediscovered the thrill of the bing cherry, which Sarah first opened my eyes to during a road trip to somewhere. Cherries are everywhere here and man are they good. A couple nights ago we sat on the back porch (read marble slab coming off back of house into courtyard) and spit probably 100 cherry seeds into the 4' by 4' plot of dirt in the middle of the courtyard. Good times. Marzia gave me a ring today as a gift. Brides get gifts here. I'm still waiting for my 15 goats but until then, the ring is really sweet looking. Gold with a stone that I think is probably cubic zirconia, but it's sweet looking nonetheless.

Yesterday we went to meet with a hairdresser, which was totally bizarre. I had to look at an album to pick out a hairstyle I liked for our party and whoa. I told Mack's mom I ought to get something exotic, and i was being sarcastic in response to the ludacris eyeliner and purple eyeshadow and pink lipstick that a lot of girls here wear that make them look like dangerous kitty cats high on cotton candy. I think she took me seriously. Some of the make up on those girls was so thick they were white. And the woman who does the make up had about 1/4" on her face and the most fried hair I've ever seen. I just told Shahin to tell her I'd stop her if she did something I didn't like. It should be an experience. I think we also get to do Henna. Shahin's sister Fedeshtah knows how to do it, so she's going to do it for us. I'm excited for that because I've never seen it done in real life and never had it done to me.

We've been eating a lot of good food. Rice and soups and lamb and fruit and kababs. Last night we stopped at a park and ate falafel sandwiches and sambusa from a street vendor. He had a little fry pit and everything right there next to him. That was some amazing food. The falafel sandwiches were like a foot long with pickles and tomatoes and some parsley onion spread, but they were nothing compared to the sambusas. They were little fried triangles of goodness. Mack's mom said they were vegetarian, but I swear they had chicken in them. Whatever it was, it was delicious. Veggies, meat, whatever all fried in a little bread casing, and then you take the teddy bear shaped hot sauce dispenser to your picnic spot and coat every bite. Yum. Yum again. That and the orange (colored, not tasting) soup have been my favorite things to eat here so far, and seeing as how I haven't thought anything here was even mediocre, that's saying something.

We took a couple falafel sandwiches home for Momma Bazorge and Bobba Bazorge (Gma and Gpa), and BBZ refused to eat his. He started spouting off in the most hilarious way about how that food can't be trusted and how eating it coats your mouth with oil and has cat pee and dog poop in it. Turns out the man, who is 68 years oldish, has never in his life eaten in a restaurant. Never had fast food. Only eats what he has made for him at home. Well, once he got on his little rampage, he couldn't be stopped. I laughed so hard I drooled. I had no idea what he was saying, even though Shahin was trying to keep up with him and translate it, but his gesturing was so funny I couldn't contain myself.

Everyone was laughing so hard. He has the most amazing stories. Like he used to smuggle cigarettes from Iraq and Pakistan taped to his body while he trekked through water. Then, when he wanted to be a cab driver but he couldn't read and write to take the test, he went to the shah's palace and said, "I've got five daughters to feed. You can either give me the license or feed my daughters." Like a week later they changed the law so you could take a picture test and then just drive the car for the other part of your test.

At one point Tom got up to go have a smoke and on his way out he shook BBZ's hand, and he grabbed hold of it really tight. Well, that led to another story that was confirmed by MBZ. BBZ had an old Paykan car that had 8,000,000 (not a typo) kilometers on it (like 5,000,000 miles... not a typo) and he just got rid of it last year when the govt bought it from him because it was such a polluter. Shahin bought him a new car that he now covers even if it sits in its covered carport, but that's another story. Well, one time this motorcylce guy hit his Paykan and he got out and grabbed the guy by his britches and wouldn't let him go, even as he sat on his bike and tried to drive away. Finally the guy said, for the love of god man let me go. I'm sorry! and BBZ just raved about how strong he was. At which point it was revealed to us that he went to have back surgery six months ago unbeknownst to anyone until it was over. He said, I'll see you in a little while, and next thing they know he's had fused vertebrae surgery! He's so cute when he tells the story.

Laila summed him up best when she said, "He's a man on the top, with a round belly, but he has little kid legs." He does! His legs are so scrawny and bendy and it just makes when he's really bombastic even funnier. We've had the most fun just watching him tell stories we don't understand. He grabs my head a lot and pulls it over to kiss it when I sit on his little day bed. He's very sweet and funny and animated. I'm forgetting half of his hilariousness since I'm trying to think of it, but he is a character that I'm glad I got to meet. His favorite thing is watches. We were here less than a day when Mack traded his Fossil watch for BBZ's old man looking watch. He didn't like the metal wrist band so he took it up to the watch store to have a leather band put on it. Then today, when we were at Marzia's house, he pulled out another watch and wore two on one wrist. Apparently he hides watches at other people's houses.

(No idea what Marel's V-sign means, don't think she has any idea either.)

Tomorrow night we're going to Shiraz to spend the night (since we're foreigners we get to sleep in sin together in the same room, but for a minute we were worried we might have to get one of those temporary marriages that people get so they can sleep with whores) and then going to see Persepolis, which I am very excited about. I'll send out an update after that. Hope everyone is well. Love you!
Amber

PS. Sarah -- I'll be gone by the time you get to KY, but I hope you and Kristin and Will have lots of good stories to tell when we all get together again. I love you!

What I Did on My Summer Vacation (Part 5 in a Series of 5)

This is the last vacation one, I promise. Only contemporary adventures from here on out. Don't get too jealous!

Originally emailed June 23 and June 30. Enhanced August 6.

Alright. I've been in Iran long enough to make some summary judgments. First of all, they are very interested in keeping up appearances. they are all poor, but they all act like they're not, even though everyone knows everyone else has to be poor since there are no jobs here. Thousands of educated, competent engineers, and taxi driver is the most secure job they can get. Mack's uncle Ali has been working for the last four months and has not been paid, and if he complains about not being paid, he gets told to quit if he doesn't like it. If you have a job you can borrow money, if you don't, you can't. So he keeps working for free. It's sad to see how hard he works and know that he gets nothing for it. his is the same story as a lot of people, I gather. Also, in their attempt to keep up appearances, they leave the plastic on things... from car seats to cell phone screens (BRETT!) to computer chairs at every internet cafe we've been to. Like the plastic makes it look so new they haven't even had time to open it. Mack and I call this type of behavior "boughaz," named in honor of the ghetto ferry we took to morocco last year that left four hours later than it was supposed to and seemed like it hadn't had a heyday in 30 years.

Iran Air, the main airline here, has great commuter flights (they give you an Iranian Creme Saver before take off... they love sweets here!), but its international ones are boughaz. Our plane hade a board room in the front of it, complete with board table and spiral staircase to an upstairs lounge (at least I'm imagining it's a lounge since i didn't get to go up there and it makes it more exotic if it was in fact a lounge), but it also hadn't been updated since the 70s and people SMOKED in the back of the plane NEAR THE OXYGEN TANKS and babies stood in the aisle when WE WERE LANDING! That is boughaz. I felt like i was on one of those indiana jones planes where there are caged chickens around you and feathers are flying all over the place. Mack was convinced the emergency door we sat next to had an air leak so we had to sleep in shifts, which was a silly propostion in the first place. sleeping would have been a dream come true considering all the people leaving Western civilization and heading back to Persian had to get one last actual toilet use in before landing. 400 people must have gone in and out of that bathroom. They also like silk flowers and plastic fruits here, which is totally boughaz, but then they have these incerdible gardens with real roses and palm trees and grass that they spend the entire day watering... not boughaz. We've decided, after our wedding party last night, that Iran is suffering from an identity crisis unseen anywhere else on the planet. When we were in Chefchaouen last summer, the Muslim townspeople didn't drink beer or carouse with women because it was forbidden by their religion, but they didn't make it illegal for people who visit their town. Part of its attraction and the reason I would visit there over and over again was the acceptance of other ways of life and how peacefully and wonderfully (as in full of wonder for other lifestyles) they integrated. Not the case here. In Shahin Shar, which is a pretty small, very conservative town where we've spent most of our days, the identity crisis is really felt. Here we are in this place where women must cloak themselves from head to toe, but then the preferred type of dance for both men and women has you moving like a stripper, with shoulder shaking, and hence boob shaking, a must. It's like extreme no sexy to extreme sexy, and how people can coexist in both spheres and keep all the right times and right places straight in their heads has proved too hard for me. I get looked at everywhere I go because I am white looking, regardless of whether I'm walking with my head down or slow motion running because I am playing with Laila (turns out any display of fun is frowned upon when in public, but as soon as you step behind a 10-foot brick wall into your own yard, you should be having the time of your life). They love their families deeply and spend all their time with each other, but they don't have the emotional intensity that i'm used to in my family and which i credit for the deep love i have for them. Cousins often marry here, which makes Kentucky and iran a little similar, because the families know each other and can stay close. It's different, and some of it's weird and some of it's beautiful, but the overall feeling I am taking from small town Iran is one of sympathy. It's boiling with potential that is stifled because of its religious government, where forbidden is illegal and where people are scared to be human.

Off to Amsterdam...

About two minutes off the train at Central Station in my Amberdam and I was once again ready to move here. Coming from a place so conservative and where I was so watched and so guarded made it even sweeter... although I just looked over at Mack's computer and he's looking at gayromeo.com followed by gaydar.nl and I'm wondering if freedom really is so great for our relationship. Hee hee. We've been here about four days, and I've been spending roughly 10 hours out of my hotel room and 14 hours in it. Retoxing is what we're calling it. Trash tv (and by trash I'm not talking about the porn that comes on but episodes of Real World and Larry King Live), french fries with mayonnaise (don't knock it till you try it), short-sleeved t-shirts and beer. The first day we were here we dropped our luggage off at our hotel and went to have a Guiness at the Irish pub around the corner. Mack brought out his magic tricks and won over a couple of British mates named James and Ryan who then amused us until 2 p.m. (we started drinking at 9 a.m.) when we went to check in all the way at our hotel.


Well, we apparently asked them to move our reservation up a day later than we expected so when we checked in they only had one room left and it was roughly the size of my bathroom. Oh, it had a bed, tv, shower, toilet and sink in it, but it was still the size of my bathroom. Mack let me have the bed while he laid on the floor, and when we started to wake up at around 11 p.m. from our naps, our hangovers put us right back to bed. The room was stiflingly hot, so we had to sleep with our door open, which was fine for us but which probably puzzled all the people stepping off the elevator and looking in at our pathetic selves. So the next day...

We've been pretty low key since then. I've been trying to stay out late enough to see the nakeds in the red light district just because they're an interesting breed to observe, but it doesn't get dark here until no kidding 11:30 p.m. so by then I'm absorbed in some really great episode of the Wayan Brothers show that I've never watched before and don't feel like going out. Mack's ventured out a couple times and brought back reports of people with darker skin whispering "cocaine" as he walks by. I have yet to verify this account, but I tend to walk around in a self-amusing daze and don't really notice stuff directed toward me if I'm not interested in it. (update: The red light distict is, it turns out, one of the most beautiful parts of Amsterdam at night. The women are sort of sectioned off by race -- Asians, then blacks, then whites, and cover lots of blocks -- and there is one stretch that has red lit windows on the left and the back of a church on the right, and the sex being sold makes that passageway so beautifully lit. And there's also the added bonus of "good" versus "evil" laid out in front of you. Evil is more interesting, in my opinion. There are also a ton of boats in the canals of the district at night. It's like floating bachelor pads and the boys just cruise through the canals drinking beer and looking at all the women in the windows. Some of the little passages are only one person wide with two lanes of sideways traffic going through them. You can taste the animal hunger in the air, but luckily these are men and not animals, so most have some self control or friends to control them. Plus, if they want to satisfy themselves, they have hundreds of girls ready and willing. They have all kinds of girls there... fat, thin, every race on earth, big boobs, no boobs, long hair, short hair, old, young, majorly stripperesque and girl next doorish. And the coolest thing, the canals aren't gated off, so if you step too far back to gawk you get a punishing plunge to deal with. That, and there were no cops pushing you with billy clubs or accusing you of being guilty for satisfying your curiosity.)

We've seen a lot of awesome things this time around... went to the Van Gogh Museum, and the Riljksmuseum (it has rembrandt paintings), which were incredible;

I loved this downspout!

Went to Madame Tousseau's Wax Museum where I joked with Gandhi and the buddhist guy I can't remember what we call him,,, Dalai Lama,,, had dinner with George Clooney, compared prisms with Isaac Newton and, alas, discovered that Mack is the vitruvian man, much to my dismay and to his inflated ego;





Went to the Amsterdam Zoo yesterday, which was really beautiful and had lots of animals that, believe it or not, didn't look depressed to be at the zoo. They use a lot of water barricades around their exhibits so it's like you're right up on the animals. The grounds were really pretty and we stumbled across a bonus aquarium which was really cool;


Went to the Heinken experience for 10 Euro, which basically paid for the three beers we got along the tour. It was pretty cool, and it was the best Heineken I've ever tasted in my life.

We've been walking everywhere and have pretty much covered every square inch of the city's center by foot twice. I told Mack this morning that vacation has been long enough, we either need to move here or go home and move to LA. His response was, it's better that vacation was too long than too short, which is true so I shut up after that. I think we're going to try to go to a jazz club tonight or tomorrow so Mack can get his music fix, but it remains to be seen if I stay awake that long. (update: I did stay awake that long, and it ended up being an awesome night. First we went to a sports bar to watch the Brazil v. Someone World Cup game and there were these awesome (and hot) Brazilian drummers making a sound so dynamic everyone was bobbing their heads in the air.

Football has a ton of followers there. People lined up outside the patio where we sat and watched from the streets.

After the game we walked down to the jazz club and were the first ones there. It started to fill up quickly though, so we ended up with the best seats in the house. We got to meet the leader guy, a sax player named Akos Laki, and his apprentice, a guy named Rex from New Orleans. It was cool to see a New Orleanian performing in Amsterdam, but also kind of sad to see just how displaced New Orleans' musicians had become from Katrina, etc. I generally don't like jazz, except for like Louis Armstrong and Etta James kind, but I had a really good time watching them play. I'm sure the few beers I'd had added to my fascination, but whatever.

It was a great night, until we had to ride our bikes home and I completely had no idea where things were in the dark. I could remember if it was daylight, but night in Amsterdam looks completely different.


I guess since ít's the weekend I'll live it up and retox some more. I'm just so glad I don't have to do anything all I want to do is nothing. Vacation.
Hope everyone is doing well and not cooking in the hot pre-July weather. Love and hugs!

In the words of Vincent Vega, the guy who saved John Travolta from being a has-been: "It's the little differences. I mean they got the same shit over there that they got here, but it's just - it's just there it's a little different."

Examples?
The bikes made to carry an entire family and their groceries.
The conversation hearts brought to your table after dinner with Dutch on them.
The light poles in Shahin Shar that are made to look like illuminated trees.
The headscarves that mannequins and drawings of women wear in Iran at bathrooms, prayer rooms and other women-only entrances.
The toilets that are different every place you go.

What I Did on My Summer Vacation (Part 1 in a Series of I Don't Know How Many Yet)

Some of this may be redundant, but some of it may be fresh. All of it tells of my experience in Iran visiting Mack's precious family this summer. If parts seem familiar, it might still be worth a re-read, since I can't help but add other snippets when I have unlimited minutes on the internet. Alas...

Originally Written June 16, Embellished July 25

Hello everyone! We've safely arrived in Iran, after roughly 48 hours of intense travel and lots of irritating sleep. On our flight from London to Iran on Iran Air we had the pleasure of sitting right next to the toilet, which, unbeknownst to us, happens to serve the purpose of a cafe car on a train. I swear they were having parties in those stalls that I wasn't invited to. And we had little Iranian boys behind us dancing around and singing "Wild, Wild West" while they kicked and bumped our chairs. I was relieved when we landed... until we got to be picked to go in the little room near the passport window. Everything ended up going fine for us and we made it into the country alright, but the fingerprinted guy next to us who was returning to Iran after 20 years didn't seem as lucky. I heard the guard guy say what I interpreted to mean police followed by an obvious quickening in the other man's breathing. The airport in Tehran was bizarre. Women have separate security entrances, but luckily Mack's uncle Hamid was there to point them out to me or else I would have walked right up to men's. I thought it was a joke. The headscarf wearing is going alright. It's ridiculously hot here, and to think you have to put on a jacket and wrap your head is enough to convince you just to stay home and do Sudoku puzzles. Shahin can't sit still though, so luckily we're being pushed to take some adventures. Today we went to Esfahan, which is about 20 minutes from where we live. It was stunning.

We went to the Bazaar e Bazorg and looked at the coppersmiths making pots and then walked through the Shah's palace and admired the tile work, the view and the paintings of other cultures in the world that Persians encountered before 1600 when the palace was built.



Across from the palace was the Imam Mosque, which has an enormous, echoy dome and some of the most beautiful blue tile work you can imagine. It was pretty incredible to imagine these places in their heyday in the 1500-1600s.



Makes me feel pretty stupid for thinking ours is the most advanced civilization. Sure, we've got cars and computers and air conditioning but when was the last time we laid individual tiles by hand to decorate an enormous dome or put a swimming pool on the top floor of a castle with our bare hands? The palace was pretty cool, I think because of the insulating rocks used in building it and the cross breezes it gets.

We also met a young Iranian guy who is biking across the country for peace. He had pictures of the places he was traveling to and from hanging in the palace and Shahin talked to him about his adventures.

He had these awesome pics of a city that they are excavating that had been buried by sand and dirt. An entire city buried! And they're digging it up! Imagine! We haven't had time to lose anything in our baby country.

After making the rounds at Imam Square we walked along the river and explored the amazing bridges in Esfahan. They're so cool. We stopped for tea in a shop underneath the bridge and watched the local men smoking hookahs. They used to let you walk all the way across the river under the bridge on these little pillars that stuck out of the water, but it was fenced off for some reason. That didn't stop the Iranians though. They kicked off their shoes and waded right on across, climbed over the shoddy barbed wire near the tea house and went on their merry way. So, you can walk under the bridge, on top of the bridge on the street, or through the covered sidewalk on the side of the bridge. At one of the bridges we watched some local fishermen cast nets out and try to catch fish, and at another one, I walked under it and looked to the other end only to see about 40 platforms from one end to the other covered with people in black headscarves. It reminded me of sea lions on a pier, but they were people. I wanted to get a photo so bad, but I felt guilty that they reminded me of animals so I didn't.

It's really different in Iran than in the US, better in some ways and not in others. The people here are really educated and very friendly, but there is serious unemployment and underemployment. People with masters and phd degrees who work as airport security or taxi drivers.

The driving is insane... yeah, that is a two-lane highway, but those lines are just guidelines. If there's an inch to move forward, you can drive into it. And crossing the street is like playing frogger with yourself as the frog. We sleep and eat on the floor. They lay out a big tablecloth and we all sit around it and eat. The food is incredible and we have tea time with fruit a couple times a day. Then at night we lay out thin futon-like mattresses in one of the three rooms with nothing in it but our luggage and some enormous Persian rugs and go to sleep. Some people sleep out in the courtyard since it's so cool at night. After lunch we take naps, so that's been really helpful in helping me dodge jetlag. I was thinking I'd have a tougher go at sleeping on the floor, but I'm actually sleeping better and harder than when I have a bed. Today is Friday so it's like our Sunday and no one works really. We're going to a park to meet the rest of the family and have dinner. Blankets and rugs spread out in the grass, huge pots of food for everyone to eat from.

Marzia, Shahin, Me, The Other Shahin

Donia, Mehdi and Laila Raided the Rosebushes at the Park

Mack's family has been so nice. His grandpa told me all the good and bad things -- khube and khube nist -- to visit in Iran and how other countries can be categorized. For the record, the US and Bush are khele khube (very good) and Tehran is khube nist (not good, but I think he was talking about it in terms of visiting). For a while I thought he was talking about India because he kept saying Inja, but then I learned that that means here and not India, so that really cleared things up. The language has been pretty limiting, but Shahin is a great guide... and affordable too! I keep trying to spend money and no one will let me. They negotiate with the sales person for me, but then they say, this is a birthday present, or a wedding present, or, like today I got a gift for mom and dad, and "that can be a gift from momma bazork and bobba bazork (Shahin's parents... that means Grandma and Grandpa) to your parents. A taxi is 40 cents for 5 people to ride into town, and gas is 32 cents per gallon. Did I mention the food is incredible? I'm having an incredible time and feel so lucky I get to visit here. Better go to dinner now. Love to everyone and you've got to see the pictures when I get home. The don't do the place justice, but they are beautiful!
XOXOXO,
amber

What I Did on My Summer Vacation (Part 3 in a Series of I Don't Know How Many Yet)

Alas, our trip Persepolis and Shiraz, which was my favorite experience in Iran. Up next, the wedding. I promise.

Originally written June 23, embellished August 1

We went to Shiraz and Persepolis a couple of days ago. Shiraz is where the wine was born, from a special grape variety that grew there (Bobba Basorg has a grape vine in his backyard that has delicious grapes too, as an aside) and made wine so wonderful it inspired poets Sa'di and Hafez to become poets. They don't make wine anymore, but the town does have tombs and gardens set up for each of these men for visitors to read their words and celebrate their lives. We visited them and one had the coolest underground river going through the middle of a tea room. It was something to be in a town where the poets are that reverred and honored instead of the politicians.


Shiraz is where Shiraz University is, so we think that is why it's more progressive. Our first night we went out for dinner in search of an authentic Persian restaurant that Mack's dad recommended. On the way, as we were walking through town, we came upon this huge castle that took up an entire city block. It was surreal. All these modern day people playing soccer and laying around next to this enormous ancient building with 30 foot walls. (Turns out, this is the Arg-e Karim Khani, duh. It was used as a prison in Pahlavi times.) Only in Iran.

We made it to the restaurant, which was an old bath house that had been converted into a restaurant. We sat at the tables, but there were carpets laid out on raised floors for people to have that just-like-home experience if they wanted it. After enjoying our wooden chicken (don't ask, I still don't know, but it was good and served with potato sticks), we ordered a hookah.



It was delicious but a lot stronger than what we're used to here, and only two puffs into it my head started to get buzzed. We left and wandered back to our hotel and on the way, Mack stepped of the curb onto what I assumed was a sloping road but which turned out to be a 2-foot deep drainage ditch (they have those here on the side of every road without any barriers to them for some reason). He fell into the road and took a while to get up. I was worried he'd broken his leg or something, but it turns out he just sliced the top of his toe halfway off somehow. (No, Jennifer and Shannon, I did not push him!) We asked for the first aid kit at the hotel and got a bottle of ethyl alcohol. I suggested he drink half of it before we pour any on, and then he decided he'd just walk with it in the air and it would be fine until his mom, the nurse, could take a look at it. Good thing, because I almost puked and then cried for being such a wuss when I looked at it. And when I consulted the Iran travel book we brought to see what to do if you need a hospital, it said most things like stiches and general procedures were done at home. Not at my home.

We also went to Bagh-e Eram (a botanical garden that is incredibly beautiful) and realized that is where the students go to hold hands and be young and hang out. They had rock gardens and paths and the most incredible irrigation system with the freshest cold flowing water I've ever felt.


We also went to Bazar-e Vakil to look around and got hassled by a guide. This was the worst one yet, because he was less obvious. What they do is ask if they can talk to you for a minute and you assume it's because you speak English and they want to practice. Then they want to show you a 400-year-old theology school and you assume that's because the people here are just so fantastically hospitable. Then when you finally get tired of following the guy but you're up on the roof and he leads you down a dark staircase that you didn't go up while telling you that the school now serves a lot of Afghanis and you know that there are al qaida recruiting places in the middle east and you're imagination starts spiraling into darkness as fast as the staircase and suddenly daylight brings you out of your nightmare where Bin Laden was videotaping your decapitation and showing it on CBS and you get back into the street and then the guy asks for money. That's when you shrug and say, you tricked me and he tries harder and you say i'm sorry no and walk back to the good time you were having before.

The bazaars here have some of the most stunning stuff I've ever seen. They have these incredible carpets that look like paintings and the booths showcasing spices and herbs are so unexpectedly colorful.


Outside of the bazaar we went into a mosque (Regent's Mosque) that boasted a staircase made from a single slab of marble that was brought to Iran from Azerbaijan, a neighboring country. You had to wear a full chador to get inside, but luckily they had some you could borrow so we could go in and look. I must say, I make an adorable, sloppy Muslim.


Persepolis is just outside of Shiraz, so we took a taxi out there early in the moring and that was something to behold. The walk up to it was a wide gravel road, boughaz as expected and hotter than hell, but once we got there the whole trip was worthwhile.


The ruins, which date back to before 500 BC, are massive and back up to a mountain which now holds the sarcophagus of Arteserxes I think. It's unique because the city was built on a foundation of rocks that are easily four stories tall. Like, they stacked up all these rocks and the shaped them and then built their city on top. Some of the rocks were taller than us!

There is carved script that is in three languages throughout the city, so it's kind of like a Rosetta Stone. The museum has deciphered the writing and it's basically a message from the king talking about how he is fair and awards men good fortune based on their character rather than their lineage and how he was a good horseman and swordsman and athlete. People have also left more recent marks on the place by carving their names and the dates they were there. It was neat to see the names and where people hailed from and when. Carvings from 1500s, 1800s, you name it.

The structures themselves are enormous. All that's left of most of the walls is a mound of dirt along the edges, so you really have to use your imagination... if you can wrap your mind around it all. There was at one time a treasury that held all of his gold and silver, a harem that held all of his flesh and bone and a few other rooms that held all of his guests that came to call.


One of the walls is decorated with carvings of what each country in the Persian empire brought to the king (my history here sucks because it was too hot to read all the info, but I do know that like 4 kings lived there, so I'm using king to cover all of them, okay!), and they're all a little different. Like the Afghanis brought a camel and pottery and goats, so there'd be a guide holding an afghani looking guy's hand and three or four other afghanis who had all the presents they were bringing for their king in their hands. There are drawings of all the countries in the empire and their gifts. What was so awesome is that every drawing couldn't have been done by the same sculptor, but everywhere in the city where it was repeated it was identical, like they had a mold or something to carve the stone.


The gates were enormous and it's easy to imagine how imposing this place must have been at its pinnacle. The White House looks like a broom closet compared to Persepolis. I used to think we've come a long way with our civilization, but seeing what they were doing more than 2000 years ago and acknowledging that we could never accomplish something of that magnitude now out of sheer will and determination without any of our technology crutches makes me wonder if we've really come that far.

(a stone well in the side of the mountain... the water was so far down!)

Just down the road from Persepolis are four tombs of other kings, called Naqsh-e Rostam, and another tomb called Naqsh-e Rajab (named after a man who once had a teahouse there). The stone carvings at Rajab depict much beefier types than the one in Persepolis. At Naqsh-e Rostam, you can wander forever looking at the carvings of jousting matches and war scenes. This is the only place I saw any depiction of a woman, and I wouldn't have known it was a woman unless the little info slab told me so.

(she's the queen on the right)
We also so a zorastrian temple there, which I think was built so the kings could get into whatever was there eternity. I wonder if Islam incorporates any zoratrian traditions.


That trip to Shiraz and Persepolis was a great trip, sealed by four kisses by the taxi driver who took us to the airport and tried to park and walk us in. I would absolutely love to visit Shiraz again someday. The Hotel Eram was great and the staff was really friendly (yes, that is a plug if you ever make it to Iran). (We didn't have to be temporarily married to stay in the same room together because we have American passports, and they're cool with Americans living in sin.)