Iran
Persian new year.
March 20th.
Usually a time of joy.
A tradition with roots that go back over 3,000 years.
The house is deep cleaned..from top to bottom....to remove negative energy from the previous year.
New clothes bought.
Families gather.
Instead of new year joy...
.. the country is being bombarded with bombs.
Thinking of all our Iranian family and friends.
Praying you stay safe....
How did Nass come from Iran to Sussex?
When Nass was 11 years old he was sent from the small desert village near Yazd in Iran, to an English boarding school in the Sussex countryside.
It was 1975.
His father thought it would educate and tame his wild, eldest son.
From the moment Nass was abandoned at Heathrow arrivals by a paid guardian his remarkable story became one worthy of an experienced biographer, or film script.
When revolution and war hit Iran in 1979, he was stranded.
While other Iranian boys left to live with relatives in London, Nass remained in the school.
He had nowhere to go.
All his family were in Iran.
It was over 20 years before he saw them again.
No money arrived to pay his fees.
He was given jobs, such as looking after the school's menagerie of animals.
The holidays were lonely, often spent by himself in the large rambling building.
The summer break interminable.
At Christmas someone came to cook him dinner and hand him a Mars selection box from the tuck shop.
When Nass and I met, I noticed a pile of unopened letters from Iran in his flat.
" I can't read Farsi any more..."
He wanted to return home to see his family, but the country had changed.
He was scared.
We were in London at a roadside café one day, when a bus stopped in front of us...
...an ad for TURKEY emblazoned on the side.
"Yesss!"
We were broke... my mum lent us the money.
Nass's mother and brother travelled by bus from Tehran. We had an emotional reunion at an. hotel in Istanbul.
Nass returned to Iran the following year.
There were new siblings to meet.
There had been marriages.
Deaths.
The language of his childhood buried deep in his subconscious resurfaced...
" He woke up one morning speaking Farsi with a Yazdi accent." said Sidi his amazed sister.
We have returned together many times since and with each visit discover more of the beautiful country Nass still calls home.
So...what is it that's so special?
The ancient history and traditions of the Persian Empire?
For sure.
The landscape and architecture?
Yes...extraordinary.
But above all...
It's the people...
My Own Iran Experience....
The first time I visited Iran I had just turned 17.
 |
We still called it Persia.
I was stunned my parents let me go.
It was in the days before foreign holidays had become the norm and a world away from our suburban Brighton lives.
I had never been abroad before.
...unless you count a day trip to Dieppe with the school when I was 11.
My new Persian boyfriend was visiting his family in Tehran for the summer.
Would I like to go?
I asked with trepidation.
Spent days summoning up the courage.
It might not have been an issue, but only a year before I had "gone off the rails."
From sensible, studious, convent girl, I had turned into a rebellious, absconding, wild teenager,
Aided and abetted by my first boyfriend.
Older.
On the rough side.
"Been in trouble with the police," said Mum.
Did I mention my Dad was a policeman?
So maybe the parents were only too glad for me to go away for the summer.
My new boyfriend was my age.
Charming and polite as is the Persian way.
Very attractive as it happens.
He was at college..his dream was become a doctor.
(I found out many years later he became a highly respected, world-renowned specialist in his chosen field.)
So far removed from the rough, abusive rogue I had attempted to run away with the year before.
Persian Adventure
Memories are fragmented.
It was a long time ago.
And much has happened since.
But.....
I remember walking down the steps of the plane and the sweltering Tehran air enveloping me.
The warmth and generosity of the people I met.
But.....
I remember walking down the steps of the plane and the sweltering Tehran air enveloping me.
The warmth and generosity of the people I met.
If I close my eyes I can smell the all-pervading aroma of kebabs as we drove down Pahlavi Avenue.
The car windows open, our arms draping outside in a vain attempt to cool off.
American voices were everywhere.
"Like being in America in the Middle East."
I remember saying.
We spent time travelling and stayed in Shiraz, visiting Persepolis and the tombs of Hafez and Saadi.
Isfahan with its huge square and bridge of 33 arches achingly beautiful..
.....I held my breathe...
I had never seen anything like it.
We passed nomadic Qashqai groups along the way.
The women's brightly coloured traditional clothes in contrast to the designer outfits worn by many on the street.
We walked along the sands of the Caspian where women sunbathed in bikinis and couples strolled hand in hand.
Photos of the Shah were displayed in every public place.
"They must really all love him." I wrote on a postcard home.
I was, I have to say, an extremely naive 17-year-old.
We found a gravity hill.
The weirdest experience.
Put the car into neutral and rolled forward.
Uphill.
Mealtimes were hard.
Sophisticated I wasn't.
Aubergine?
"Noooooooo."
Now it's my most favourite food.
Green rice though, I adored.
Probably the only dish I did.
With loads of mayonnaise, I thought it heavenly.
We make it at home a lot.
Rice packed with so many fresh herbs it looks green.
Coriander, chives, parsley and the most dominant flavour, dill.
Served with yoghurt now though, instead of half a jar of mayo...
I mastered enough farcie to ask for the essentials.
"Toilet koja?"
Got to grips with the tradition of tarof
...but only just
This humorous video gives a good idea of this age-old tradition.
Then suddenly, it was over.
We returned home and a few months later I started training as a children's nurse at the Royal Alexandra Hospital in Brighton.
My Persian boyfriend and I later split up,
(my fault, I fear,) and I married an English man.
After that, I didn't think of Persia/ Iran for many, many years.
I never thought I would return.
But, in the way of life's twists and turns, I did.
A long time later
With an Iranian husband as it happens....
And although the workings of the country had changed beyond all recognition....
The people were as welcoming.
The landscape as beautiful.
It's soul...the same...
Favourite place?
Meymand village is in the Kerman district of Iran, nestling in the mountains between Yazd and Shiraz.
Described as a "historical and architectural masterpiece." Meymand is a UNESCO site thought to be around 12,000 years old.
With people continously living in the cave houses for 2,000 to 3,000 years.
Visiting Meymand is like stepping into another world, and the inhabitants are rightfully proud of their unique heritage.
On one visit, while being shown inside a home, my brother-in-law surreptitiously nudged Nass and glanced toward a computer sitting in the corner.
The woman leading the tour didn't miss a beat.
She looked at him and said,
"Sir, just because I live in a hole in the mountain doesn't mean I’m not entitled to a computer."
That told you Safar!
What is happening at this moment is devastating.
Stay Safe dearest friends and family...xx
