isvahan, ctd
reading
i am reading the moor's last sigh by salman rushdie (who went to school with my father!) though this is not his most controversial work, my mother advises me to cover up the novel when reading in public. her cousin ((who is, admittedly, a bit of a hysterical worrywart) flips out and makes me cover it with newspaper.
the quest for khomeini postcards
you'd think it would be as easy to find khomeini postcards in an islamic state as it is to find che guevara portraits in cuba; alas (or rather, luckily), it is not the case. every time we ask any shopkeeper or merchant whether they sell pictures of the islamic reformer, they laugh. one told us to go buy children's schoolbooks, because he is found on the first page of every single one; another told us, after getting over his initial surprise and giggles, to visit the ministry of propaganda, because no-one else would sell them. it isn't that they receive such questions with disgust (on the most part, at least) - it's more that they don't see why anyone would want one. (this is understandable, seeing as the man's face is painted on every other building, shown on every other poster and displayed in numerous windows and stores.) obviously, the islamic revolution isn't supported by all - in fact, it is difficult to conceive of how anyone who is not a strict muslim would want an islamic state - so the staunch reforms aren't universally popular here and khomeini's face isn't the most pleasant sight to a nonpracticing, or to someone who just wants to relax with a glass of wine after work, for example.
the armenian quarter (julfa)
the churches in the armenian quarter of esvahan are fascinating. the architecture is very similar to that of a traditional mosque, but a good portion of the paintings inside the orthodox churches are completely biblical, and there are crosses everywhere. it's an interesting mix - the first few meters (from the ground) of the walls are persian patterns and designs, as is the structure of the building itself, but the images painted on are almost boschian scenes of heaven, hell, the last supper, the crucifixion, etc. this is an awful (illegal) picture.
we visited a total of three churches. in the last one, we were let in by a small child (it was in a private courtyard of some sort, where people lived.) after walking around for about five minutes, we heard some very angry screaming, and saw that an old lady was telling off the little girl for letting us in.
"church closed. no time." she scowled at us.
my aunt then started to speak with her in armenian...
and her demeanor changed instantly. they chatted away happily. they were the same height and both wore a similar headscarf in different colors, so they made a nice picture.
the rest of the armenian quarter lives up to its name - it's chock full of armenians, most of whom run coffee shops or grocery stores. they are mostly incredibly friendly, and even more so once they find out you speak their language. we visited a museum of the armenian culture in iran, which was quite nice as well - there was a dedicated medal from charles aznavour (an armenian), various relics and lots of scriptures and bibles. the traditional dresses were interesting as well, especially since my great great grandparents probably wore them (they lived in the area back in the day and were, according to my mother, kind of a big deal in the world of trade)
the airport, pt 2
at the airport, once my bags were scanned and i was frisked throughly (oohlala) by a very nice lady, i was asked to take a drink from the water bottle i was carrying. i presume this was to make sure i was not taking alcohol or flammable liquids on the plane with me. i'm very surprised that the americans haven't thought of checking water bottles yet; maybe they should start.
we did not, however, have to take our shoes off - luckily for my aunt, who hid her little penknife that she used to cut fruit with in her sneaker. i can't begin to imagine what a scene this would have caused had she been caught with it back in yankee land. it's funny, though, because her knife was taken away before our last flight, but returned to her once we landed. in america and switzerland, if you're caught with anything sharp - even as inoffensive as tweezers - they're gone for good. figures, though - the terrorists must understand each other's needs for dangerous weapons.
i am reading the moor's last sigh by salman rushdie (who went to school with my father!) though this is not his most controversial work, my mother advises me to cover up the novel when reading in public. her cousin ((who is, admittedly, a bit of a hysterical worrywart) flips out and makes me cover it with newspaper.
the quest for khomeini postcards
you'd think it would be as easy to find khomeini postcards in an islamic state as it is to find che guevara portraits in cuba; alas (or rather, luckily), it is not the case. every time we ask any shopkeeper or merchant whether they sell pictures of the islamic reformer, they laugh. one told us to go buy children's schoolbooks, because he is found on the first page of every single one; another told us, after getting over his initial surprise and giggles, to visit the ministry of propaganda, because no-one else would sell them. it isn't that they receive such questions with disgust (on the most part, at least) - it's more that they don't see why anyone would want one. (this is understandable, seeing as the man's face is painted on every other building, shown on every other poster and displayed in numerous windows and stores.) obviously, the islamic revolution isn't supported by all - in fact, it is difficult to conceive of how anyone who is not a strict muslim would want an islamic state - so the staunch reforms aren't universally popular here and khomeini's face isn't the most pleasant sight to a nonpracticing, or to someone who just wants to relax with a glass of wine after work, for example.
the armenian quarter (julfa)
the churches in the armenian quarter of esvahan are fascinating. the architecture is very similar to that of a traditional mosque, but a good portion of the paintings inside the orthodox churches are completely biblical, and there are crosses everywhere. it's an interesting mix - the first few meters (from the ground) of the walls are persian patterns and designs, as is the structure of the building itself, but the images painted on are almost boschian scenes of heaven, hell, the last supper, the crucifixion, etc. this is an awful (illegal) picture.
we visited a total of three churches. in the last one, we were let in by a small child (it was in a private courtyard of some sort, where people lived.) after walking around for about five minutes, we heard some very angry screaming, and saw that an old lady was telling off the little girl for letting us in.
"church closed. no time." she scowled at us.
my aunt then started to speak with her in armenian...
and her demeanor changed instantly. they chatted away happily. they were the same height and both wore a similar headscarf in different colors, so they made a nice picture.
the rest of the armenian quarter lives up to its name - it's chock full of armenians, most of whom run coffee shops or grocery stores. they are mostly incredibly friendly, and even more so once they find out you speak their language. we visited a museum of the armenian culture in iran, which was quite nice as well - there was a dedicated medal from charles aznavour (an armenian), various relics and lots of scriptures and bibles. the traditional dresses were interesting as well, especially since my great great grandparents probably wore them (they lived in the area back in the day and were, according to my mother, kind of a big deal in the world of trade)
the airport, pt 2
at the airport, once my bags were scanned and i was frisked throughly (oohlala) by a very nice lady, i was asked to take a drink from the water bottle i was carrying. i presume this was to make sure i was not taking alcohol or flammable liquids on the plane with me. i'm very surprised that the americans haven't thought of checking water bottles yet; maybe they should start.
we did not, however, have to take our shoes off - luckily for my aunt, who hid her little penknife that she used to cut fruit with in her sneaker. i can't begin to imagine what a scene this would have caused had she been caught with it back in yankee land. it's funny, though, because her knife was taken away before our last flight, but returned to her once we landed. in america and switzerland, if you're caught with anything sharp - even as inoffensive as tweezers - they're gone for good. figures, though - the terrorists must understand each other's needs for dangerous weapons.
posted by atossa at 12:07 PM
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