day forty-eight
I can't say I'm having a blast here but Iran's been more fun lately. I've started to learn my way around some parts of Tehran so some days I go on day-long expeditions, starting up north and heading south. On these trips I walk by many places that I had forgotten all about. It's mostly good.
- Being a tourist in Tehran is not the most convenient thing in the world. I've gotten into arguments with the guides at the Niavaran Palace and the National Jewelery Museum over the fact that there's little or no written information and I have to depend on the guide to tell me the most basic facts like who the person in the picture is or to what period a certain piece belongs. For instance at the Niavaran Palace there's a room that apparently belonged to the crown prince of Shah but the "information" plaque on the wall didn't say that or anything about when and how often the prince used this room. Instead it pointed out that there are "some" diplomas and pictures on the wall and that there is a zebra carpet on the floor. Now, the Golestan Palace Complex is a whole different experience as it's so understaffed that you're on your own except for when they ask for your tickets. The Golestan Complex and the Jewelery Museum are both worth it though.
- Something else I find very entertaining is riding cabs. The other day I rode one for a relatively long distance and the driver was making origami flowers out of gum wrappers the whole time. When his other passenger and I commented on the flowers he gave us one each; then he handed us two business cards. I thought he takes orders for origami flowers but the first card said "Music Teacher," followed by a long list of instruments. I looked at the second one; this one said "Fortune Teller!"
- My feelings about Iran oscillate between "Everyone's nuts here. I need to get out!" and "I could stay and live here for good." When I go to the movies with my friend's friend and we burst out laughing at the supposedly most tragic moment of the movie, I realize how little I enjoy spending time with my friends in Texas. Then just when I decide that people are sane here someone brings me a slice of lunch meat and victoriously announces that it has pork - as if there's a shortage of ham in the US.
- This post from Waiter made me hungry for a meal of country fried chicken at a steakhouse in a tiny tiny town in the middle of nowhere. I seriously need a break from any food that somehow involves rice. And meat too. Apart from the country fried chicken, I might have to go vegetarian for a while before I feel healthy again. Ah, I miss you, Whole Foods Market!
- There's so much to write but after walking up and down the Bazaar of Tehran for an entire day, keeping my eyes open is a challenge. In fact I've been dosing off so much that I don't even remember how I started this post. at 12:41 PM by negar

day twenty five
Today I paid one of those little fortune seller boys just to leave me alone. It was my own fault, making eye contact with him. He asked me to buy a fortune envelope and I made the second mistake of acknowledging him and saying no. He followed me for a couple of blocks. Finally I asked him how much they were and he said 500 toman. I gave him 100 but he didn't want to sell at that price so I walked away and he didn't follow me. After I walked half a block I realized why he wasn't following me. I had never taken back my 100 toman, essentially paying him not to follow me anymore.
Having learned a lesson, I later told a cute but nosy guy at the park that I would pay him if he stops talking to me and goes away. This one didn't take my offer so I gave up my bench and and walked away from him and his lame pick-up lines. This, again, was my fault as I had no idea I shouldn't check out the cute guys without the intention to share a bench with them and answer their silly questions.
I should roam around the neighborhood more often. at 6:33 AM by negar

day twenty-three
For the overwhelming number of concerned readers, life ain't that bad here.
I get to watch Euro 2008 for free.
My grandma makes sure I'm fed "albaloo polo" on regular basis.
I get compliments from all the "amaleh" in my neighborhood.
I don't wash the dishes.
My dad and grandparents give me pocket money that doesn't fit into my pockets.
My nanny folds my underwear and sews all of the loose buttons of my pants.
All the taxi drivers and store owners say "ghabel nadare," tempting me to walk out without paying.
I can buy and read Film magazine as soon as it's out.
I've been told that I can't be seriously picked on for my hejab since I don't live here.
I eat organic fruits for free. And if I travel 50 miles, I can pick them myself.
I brag about being immune to the sizzling hot Tehran summer since I've survived the boiling hot ones in Texas.
I don't pay for $4/gallon gas.
I can't waste time on youtube at all.
I haven't done this yet but I've found that I can claim to be living a fabulously exciting life in Texas and no one will ever know. at 5:57 AM by negar

day seventeen
I don't like being in Iran. There, I said it. I'm a stranger here and that makes me feel like shit.
"This is also home," I keep telling myself but the constant reminder hasn't helped. In fact it's making me feel more guilty for not trying harder to belong.
Since day fourteen I've been doing what I would have done if I had an idle summer at my parents' in Texas. I read, sleep, surf the web - when the dial-up works - , and then sleep some more. I know I will later regret not having the time of my life here in Tehran. That's why I'm writing this.
I know so many people in Tehran but when I got here I realized that I don't want to contact anyone except for a handful of closer friends - who would have killed me if I hadn't called them.
All these years I thought that if I came back I would find my self-confidence right where I had left it. It turns out that it's not here either. I think I might be even more shy here. I feel like a clumsy idiot wherever I go. My palms sweat when I walk into a beauty salon and say that I want my hair styled. My heart races when I have to answer the phone at my grandparents', worrying that it might be someone I don't remember. I tell everyone that I've been gone for a long time but I'm not bragging. I'm simply hoping that I will be exempt from the harsh judgment that they probably don't have anyways.
I hate to admit that I'm counting down to when I get back to Austin. But I am. I have an unexplainable urge to go home, buy groceries and scrub everything clean.
At least there I have a legible excuse for feeling so marginal. at 6:48 AM by negar

day eleven
Here is to the ex-husbands and ex-wives of uncles and aunts
Here is to puffy sleeves and shoulder pads
Here is to unkempt hair
Here is to classmates no one remembers
Here is to undead cousins
Here is to the inherent coolness of sunglasses
Here is to mustaches and mustache-wanna-bes
Here is to anorexic-thin moms
Here is to the triumph that riding a tractor was
Here is to single aunts and their gangs of friends
Here is to Yalda nights that weren't spent partying with strangers
Here is to the Old Building era of the orchard at Karaj
Here is to being young and cute
Here is to getting excited over a decorated cake
Here is to gaps between teeth
Here is to toot sefid and to shatoot
Here is to families of five under one roof
Here is to wearing the same red velvet dress everywhere
Here is to the first day of school
Here is to well-maintained swimming pools
Here is to globe trekker grandparents
Here is to wanting to grow up
Here is to the forgotten ancestors
Here is to grainy, dark, and blurry
Here is to capturing so many moments
Here is to mom's passion for photographs at 12:37 PM by negar

day six
On day five, while sitting in a cab - and consciously distracting myself from the chaos on the road - I thought of the interconnected world theory that the guy from 2 Days in Paris believed in. Having traveled halfway around the world, I should run into someone from my neighborhood at home. I considered the odds and decided that that was impossible. I will probably see a couple friends from my neighborhood in Austin but that won't count since we've already agreed to meet up in Tehran.
Sure enough on day six, while I was in another cab, we drove past someone who looked familiar. I told the cab driver to turn around, rolled down the window, and put my head out. I called out his name but couldn't believe my eyes until he actually stopped and turned around. Yup, one of the College Station folks, walking up my street! So that's one theory I couldn't disprove. at 12:29 PM by negar

day three

Dusty and dry is how I've described Tehran to anyone who has asked. I'm not sure if it's dust though. It sure smells like it and it's burning my throat and nasal passage more than any allergen ever did in Texas. Along the same line, I feel like there's not much softness in Tehran. The dust gives everything a sandpaperish quality but that might be just our seldom-lived-in apartment.
*
I noticed on my ride to my grandparents' that the sky is not blue here. It might be a trivial fact to mention about any polluted city of Tehran's size but for a moment I was puzzled by the sight of the gray sky. Now I remember why I found the very much blue sky of Texas with its picturesque fluffy white clouds so exotic seven years and three months ago.
*
I find it very odd that everyone's speaking Persian. This is another one of those obvious things that I have difficulty getting past at. And apparently not only do they all speak Persian, they only speak Persian. I went to get my eyebrows done and while waiting for my turn I took out Micro Fiction: An Anthology of Really Short Stories from my purse and got busy reading. A few moments - which is all it takes to read a story from that collection - later I looked up and saw curious eyes staring. "Ah, the luxury of not having emigrated," I thought.
*
It's perfectly ok in Iran to stare. Even if you catch them staring and make eye contact, they won't blink. They won't look away. If coming from women, the staring makes me feel shy. Coming from decent looking guys, it's a mild ego boost. And of course it's flat out creepy when it's an older man.
*
People also comment a lot about you right to your face. From the airport staff who wondered out loud about how I can pick up 50+ lb. suitcases like a professional baggage handler (the answer is adrenaline rush), to the man who went "tsk tsk tsk" when I walked past him at Argentine Square (I still have no clue why), to my grandma who publicly asked me at her sister's grandson's wedding which one I think is prettier, the bride or the also newly-wed daughter-in-law of the family (Yes, I went to a random wedding on the second night of my stay in Iran).
*
I was very much disappointed to learn that Iranian.com is blocked here since it's a major part of my browsing routine but then I rationalized it for myself, remembering the political content and all. Bored and looking for something to read, I tried to check the best of craigslist for updates only to find out that that is also filtered. It became even more frustrating when I saw the same unapologetic message, about the site being unaccessible, at the Onion, an election blog on CNN, a few lyric databases, and other random and seemingly harmless webpages.
*
I'm not even going to say anything about the spectacle that the traffic jams are.
*
I hope there's more to this place that was once my only home.

at 7:34 PM by negar