I came to the part of my book discussing Iran. I lived in Paris for two years, visiting Iran during the summers. This was during the Shah's reign, during the late 70's I think.
I had some wild times. I went to the bazaar once, wearing jeans and a tee shirt. They didn't want to see my arms, so they chased me out (a mullah with a long beard in the lead) and threw rotten fruit at me.
I have great memories of Iran. The people are warm and loving, very family oriented. We were close with our neighbors. They served my mom and I something that looked like taffy. You had to eat whatever was offered, or it was a major insult to the Iranians. I put it in my mouth as they explained that it was yogurt, left in the sun to rot for a week! It tasted foul, and I spat it in my napkin when no one was looking.
On another occasion, I was taken to see camel herders in the desert. They served me lukewarm tea. Again, HAD to drink it. Didn't get off well this time.
I got amoebic dysentary from it. Had to be flown to Paris to the hospital, and I still have outbreaks of it to this day. The gift that keeps on giving, you could say!
The Iranians are the most generous people on earth. Admire something in their home, and it's yours. Of course you're then expected to give them a gift.
The cultural differences were vast, but fascinating. I would live there again, given the chance.
Remember this summer when the Iranians were protesting their president not being elected correctly? My best friend Susan and I happened to be in Athens, at the Grande Bretagne hotel. This was during the first week of protests, after the election, when it was really awful.
Our hotel was next to the Greek Parliament building, and an embassy. We don't recall which embassy it was, but one day there was one hell of a big protest in front of the hotel, next to a park. We took our video camera and went down to shoot it.
Susan had the video camera, and said "I want to protest with the Iranians." Looking through the viewfinder only, she marched right up to them. I muttered in her ear "You might want to think twice. We're the only damn women here."
She turned tail and ran, so fast that the video camera got pictures of the ground as we fled! All those men protesting, and not one single woman. Except two dumb blonde Americans, natch. Who got the hell out of there rapido!
When I think of Iran, I think of how they opened their hearts and homes to us, even after the revolution. They sure knew how to have a good time. We went dancing and gambling often, or just to someone's house for dinner (and the after dinner smoke of opium, which they usually did.) Everyone sat around on exquisite Iranian carpets, piled in heaps on the floor. Such beautiful rugs.
It takes a family one year to make such a rug. They live off the proceeds very well, too. They take the finished rug and put it in the road, to be run over. Rub camel dung into it. By the time they're done conditioning it, nothing will ever stain it. That such things of beauty can come from dusty little villages in the middle of the desert is truly amazing.
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