I land in Holland
I step out of the airport
I see English signs
I step out of the airport
I see English signs
I go to sleep in Amsterdam. I wake up in Tehran. It almost takes a second to realize I'm still on Earth. Where once I saw many visible ethnicities, I now see one group of people. Where once I saw signs in English, I now see signs in a strange language. Unfortunately that language happens to be my mother tongue. The airport I arrive in is as modern as any, which I wasn't expecting when I started my journey. My initial reception is small, my father's last brother. On our way out we're offered four taxis. It's an hour drive into the city and I start taking in this alien country of mine.
My exposure to the world not Western goes smoothly. I see four men on one motorcycle. I laugh and make a comment. My uncle joins me in my mockery. The following day I'm at my cousins wedding. I can't recall the last time I was surrounded by family members exceeding the single digits. I dance and drink alcohol. My family wanted me to feel at home. The alcohol tastes terrible. But it's not peaches and cream back here anyway. I get drunk in the Islamic Republic. A small act of rebellion perpetrated a thousand times over that night, by countless other revolutionaries. Two days later I get to visit the grave of one of the twelve prophets of Islam. It is here that I try to convince my mother's brother that there is no God. It doesn't go over well.
Back in Tehran by the end of the week, I find one cousin waiting for me. He tells me he's going North to the Caspian Sea, says I should join him. I do. We pay about $20 for a 6 hour taxi ride. This particular taxi driver happens to be a fan of Vin Diesel. I didn't see the speedometer go below 120. Those were the moments he was turning. I arrive alive, my cousin takes me shopping for swim trunks. I express my concerns about removing my shirt because of my tattoos. He reassures me that Iran has progressed. I trust him. I spend that whole week swimming. On the last day, a storm arrives. I swam in the Caspian Sea during a storm.
That night I'm in my grandmother's home. The following morning I endure temperatures that would kill a lesser man. My aunts cook traditional Persian dishes. The lamb is particularly delicious. Hours earlier I witnessed the lamb's murder. There was so much blood. The rest of the week reveals more cousins to meet. I am taken to an oil rig. I see first hand how Iran's powers that be maintain their wealth. On the way back, I get to enter a destroyed Iraqi tank. I also see a white Camel. By the weeks end I know my way around the neighbourhood. On my last night I'm treated to the sound of gunfire in the distance. My family tells me not to worry. I don't.
Week four starts off in a tourist city. My father's army buddy picks us up from the airport. I'm told we'll get to see Persepolis in the days to come. I have trouble sleeping from anticipation. Two days later I bare witness to the labours of men. Real men. Fourty foot pillars carved out of a solid piece of stone. Busts of bulls the size of two men. Dozens of them, all identical, all carved by hand. Archways adorned with harbingers of a God long forgotten. I see two of my three tattoos, etched forever in stone by a civilization long lost. I remove several pieces of stone from the damaged ruins. I hope my ashes can be scattered there.
Midweek I arrive in another city. I get to catch up with a pair of brothers I'd spent my infantile years with. I go shopping for groceries with one. I see fruits and vegetables that look anything but perfect. Genetic engineering can be so easily overlooked. I'm treated to a Persian BBQ that evening. Beef had never tasted so good. The next day I enjoy a hooka with my mother's cousin. She's one year older than I am. I experience my first earthquake. I thought a bomb had gone off.
I return to Tehran for my final week. My cousin and his wife treat me to a night on the town. I enjoy the sights and sounds of the capital. Days later, I enjoy a peach in public, during Ramadan. The reasons for the staring dawns on me. Less than 78 hours later I'm in the airport. My father's remaining brother hugs me. He tells me to come back soon. I bid this strange, beautiful land goodbye. And then I woke up. Just kidding.
My exposure to the world not Western goes smoothly. I see four men on one motorcycle. I laugh and make a comment. My uncle joins me in my mockery. The following day I'm at my cousins wedding. I can't recall the last time I was surrounded by family members exceeding the single digits. I dance and drink alcohol. My family wanted me to feel at home. The alcohol tastes terrible. But it's not peaches and cream back here anyway. I get drunk in the Islamic Republic. A small act of rebellion perpetrated a thousand times over that night, by countless other revolutionaries. Two days later I get to visit the grave of one of the twelve prophets of Islam. It is here that I try to convince my mother's brother that there is no God. It doesn't go over well.
Back in Tehran by the end of the week, I find one cousin waiting for me. He tells me he's going North to the Caspian Sea, says I should join him. I do. We pay about $20 for a 6 hour taxi ride. This particular taxi driver happens to be a fan of Vin Diesel. I didn't see the speedometer go below 120. Those were the moments he was turning. I arrive alive, my cousin takes me shopping for swim trunks. I express my concerns about removing my shirt because of my tattoos. He reassures me that Iran has progressed. I trust him. I spend that whole week swimming. On the last day, a storm arrives. I swam in the Caspian Sea during a storm.
That night I'm in my grandmother's home. The following morning I endure temperatures that would kill a lesser man. My aunts cook traditional Persian dishes. The lamb is particularly delicious. Hours earlier I witnessed the lamb's murder. There was so much blood. The rest of the week reveals more cousins to meet. I am taken to an oil rig. I see first hand how Iran's powers that be maintain their wealth. On the way back, I get to enter a destroyed Iraqi tank. I also see a white Camel. By the weeks end I know my way around the neighbourhood. On my last night I'm treated to the sound of gunfire in the distance. My family tells me not to worry. I don't.
Week four starts off in a tourist city. My father's army buddy picks us up from the airport. I'm told we'll get to see Persepolis in the days to come. I have trouble sleeping from anticipation. Two days later I bare witness to the labours of men. Real men. Fourty foot pillars carved out of a solid piece of stone. Busts of bulls the size of two men. Dozens of them, all identical, all carved by hand. Archways adorned with harbingers of a God long forgotten. I see two of my three tattoos, etched forever in stone by a civilization long lost. I remove several pieces of stone from the damaged ruins. I hope my ashes can be scattered there.
Midweek I arrive in another city. I get to catch up with a pair of brothers I'd spent my infantile years with. I go shopping for groceries with one. I see fruits and vegetables that look anything but perfect. Genetic engineering can be so easily overlooked. I'm treated to a Persian BBQ that evening. Beef had never tasted so good. The next day I enjoy a hooka with my mother's cousin. She's one year older than I am. I experience my first earthquake. I thought a bomb had gone off.
I return to Tehran for my final week. My cousin and his wife treat me to a night on the town. I enjoy the sights and sounds of the capital. Days later, I enjoy a peach in public, during Ramadan. The reasons for the staring dawns on me. Less than 78 hours later I'm in the airport. My father's remaining brother hugs me. He tells me to come back soon. I bid this strange, beautiful land goodbye. And then I woke up. Just kidding.
The rivers are veins
The land masses are organs
The oceans her heart
The land masses are organs
The oceans her heart
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