On a roll
Spain travel diary July 23, 2003
The Iranian
There are some things in life that you can't
live without. Water and food... love
and friendships are nothing compared to the addiction my
friend Safa and I developed for Salsa (not
the dip but the dance). So you can imagine how difficult it was
to decide where to go on holidays on our limited budget.
We thought about Italy and Turkey and Greece...
but really, what were the chances of us dancing even one
night in any of those
places? After budgeting and prioritizing our goals for a vacation,
Spain was the only logical choice (not that either of us complained).
Since we are both Iranian and brought up as perfect little ladies,
we were taught only to travel in first-class form-- with pretty
dresses, heeled shoes and hair products galore. Roll-able suitcases
and carry-on make-up purses (God forbid, we should ever be seen
without make-up).
Now, if anyone knows Safa and I, you'd
know that we don't really fall into the typical-Iranian-girl
category. We're both rather... (well you'd just have to meet
us
to understand). Don't get me wrong, we can eshveh like any
Soghra and Sakineh, we just choose not to. And this trip was
going to be just that!
We were going to do what girls with our upbringing
would never do... BACKPACK! On top of that,
we were also
going to stay in hostels instead of hotels; you know, meet
new and fun young people, and since we weren't planning on
sleeping,
it was just going to be a place to store our bags and shower.
So with Salsa music blaring, we packed. We bought large backpacks,
and planned accordingly on what was important and what we
were going to have to leave behind since we had limited space
(although
this was really not as hard as it sounds since Safa could
actually almost fit in her backpack).
The excitement was building and before we knew it, we were
off!
Day 1
At an ungodly hour of 5am our ride picked us up for the airport.
Since neither of us could sleep, we went through our final
plan of what we were actually going to do there.
Once we had arrived
in Barcelona, we were going to catch the train to Madrid
and spend a few days there, before coming back
to Barcelona to meet up with other traveling friends. So
we chatted and laughed and laughed all the way to Turkey
where we had a stop over.
At Attaturk Airport however, things
were very different. We were both extremely tired and
hungry (and of course
stinking from
wrist to elbow of the customary cocktail of perfumes
courtesy of duty
free shopping). We sat calmly and quietly next to each
other in the waiting area with our Discman's on and without
batting
an eyelash, watched the Turkish soccer team strip and
re-dress in front of us as they got ready for their flight.
After a few hours, we boarded the bus that
would take us to the plane and still there was silence.
(Silences between Safa and I are VERY
comfortable.) We stood, only giggling once we
saw an Iranian
couple board the bus. The woman was covered head to
toe and the man sported a very hezbollahi beard. It was
rather amusing since we
hadn't seen "fresh" Iranians for a VERY long time...
in fact I don't think Safa had ever seen them THAT
fresh, direct from Iran... that's a priceless
sight these
days.
I turned down my Discman to hear what they
were saying, but to my disappointment, they weren't talking...
(to
be continued)
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