Part
4
October 23, 2003
The Iranian
We arrived in Tehran with no place of our own. Luckily,
we knew a family from Abadan who had moved to Tehran a little while
earlier, so we were able to stay
with them for a while. They had two boys who were
about the same age as my brother and me.
The first
night we arrived at their house was great
(notwithstanding having nowhere to live and having
just escaped severe bombing in southern Iran). With
four boys, all young and having too much energy for
our own good, you would think that we would tear the
house apart. Nope, we went over to one of the rooms,
sat quietly and played Monopoly till 2 in the morning.
Now
for those of you who don't know this, there really is an
Iranian version of Monopoly with street names like
Ferdosi and Naderi. Who knew such obedience was
possible from a bunch of bratty kids? Anyway, this
Monopoly-playing thing continued for another week
until my parents' search for a home was finally
successful.
With that, we moved into our "lavish" apartment in the
southern end of Tehran. Not knowing much about the
area, my parents were ecstatic that we had a place
of our own. We also didn't know that it is
pretty standard, virtually worldwide, that the
southern part of any city is the less desirable part
in relation to the north. The place was a
2-bedroom apartment on the fourth floor of a little
apartment building.
Our first and most obvious issue
was that the place was completely bare since we were
forced to leave all our furniture behind during the
evacuation from Abadan. We also soon found out why the
fourth floor of this apartment building was empty.
First, there was absolutely no water pressure in the afternoon.
This was a major issue with my dad since he insisted on taking
showers
in
the morning,
and again
at after work (he was big on the multiple-shower
a day thing). Furthermore, we actually had to carry
our dirty dishes to the garage in the evenings to wash
and fill with water for drinking. Oh yes, and to add
insult to injury, the cursed elevator never worked
either.
On a positive note, however, we found a naan
and kabob restaurant across the street. It was a
quaint little restaurant that served its guests in a
tranquil and peaceful garden. The food was fantastic
and the service was remarkable (especially for Iran).
However, one straight month of eating kabob every
night pretty much ended our love affair with this
hangout.
After sitting on the floor for a month, my dad's back
started to act up. Backaches are our family's
identity. The Kennedys have a history in politics, the Gettys
have a history in the oil business and my family prides itself
on its rich
tradition of backaches. In my family, the first time
you get a legitimate backache marks your entry into
adulthood. It's sort of like a weird coming of age or
Bar Mitzvah without the grandiose party.
Anyway, when
my dad's "kamar dard" acted up he took it as a direct
sign that something had to be done. So he logically
decided to get in the car and go to Abadan to get our
furniture. One of my mom's poor younger brothers
"volunteered" to go with him. They rented a truck
and headed down to Abadan. A week into their trip we
heard back in Tehran that Abadan was now surrounded
and no one could get in or out.
This was about
1982 in Iran; we couldn't
just call my dad on his cell phone to give him a heads
up on the situation in Abadan. All we could do is sit
around nervously and hope that somehow, someone
alerted them of what was going on.
We suffered through
an entire sleepless night until my dad called us early
in the morning the next day mentioning that he had gotten out just
a couple of hours before the city was
surrounded. He arrived a few days later with all our
furniture which the poor movers and my uncle had to
bring up four flights of stairs. By the time they finished, the
apartment was so packed that there was no room for us to move.
Apparently our couches and
beds were too big for our new palatial digs in
southern Tehran >>> Part
5 >>> Index
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