As crowds on the streets of Tehran shouted 'Death to America and Death to Israel' yesterday to celebrate the 34th anniversary of the Iranian revolution and the end of their last monarchy, J and I were invited to a rather more sedate affair at the Iranian embassy here in Amman, albeit under the eagle eyes of Khomeini and Khamenei who peered down at the gathering from their 4 x human sized posters.
We joked, as we wove our way there in yet another yellow taxi, that it was the closest to Iran either of us had ever been, since J had his visa to Iran refused so many times that he was forced to study Farsi in London and Ottawa, and only got as close as Afghanistan, Turkey or Dubai to meet Iranians and practise the language. We were invited along by one of J's teachers here who is Jordanian/Iranian, and although we were under no illusions it was to be a wild bacchanal, it still deserves a mention. And when newly arrived, you have to say yes to everything, or you don't start piecing together a full jigsaw.
The embassy itself looks more like a swimming pool, with its angular construction and blue tiling on the outside. The fountains weren't functioning that evening, though I wondered if they might crank up half way through the evening with an effegy of an inflatable Ayatollah perched on top. Not much else was flowing either - not conversation nor liquids, other than some multicoloured cordials which were offered around on trays next to canapes which looked like they'd been ironed - flat white sliced bread with an Unidentifiable Ironed Morsel on top. Multitudes of men in black and grey suits, as many comb-overs and some exceptional 1970s dark framed spectacles, nodded to each other and talked sotto vocce. I had my arms clamped to my side all evening - not one handshake and the only eye contact from women who were in a 1:8 minority, and most also in black. We got by with Arabic-Persian pidgin talk, though J's Arabic is much better, and I know so little Arabic my Farsi is still better than it. But a few people spoke English.
It was hard to know what to say. Having just watched Ben Affleck's new film, Argo about the American Embassy siege in Tehran (which is brilliant by the way) the atmosphere could have been very un-nerving if you applied even the tiniest garnish of imagination to your UIM. I found myself wandering around the marbled room studying surreal gold framed fantasy images of landmarks in Iran, and then at the unreadable faces in the room, and wondering what everyone in there really thought. Were they truly buying in to all this? Or has it just been so long that they could think for themselves, that they forgot how? The atmosphere was Orwellian, and either way, it was interesting to hear how most Arabs would have rather been in that embassy than in the Israeli one, so perhaps mutual hate is stronger than free thought. Although I did hear one guy admit that there were quite a lot of disappointed Arabs in the room after such a poor spread of food, which was the reason he reckoned most had come. Belt tightening measures after all the sanctions perhaps.
Two hours felt like more than enough, so we nipped back home to have a look in the fridge. One day we hope to see Iran itself. I've never met a real Iranian who thinks their state has a sensible approach, so we live in hope. There just weren't many visible that evening. And other than one Bulgarian man, it seemed we were the only two from the West. Clocked, too, I'd imagine.
The Lozenge and Rashimi had warmer welcomes this week, with Rashimi making friends with so many business men in the park with the Glammy, that the men stayed on and played in the sandpit with him rather than going back to the office. And the Lozenge received a hand made Valentine's card from his new friend 'Nabiw' (Nabil) at nursery, who put a sticker of Mickey Mouse and 'I love you Lauren' on it.
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