This is what I wrote during my 12 days in Tehran; it should have been posted then. Now, in the lobby of the Surabaya Marriott , a mere 7970 km away, it no longer seems familiar, as if a lie, a memory deadened by distance. As if memory’s judgement is susceptible to the diktat of physical distance. Yet it is.
It’s been six years since I first set foot in the ex-Intercontinental Tehran, now re-christened the Esteghlal Grand Hotel. Not one iota has changed, except maybe they drained the Olympic-sized swimming pool. I know this because the pool is dry, though quite impossibly drained on account of some inherent need for maintenance. Its bottom is chiselled and brownish thru neglect and irrelevance - women are not allowed to swim, so what would it look like for a dozen male hotel guests to strut around exhibiting themselves?
So nothing’s changed, except they drained the pool. And maybe also they changed the sheets in the interim. Twice. Oh, and they laid a new layer of concrete on the mattresses.
At some point in its life the Inter-Continental stood adjacent - and proudly - next to the Tehran Internationa Conference Centre. That point stands in the bygone pre-revolutionary age, around some historical corner beyond our direct line of recollection. That point stood in light of a different vision, one unshrouded by the qualms of piety. Then uncloaked, it must have stood at the centre of Tehran’s high life. Now it’s more of an unsightly sibling, much as how the decrepit East tower of the Esteghlal stands in relation to the charming and new old-world warmth of the West tower.
What a world of difference! Here in the Marriott lobby, I catch a glimpse of a 40-something sitting less than gracefully and offering an unwelcome glimpse up her skirt; here, in the Marriott lobby, food and drink are plentiful, whereas in Tehran infidels are also subject to fastinglaws. Here, stewardesses professional flight attendants of various hues parade their wares as if it mattered, when, in truth, their plain sameness - of dolled up faces, bunned hair, trolley hand-carrys - would not be out of place in a 1950s Fascist-American fashion parade.
further reading:
Three roads open up in trying to understand modern Iran. Answering Only to God
Three of the four are as far from academia as two of the authors are close to Oprah on “The Oprah Show”. Does that worry me?
2 Comments
Hey, thanks for commenting on my blog — though I do disagree re drawing selectively from the nyt article. I concede when it comes to Plato, though =)
Anyway, that’s a poignant vignette you’ve posted. I can’t say I’ve ever had to witness such a vast contrast… I like to think I’ve done my share of travelling, but really, I’m just a tourist-type.
Are you still in Singapore? It’s so rare to encounter someone from these parts who *reads*.
Ah, thanks for visiting. Yes, indeed, I am still in these parts. In anaswer to your question, the sole reason I’ve not been weaned off books and the habit of making sense of conjoined words, is, in all honestly, time. I’m sure the moment is upon me, much as I loathe its coming. Until then, let books rule!