Reminiscence of a Childhood in Tehran

There is always something special about feeling a taste of home when one is out of the country. Having your senses suddenly awakened by the smell of saffron in a store or restaurant instantly brings you back to buried memories and your own identity. To feel this as a Persian when living in France, you would most likely have to stroll around the 15th arrondissement of Paris, home to the largest diaspora of Persians in France. Shops, restaurants, and other small boutiques held by Persians populate the Rue des Entrepreneurs, a street that is known all over Paris for giving a small taste of Iran. Walking along that street always reminds me of the Persian side of my family and of my few travels to Iran. I can only imagine how strong the memories must be, walking down that same street, for someone who left Iran to start a new life in France.

Through this article, I want to explore those memories and feelings of reminiscence towards Iran for fellow Persians who, unlike me, were born and have lived in Iran and have left everything behind to move to a European country. I want to touch upon the very feeling of reminiscing about one’s home country and how leaving everything behind affects one’s memories, perceptions, and the way one narrates them.

These memories of home for people who left Iran appear to me to be complex and worth examining. I have chosen to interview one of my relatives who left Iran for France in the 1990’s and who has been living in Paris ever since then.

Q: When I think of Iran as a smell, I think of saffron. What smell do you associate most with Iran?

A: Well, saffron does come to my mind, but it’s not the most significant one for me. Saffron is indeed the first smell that comes to mind when talking about Iran abroad and to non-Iranians. Rightfully so, as it can be found in a variety of Persian foods. However, in my perspective, rose is one of the scents I associate most with my time in Iran. From ancient Persia all the way to today, Persian people have been using rose water, known as golab, for multiple uses: flavoring their food, ice creams, cleaning their faces and more. Golab is a very familiar and comforting smell to me, which brings memories all the way back from my childhood.

Another smell that instantly makes me connect to Iran is jasmine. Growing up in Tehran, I would smell jasmine everywhere, in people’s gardens and even on the streets in public places. Today, when I happen to visit the south of France and go for a stroll in the spring, especially in May, I smell jasmine everywhere and it instantly makes me feel, if I close my eyes, like I am walking through the alleys of Tehran again.

I would also add that Iran has always managed to awaken all my senses with an intensity that I have never felt in France. When I think of Iran today, I think of a country which offers a wholly polysensorial experience. Smell, touch, and sight were senses that were always deeply solicited when growing up in Tehran. Even something as simple as the air had a unique smell. The breeze in Tehran is a distinct sensory memory that I still cherish to this day. I remember that my summers were punctuated by heat waves, always reaching over 100ºF, and that my winters were full of snowstorms, and temperatures reaching 0ºF. Tehran has a unique geographical situation; it is located at the foot of a mountain and yet is 1600 meters above sea level. This location is partly the reason why I hold such vivid memories of extreme seasonal changes there. One of my most cherished memories I have of my childhood is when I would go to one of my relatives’ gardens to the north of Tehran. We would be offered juicy watermelons and peaches — having fruits for guests is a must in our family traditions. I would take the watermelon with me and dip it into the small creek in the garden to make it even fresher, cooler, and more delicious with every bite. Forty years later, I can still remember the exact taste of that watermelon. This memory is one of the many that constitutes all the highly sensorial memories I have of my life in Iran.

Q: When I think of Iran as an animal, I think of a cat. What animal reminds you most of Iran?

A: I understand why you think of cats when you think of Iran because they truly are a pervasive and a part of the décor, Persian cats, stray cats, and other cats wander in the alleys and streets or Tehran. However, the animal I associate the most to Iran are dogs because I grew up with them. We were faced with the issue of feeding the dogs because in the early 80s, shortages of dog food were very frequent, and we thus ended sharing our food with them.

Q: What landscape/destination in Iran encapsulates best the memory you have of the country?

A: The landscape that first comes to my mind is the Caspian Sea. I used to go there very often because it was not very far from Teheran. The road we would take to reach the sea was a very scenic, yet dangerous drive called the Chalous road. I remember feeling very stressed while driving there. What I liked most about this region is the richness of the fauna and when I first visited the south of France, it instantly reminded me of the Caspian region. I was always struck by the humidity of this region even though it was flanked by mountains and a much more arid climate. I was completely in awe in the car, thinking of how my hometown and the nearest sea were separated by 5000 meters high mountains that seemed so big and imposing for me as a child. The contrast of the landscapes in Iran always made me feel like I was traveling very far away when I left Tehran and made me renewed.

Q: What’s a habit that people have in France that you could never adjust to?

A: From my experience of having lived in both countries, I think that the right question should more so be: “What is something about Persian culture that French culture could never have?” And to this question I do not even need to think of an answer. Persian people are gifted with natural generosity and are so warm and welcoming in a way that French people could never be. In France, the art of receiving and hosting parties is also very nice and unique, but it is a completely different approach to hospitality. In Iran, every time I would go to anybody’s house I would be greeted with immense generosity. They receive you in their house, they welcome you, they give a lot to their guests and relatives alike without expecting anything in return. Persian hospitality does not have anything to do with social norms and status, it is deeply rooted in all Persian hearts and home, to share, care and give to one another. The joy of sharing moments with other people trumps any distance that is naturally put between people in France. by AR-Y from the Quran and ornamental decorations. These trucks, alongside the Nissan Aabi, only scratch the surface of “time capsule” automobiles still navigating the long stretches of road in Iran today. In cities that boast modern design and a clean aesthetic, these vehicles serve as a reminder of the vibrant recentpast that lives on through era-bound remnants such as cars and planes. Another astonishing pattern, for the uninitiated traveler, is the homogeneity of vehicle colors in Iran. With the exception of domestically produced Iran Khodro vehicles and imported Chinese brands, the lion’s share of vehicles on the streets in Iran are colored white, which is a unique sight coming from any western nation. Taxi cabs are often British Rootes Arrows, domestically called Paykan, which were once a staple vehicle and which have since become a symbol of a previous generation of Iranians. These cabs often have a union or corporate symbol stamped to their front doors, and I found myself attempting to capture all of the different taxi emblems that appeared along my three-week stay. Lastly, the interior of vehicles in Iran are as essential as their visage. The black, plastic crank-arms for rolling windows that come in the varieties of intact and irreparably abused are central to my own memory of these interiors. For children, they are a toy and object of fascination, and, to older passengers gazing out the window, the crank-arms are a perfect fidget or hand-rest. Seat liners abound, colorful and rustic handcrafts most often adorn the interiors of cars, rendering character and uniqueness where most vehicles otherwise look the same. Some cars are lined with cutouts of discarded Persian rugs, and others with beads or mats. The dry, dusty smell of cars that have ceaselessly operated for years is the constant backdrop to mountains and plains coasting past the window on long drives. Looming masses of rock and rolling wheat fields give way to tall and narrow “3cm-brick” buildings that sprout from the middle of the desert and give way to urban vibrancy, to a vast and diverse country made smaller by the vehicles and roads that connect its reaches.

Iran is a country filled with color if one chooses to see it, and every corner is an endless well of detail to appreciate. Centuries of gradual evolution has yielded a diverse and rich country that begs to be appreciated first-hand. While paper and picture cannot attempt to replace the real dust and sun of our country, it can nudge the keen reader to the appeal of Iran’s beauty: Iran is a country that likes to be appreciated in small sips. Glances, moments, slices — these are the language of the silent discourse between traveler and environment that define the feeling of Iran. It is my hope that, over the course of my travels, focusing my lens on those ephemeral details opened a window for the curious reader to appreciate Iran, for once, in color.