TEHRAN IN FOUR ELEMENTS
travelogue to Teheran by Edoardo Ferrari
Recently returned from Tehran, after six weeks of stay, my first visit to this city comes to my mind. I remember one day in particular, while I was walking five years ago along Valiasr, a very long artery that crosses the metropolis from north to south. During my first trip to Tehran I came across a building that struck me with its entrance porch and long green gate, walking between rows of trees running along the sides of the road towards the Tajrish market. The entrance, set back from the street, led to the institute Dehkhoda. The institute, which takes its name from its founder, is a center of maximum importance on the study of Persian language. On that occasion, without knowing the reason, I had the feeling that I would return there one day, which unexpectedly reappeared five years later.
Going back to Iran to start learning Farsi creates a different perspective on the land in which you spend, or perhaps better, live, six weeks. Six weeks a Tehran they require countless car trips from one area to another in the city, many hours in traffic, stationary or moving. After a few days, whether you want it not, you are as if sucked into the streets and their rhythm. Many of the memories of this trip are linked to these hours that I spent sitting in the car, when I could not or did not want to chat with the drivers or other people who shared the ride with me. In brief moments of drowsiness, faded dreams appeared from which I would suddenly awaken, interrupted by other daydreams or new memories. And it is with some of these images that I would like to describe my journey to Tehran : four points, the four elements, as if they were the coordinates of an inner journey that is distilled into small, intense drops, which lead back to this city.
- Land -
Of a Tehran made of earth one can only imagine a distant memory of more than a century ago. It is moving through the steep streets north of the city that you can still see shreds of raw earth walls covered with sheet metal. The asphalt has devoured almost every corner of the metropolis, torn in a few places, where trees grow. Still north of the city, you can try to hear the slow roar of the land that has become a mountain. You can imagine the thrust from below that has elevated these mountain ranges and feel the land coming out into the open, while the expanding city covers everything else. And it is while plowing through the earth through an underpass that you have the perception of its presence: the buried earth, the excavated earth, the silent earth. While I wait, looking from the car window at the mud among the trees, I imagine the countless sculptures that could be modeled in these small spaces between the streets.
- Water -
Suddenly, in autumn, the sky lets the rain fall which seems to bring out the green of the plants, which, until a few moments before, seemed gray from the streets. Looking north you can see the Alborz mountains covered with white snow. It is a relief for the eyes to settle from sunrise to sunset on the white peaks beyond the thousands of buildings on the horizon. The water flows through the streets of the city flooding the canals on the sides of the cars. It wraps around trees to quench their thirst and rushes through Tehran's steep streets. It is when the sun shines again that the fallen rain returns to the sky again, evaporating quickly. The mountains still shine in the sunlight as passersby enjoy a few moments when everything still seems to be wet.
Smiles among the people.
- Fire -
Inside a car the radio resounds: news, advertisements and voices interrupted by the opening of a door that opens wide onto the outside, chaotic world for a few moments. The notes of a setar come unexpectedly from the car speakers, mixed with the noise of the street. Their sound grows rapidly, in succession, the rhythm increases. These notes take me elsewhere as shop signs and the lives of passersby whiz by like the fingers of the player out of the car. A fire is lit inside me, and it is as if something unknown comes to life, inexplicably: it is like traveling on the strings of the instrument back and forth; it's like feeling your fingers on fire. I am always sitting in the car, but I no longer feel the cold air coming in through the lowered window. The voice of the notes has finally given me warmth on a cold autumn day.
- Air -
The air laden with combustion gas cannot be forgotten anywhere. Leaving the traffic, the senses are still confused by the smell of petrol. The din of the machines leaves almost no respite. We feel the need to float on all this, leaving everything far below us, to feel lighter. It is at the end of the trip to Tehran, outside any car, within the walls of the house or in a small hidden café, that the heaviness of the air can vanish. Over a cup of tea, everything magically dissolves. A small pink flower moves slowly over the hot liquid. The air becomes light. Memories lead to the fragrant gardens of the desert, in those brief moments when one can smell the barren landscapes after the rain. Perfumes forgotten in the city streets. A slight hint leads away from the city, once again, our thoughts. A small pink bud in tea: gol mohammadi, it is not just a flower, but a hope when the air seems worn out.