Read Online The Alley of Love and Yellow Jasmines by Shohreh Aghdashloo - Free Book Online
Authors: Shohreh Aghdashloo
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had dinner in a local Egyptian restaurant. We explored the pyramids and its Sphinxes. Climbing up the dark narrow stairs inside the pyramids, hunched over, was pretty claustrophobic. But being able to see the interior of the plundered tombs of Egypt’s most notorious rulers, who demanded that their wealth and servants be buried alive with them, was well worth the trip.
We dined in a huge tent next to the pyramids in the Sahara known as the Sahara Cabaret Restaurant, when the full moon took over the Sahara’s cobalt blue sky. The faded yellow tent was surely a couple of thousand square feet with at least a hundred seats. We were both exhausted, but the magic in the air made us stay till the end of the show and watch the mystifying finale, a group of belly dancers moving to traditional songs, bearing huge candelabras with lit candles atop their heads.
“When you are in harmony with your partner, you are in love, and the universe is on your side,” my grandmother Bahar al-Sadat once told me. Her words were so true.
We went to the bazaar the next day. I had always loved visiting the old bazaar in Tehran, so I was looking forward to this one as well. Aydin wanted to see if he could find calligraphy in a cellar of an antique dealer. I wanted to get some souvenirs, including kaftans, semiprecious stones, and silk fabrics for my cushions.
We went through a couple of corridors in the bazaar, walking through the reflection of the sun in the columns of light pouring through the ceiling’s openings.
A shopkeeper told us where we could find a trader who sold calligraphies, and we went to look for him. It was the exact kind of place that Aydin was looking for. There was a good amount of calligraphy inside, all reasonably priced. Aydin fell in love with two of the most expensive pieces, a beautiful piece by Mir Emad and another great one by an unknown artist. The look on Aydin’s face was priceless. His eyes were shining, and he looked like a young athlete holding his first trophy.
NEXT UP WAS Algeria, another beautiful and mysterious country. We arrived in the afternoon and got to our full room around three o’clock. It was a huge room facing a valley of tall trees set against the white sky. It had dark wooden shutters, a huge chandelier delicately carved in wood, antique-looking furniture, and a vast balcony.
We started to unpack and noticed that Aydin’s American edition of Playboy was now gone. Aydin collected the magazine, read and spoke English fluently, and always said, “Those who are opposed to Playboy refuse to understand that the magazine’s articles are far more substantial than its young ladies.”
We were wondering where we left it, and remembered that our luggage and bags were brought to our room by a shy and hairy young man. Aydin said he was not going to make a fuss about it. He decided that the young man deserved to keep the magazine more than he did. Besides, while we could buy it again, the young man could not in a million years. Not in Algeria and not in those days.
We ordered a couple of nonalcoholic drinks, and when I turned around to tip the bellhop, I was astounded by the view. The sun was setting on the horizon, and it looked humongous; its color was a golden red-orange, and it seemed as if it were setting right on our balcony. I could feel it in my throat. Its golden rays were celestial as it gracefully retired for the day.
WE DINED IN that night and made love, and went to bed early to start fresh the next day. As we set out to explore the historic sites, we were told that there were no rental cars in Algeria. Our only choice was to negotiate with a cabdriver and have him take us to our designated sites.
We found a cabdriver, but he only spoke Arabic. Aydin did his best to tell him what we had in mind. He looked at us and smiled.
“Tourist place?” he asked.
“Yes, tourist place,” we said. And he hit the gas. As we drove through the mountains, I asked Aydin if we were going in the right
We dined in a huge tent next to the pyramids in the Sahara known as the Sahara Cabaret Restaurant, when the full moon took over the Sahara’s cobalt blue sky. The faded yellow tent was surely a couple of thousand square feet with at least a hundred seats. We were both exhausted, but the magic in the air made us stay till the end of the show and watch the mystifying finale, a group of belly dancers moving to traditional songs, bearing huge candelabras with lit candles atop their heads.
“When you are in harmony with your partner, you are in love, and the universe is on your side,” my grandmother Bahar al-Sadat once told me. Her words were so true.
We went to the bazaar the next day. I had always loved visiting the old bazaar in Tehran, so I was looking forward to this one as well. Aydin wanted to see if he could find calligraphy in a cellar of an antique dealer. I wanted to get some souvenirs, including kaftans, semiprecious stones, and silk fabrics for my cushions.
We went through a couple of corridors in the bazaar, walking through the reflection of the sun in the columns of light pouring through the ceiling’s openings.
A shopkeeper told us where we could find a trader who sold calligraphies, and we went to look for him. It was the exact kind of place that Aydin was looking for. There was a good amount of calligraphy inside, all reasonably priced. Aydin fell in love with two of the most expensive pieces, a beautiful piece by Mir Emad and another great one by an unknown artist. The look on Aydin’s face was priceless. His eyes were shining, and he looked like a young athlete holding his first trophy.
NEXT UP WAS Algeria, another beautiful and mysterious country. We arrived in the afternoon and got to our full room around three o’clock. It was a huge room facing a valley of tall trees set against the white sky. It had dark wooden shutters, a huge chandelier delicately carved in wood, antique-looking furniture, and a vast balcony.
We started to unpack and noticed that Aydin’s American edition of Playboy was now gone. Aydin collected the magazine, read and spoke English fluently, and always said, “Those who are opposed to Playboy refuse to understand that the magazine’s articles are far more substantial than its young ladies.”
We were wondering where we left it, and remembered that our luggage and bags were brought to our room by a shy and hairy young man. Aydin said he was not going to make a fuss about it. He decided that the young man deserved to keep the magazine more than he did. Besides, while we could buy it again, the young man could not in a million years. Not in Algeria and not in those days.
We ordered a couple of nonalcoholic drinks, and when I turned around to tip the bellhop, I was astounded by the view. The sun was setting on the horizon, and it looked humongous; its color was a golden red-orange, and it seemed as if it were setting right on our balcony. I could feel it in my throat. Its golden rays were celestial as it gracefully retired for the day.
WE DINED IN that night and made love, and went to bed early to start fresh the next day. As we set out to explore the historic sites, we were told that there were no rental cars in Algeria. Our only choice was to negotiate with a cabdriver and have him take us to our designated sites.
We found a cabdriver, but he only spoke Arabic. Aydin did his best to tell him what we had in mind. He looked at us and smiled.
“Tourist place?” he asked.
“Yes, tourist place,” we said. And he hit the gas. As we drove through the mountains, I asked Aydin if we were going in the right
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