Mamy, Roshanak and Omid take the morning flight to Kerman. Farhad, Keyvan, Golnoosh and I will go there in a few days by car. This is the only morning that Keyvan and I are alone together. I am dying to have my hair cut and so Keyvan has made an appointment for me at Sima’s salon. Sima is a friend of our friend Nazzy, who has a salon in Houston, Texas. We hire a cab for a couple of hours. Keyvan is not allowed into the salon, where ladies unveil their hair. Sima is excited to have a friend of Nazzy’s in her place. She cuts my hair and explains to me why her salon looks rather modest. Islam frowns upon fancy hairdo’s and make up, and so Sima keeps the interior of her salon simple and pretends they only do haircuts. The next girl straightens my hair and curls the edges outward. She is having fun with my fair hair but because of the hot dryer my hair, which is already dry because of the low humidity in town, gets very static. She laughs and rubs something into my hair to quiet it down. I am pleased with the result and I see approving glances of the ladies behind me in the mirror. Sima refuses to accept money from me and tells me I can come back any day.

Next we surprise the parents of our friend Dari from Aliso Viejo, California. “Mr & Mrs P”, as I will refer to them, are astonished to see us at their doorstep. Mr P had repeatedly invited us when we met in California, but I don’t think he ever thought we would show up like this. We stay for tea and suggest they join us later this week in Kerman. Then Farhad and Golnoosh come over and take us to a restaurant that Farhad has selected especially for me. On the way there we pass the former American embassy, where more than 20 years ago that lengthy hostage situation took place. On the walls surrounding the embassy angry texts are painted in colorful letters. At the gate three words are clearly visible: ‘Down with USA’.

The restaurant that Farhad picked turns out to be a fancy French bistro where I am addressed with Madame. If I wouldn’t have to wear my grungy raincoat I could imagine I were in France. I try to ignore the dirty sleeves of my coat as I enjoy the grilled sturgeon (the caviar fish).