HIGH RISES

A whole lot of zeros.

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"I'm surprised there's not a revolution!", a repatriate exclaimed, suggesting that the conditions in some way mirror that of the last time around. It was another occasion for me in uptown Tehran among chic furniture, an enormous television with accompanying surround sound speakers competing with the sound of highrises being clanged together in the neighbourhood. With the current financial uncertainty facing her new homeland it seemed odd to me that she would suggest Iran needs a revolution.

I listened to an Iranian radio station, broadcasting from that very same nation, referring to an article someplace, purporting that Iran's economic situation mirrors that preceding the revolution. I listened to another show from that same nation suggesting that the citizens themselves are far from the economic comfort of around the same period. "It used to be that mortgages would be three times one's annual salary", a lady reminisced, "it used to be that a single earner could provide for the family", another caller remarked.

I repeated this to a colleague, for which we worked out the ratios for our relatively healthy incomes. The price of a modest house, in a modest part of Tehran would be twenty times our annual salary.

As the west deals with it's own belief system it's interesting to note that between all the cracking and crunching, Iran is somehow an Island, as the same colleague put it to me. "How does all this effect us here in Iran", I both ask and get asked. This I can only hazard a guess at. Be it through inability or through some observation of Islamic law, we as Iranians cannot play with credit and thus we own things as oppose to debt - for better or for worse. I guess in our cases we only need believe that the cash currently occupies our hands before we expend on a top of the range BMW with its immense trade tariff (and trust me, they're queuing up for them). In my case, this means I cannot get that mortgage that I'd never in my lifetime be able to pay off.

the knock on effects to oil prices are certainly a point at which Iran will see a crunch

How all these international matters will come to effect us here on our Island will no doubt be known over time, seen maybe by the queues of corporations waiting at our shores, either decreasing or possibly even increasing interactions. This island is however a banana republic of sorts and thus the knock on effects to oil prices are certainly a point at which Iran will see a crunch and in a very immediate fashion. Should this come about, I very much doubt our repatriate will be proved right, yet I'm not sure how much those outside of the BMWs can be stretched.

RATIONING IRATIONALS

Fights breaking out at my local petrol station as rationing is brought into effect.

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"I've got no cars", said the man behind the desk in an oddly jovial fashion, "ration cards... two hours ago... queues...", was what I then made out between his fast talk and the loud TV he kept pointing to. "Well is there another agency near by?", I inquired, "yes, I own the next one down the road, it's the same there too". Following this news I took to the street to thumb a 'door closed' taxi, where I stated my destination, suggested a priced, all parties agreed and off we went.

I'd heard our destination before I saw it, the box yellow glow of petrol station was resonating with human noise, "I'll get out here", I said to the taxi driver, as if I had a choice what with the clotted final road to my apartment. I reflexively set the phone to record and watched the screen as I entered the roar of angry car owners. A driver cut in from the exit of the station passing me so closely it went unnoticed on my screen, he didn't however go unnoticed by the army officer and angry 2nd, 3rd, 4th place customers waiting for his door to open. "Six hours!", he yelled, "get back in the car", they shrieked, "I was at the end, six hours", he continue as at least eight pairs of hands were going for him. Nobody was backing off, the hungry crowd especially, I surveyed the forecourt, capturing the commotion, in my screen I saw at least ten other amateurs also poised like me, there was as much demand for footage as there was fuel.

It was a race against the clock, half eleven I made it, that meant half an hour to go before the full rations came into effect

Each pump was connected to a car and/or several hands with families attempting to work in teams arranging additional vessels to fill. Instructions spilled out with little manner and little attention paid, flowing continuously like the liquid that had brought miles of junkies desperate for their last unmonitored fix. I tried to make my way around to capture the chaos but my legs couldn't fit between the fronts and backs of vehicles. I had to leave the station to find a gap during the shuffling forward and was amused at the irony of the idoling vehicles with the drivers standing out beside. It was a race against the clock, half eleven I made it, that meant half an hour to go before the full rations came into effect, having only been announced two and a half hours before. I tiptoed to look down the road, there was more than half an hour's worth of queue and a certainty of more chaos.