The Carousel
By Manijeh Badiozamani
Even with the passage of time, I have not abandoned my fascination with riding carousels in amusement parks. When I spot one, no matter where it is, I’m drawn to it like a nail to a magnet. On a trip to California, I saw one in the middle of a busy outdoor shopping mall. For a grown woman ardently desiring to ride the carousel must have looked ridiculous and bizarre. But my relatives pretended to be amused by my persistence and even a sister-in-law volunteered to join me on the ride.
When I was five, my favorite place in the whole world was Café Shahrdari, the municipal amusement park. It was a huge park in the center of Tehran. There were puppet shows, marionettes, and an outdoor movie screen. We sat on wooden benches and watched black and white movies of Laurel and Hardy and American Westerns. Vendors sold fresh walnuts in funnel-shaped paper bags, grilled corn on the cob dipped in salt water, and saffron-flavored ice cream sandwiched between two thin wafers. But it was the children’s carousel in that park that I loved the most.
The very first time Mother took me to ride the carousel I was shaking with excitement. When we approached the far end of the park, where the carousel was located, we saw an angry man foaming at the mouth, cussing and waving away the children who had come to ride. Mother suddenly stopped, holding my hand firmly. Then we noticed the little animals on the carousel were all damaged. The angry operator explained to my mother that the little ducks and geese were strictly for little children, but a group of older and heavier teenagers had badly abused the animals, and broken some.
I had looked forward to the ride so much and the disappointment was so great that I began to sob. My mother tried to calm me down, while she sympathized with the carousel operator. She condemned the act, and with the promise to come back another time, gently led me away. I looked back over my shoulder and saw a pale yellow broken duck with long neck, orange beak, and sad painted eyes lay flat on the ground. The image stayed with me for a very long time.
Now, with the music floating on the air, horses rising and falling slowly in the breeze – I looked at the canopy above, the platform below, and then closed my eyes. It felt heavenly. I imagined myself back in that municipal park halfway around the world, more than half a century ago. If only I could ride a geese or a duck - but all I could find was a jeweled Arabian charger!
- - -
I'm originally from Iran, was born in Tehran. I'm a memoirist, recording my stories from the past.
By Manijeh Badiozamani
Even with the passage of time, I have not abandoned my fascination with riding carousels in amusement parks. When I spot one, no matter where it is, I’m drawn to it like a nail to a magnet. On a trip to California, I saw one in the middle of a busy outdoor shopping mall. For a grown woman ardently desiring to ride the carousel must have looked ridiculous and bizarre. But my relatives pretended to be amused by my persistence and even a sister-in-law volunteered to join me on the ride.
When I was five, my favorite place in the whole world was Café Shahrdari, the municipal amusement park. It was a huge park in the center of Tehran. There were puppet shows, marionettes, and an outdoor movie screen. We sat on wooden benches and watched black and white movies of Laurel and Hardy and American Westerns. Vendors sold fresh walnuts in funnel-shaped paper bags, grilled corn on the cob dipped in salt water, and saffron-flavored ice cream sandwiched between two thin wafers. But it was the children’s carousel in that park that I loved the most.
The very first time Mother took me to ride the carousel I was shaking with excitement. When we approached the far end of the park, where the carousel was located, we saw an angry man foaming at the mouth, cussing and waving away the children who had come to ride. Mother suddenly stopped, holding my hand firmly. Then we noticed the little animals on the carousel were all damaged. The angry operator explained to my mother that the little ducks and geese were strictly for little children, but a group of older and heavier teenagers had badly abused the animals, and broken some.
I had looked forward to the ride so much and the disappointment was so great that I began to sob. My mother tried to calm me down, while she sympathized with the carousel operator. She condemned the act, and with the promise to come back another time, gently led me away. I looked back over my shoulder and saw a pale yellow broken duck with long neck, orange beak, and sad painted eyes lay flat on the ground. The image stayed with me for a very long time.
Now, with the music floating on the air, horses rising and falling slowly in the breeze – I looked at the canopy above, the platform below, and then closed my eyes. It felt heavenly. I imagined myself back in that municipal park halfway around the world, more than half a century ago. If only I could ride a geese or a duck - but all I could find was a jeweled Arabian charger!
- - -
I'm originally from Iran, was born in Tehran. I'm a memoirist, recording my stories from the past.
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I'm trying to picture Tehran and where this amusement park was - or maybe it still exists? this brougth me right back to my visits to Tehran and my own memories of riding carousels here in Denver at the old Elitch Gardens.
but now all I want is to try "saffron-flavored ice cream."