Blanketing opinions that I'll probably regret soon.

Thursday, March 12, 2009

Borat-Style Kisses from a Mustachioed Iranian Trout Farmer

You've probably stopped reading from the title alone, rolling your eyes at another questionable story from ole Lonnie B, but this happened to me no fewer than five hours ago -- I swear.

I'm in Bangkok promoting a mineral product used in animal production. All day I make sales pitches to people in this industry: farmers, distributors, feed formulators, and all that.

Found myself barely being able to communicate with three farmers from central Iran who culture trout in the mountains -- I was able to decipher that much. Through a combination of hand motions, a little knowledge of recent Iranian politics, and a mutual dislike of G.W. Bush vs. I'm-A-Dinner-Jacket (current president of Iran), we developed some rapport. Oh, and our man Obama. We all liked him -- that was clear.

Anyone who's spent more than 10 minutes trying to communicate with someone who speaks fewer than 10 words of English can sympathize with me. Tediousness and patience. Otherwise, don't even try. Years of teaching ESL in the late 90s helped tremendously.

So we're hand-motioning a mix of Iranian and American politics and fish-farming stuff and getting along great, smiling and laughing, when out come the cameras. I guess these Iranian farmers wanted to show their friends that they met some actual Americans.

The chatting ends, and we're shaking hands goodbye when one of the fatter farmers with the black thick spiky mustache grabs me by the shoulders (as I was reaching to shake his hand) and gives me big Borat-style kisses. He just swings his head around mine confidently and gives me hairy, mustachioed kisses on either side of my neck like he's done it all his life to any man he meets.

It's hard to describe what a strange feeling this was -- like having an animal crawl up the back of my neck, yet the sense that the animal really likes me, with the stunned feeling of something completely outside my sphere of comfort.

Later, I re-thought what had occurred: I'd been given big sloppy double-kisses from a fish farmer from Iran -- a country that borders two other countries under military occupation by my country. That would be like if Canada and Mexico were under military control by Iran, then Iran had been implying it would bomb Boston, New York and Los Angeles unless we stopped our development of any believable defense of such threats. If you are stupid enough to dispute this comparison, please first double check where Iraq and Afghanistan are located (and no, I'm not saying there's a moral equivalency between our two political systems, you nitwit).

I get this kind of affection from a common person from Iran? Mustachioed kisses and group pictures to show his friends and family? Extraordinary.
You left out one detail: what did it SMELL like when he kissed you? B.O.? Mustache wax? Trout? Falafel? Gardenia?
you're experience with 'staches has now surpassed most people on this planet.
Thankfully it wasnt a kiss of death like the mafia guys do. Kiss you then kill you.
Fish and kisses. Yeah. Mafia.
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