Last night we celebrated Nowruz (Persian New Year) with friends, food, and a slightly-too-late bedtime. Their beautiful new house glowed, candles flickered, and the conversation turned into a history lesson about family traditions which made us think: “Wait, why do we actually do this?”
Persian customs
There’s something delightfully baffling about Nowruz traditions. Take boiling milk on the stove at midnight to welcome the new year. Does anyone know why? No. Then there’s flinging every window open to let the new year in. I’m sure that this works better in Tehran weather than in Newcastle in March.
My friends talked about how they used to light a candle and let it burn down on its own to ward off bad luck. Personally, I think the bad luck might be forgetting it’s still burning. But we all agreed that there’s something about these old superstitions that makes you feel tethered to generations before you.
I came clean about my disastrous sabzeh-growing attempts. Every year I nurture those sprouting seeds like they’re another child, and sometimes they turn into sad little haystacks. This year my friends are growing me a backup batch. If that’s not friendship, I don’t know what is.
A feast worth the fasting
Our hosts went all out. There was sosis bandari, lamb, chicken, and sangak so fresh it was practically steaming in my hands. And yes, dessert, though I barely saw it. Little C and his mate hoovered up the profiteroles before the adults had even passed the plates round.
“Then H, cool as you like, recited all seven S’s of the haft sin table. He nailed it. The whole table clapped. I sat there beaming like the mum who’d done his homework for him.”
Why these nights matter
Having Persian friends has taught me that celebrations aren’t just about the food or the rituals, they’re about belonging. They’re about sitting around a table and realising that even though you grew up in different worlds, you can still share the same stories.
My first Nowruz started with a trip to Reza’s Patisserie in Kensington, London. I carried a bag full of haft sin bits. There was also, for reasons I still can’t explain, a live goldfish. Against all odds, that little thing survived the five-hour drive back to Newcastle. It bobbed along in its plastic bag like a tiny hitchhiker. Seven years later, my dad called to say it had died. I cried so hard you’d have thought I was being written out of its will. My mother-in-law told me there’s an old Persian belief that a goldfish dies to save you from death yourself. Comforting, yes. But still, RIP to the smallest, most determined member of the family.
Road trips and high heels
We were laughing about that year we took a 15-hour bus from Tehran to Shiraz for Nowruz with 24 relatives in tow. Accommodation? Forget it at this time of year. We ended up sleeping on the floor of a music school. I shared a room with all of H’s aunties, and naturally, I was the one without a blanket because the closest auntie had cocooned herself in hers. On one side, a small child kept kicking me; on the other, I was freezing. Sleep? No chance.
The next morning didn’t improve matters. Getting changed in front of a room full of strangers was awkward. They were all staring at my tattoos.
And then there was Persepolis. Stunning, yes, but one of H’s cousins thought stilettos were appropriate footwear for 2,500-year-old ruins. The sound of heels clicking on ancient stone was really funny, but the blisters she endured afterwards weren’t.
Getting the kids involved
If you want kids to actually love Nowruz, give them jobs that feel like fun (not chores disguised as tradition):
- Paint eggs – it will get messy, but that’s half the fun.
- Explain the haft sin table – kids will poke, prod, and ask a million questions, and they secretly love it.
- Turn spring cleaning into a competition (bribes highly encouraged).
- Make mini haft sin displays – their faces when they see their creations on the table are worth it.
“Traditions only survive if we hand them down. Right now, Cyrus might remember them as ‘that thing Mum made me do,’ and roll his eyes. But one day, he’ll catch himself smiling at the memory. He will wonder why it mattered so much. Secretly, it will have mattered.”
Have you celebrated Nowruz or experienced any unique cultural traditions? Share your story in the comments below, and let’s connect through the beauty of shared experiences.
This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.
Discover more from Saffron and Cyrus
Subscribe to get the latest posts sent to your email.
Saffron and Cyrus is a Newcastle-based family lifestyle blog, covering health, wellness, days out, travel, reviews, recipes and more from our family life.
The blog is written by new mum over 40, Aranda, with input from hubby H and son, Little C.
Leave a Reply