The old town of Mashad was far from the more modern neighborhood where I grew up, but my mom had close ties to that part, having spent her childhood there. Our trips to the old town—my mom, younger sister, and me—on the most basic, normal days of our lives felt like stepping into a time machine. We ventured into a place that was historical, gloomy, dimly lit, and magical, with the aromas of classic spices, herbs, and food wafting through the abandoned corridors.