Partying in the land of the Ayatollahs

"Partying" and "Iran" are probably not words that you associate with each other. Modern Iran is, after all, a theocratic regime which claims to enforce the social norms contained in a book that is almost 1400 years old. Since the Islamic Revolution of 1979, Iran has no bars and no nightclubs, and alcohol is forbidden for everyone except for officially recognized minorities (such as the Armenians). In the Lonely Planet guidebook, if you look up 'Nightlife' in the Tehran chapter, you will find a laconic "Dream on". As if that wasn't enough to kill any partying, Western music is banned. And did I forget to mention that women aren't allowed to sing (but men are)? Add to this the clothing restrictions and the ban on women interacting with unrelated men, and you have a pretty solid method to kill off all the fun. 

But all of the above are laws. These are the norms that the Iranian government expects people to obey. Do they? I am sure that there are many Iranians who firmly believe in many of the strict moralistic-patriarchal, anti-Western and anti-fun laws that I just referred to. But I did not meet them while in Iran. What I met were people who want to go about their own business and be free, and have fun when they want to, in the way that they decide. For these Iranians, the laws are not the result of a democratic consensus, they were imposed by a group of religious fundamentalists and thus they are illegitimate. And thus they do what all of us would do in their position: they circumvent these rules wherever and whenever they can, which usually means in their private homes or in remote locations where the risk of being caught by the police is low.

These two paragraphs are just to provide some context to a very exciting anecdote from Iran. After a few days in Tehran and an overnight stay in beautiful Kashan, I took a bus to Esfahan where the sister of a classmate from my Master's was waiting for me. Let's call this girl Farimah for the sake of caution. Farimah could not host me at her home but one of her male friends had agreed to do so. Let's call him Mohamed. The thing was, Mohamed was attending a party that evening at her sister's house. Did I mind going to the party, and then going home with Mohamed? Of course I did not mind!

It's barely 6:30 pm, the sun still shining in the blue desert sky, as we arrive at Mohamed sister's house. Which actually turned out to be his parents' apartment, too. As they open the door, I hear some music that strikes me as a mix between Techno, Turkish music and Indian rhythms. There are people dancing everywhere. I introduce myself awkwardly to a few people as I leave my bulky backpack and hat in one of the bedrooms. The party guests are all in their 20s, the girls all styled-up and wearing clothes that I hadn't seen at all in Iran. Needless to say, none of them is wearing the headscarf. At this point, Farimah disappears into another room with a large bag. When she comes out ten minutes later, she is wearing a completely different outfit. 

As I introduce myself to more people and make my way to the dance floor -actually the living room, but the furniture has been pushed back- I am asked whether I want a drink. Before I can reply, somebody else shouts "Shot!". I don't even know what it is that they are pouring me, could be vodka or cognac. I look around me and see happy, tipsy faces. A techno-Iranian song is playing. And then I too become carried away by the moment. It is a moment of reassurance that Iran is not at all a strange place, but rather a place full with people like you or me, friends waiting to be met. Forget the Ayatollah, forget the repressive theocratic state. These are just young people enjoying their freedom in defiance of it all. God knows where they get their alcohol from -actually, I know because they told me: they get it from grocery shopkeepers, and they are delivered straight to their homes.

The party goes on and I try to imitate some of the fantastic dance moves of my new friends. The music goes back and forth between Iran and the West. People dance in couples, in circles, in line -anything goes. In an attempt to please me, a girl plays a song by Enrique Iglesias in the belief that he is Mexican. More rounds of shots are downed, suddenly somebody is not feeling well and has gone to throw up. As I said, it's a typical party and we could be anywhere.

But when the clock hits 11 pm, the party takes an unanticipated turn. The lights go on. People pull out their mobile phones and start taking selfies. Group selfies. Selfies with the foreigner. I help them to take group pictures. The photographic session goes on for ages. Meanwhile, other people are cooking dinner. Pasta and salad, plus some bread. Dinner is the last part of the party. 

Because of the prohibition of partying in public places, Iranians have to party in private homes. And because most of them live with their parents until they get married, young Iranians depend on the goodwill and understanding of their parents to throw parties. This means that, in many cases, parents agree to leave the house will the party takes place, but they demand that the party be over by a reasonable time -say, 12 am. Which means that the party must start earlier. Not a bad thing, if you ask me!

After dinner, a number of us head to Mohamed's apartment. Actually, he shares a flat with two other room mates. And, some nights, with their respective girlfriends. This another thing that would be considered 'normal' for twenty-somethings in the West, but something that I hadn't expected to see in Iran. As I went to sleep that night, my mind struggled to process all that I had seen and tried to reconcile it with the other things I knew about Iran. Was I maybe hanging out with a hyper-Westernized educated elite? Had it been a typical evening for the Iranian youth? Do the children of the Ayatollahs also party? And perhaps more importantly: why didn't I think of playing Rock the Casbah, probably the most fitting track for the occasion?

I have enough on my plate for now, but I will come back to these questions in a forthcoming post.

Nuggets of wisdom

As I mentioned in my previous post, one of the most entertaining things about Iranian cities are the yellow signs that hang from the fences of public buildings. These signs have verses from the Quran in three languages (Farsi, Arabic and English). They are entertaining because they reveal an anachronistic notion of the role of the State in the 21st century -namely, a State that does not recognize civic and political liberties, but rather seeks to impose religious obligations on its citizens. I do not see how that can work out. Nobody likes to be told how to live, or how to practice their religion. 

On the other hand, let us remember that Iran is a theocracy. By taking a holy book and deriving laws and norms from it, they are just being congruent. The idea of a theocracy is what seems rotten to me (and to most of the world, for that matter). But I suppose that if you want to be taken seriously as a theocracy, you have to slice your holy book into nuggets of wisdom and force them down the throats of your subjects. 

In any case, here are five of these signs so you can judge for yourself.

"Advise your family to establish prayer regularly,
and yourself be a constant performer of it"

"And a believer who puts his trust in Allah, he will make
him free from the need of mankind"

"And obey Allah and the messenger, so
that you may obtain mercy"

"And those who exceed the limits ordained by Allah,
then such are indeed the transgressors"

"Say (O Messenger), to the believing men not to stare in the women's eyes
and that they should have control over their carnal desires"

Tehran

Prior to going to Iran, my expectations of the country were to some extent influenced by films such as Argo and Persepolis. These films take place mostly in Tehran. They show a city in a state of revolutionary fervor, a cauldron of Kalashnikov-wielding religious fanatics that march down the street chanting "Death to the USA!" and that look with extreme suspicion at anything that looks "Western". I knew the city would be different from that -the Islamic Revolution was 36 year ago, after all- but I didn't know what to expect. Would there be Revolutionary Guards everywhere? What would the locals be wearing? Would I be followed everywhere by the religious police?

Of course, none of the above materialized. Tehran is a vibrant, chaotic, diverse city of 15 million people. It is not qualitatively different from other megacities in developing countries. It is normal, so normal that at times I was disappointed that it wasn't more exotic. Indeed, at times I was struck by its similarities with Mexico City. There is a mix of modernity and tradition, and also a certain melancholy hanging in the air -it is clear that the city has seen better times. A Revolution, followed by a devastating eight year war with Iraq, followed by painful economic sanctions: Tehran has had it rough in recent decades.

The only truly "exotic" or quirky thing that there is, is the wall of the former American embassy. The compound is now officially called the "Den of Espionage" and it is now a facility of the Revolutionary Guards I think. Most Iranians that I know are embarrassed by these murals because they contribute to the image that Iran hates the USA, Israel and the West. Nevertheless, the murals have historical value insofar as they convey effectively the official view of the government: that Iran lives threatened by the American/Israelis, who might strike anytime. Real or not, the ghost of the foreign attack serves (much like it did for a long time in Cuba's Castro regime) to unify the country and legitimize its leadership.

This one speaks for itself

Ayatollah Khomeini

It is a common belief in Iran that the USA is controlled
by Israel (indeed, that Israel controls the world)

American gun versus Islamic art

Aside from its ugly expressways and tattered concrete buildings, Tehran has a lot to offer: the city is generously sprinkled with well-manicured parks, it has plenty of museums, art galleries and architectural jewels, and it is the throbbing economic, political and cultural heart of the country. And, unusual for such large cities, its people are friendly and welcoming. I was regularly addressed by Iranians in buses or at parks who simply wanted to know where I was from, why I was in Iran and how I was liking the city (I was even offered accommodation one time).  

Every megalopolis has oases of peace

North Tehran with the Albroz mountain range as backdrop

Besides the quirky anti-American propaganda, two other things that strike the eye of the casual foreign traveler about Tehran are the ubiquitous Ayatollah portraits and the total absence of Western chains. That's right: a city without McDonald's and Starbucks, without H&M and Marriott, without Toyota car dealerships or licensed Mac Stores. The consequences of the economic sanctions are thus rendered visible to the naked eye. Essentially, Iranians and Iranian companies can't buy almost anything directly from Western nations plus Japan and South Korea. This includes cars, which is why almost all cars in Iran are Iranian-made. That does not mean, however, that Iran is not a consumption society. It certainly is. People want (and have) mobile phones, cars, homes, fancy clothes, gadgets and the like. Western products do make it into the country, but they are first imported into a third country, which then re-exports the wares to Iran. Iran is today the 18th largest economy in the world measured by purchasing power -when the sanctions are finally scrapped this is gonna be a buoyant market.

Smartphones are advertised under the intimidating glance of the
 late Ayatollah Khomeini, the leader of the Islamic Revolution of 1979.

Definitely no official licensed stores, but you will find the phone

This is how a good Islamic family should look like

North Tehran, looking south

Is Tehran a pretty city? No, I wouldn't say that. It's a fairly modern city and thus does not have the historical core that makes cities such as Isfahan, Shiraz or Yazd so appealing. But it's Iran's most forward-looking city and it has been the most important theater of recent Iranian history. And it does have a number of worthy sights: Golestan Palace, the former American embassy, the Central Bazaar, the National Museum, Azadi (freedom) square, plus its many perky parks. The city has lots of good food and sells all the stuff you could ever want. All in all I spent in Tehran 3 full days (2 at the start of the trip and 1 at the end) and I am happy with that.

Entrance to Metro station Azadi Square

The view to the north

A fantastic Iranian hamburger with turkey bacon and beef.

Oh, there is something else I wanted to talk about -the paternalistic nuggets of life advice provided by verses of the Quran which are printed on large bilingual signs and hanged on the fences of all government properties. But that probably deserves a post of its own so I will cut it out here.

Couchsurfing in Iran

Entering the home of a Couchsurfing host for the first time is an exciting moment. It can be quite intimidating: you are literally entering the most private sphere of complete strangers. However, as soon as the door of Zara and Reza's apartment opened, I knew I was going to be alright. Sara welcomed me with a smile and showed me to what was to become my room for the next three nights. I also met their lovely dog Happy, a black nine year-old poodle. 

Nothing about the apartment made you think that you were in Iran, it could have been the home of a middle-class family elsewhere on the planet. Except perhaps the carpets: Iranians love them, and in all the homes that I visited I saw plenty of them. Sara offered me a cup of tea and a vast array of Iranian sweets. I took out from my backpack a box of German marzipan and a couple of bags of dogs' food, which she has requested that I bring from Europe as in Iran they are very expensive. 

While we chatted, Reza returned home from work and I introduced myself. Before sitting at the table he went to fetch something. Bottles. Alcohol bottles. Wine, beer and cognac. A most subversive act in an Islamic republic in which alcohol is forbidden (haram, as the Islamic concept is called). Reza poured each of us a glass of wine. It was home-made and wasn't too bad. After I announced my intention to capture the moment with a photo, he arranged the bottles so that it would be unmistakable: we were enjoying a glass of wine in the Islamic Republic of Iran. "We do what we want, we are free, we don't let the government tell us what to do", translated his wife. Indeed, nobody likes being told by the government how to live. The private home is perhaps the only place where Iranians can be free.

A couple of weeks before my trip to Iran I found in a bookstore in Berlin a book titled "Couchsurfing im Iran: Meine Reise hinter verschlossene Türen" by Stephan Orth, a German writer and journalist. The book is a chronicle of his two-month Couchsurfing odyssey in Iran. It's a pretty entertaining book. It also inspired me to try and couchsurf in Iran. From what I know, the Iranian government does not exactly love Couchsurfing, but they don't seem to be able to stop their people from hosting foreigners. And Iranians like to host foreigners because they are interested in them, and for many Iranians traveling abroad (especially to the West) is very difficult. So through CS I found my hosts in Tehran. And they were really nice and friendly. Not only did they host me, they also cooked for me, spent time chatting to me, and even gave me a set of keys to their home so that I could come and go at my leisure! Talk about hospitality!

We discussed the usual topics: the political situation in Iran under the moderate government of Rohani, the nuclear deal negotiations and the sanctions regime, Islamic fundamentalism and Islamic laws, and generally we talked about life in Iran, Germany (where I live) and Mexico. In general we agreed on things: that it sucks that Iran has a theocratic government, that they should stop trying to impose Islam on everybody and recognize the freedom of each individual regardless of his creed, and that in spite of all the economic and political hardships life in Iran can be quite good.  

Already on that first evening I recognized that permanent contradiction that most travelers identify as quintessential to contemporary Iran: the mismatch between the way the government (or more precisely, the religious elite that sits on top of the civil government) wants Iranians to live, and the way that Iranians want to live. What I saw that first day, I would see again and again in other parts of Iran: people seek ways to free themselves from the shackles of religious laws that negate basic liberties. That such laws exist, and that the government often tries to enforce them, is a recurrent source of powerless anger for travelers. But at the same time, the way in which Iranians get around these laws is worthy of admiration. I will come back to that in following posts.

My room in Tehran, facing south

My hosts Reza* and Sara* (names changed to protect their
anonymity from the government)

Welcome to the Islamic Republic of Iran

May 22, 2015

As the pilot announces the start of our final descent to Tehran's Imam Khomeini International Airport, I look out the window to discover a landscape dramatically different from that in which the plane took off barely five hours ago. Endless, barren steppes stretch out in every direction. The ground is brown, perhaps a bit orange. Then the plane makes a 45-degree turn and suddenly the massive Alborz mountain range comes into sight, dominated by the peak of the 5,610-meter Mount Damavand. As we dive into Tehran's urban sprawl, I watch attentively the lines, shapes and textures of this massive megalopolis. Suddenly I realize that the jagged silhouette of the northern mountains is no longer visible, as the curtain of smog thickens the view -a familiar sight for a native of Mexico City.

The landing is smooth and brief. I grow increasingly excited -we are finally on Iranian soil- and wish that other passengers would clap so that I could release my excitement. But nobody claps. Instead, as the plane makes it way to a remote gate, I notice some women (mostly Germans) awkwardly adjusting their statutory headscarves. They also have to cover their neck, their legs, their arms. Technically only face and hands may remain visible, as per the islamic hejab principle. All women onboard are well prepared to comply with this dressing code, although lots of women have strands of hair coming off their headscarf.

As I walk out of the plane to board the bus that will take us to the terminal building, I look around ant notice that almost all other planes are Iranian, and that they look old. There are early versions of the Boeing 747, as well as MD 82's and other models that have been out of service in the Western world since the 1990s. This is a result of the sanctions regime -Iranian airlines can't buy aircraft from Western countries, which means that they have to buy second-hand planes from non-Western airlines.

A B747-200 from Iran Air. Production of this
aircraft was phased out in 1991.

After a short bus ride to the austere terminal building, we are greeted by a "Welcome to the Islamic Republic of Iran" banner and a surprisingly long immigration line. To the sides of the banner are the pictures of the two bearded, turban-wearing elderly men that one sees everywhere in Iran: Ayatollah Khomeini (deceased in 1989) and Ayatollah Chamenei (the current supreme leader of Iran). The former looks angry, the latter neutral or even happy. This personality cult is a fact of life in modern Iran, a reminder that the Ayatollah stands above everything and everyone else, a reaffirmation of the supremacy of the religious leadership over the democratically elected leadership (represented by Hasan Rohani).

The immigration line at Khomeini Airport is by far the most interesting one that I have encountered in my life. I was the only Westerner in the line. The rest of the line seemed to be made up of people from Muslim countries, possibly the majority of them from the Indian subcontinent. Their clothes and colors were simply exotic, fascinating and perplexing. Were they traveling for tourism, or perhaps to visit the holy shrine of Imam Reza in Mashhad, one of the most important Shia pilgrimage sites?

The line was long and moved slowly, it must have taken about an hour to get to the booth. The officer didn't say a word and just stamped my passport. Then I collected my bag. And suddenly I was in Iran! While exchanging Euros for Rial, the clerk tried to short change me about 1/3 of my money -not a cool tactic. Maybe it was just an accident.

I found a taxi booth and was quoted 650.000 Rial for a drive to my destination (my Couchsurfing host's home). A driver took me to another driver, and thereafter to another driver. I showed them all a sheet of paper with my host's address printed in Farsi. Finally one driver asked me to follow him to his cab. In this cab there were already two people waiting for a ride. How strange. Of course I refused to enter the vehicle. The driver wanted me to take his cronies to some place, at my own expense. Oh no. He asked them to leave and I got in. I knew that our relationship was now sour.

His driving was erratic. Not only his. Everyone's. Almost nobody pays attention to lanes, breaking distance, or overtaking rules. Or traffic rules at all. It was scary at moments. Like when drove onto the shoulder of the road to overtake at 130 km/h. All the while driving with one hand (with the other hand he was busy eating sunflower seeds or talking on the phone). And did I forget to mention that he was not wearing the safety belt? No wonder Iran has one of the highest traffic fatality rates in the world. I made a mental note about trying to avoid taxis, or motorized traffic in general, while in Iran. Although observance of traffic rules can be also be quite bad in Mexico, somehow I felt much more vulnerable in Iran in this respect.

As to the city itself: my first impression was not good. Chaotic, choked-full of cars, polluted and devoid of aesthetically-pleasing buildings. And yet at the same time I found the city mesmerizing. Full of life and trade. Full of pragmatic and resourceful citizens accustomed to dealing with discomfort. The drive to my CS host was about one hour of fifteen minutes, a lot of spent in heavy traffic. But I had a lot of fun. This is it, I thought. Iran, Tehran, the land of the Ayatollah.

When we finally arrived, I was much too excited to notice that the driver short changed me fifty-thousand Rial (about 1.5 Euro). Bastard. Somehow I found the right bell on the door and very quickly I was upstairs, getting to know Sara* and Reza* (the names of all my Iranian friends will be changed to avoid getting them in trouble... just to make sure). But that will be the subject of another post.