On October 10th, with a hardly won visa sticked on my passport, I reached the Armenia-Iran border on an old Kamaz tanker. I had waited for a long time to go to Iran, and I had imagined and heard a lot of things about what what it was like, but I was eager to see it with my own eyes. In the last armenian building, I made the necessary clothing adjustments, worrying about not being dressed properly and about how I would get a ride to Tabriz. Fortunately, I met four friendly men there and was offered a ride. I walked through the border with a mixture of intimidation and excitement, feeling as if I was walking behind the curtain of a famous play.
I still haven't written much about the month I spent in Iran. The main reason is that the internet there is very slow (one of the many strategies to cut people from the rest of the world), discouraging the most motivated traveller to post blog updates. But an even bigger issue is the censorship, and as a foreigner lacking awareness of what should and should not be said, the fear of getting into trouble for sharing the wrong information is another obstacle. Back in the 'free' world, it is finaly time for me to write something about this time.
'Why did you come to Iran?' is a question that came up many times. It seemed strange to people that while they were dreaming of going out of Iran, I was happy to have managed to get into Iran. I explained that I loved the iranian people, culture and language and that I was interested in seeing something different. That's what I seek when travelling, something that I have never seen before and that will challenge the way I see the world and teach me to perceive things under a new light. And that's just what happened, Iran shook my world.
The experience I had was against all my expectations. I didn't see the things I was expecting to see, and I experienced a lot of things which I had not imagined before. I expected something else on the architecture and landscape side, which is probably due to my wild imagination and how I always imagine unknown places as something out of a fantastic movie. I have only been to the North West and Center of Iran, which could be split into desert -not only the idillic sand dunes desert but mostly vast dry areas with bushes and no trees, and forest near the Caspian Sea. Iranians call the Caspian Sea lush region 'jungle', but what I saw didn't look too much like the jungle I imagined -again, wild imagination with monkeys running up and down the trees. As for the architecture, there are plenty of wonderful old monuments and mosks, but they are scattered in a background of low and ugly buildings.
Nevetheless, Imam Square in Esfahan is splendid, and made up for the dry river (due to a dam, which has since last month been opened to let the water return! Yey!). Kashan's historical houses are an amazing display of wealth and fine architecture. Tehran's old government buildings and libraries are beautiful, as are the impressive modern buildings of the North Tehranis in Valenjak.
But going to Iran in these strange and difficult times has a much deeper meaning than just watching landscapes and architecture. So, the small desilusion of the little tourist in me was more than compensated by the rich experience that I gained by getting a glimpse of the iranian life from the inside. Behind the islamic veil, and far beyond the image that western media presents, Iran is a country of refined culture and wonderful people. As extremes go together, oppression and the resulting pain and fear of the people are paired with extravagant generosity, great minds and unique creativity.
Iran without the iranians would be like a book without words. There are the religious ones who pray 5 times a day and sit around drinking tea with their large families in furniture-less living rooms, the rich ones in the Tehrani suburb Valenjak with remade noses and too much make up, the revolutionaries, the women in chador and the young girls pushing their scarves back when the police is not watching... I met every kind of people, in taxis, buses, in the park or at dinner parties, and all of them were full of kindness and generosity, always doing their best to show me hospitality in any way they could. I was offered genuine friendship, meals, and often even to stay in people's homes. Once a girl in a city bus took me by the hand and walked with me under te rain for almost an hour in order to get me a bus ticket for the next city, and she insisted on paying for it. The only problem with being the 'sacred guest' is to start taking it for granted, and the chance of getting bored and feeling useless while everybody is doing things for you. So I learned to fight with housewives over doing the dishes and to run to the waiter in order to pay before anybody else.
In Iran women must wear headscarves and loose fitting coats, they cannot smoke nor sing, drinking is strictly forbidden, men and women are not allowed to hang out unless they are related or married, dancing is forbidden, and so is owning a dog, hosting foreigners, being gay, changing religion, and oposing the regime in any way. The penalties are high, going from fines to imprisonement, lashing and death.
On the positive side, I was amazed at how forbidding some things could make doing those things much more enjoyable and exciting. I had learned this beforehand when an iranian girl in Armenia told me that she rarely drank alcohol in Armenia since it was so easy to get that there was nothing exciting about consuming it. This must be human nature, the fact we need to be deprived of something to understand what that thing is worth. This realisation captivated me and puzzled me quite a bit, and I still wonder about the relationship between freedom and happiness. Hidden from the sight of the police, boys and girls meet, there are music bands, concerts and parties (the only one of which I experienced was a bus party in the desert!)... Everything that one can do that is considered 'fun' in other places is thrilling in Iran, for the simple fact that it is forbidden. In order to avoid getting into trouble I learned to spot green police cars from a distance and walk away from police control points in busy street corners.
After some time though, I started to understand how it is not all just fun, and how heavy this situation is for the people who face it every day. Forbidding something does make that thing more enjoyable as long as the penalties that are risked are not too high and systematic. I spoke to a young lady in the bus once who is a lawyer. I asked her what kinds of cases she mostly dealt with and she told me that it was relationship issues between young men and women, and that the penalties included most of the time lashing. I spoke to countless young people, who are hopeless about changing their situation and dream to leave Iran. And it is the young women who seem to suffer the most, those who want to study and be successful, or just to be able to walk on the street dressed as they want.
When I passed the border with Turkey and could finaly take off my headscarf, I felt strange and it took me a few more days to get used to the fact that it was ok to go on the street like that, and that I was not an outlaw when having coffee with a man who is not my husband.
Iran definitely left a strong impression in my mind, and I my interest grew even deeper once I left the country and looked back at what I had seen and lived there. If you want a nice introduction to independent iranian cinema and the underground music movement I advise you to watch 'No one knows about persian cats' by Bahman Ghobadi :)