Iran: words can't describe (part 1)

English it's gonna be. I don't feel like translating this again later on :)

I really don't know where to start. I will consider this post as a documentation to myself as well, and will try to include all my impressions, which is almost impossible. If you don't feel like reading everything, stop after this phrase: this is probably the best thing I've ever done and there is no country I have fallen so in love with other than Iran. My expectations for this place were unreachable, skyhigh. And yet, they weren't high enough and reality turned out to be way better.

Even though all the people in my story haven't done anything illegal or anything, I won't call them by name. That's one of the tragic things of this country, on which I will shed some more light later on.

The good news all began in Istanbul, and it's connected to everything that happened in Iran so far. Upon arrival in Istanbul, it took me 1,5 hours to find my hostel (which was actually less than 2 minutes of walking from where I got off the tram). The guy at the reception of the hostel appeared to be Iranian (and so that's where it all started).

Istanbul is a beautiful city. The combination of Western comfort and Eastern atmosphere makes it a perfect bridge (quite literally ('quite literally' is impossible, i know)) between the two continents. After two days of sight-seeing, dancing and eating I decided, with the help of the reception-guy, to alter my plans and fly to Tehran, rather than to go by bus of train. It would save me at least 3 days and time is precious. The receptionist though asked me whether I could do him a favor. I wondered what he would ask, and i couldn't have guessed it; the same day that I booked my flight I flew to Tehran, with a gift-wrapped box of condoms in my backpack, to be delivered at his friend in Tehran.

And there I was. Iran. After at least four years of dreaming and planning, I arrived at the Imam Khomeini International Airport and took a taxi to the city center. at least I thought I did. It's hard to define a city center in a city that has roughly as many inhabitants as a small West-European country. I stayed at a hotel run by Mr. Mousavi, the first of many friendly Iranians I was to meet. I got an own room with private shower for no more than 6-7 euros. Only after some shisha with two French travellers, I discovered that everything in Iran is dirtcheap. I found out that the sanctions of the western countries against the Iranian regime are only affecting the large Iranian middle-class. In the last 6 months, since the banking sanctions against Iran were put in place, prices have risen to about 2,5 times as much as before, while the money has devaluated at an alarming rate. The couchsurfer who showed me around in Tehran told me that at first, he had worked and saved up enough money to go to Europe. Then, suddenly, the money became worthless against euros or dollars. The goverment, meanwhile, does not cease any 'undesirable' activity, so the large, well-educated middle-class is the only real victim of the international political games.

Anyway.

After one day, I went to the cafe in order to deliver the present, not knowing what to expect. You should know that I'd heard so many stories of Iranian hospitality and friendliness, but I had no idea how that would manifest itself. Upon arrival I was greeted warmly by the people working at the place, but, they said, the supposed receiver of the present wasn't there at the time. They would give it to him instead. When I was offered some tea and coffee, I got to talk with a girl who worked there as well. When I wanted to tell her in what neighborhood my hotel was, she interrupted me, by asking whether she had understood me well: did I say hotel? Yes I did. Seconds later she was calling her mother, asking if it would be okay if I would stay at their place. Not knowing what else to do, I accepted the offer, and the next day I went back to the cafe and was taken along to her home. I stayed there for 3 days.

And still no end in sight. I was taken care of like I was their child, I learned how to eat Iranian food, how to cross the Tehrani streets without dying, how to flag down any car (taxis exist but just about any car will stop and bring you further), how to behave in public when with a girl, and they even attempted to learn me how to stop saying 'thank you... thanks.. oh wow thanks' everytime they did something wonderful again. Everything was paid for and there was no way to try and secretly pay for anything myself... Mostly together with one or two friends, we went out to smoke a joint somewhere high up in Tehran with a view over a part of the city; we went to her friends where we even drank black-market wodka (any alcohol is prohobited in Iran); out to the northern end of Tehran, amidst the mountains, we had food and tea and I got a poem of the great Persian poet Hafez picked by a little bird sitting on my finger and I cannot translate the poem; we went out to buy stuff, we went out to get even more food, we went to palaces of the Persian shahs, we might have had shisha, I don't even remember, but the thing is that during these 3 days I got the feeling that I had been in Tehran for years, that I knew the place, that it was some sort of home. Everywhere I go people speak to me in Farsi, I'm not recognized as a tourist, which also helps.

The downsides of life in Iran though, are inevitable. Women especially, have to be covered up (headscarf) at all times, even when walking from their hotel room to the toilet. Women are not allowed to sing, and there is one occasion on which I walked home at night with the girl who was hosting me that struck me in particular. "I hope the police won't arrest us", she said. "Why, because we're walking together?" "No, because of my colours". She was wearing a red scarf and a darkred dress, which is considered too 'outgoing' or expressive (black is the norm). There are special police forces only checking if people look different, and that can be in any way they please, and they can arrest you for that. Everybody I spoke to has witnessed or experienced police violence or has spent time in jail, or has even lost relatives to related matters. Buses are segregated between men and women, and it is clear that your can rebel against the system, but only within the boundaries that they set themselves, and it's dangerous still.

I have much more to say. I'm in Esfahan now and it's beautiful again. Arriving at sunrise at the Imam Khomeini Square (google it, make sure it's the Esfahan one) was one of the most beautiful things I've ever seen. I'll be going to Iraq in a few days. But the internet cafe is closing so I name this part 1 and will continue some other time. !خداحافظی