Tales from Tehran

Tehran isn’t a place that welcomes you with open arms. It sizes you up first. You don’t stroll casually into Tehran, to paraphrase Boromir. You arrive. And the city lets you know who’s boss before letting you in.

Tehran is a place of controversy and contradictions. Many people seems to have a strong opinion about the city without ever placing their feet on the pavement. I’m here to find out the real story.

The capital of Iran is bordering the Alborz mountains, visible from many places in the city. Tehran is the largest city in the Middle East and I felt it in my legs as we explored endless streets. Even though foreigners are a rare commodity in the city, people mostly tend to leave us alone (with a few notable exceptions). We buy coffee for an mind-boggling number of bills, and a crowd goes silent just to observe our every move. I feel like a mix between rock star and leprosy victim.

People here don’t just survive. They endure with style. Beneath the obstructing chador and opulent sunglasses, you’ll find stories layered deeper than ancient Persian rugs. Some approach us, very curious to who we are and why we are in Iran, but most keep to just staring and gazing. As always, talking with locals is the true way of learning about a culture. In the case of Iran, the people is very different from their government.

Azari teahouse in Tehran.

Dusty cars pass in a symphony of horns, curses, and improbable maneuvers. Crossing the road? It’s an act of faith, not logic. You look both ways and say a small prayer to whatever god answers in Farsi.

We manage to survive long enough to find the Azari tea house near the train station. Of course we were the only foreigners and got a lot of attention. The place itself was an organized chaos where a performer punished his hand drum while a happy waiter dropped tons of tea on our table.

The proud chef.

I wanted to try the infamous sheep brain, so we found a place where the staring old men implied that not many westerners had seen the inside of these walls. First we got a bowl of the water that the sheep head had been boiled in, followed up with plates of tongue, eyes and chin. The final plate was the brain, making me feel like a zombie as I let loose on the pieces.

“This is worth some extra time in the thunder bucket.”
— Anthony Bourdain

I can fairly say that the meal was more interesting than delicious, but that’s why I’m here in the first place. To explore a different culture and learn new things about the world.

Sheep brain for dessert.

Tehran may sound like a mix between Mordor and Borås, and yet, there’s an unexpected rhythm to it all. A strange, quiet kind that creeps up behind you and taps you on the shoulder when you least expect it. It’s in the faded murals of fallen martyrs, the smell of grilled kebab wafting through an alley, the call to prayer bouncing off the mountains like music for the masses.

Tehran isn’t easy. It’s not supposed to be. But if you can handle the grit, the contradictions, the rules both spoken and silently broken, you just might find yourself captivated.