Tehran and the Cyrus syndrome.

I remember a few years ago, right about the same time 300 came out; I was obsessed with Persian history. It’s amazing. Just like every great civilization, it has a humble beginning, a rise toward world dominance and a steady decline. The Persians were arguably the first civilization that replaced killing and raping conquered lands, with exploiting people for their talents, traits and resources. I remember walking through Persepolis last time I visited Iran and noticing how much of what remained was influenced by Assyrians, Greeks, Egyptian and other civilization. Perhaps the same way much of United States is now a derivative of what people imported from the old world.

One of the downfall of being linked to a great ancient civilization, is the fact that it can suck you in. I know many Persians who associate with Cyrus and Darius as if they’re their uncles. They speak with such passion and dedication about Iran’s history, it borders creepy. I mean I can understand where they come from. For a society that doesn’t have much to offer now, it’s easy to find attraction toward a past that they can be proud of. But lets no forget that, it’s always unhealthy dedication and dogmatic perspective toward certain individuals that can lead to what Iran is today.

In many ways I view Iran’s history as “Erised Mirror” from the first Harry Potter. It shows many Iranians their deepest desires for Iran, but it offers nothing else. Many have spent countless hours dedicating their lives, idolizing a past that’s long gone,without spending time considering the truths of present.

Tehran and the waltz of Prides

I drove for the first time in Tehran. For me driving in Iran was different than anywhere else. Although I’ve seen similar forms of driving in other European cities (Paris and Rome) Iran is genuinely unique in its style.

First off, everyone, hands down hates they way everyone else drives. In their mind everyone else lacks the culture and the required skill to be on the road. They all think people in other countries are much better drivers and are respectful. They all complain that people have lost their ways and no one cares about anyone else on the road. And they say this while they cut through three lanes, ignore stop signs, drive on the wrong side of the street, and all sorts of other crazy things.

None of what they say is actually true. I don’t believe people in Tehran drive they way they do cause they lack culture or skill. I also find people in Iran to be very polite and respectful toward each other on the road, much more than any other place I know. I honestly don’t think anyone can truly drive in reverse on a highway and not expect to be flipped off by at least eight to twelve other motorists. In tehran, not only you’re not flipped off, other motorist actually clear the way and signle the traffic behind them to make way for the car driving the wrong direction. Cutting through multiple lanes on a last second ditch for an exist that you should have anticipated few hundered meters back is considered acceptable. In all honestly I believe the reason people drive the way they do is due to the amount of cars in the city and the limited number of streets. I don’t think it has anything to do with the type of people they are as whole.

Tehran is an old city that has grown way beyond its capacity. It lacks the roads required to cater to its massive population. I have no doubt, if drivers from anywhere else are on those roads, same style of driving would eventually emerge. No one’s going to wait five hours behind a stop sign if there is no way they can get in. If three lanes are not enough to, people will make extra imaginary lanes. These behaviours in my opinion have nothing to do with them being Iranian and everything to do with the limitations imposed by the number of cars on the streets.

Due to all of this, driving in Tehran doesn’t follow any formal rule of law. Even though they have very complete and comprehensive laws and regulations, most of it is not enforced due to its impracticality. Because of this, a very organic style of driving has emerged in Iran that I had the honor of experiencing for the first time on this trip.

Driving in the streets of Tehran is not an automatic flow of procedures that I’ve come to understand in Canada. Here in Canada my lane is my lane and I can only change it if it’s safe. A stop sign means full stop. These are simple and easy to follow rules that are ingrained my brain. I’ve done them so many times they’re automatic. In Iran however, although these rules exist, there is another underlying set of rules that are not written and I would consider writing them to be impossible.

In Tehran driving is like a dance. When you’re driving in Tehran you’re dancing with all the cars around you. You follow your steps, and hope so will the cars around you. You’re all entangled in a musical performance with the goal of reaching your destination without hitting each other. When you move they move. It’s as organic as a tribal dance and none of it can be formulated in to a procedural set of commands. It’s something you need to get a feel for. You need to feel the rhythm of the streets and the drivers. Once you do, seeing a car driving backward on the highway is no loner shocking. This is why I think drivers in Iran are actually more polite than drivers anywhere else. I don’t think any sane driver would tolerate someone driving in reverse on a highway, let alone consider helping him out by clearing the way for him to make his exit.

I'm going to be honest,the little time I drove in Tehran I got honked at multiple times. But it was all because I followed the law. My favourite one was when I was on the highway minding my own business when the car beside my started honking at me. I sped up quickly to get out of the way, confused at what I had done. My dad explained to me, he was honking because I wasn’t letting him nudge in to my lane. I told him, why should I let him get his car half way in to my lane when I’m driving safely in the center of my own lane. He said the car on his other side wanted to merge in and he had to partially come in to my lane to let him in, he was honking cause I didn’t let him in. It was somewhat amazing to realize that I got honked at for not breaking the law. I wasn’t even thinking about the car beside me, as far as I knew he was driving in his own lane and worrying about him and the car beside him shouldn’t have been any of my concern.

Examples like this happened multiple times as I made my way home from a restaurant that was ten minutes away. I didn’t get in to an accident but managed to piss off multiple drivers for stepping on their shoes. I was never much of a dancer, but I’m sure with little practice I can learn my steps.

Tehran and young people fucking

Since my goal in Tehran was to get a new and fresh perspective on the city and its people, it was imperative for me to infiltrate some social circle that went beyond my family and relatives. I don’t have any friends in Iran. I never kept in touch with anyone after I came to Canada. There was no Facebook or email to exchange back then and even if there was, who really keeps in touch with their friends from grade six. So to make friends and socialize, I had to improvise. Staying in a rather large residential complex made things somewhat easier. After hanging out in the common areas and becoming familiar with a few people around the neighborhood, I threw a party. Shortly after that I started to regularly hangout with a crowd and thus my Iranian social circle was created.

Every time I’m about to make a generalization about certain people or a culture, I tend to question my own understanding. It’s perhaps something I’ve picked up during my time at school. Anyone with some degree of formal education knows that It’s never acceptable to make broad generalization without research or data. My short time in Iran and my limited interaction with a small group of people by no means give me any authority to judge the population as whole. However there are certain patterns, behaviours and common traits that showed up during my time. So the following are simply what I saw put in to words and are not broad generalization of everyone.

Young people in Iran have to be the most jaded group of people I’ve come across. It appears they’ve been disappointed by their parents, society and most importantly by themselves countless time. They unanimously roll their eyes at the slightest sign of hope. Although they seemed about life, future and themselves, they were perhaps most jaded about love.

When we get in to relationships, and by relationships I mean meaningful relationships, we follow certain procedures. These relationships do not include your one night stands or the stuff you do when you’re drunk in Vegas. These are meaningful relationships with people you potentially love. And although the procedure differ from person to person, and from couples to couples I believe the underlying process is pretty universal. If I may, geek it up a bit, I think the following flow chart perhaps highlights the process of a couple meeting and the manifestation of their relationship in the simplest and most direct way.


Now this is generally how your normal, run of the mill relationship between two rather normal people tend to start. People meet, they hangout for awhile, when they feel comfortable they start going out and eventually they take their relationship to the next level and get their groove on. Now, in Iran the government doesn’t like this. Just like any theocracy, they don’t like the idea of their youth spending too much time with each other. After all sex outside of marriage is a sin and it’s the duty of a government that’s based on religion to prevent its citizen from breaking laws set forth by God. For that reason the government in Iran has made social outings and hanging out somewhat difficult for its young people. It’s a hassle to go out for a coffee or a movie in Iran. Dating carries a risk of being harassed if not by Iran’s moral police at least by disapproving and judgemental looks of the public . Although the idea of dating has become more acceptable over the years, still the stigma of two unrelated individuals of opposite sex enjoying each others company is felt throughout. For that reason, I got a sense that Iran’s youth is not really in to dating. They much rather spend time in each others houses. After all, in your house, you can dress the way you like, you can eat and drink what you like and most importantly you can be comfortable without worrying about anything. What’s also true, is that, once you’re comfortable and have had a few drinks the bedroom is literally a step away. So for that, the process outlined in red in the above diagram is non-existent in Iran. Due to lack of options for young people to socialize, dating is practically eliminated. Hence the Streisand effect:

The term ‘Streisand effect’ was coined back in 2003 by Mike Masnick of Techdirt. It references the singer’s attempts to suppress photographs of her Malibu house from becoming public. Not only was she unsuccessful in doing so, her attempts to intimate and suppress inadvertently lead to more publicity. The official definition of the term is the phenomenon in which attempts to hide or suppress a piece of information has the unintended consequence of publicising the information more widely. Although the ‘Streisand effect’ is mostly associated with the online world and attempts to hide information, I believe the more generic idea of backlash from forcing a group of people to do one thing and have it lead to the exact opposite of the intended action, is still applicable.

So the Islamic Republics attempt to suppress its youth from mingling and god forbids take part in premarital sex, has managed to do the exact opposite. By making it difficult for its youth to date and socialize in a healthy manner, by turning perhaps the most natural and normal form of human interaction in to an evil and debaucherous act, it has lead its youth to do what the republic dreads the most. I’m sure there are couples in Tehran right now, getting it on, when they wouldn’t have they had a chance to go on dates and spend sometime knowing what a horrible match they make. But since that option is not really available and there isn’t much else to do, they might as well do the one thing that can bring them some from of minute pleasure. Sex has lost its meaning among Iran’s youth. It is no longer an act meant to symbolize love between two individuals. It has become a passing form of entertainment for a population that doesn't have much else to do. Being promiscuous is the norm and kids move from one bedroom to another trying to find an ounce of happiness or meaning in an environment that doesn’t offer either. All the while holding the Islamic Republic responsible for perhaps for the largest Streisand effect.

Tehran and the milestone expectations.

On my flight from Istanbul, I met a guy from Tehran. Or so he claimed, his accent suggested he was from one of the other provinces, but that doesn’t really matter. He was seated next to me on the plane, the flight was long, and I wasn’t the least sleepy. He said he was coming back from Germany where he was continuing his education. He had finished his MD and was focusing on something specific in some medical field. I don’t remember the details but that doesn’t really relate to where I’m going with this post. What I found interesting about him was his discontent with all that he had achieved and his life in general.

Being unhappy with life is as Persian as a Tabrizi rug. That’s nothing new. However what I find interesting is people’s expectations when it comes to their own achievements and milestones. There is a common pattern among Iranians when it comes to all they’ve achieved in their life. When they speak of their lives and the things they’ve done, a pattern tends to creep up over and over again. I like to call it “unrealistic milestone expectations.” To elaborate more on this I’ll continue with my example.

The guy on the flight, we’ll call him Babak, was in his late 20s early 30s. He had a geeky demeanour and his lower-middle-class upbringing was evident. Babak told me that after he finished high school he worked extremely hard to get in to a state-sponsored university. To do so he had to do well on a nation-wide test (konkoor which I think comes from the French/English word ‘conquer’). The result of that test determines what university you’ll end up in and pretty much dictates your future.

Once he got in, he studied medicine. After years of hard work he finally became a full fledged doctor. To continue his studies he decided to move to Germany. He’d been in one of the smaller German towns for the past few months and was on his way back to Iran for a break. He was telling me how he was disappointed that he had spent all his life studying and working hard on becoming a doctor. He told me but he had gained nothing else. He was complaining that he wasn’t rich. That his hard work had not gotten him any power or influence in society. He told me to his disappointment he had not been able to woo the girl that he wanted to marry. All the while being sad that he had spend all his time becoming a doctor thinking it would entitle him to all the things that it didn’t.

During my time in Tehran I used taxis to get everywhere. By most standards they’re pretty cheap and the drivers usually make for interesting conversations. One of these drivers was a young guy named Ali. He was in his early 20s and he was telling me how he worked over time to get himself a Maxima. Maxima is a car in Iran that apparently entails some sort of status in society. I personally find nothing special with the car, but Ali seemed pretty proud of his achievement to finally being able to buy one. However that sense of pride was also attached to an overwhelming sense of disappointment. He told me he thought he’ll have an easier time with women once he got his Maxima. However his Maxima had apparently failed him on that front and he had his eyes set on a Benz. I found it somewhat humours how in his mind the car he drove equalled the number/quality of women he would get. And that his lack of success with women had everything to do with his car and nothing to do with him as a person. Although I would come to learn about going “Dordor” and Iranian style of flirting in the streets and the importance of the type of car you drive, I still think his vapid connection of cars and women was pretty shallow and weak.

Examples like Babak and Ali are endless. What do these two individual have in common? In my opinion they both suffer from what lots of Iranians suffer. They both have “Unrealistic milestones expectations.” When you chose to become a doctor, you work hard to become one. Once you succeed, you’re a doctor. That is it. This doesn’t mean you’re entitled to wealth, fame and power. It entitles you to being a doctor. As a doctor you have gained a valuable tool which will make it easier to reach those other ends, but it doesn’t make it inevitable or sometimes any easier. Getting a Maxima means you have worked hard and have saved enough money to drive a nicer car. That is it. I don’t see why you should expect anything beyond that. Doing so would only lead to your own disappointment.

This is very common among Iranians. When they work hard for something, and finally get it, there is an expectation to get more than what it entails. When someone puts in the time to go to Home Depot to buy a hammer, that person has got himself a a hammer. It’s asinine to come back home and complain that you went all the way to Home Depot and the nails aren’t still hammered in. In my opinion our accomplishment are an end on their own. They’re fulfilments within the scope of their domain. Once our milestones are realized for what they are, they can be effectively and efficiently used as a mean toward other ends.

Iranians view life as a swim toward an island, a struggle toward some blessing, a dash toward a light at the end of a tunnel. They are persistent and swim hard, however once they reach it, they expect everything and anything. I’m not sure if this mentality stems from a religious understanding of a better after-life or has something to do with a common upbringing among Iranians. One where you’re told over and over again, “If you study hard and become a doctor, then you’re set.”

Over time I’ve managed to distance myself from that type of thinking and view life is an upward climb. A continuous climb where you equip yourself with better tools as you progress through different stages of life. Tools that make the climb faster and easier. And as you get higher and higher, life starts to show you a better view of all that it has to offer.

Enjoy your degree as a doctor, and if it’s fame and money you’re after use your knowledge and background as means to help you on that front. Don’t expect it to come to you automatically. Enjoy your fancy car for what it is, if you tell a girl how it was your dream to drive a Maxima and through hard work and persistence you managed to achieve it, I’m sure she’ll be much more impressed by you than your Maxima.

Tehran and my 12 year old daughter.

The following articles chronicle my time in Tehran. Unlike my other posts, they’re mostly descriptive and argumentative in nature and tend to drift away from the narrative. Because of this, I think it’s important to highlight what Tehran means to me. This way the you have an easier time digesting and understanding why I say what I say and where it all stems from. This post is an introduction to a series of articles on me, Tehran, Iran and Iranians.

Here I was, sitting at the Fiumicino airport once again waiting for the boarding call to be announced. Even though being back in Italy was a detour, spending few nights in Rome had been delightful. My sister and mom had met up with my dad and it only made sense for me to drop by and complete the set. Seeing everyone together was nice. Over the past few years, occurrences of all four of us being in the same place at the same time had become a rare experience. Although I could probably fill pages after pages on my family and my relationship with them, I want to focus on something, or perhaps more accurately somewhere completely different. Right now, I’m at the airport waiting for my flight to Istanbul and then to Tehran.

I was born in Tehran some 26 years ago. I lived there for the first 12 years of my life, after which I moved to Canada. I visited the city on multiple occasions, all for three to four weeks. This trip was going to be the same length, however I had different plans on how I was going to approach my time in Tehran this time around.

Tehran holds a special place in my memory. It defines my childhood and early adolescence. Just like any other 12 year old I had no responsibilities or worries at that age. I used to ride my bike around Tehran’s wavy roads and deep potholes, play soccer with a double layered plastic ball and do a round of “Stop-Havaai” with the kids on the street. I knew everything and everyone I needed and felt comfortable and secure in my little world. Life was carefree and my only concern was making sure I do good in school. I had friends, my family and a comfortable life with nothing that could possibly stress me out. Tehran was a paradise and I was its king. Life was good.

I feel kind of old recollecting on my childhood as a far off fantasy world with no worries or responsibilities. I say this, because of all people I should know better. This is not something unique. Most people feel the same way as they get older. As life becomes more focused on our responsibilities and things we have to do, we easily become envious of our careless past. Unless you had horrible a childhood, most people associate the same carefree values with being a kid. However unlike most people, right around the time I was to become more aware of the world around me, I left Tehran for a new life in Canada. I never grew up in Tehran. That city froze in time and became a gateway to my childhood. Associating that carefree time with Tehran became intuitive and something I had time for a long time.

Anyone who spends any time studying US politics is probably familiar with the an old campaign trick, employed usually by the Republicans that focus on the message of “America is no longer the America it used to be.” This tactic usually appeals to the same sense of peaceful and worry-free connection most people have with their childhood. It’s all too common seeing a politician on a podium speaking of his younger years when his mother used to bake him a pie. When he used to play with the kids around the block. How he enjoyed going to baseball games and fishing trips with his dad. These type of banter is usually followed with the message “I miss that America, it’s not longer like it used to be, we need to get it back”.

What most people don’t realize is that life was peaceful and carefree cause they were young, not cause US was a magical Utopian paradise 30-40 years ago. in fact, looking back, 30-40 years ago with the looming possibility of a nuclear holocaust and an unwinnable war with Vietnam, you could argue US was in a worse shape than it is now. In that regard I am no different. Although my life In Tehran was carefree and easy, I consider myself extremely lucky and blessed for not growing up in it. However that’s not the focus of this post.

For the longest time following my move to Canada I had viewed Tehran as this far away fantasy land that still held my carefree and innocent childhood. It had become a place frozen in time. Every time I visited Tehran I would find myself walking the same streets I used to play in as a child. I would visit the same hangout places. All the while wishing the buildings and the stores were still in place. My relationship with the city and its people had become one of a 12 year old and his friends. I refused to acknowledge certain realities in Tehran and Iran in general and filter out anything that could possibly damage my picture perfect city. After all, a 12 year old doesn’t care much for unemployment, drug problems and rising youth suicide.

My relationship with Tehran and my perspective on the city had spilled over on my view on Iranians. I would find myself forming unstable relationships with other Iranians. Some could be attributed to my naive perspective of that country and its people. I had kept myself stuck in a time capsule, incapable of seeing people beyond how I perceived them during my childhood years. This had a reached a point, where if a dialogue was in English I was capable of being witty and mature but when it was switched to Farsi I was a 12 year old with a silly hat on. Every time I met an Iranian I liked, I would view them as a possible childhood friend. I became overly trusting and shortsighted in my relationships with them.

However all of that was about to change.

Like a father, who watches his daughter grow up, we all have to come to terms with realities of life. Nothing stays the same. As the good times and the bad time roll, our environment and the people around us change. All we can hope for is that we become a better person through the experiences. Although it’s an old cliche that I have no personal experience with, one could argue that perhaps doing so is as difficult as watching your daughter grow. Seeing her go on her first date. Your little girl is no longer little, and as hard as it can be you start seeing her experience things that you wish were “unexperienceable” But you know this day was to come and it doesn’t have to mean that she’s something less. It’s time to accept her as someone different and change your perspective so you can deal with the world you both live in on a mature level. Perhaps Tehran had become my daughter, and it was time to accept that just as I have grown, so should my perspective on the city and its people.

Therefor, this time, I will not spend too much time walking through my childhood neighborhoods. I won’t sit at parks I used to go to and won’t daydream about all the carefree time I had in the streets of Tehran. It’s time to see this city for what it is. I’m going to treat it like an adult and do what I would have done in any other city: Meet as many people as possible and party like there is no tomorrow.

Lisbon, primeira noite; estreia.

Plan for today's to pack things up and head out for Lisbon. I hanged around the common room for awhile and met more people. The Hostel was picking up again. New crowd was moving in. If you ever go Madrid, The Way hostel is good times. Steve-Yiota and I headed toward the station. We had a long night train ahead of us. Steve and I were in the same cabin and Yiota was booked in the one next to us. This was kind of weird since they both had requested to be in the same cabin. Once we got the station, we found out that we were on Jesus Express and that guys and girls actually slept in different cabins. Not to worry though, boys and girls both got to drink at the same bar.

We head out to the bar on the train along with two Norwegian girls who were cabin-mates with Yiota. We slammed back a few Portuguese beers and chatted away. I was impressed by the Portuguese and their openness to speaking English. The Spanish and the French are somewhat reluctant to the idea. We headed back to the cabins pretty late and passed out. Next morning we were in Lisbon.

We cabbed it to the Hostel. The city was quiet, it was still too early for the tourists, gypsies and the locals to come out. We made it to the Hostel, it was quiet and the staff were getting ready for breakfast. As I'm writing this I've stayed in more than seven different hostels and Lisbon Lounge is easily the best one when it comes to style, atmosphere, staff, breakfast and just being cool. After breakfast I moved in to my room and relaxed.

Around lunch time I came down to the kitchen and met Katy. A masters students from Montreal. She had been traveling through Portugal and was going to be in Lisbon for awhile. She too was a lone traveler and made a perfect candidate for my random adventures. After lunch we headed out, walking through the streets of Lisbon, dodging gypsies selling drugs, taking pictures, absorbing as much sun as possible and relaxing by the beach. After a long day of sightseeing we head back to the hostels, had a few drinks and chatted politics.

Great night in Lisbon.

Madrid, better to be a bull in India than Spain.

When I was hanging out with The Lone Travellers, I found out this year was the last season of bullfighting in all of Spain. It was being banned and it would have been my only opportunity to partake in a truly Spanish spectacle. I thought about it for a while and did consider attending, but eventually decided against it. Now, anyone who knows me, knows that I'm no hippie. I'm also not a member of PETA or any animal rights group. I love my stake rare and appreciate a good meaty dish. I'm even somewhat indifferent toward fur. However I do consider bullfighting to be inhumane. There is no reason for any living being to lose its life for sake of our entertainment, however that is not my biggest issue with bullfighting.

Bullfighting is unfair. The bull is already dead before it enters the arena. He is out numbered, handicapped and primed to die. It's shouldn't be called bullfighting, it should be called bull-killing-by-out-numbering-it-and-totally-rigging-the-odds. The only way I would watch bullfighting is if it's one on one. Man vs Beast. Only the matador and the bull enter the arena. The bull gets to use its horns and the matador gets a sword. If the bull has to bleed when it gets hit then the same has to happen to the matador. No help, no aid. If the matador gets a standing ovation and the envy of his audience after a victory, then the bull should be treated with the finest hay west Toledo when he sticks it to the man. If the matador gets the admiration of bullfighting groupies after he wins, then the bull should be treated to his choice of heifers all night long.

Make it fair, make it even.