It began with a heart-stopping night ride through the city on a motorcycle taxi. It was without a doubt the most frightening experience of my life. We raced downhill at full clip, dodging cars, and slipping through openings at chaotic crossings. The drivers of cars – already having to worry about the disarray created by other cars on the road – pay little heed to the insignificant motorcycles which are akin to buzzing flies for them. So we were forced to evade cars as they swerved erratically across lanes and suddenly appeared out of side streets onto the main roads. Miraculously we arrived at my destination unhurt after which the driver proceeded to rip me off. However I paid the $2.50 he was asking and considered that I’d pay much more for a rollercoaster ride anywhere else in the world.
I discovered that there exists another world just a few minutes from the hustle-and-bustle of Tajrish square; a five minute cab ride and a further ten minute walk from the square brought a group of us friends to Darband. It was like a little hill station – a retreat in the mountains with steep and narrow alleys running alongside a swiftly flowing river with restaurants and cafes on either side. Quaint little bridges crisscrossed the river and donkeys carried supplies up to the restaurants. Dancing fountain-like jets of water sprayed off the sides of the restaurants into the ravine below. A cooling mist arose from the river and refreshed us while the shady trees protected us from the summer heat. We spent several hours there, lounging on carpet covered diwans, smoking water pipes and drinking tea. I resolved to make this a regular place to visit in the afternoons where I could escape the afternoon sun.
Darband
With fraternization between the sexes banned by the Islamic Republic, the youth of Iran have retreated behind closed doors where they throw frequent “mehmanis” or “get togethers” for their friends. I attended one such mehmani at the apartment of a couple of classmates from the institute. It was refreshing to see the women without their hair covered and comfortably interacting with the men. It was a sedate affair – with everyone sitting around on couches listening to the laptop-piped music and drinking bootleg Arak. For the sake of appearances, it was removed from the gasoline can in which it came and was poured into an empty bottle of Absolut Vodka. The aroma of the white raisins was still detectable so I found it tasted better than vodka; I was warned however, that it was many times stronger.
I took the time one afternoon to visit the former US embassy compound or “The US Den of Espionage” as it has been renamed. It is closed to the public as it is now the base of operations of a conservative militia, but the entire outside had been decorated with extravagant anti-American and anti-Israel mural and slogans. Pictures say more than words can.
With a bit of an overload of Tehran, I decided to escape for a couple of days to the nearby city of Qazvin from where I could easily visit the legendary Castle of the Assassins. The assassins (pronounced Hash-ash-yun) were part of a radical heretical sect of Ismaeli Islam that emerged in the 12th century under the leadership of the crazed meglomaniac Hassan Sabbah. He set up a series of impenetrable fortresses high in the Alborz Mountains from which he propounded his extreme views and set about assembling history’s first cohort of fanatical assassins. The assassins were trained killers expert in infiltrating the most secure courts of the most prolific political personages of the time. They would be sent out on these missions (often commissioned by rival political groups) and at the appropriate time, calculated to have the most witnesses and the greatest effect – they would kill their target and give themselves up to be martyred by the crowd. In this way Sabah and his followers terrorized the orient for over 160 years. The Assassins sect was eventually defeated with the Mongol Invasions in the 1300s, and most of the castles were completely destroyed.
The 40 Column Palace in Qazvin built when the city was
briefly made the capital of Persia during the Safavid Era.
The Jameh Mosque of Qazvin
I visited Sabbah’s castle at Alamut – the most impenetrable of the Assassins’ fortresses and the place where Hassan Sabbah made his residence. We started off early in the morning from Qazvin. We stopped on the way for a quick breakfast of sweetened Halim – a thick brown soup with bits of meat and dollops of butter. As we left the environs of the city and drove into the mountains, I was treated to some stunning vistas. We climbed high into the Alborz and dipped into its awesome mist-filled valleys on the way to the castle. On the way, we passed by a donkey being led along-side the road by its owner. My driver snickered as he pointed out the animal – “Ahmedinejad” he guffawed in delight.
The stunning vistas of the Alborz
The approach to the castle took my breath away. I could see why Sabbah chose this as his home; the castle stood on an imposing rock shelf hundreds of meters high. All around, was an impossibly deep canyon, hewn by the river that flowed at the bottom. It made the perfect natural moat. We crossed over the recently-constructed bridge and made our way past the old village at the foot of the shelf. We had to walk after that. As I struggled over the rocky pathway, made for tourist access, I could completely understand how it would have been impossible for a would-be attacker to even conceive of assaulting the castle. He would be picked off in seconds by the arrows of the defenders. After nearly 45 minutes of struggling up the craggy surface, I made it to the top of the castle. There was pitifully little left of the once-great fortress, as it had been burnt to the ground by the Mongols. More interesting however was the panoramic view. I could see for incalculable miles in all directions; the mountains stretched as far as I could see. Not a sound could be heard except that of the wind blowing through the ancient crevices of this historic place.
The natural moat surrounding the castle
The fortress of Hassan Sabbah
A view of the ruins from on top of the castle
My return to Tehran was epic in its own right. The car took me out of Alamut back to Qazvin (2.5 hours). From there I grabbed a Savari (a shared taxi) to Karaj – a suburb of Tehran (1.5 hours and 15,000 Rials) I then took the green line suburban rail into Tehran proper (Half an hour and 2,250 Rials). From there I took a taxi to Azadi Square (10 minutes and 2000 Rials). From there, after walking to the taxi stand and waiting for the cab to fill up (15 minutes), I went to Vanak Square (20 minutes and 5000 Rials). At Vanak I was prevented from getting into my next cab by a woman who insisted that the cab she was in only needed one more person before it was full and ready to go. I thought she was a passenger who was in a hurry to get to her destination. It turned out she was the driver. The first cab I ever took with a female driver was in Tehran. Vanak to Tajrish (30 minutes and 7000 Rials). From Tajrish, I took a cab to Niavaran (15 Minutes and 2500 Rials). Finally from Niavaran I walked up to my apartment exhausted (10 minutes). Total time 6 hours and 10 minutes and total cost (not including the cab down from Alamut to Qazvin) 33750 Rials, which is roughly equivalent to $3.60.
Azadi (freedom) square with the Azadi Monument
You would think I would be exhausted and unable to do anything after this ordeal, but that night I had the opportunity to go to a full blown Irani party (not just a mehmani). So I took a shower, ordered a steak sandwich to the apartment and then headed out to the Shaher-e-Garb (west of the city). I arrived in the nouveau-riche apartment at the party hosted by two young brothers. There was a DJ, a smoke machine, lazer lights, scantily dressed ladies, and real Absolut. I joined my friends from the language institute (who had procured me the invite) and we proceeded to observe the spectacle of Persian courtship. There were about 30 people present and the shy men danced with each other in a group, while they gingerly tried to make eye contact with the women. Occasionally a couple would get closer together and dance facing each other for a few minutes – but no touching. The loud persian pop remixed to techno backbeats stopped every 15 minutes or so for a few minutes to allow the guests to sit down and catch their breath. This was prime time for mingling, and meeting others at the party – which made it okay to approach them during the next set for a quick face-to-face dance. The party which had started at 9, ended by about 1, after which we took copious pictures with each other. The women re-attached their headscarves and donned their modest manteaus; then we said our adieus and went our separate ways.
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