Iran - Curious, Interesting, Remarkable Part 1

Intensity

First of all, Iran is a country of intensity. At least for us travellers. Friends warned us at the beginning: if you need peace and quiet, find a hostel where you can park in the courtyard. We couldn't imagine what they meant by that. Now, after almost 3 months, we understand.

Iran is intense. When we are asked how we felt about Iran, this one word always comes to mind first: intense.

Intense in the customs, the smells, the noise level, the encounters, the distances, the emotions, the conversations, the volume of the music, the energy and joy around the campfire, the annoyance / hatred towards the government, the frustration with the government. And so on.

Intense probably best describes how we felt in the country. But the joy was also intense. The enthusiasm, the devotion of the people to their country, their culture, their music, their poets, their nature.

When we look back on our time in Iran a few days later, the memories of intensity alternate with those of joy, smiles, hospitality and overwhelming humanity. Thank you Iran. Thank you, you wonderful people!

We noticed a few things that we didn't write in our travel diary, but which should still have a place. So here are a few short stories today and in the coming days:

Neisan Abi - The blue vans

White cars everywhere, especially old Peugeot 405s, and then there are lots of small pickups, small vans. Fully loaded with everything you can imagine. But also with what you can't imagine. Sheep, cows, piles of mattresses, rubbish, cosy blankets from China or families on their way to a picnic. The driving style, even if we are already used to a lot from the white cars, is even more interesting. Everyone, without exception, all Iranians warn us about the blue Neisan Abi. They are dangerous as hell, have little to no brakes, don't follow the traffic rules at all and swerve in and out as if they own the road all to themselves. In most cases, you can see that they have been used hard for decades without any maintenance, the rust holds them together, the smoke from the smoking occupants preserves them (and the occupants as well). We try to heed the warning and keep our distance to be on the safe side.

Scrubber art

Iran is a dusty country. We ourselves have long since given up on constantly scrubbing the dust off and out of our Felix. The shopkeepers are different. They mop and scrub here. The mops (or whatever they're called) are very popular. To show that the shop is spick and span, the mop is always left outside the door to dry. I now call this the art of scrubbing, which is practised here. However, I don't think the scrubbing brushes themselves are that attractive, they don't suggest sparkling clean floors...

The paradise

"How do you explain to a Swiss person what paradise looks like?" That seems to be a common joke here. At first we don't understand it, then when we ask, we learn that Switzerland is equated with paradise. In Iran, people have a completely romanticised image of our small country. We are often told that there is nothing wrong with Switzerland. We smile and emphasise again and again that we love our country very much, but also appreciate the beauty of other countries.

But we also ask: Yes, democracy. The passport that allows you to travel to all countries. And the clean air, the green landscapes, the snow-capped mountains. Heidi. Clean cities, smooth roads without potholes. And that everyone has enough money. Sometimes we nod, sometimes we talk about burnouts, depression, the hunt for money, over-perfectionism, parking charges and lots of prohibition signs. About rubbish separation and tomatoes that don't make it to market because they're not round enough. They hear all this, but they ignore it. "It could be anything, but Switzerland is still a paradise." I see.

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Merci for "travelling with us

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