Tehran Time
Two grim men in uniforms scrutinize my red passport, then gesture to explain that I need to pay $50 for a visa and wait on a bench. The wait stretches to three hours, and I enter the arrivals hall of Tehran airport in proud solitude. I look around, trying to spot anti-tank hedgehogs and anti-aircraft gun barrels on the station square. In vain... Later, however, it turned out that explosions did rumble that day. In the Bushehr nuclear power plant area, the armed forces of the Islamic Republic of Iran conducted air defense exercises, firing all guns into the sky, plunging Russian builders and nuclear workers into a state of deep shock.
Meanwhile, Tehran was lazily waking up – April 6 was a day off. Gradually, the streets filled with cars and mopeds. Local cars, made under license, predominate: for example, the "Pride" – an analogue of the Korean "Kia" (costs $8,000 here). Books could be written about traffic in Tehran, though no one would print them due to the abundance of profanity. Personally, I got the impression that if you turned off the horn on all cars, the city would freeze in a dead traffic jam. Although there are enough problems without that – for 18 million residents and visitors of the Iranian capital, there are 8 million cars and about as many mopeds. After standing at Tehran intersections for three to four hours, calling our domestic traffic jams "traffic jams" somehow becomes improper.
And another circumstance that struck me. In Tehran, the sewage system is the same as in the Middle Ages – that is, open type. Along the central street, ditches are dug, into which drains from residential buildings lead. For some reason, almost every resident considers it their duty to throw either an empty cup from enemy Coca-Cola or a piece of paper from sovereign shawarma into this murky, foul-smelling stream.
Tehran's Augean stables are cleaned by Afghans dressed in rags. True, there are also municipal workers in overalls doing clean work – for example, watering roses – an incredible number of them are planted here. Griboyedov wrote in his travel notes about how the smells of sewage in the Persian capital mix with the smell of roses. Nothing has changed over the centuries...
The most respected people on the streets are traffic controllers. They philosophically watch motorcyclists racing along sidewalks and drivers fighting for centimeters of roadway, sometimes majestically waving their baton. From time to time, they calmly step to the side of the road and generously decorate cars parked along it with fine receipts. Iranians are very law-abiding, so they pay fines without question.
Shariat-Fashion
As is known, all women in Iran without exception wear headscarves. Particularly religious ones wear black, while everyone else wears colorful ones, but not very bright. You notice that many young Iranian women have gauze bandages on their faces or their noses are taped with adhesive plaster. It turns out this is a tribute to fashion – most girls are categorically dissatisfied with the shape of their "Persian" nose, so they get plastic surgery. The pleasure costs $2,000. Noses and little noses become suspiciously European.
Walking the streets confirmed my thought that Tehran is far from being the stronghold of the Middle Ages that journalists love to write about. The majority of urban youth look exactly the same as their peers in London or New York: fashionable mohawks, well-groomed goatees, piercings, pumped shoulders, and ripped Dolce & Gabbana jeans. By evening, girls appear on the streets too. The same Shariat headscarves, but exclusively from Chanel, Etro, and Gucci, this season's stylish dragonfly-like glasses, trendy jeans, and the most advanced mobile phones. Many of them are in expensive cars, deftly weaving through traffic, honking furiously. All cafes and restaurants in the city close exactly at ten in the evening. And the epicenter of nightlife moves to the huge shopping center "Golestan" on Iran-Shiraz Street. Here everything is in flashes of neon and billboards, and teenagers walk with their arms around each other's waists, or even lower. This is a peculiar island of freedom of morals, although overly loose individuals may be reprimanded by security guards or elderly matrons walking around. If it happens in the city, a police officer can fine a girl in an excessively daring dress $60 – which is a lot of money for Iran. But the youth have come up with a trick: guys and girls come to Iran-Shiraz Street in their cars, park opposite each other, and hang out through open windows, sometimes even holding hands. From the point of view of Shariat, everything is innocent – each is in their own car.
Another completely closed topic of nightlife is private mini-clubs, mostly opened in basements so the music can't be heard. Just in case, if a patrol of the Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps drops in, they play only oriental tunes mixed by local DJs in a "Eurohouse" style.
As for another hallmark of any megacity – the red-light district – according to knowledgeable people, about ten thousand brothels operate in Tehran. A priestess of love for a night with a bottle of whiskey and tiny apartments thrown in costs $500. For comparison: that's how much a new Iranian-made moped costs. So there is plenty to choose from... True, a foreigner has almost no chance of spending a night with a "moped girl." This entire business is in deep, deep hiding, just like the trade in alcohol and drugs. And if you don't get in touch with the "right" people, all these questionable pleasures remain inaccessible, no matter how much money you have: the punishment for pimping and drug trafficking is severe – at best life in zindan. And at worst – death by stoning. However, the capital's residents do not like to talk about death – Tehran is a fun city...
Under the Flag of the Happy Rabbit
The air of freedom, which is increasingly felt in the stench of Tehran's streets, also blows from the shopping center at the end of Valiasr Street. There, to my surprise, I discovered... a store selling elite women's lingerie with the logo of the world-famous Playboy bunny. Against the background of airy panties and slips, brutal spiked collars, leather manacles, and multi-tailed whips looked somewhat odd. Not believing my eyes, I entered the little shop and met its owner at the doorstep - a respectable young man who introduced himself as Hussein. According to him, this is the only such store in Tehran, so business is brisk. The businessman boasted that since the beginning of the year he had sold sixty sets of erotic S&M lingerie: 'Only two are left at $15 each. Soon I'll have to go to France again for more goods.' When asked how this all aligns with Sharia, he merely shrugged: as if to say, the Quran says nothing bad about collars, and the Almighty favors traders...
Previously, Hussein sold knitwear and perfumes, but two years ago his wife asked him to bring women's lingerie from Paris. Going shopping on the Champs-Élysées, Hussein decided to buy a few more sets of négligées for resale. His wife's friends snapped up the goods in an instant, and Hussein decided to take a risk: 'There were problems, of course. Inspections came from the nearby mosque and from the police, but so far everything is fine. All inspectors come in the morning; by that time, I have long skirts and modest blouses on display, or I simply put up a 'Closed' sign. In the afternoon, I open the store and wait for customers. Many women are embarrassed to try on lingerie, so I tightly close the curtains and door, then I leave, leaving the customer alone with a female assistant. My clients are mostly regulars; many diplomats and young beautiful Iranian women come. Sometimes men come in, but they are usually very embarrassed.' By the way, in the windows of neighboring stores, short cocktail dresses in bright scarlet and gold colors, fashionable glasses, and handbags are abundantly displayed. Business is thriving...
Worship of the Atom
Tehran with its skyscrapers, government offices, markets, and shops is not among the targets that the Americans intend to strike in their 'retaliation blow.' The city of Natanz, where one of Iran's most secret facilities - a uranium enrichment center - is located, is a different matter.
We drive north. About thirty kilometers from Tehran, to the left of the highway, a Russian T-80 tank lurks in the bushes. It is painted in 'Desert Storm' colors and keeps the entire road in its sights. Further on is the city of Qom, Iran's largest religious center. The main attraction is a huge Shiite mosque, which is strictly forbidden to photograph.
We saw one of the uranium enrichment facilities completely unexpectedly. The peaceful landscape with flocks of sheep and small villages suddenly gave way to concrete pillboxes and anti-aircraft gun barrels pointing skyward. The Iranian driver reverently uttered just one word: 'Atom!' Stopping on this stretch of road is forbidden - the Iranian security services are on alert. So I managed to see that 'atom' at a speed of over 120 kilometers per hour. It was like a video set on fast-forward. The facility itself is not visible - it is hidden in the hills, with machine-gun nests and anti-aircraft missile batteries adorning the peaks.
In Natanz itself, the approach of war is distinctly felt - there are many people in military uniform. The main street ends completely unexpectedly - it just runs into a mountain, topped by a mosque that supports the blue spring sky. 'Will the Americans attack?' I ask our guide. 'Inshallah!' ('God willing!') he shrugs. The threat of war is viewed philosophically here, as an inevitability sent from above. However, few people want to fight. Perhaps that is why Iranians are so actively interested in politics - by two o'clock in the afternoon, fresh newspapers are almost gone from the kiosks, and televisions in citizens' homes run almost around the clock. Two local TV channels broadcast news and show Sharia TV series so beloved by local gossips. Another channel is exclusively religious. It plays Quranic verses interspersed with sad Persian melodies. Another sign of the times is the Internet. Even the President of Iran has his own website, it turns out. However, you can only access the internet in hotels or government institutions. Traffic is vigilantly monitored by the security services.
You Have to Know the Right Places
Any Russian who ends up in Iran on business (there are practically no tourists here) immediately heads to Ferdowsi Street, where on one side they sell silver, and on the other - leather. On the 'leather' side, almost everyone speaks Russian, unmistakably recognizing our people in the crowd of passersby.
'Come in,' the seller invites us in pure Russian and introduces himself: 'Nikolai from Voronezh. I came here ten years ago and stayed. The tea has just boiled. Just before you, some Russians came in, they arrived with some commission to the nuclear facilities, bought several jackets, raincoats, and bags each. So now we can have some tea...'
On Ferdowsi Street, currency is exchanged. There are official exchange offices, and there are just street changers who walk around with stacks of money in their hands. For $100, they will give you almost a million local rials - a thick wad of greasy, torn banknotes.
In the little shops selling silver and cheap antiques, you can also find 'greetings' from the Motherland - from high Soviet orders to the 'Mother Heroine' badge. In a bookshop, I spotted the works of Vladimir Zhirinovsky and a thick, yellowed tome 'Uzbek SSR' in Russian.
...Iran is an amazing country where everyone sees what they want to see. Those who are convinced that the 'axis of evil' runs through here will find machine gunners on the streets (they actually guard banks, but look like patrols), women veiled to the eyes, unsanitary conditions, and the cult of personality of Ahmadinejad. Those who seek Eastern exoticism will see filigree mosques, minarets, palaces, and gazebos, like from Scheherazade's tales. Some will like the beautiful Iranian women and local sweets. And someone will be surprised by the impossibility of breaking a hundred US dollars. For three days I tried to spend a banknote with the face of the American president, hated by Iranians, riding around the city in taxis and dining in decent restaurants. It didn't work...