Stephan Orth - Couchsurfing in Iran - Revealing a Hidden World

“I would rather meet up with Mona,” I venture.

“Oh, okay, then we’ll have to wait for my brother to get us in his car.”

A couple hours later. I might have realized earlier that I was having a date, had Mona’s mother, two sisters, a nephew, a cousin, and from time to time also her father, an uncle, an aunt, and her brother not been sitting on the expensive furniture in the living room. Maybe then there wouldn’t even have been any need for the memorable appearance of a mysterious relative.

But let’s start at the beginning. Mona looks different from her profile photo—dark hair tied in a bun, eyes like black pearls, casual jeans, exceptionally pretty. Her eyebrows don’t seem to be out of the ordinary, but maybe as a man I’m missing the analytical eye. With great composure she introduces me to her family members, then places me next to Shahin and seats herself next to her mother. On a flat table there are gherkins, kiwi fruit, and unfortunately, a blunt knife, ensuring that conversing and peeling at the same time is a real challenge.

“They’re pretty rich,” whispers Shahin and points at the huge Persian carpets. “Each of those cost 3 million toman,” $750. So, a good catch.

Mona has one brother and eight sisters, and most of them are married and no longer live at home. She likes Shakira but finds rock music too loud. Her major at university is economics, and today she had a midterm exam in electrical technology (very good); otherwise, at the moment, she has to review for a couple English tests.

“What are you passionate about?” she asks suddenly.

“Travel and music,” I reply after a moment of hesitation. “And you?”

“I want to be a dentist,” she says, with little passion in her voice. “Or an English teacher. Or a singer.”

I tell them about my trip—in the meantime the number of my stops usually triggers a certain admiration—and show them my travel photos on my camera.

“I can say something in German: Iesch liebe disch !” says Mona. Conversation meanders along lightly and cheerfully. People come and go, and I notice that Mona often changes places. Sometimes she sits next to me, then gets up to move to one of her sisters, strangely enough, always seconds before a male relative enters, almost as if she has second sight. It is a mystery how she does it.

Her mother is the only woman in the room with a headscarf and smiles at me beatifically the whole time. Her father, however, is a tough guy, a retired haulage contractor, a hat-wearing Persian Sean Connery. Most of the time he is withdrawn, and then suddenly he poses an avalanche of questions: “What do you think of Iran? How much did your camera cost? How much do you earn? What do you do? How much does a laborer earn in Germany? Why haven’t you made any effort to learn Persian?”

I’m not too upset when he says goodnight and goes to bed. Shortly afterward a man strolls in, introducing himself as Mona’s cousin and saying that he lived in France for a number of decades. He looks to be in his mid-forties.

“ Parlez-vous français ?” he says, suddenly changing the language.

“Oui, un petit peu ,” I reply. Four strenuous years at school and a long time ago. He sits down next to me, where seconds before his entrance Mona was sitting.

“ Ça va ?”

“ Ça va bien, merci! ”

“ Tu aimes l’Iran ?”

“ Oui, l’Iran c’est magnifique .”

“ Il y a quelque chose je veux te dire .”

“ Oui ?”

“ C’est un petit peu compliqué .”

“Okay.”

“Ma cousine t’aimes bien. Qu’est-ce que tu penses ?”

“ Ah oui? Err… je suis très heureux. ”

“ Mais c’est l’Iran. Il est compliqué. Beaucoup de restrictions. Tu comprends ?”

“ Oui .”

First I think he just likes speaking French, but really he just needs a secret language to use in front of the family gathering. A puzzling character. He gets up and goes toward the door, but Mona intercepts him for a short whispered exchange. The living room is big enough to be out of earshot.

Cousin exits, brother Ali enters. People are exiting and entering at such a rate that I feel like I’m at the theater. Ali is a fairly coarse character who likes to be the center of attention and conversation. One of his sisters brings him some rice and chicken, and she also places a portion in front of me, although I’m not hungry and my “No thanks” was misunderstood as politeness and ignored. Ali is a noisy eater and talks with his mouth full. “Come on, lets meet a few friends,” he suggests. Shahin has already begun to say his goodbyes, and also to Mona. Oh, I see. This is going to be a male-only outing, of course. If my host is going, I can’t possibly remain here. So much for the then we going out :) plan from Mona’s text message.

• Racing through the darkness in Shahin’s car.

• Watching Ali crumble the tobacco from two cigarettes onto a piece of cardboard, add some crumbs of hash and then skillfully suck the mixture back into the empty cigarette shells.

• Listening to Persian trance music at club levels during the drive.

• Meeting Sanjan, Puya, Mohsen, and Arash.

• Circulating hash cigarettes in a park.

• Answering questions about Bayern Munich, Adolf Hitler, and the going rates of Hamburg’s prostitutes.

• Learning a few Persian swear words in return.

• Gazing at the lights of Hamedan from a vantage point on a hill.

• Eating melons at home, at 3:30 AM.

To: Mona Hamedan

Good morning my dear! It was wonderful to meet you yesterday! whats your plans for today?

From: Mona Hamedan

It was a pleasure to meet you too! Tomorrow i have midterm in english institute.i’m studying english like always:)

Shahin is a great guy and a wonderful host. I can’t blame him for anything. But he is also a possessive host. The next day we drive to an old-fashioned village to picnic and drink schnapps under a walnut tree. A nice tour, but I’m not so happy about the feeling that I have no say in the planning of our day. On the way home we visit yet another waterfall at the foot of Alvand Mountain, where there is a cable car to the peak.

“This is where young couples come when they want to be alone and grope each other,” says Shahin chattily. “The moral police don’t come here.” Boulders and trees offer the necessary screening.

From: Mona Hamedan

Where are you now?

To: Mona Hamedan

Near Alvand mountain, did you finish studying?

Shahin asks whether I want to drive to a friend’s to smoke a hookah. I only have a few hours left in Hamedan; my night bus departs at ten. “It would be much nicer to meet up with your cousin again,” I say. He doesn’t say anything at first, but on the way home he stops in front of the family apartment. We gather Mona and her sister, and the four of us take a sightseeing tour. And lots of photos. At the grave of Avicenna, the most famous doctor and thinker of his time, nowadays known from the best-selling novel The Physician. At a stone monument in the shape of a missile nosecone, in front of a mosque, and at a mausoleum.

“You have beautiful hair,” says Mona.

“Can you get me a German girlfriend?” asks Shahin, who seldom leaves my side. Up to the time the three drop me off at the bus stop I am never alone, or even nearly alone, with Mona. Yesterday the extended family, and today sister and cousin. This country is run not only by state surveillance systems but also familial ones. I ask myself how it is possible for people to fall in love and marry under these circumstances. Or do Iranians marry first and fall in love later? Fall in love at high speed? I need to do more research on that.