Tehranical, Tehriffic, Tehran.

*Portrait of an Iranian woman I met today*
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*And special thanks to my good friend Reza, with whom I started and ended this trip*

It felt like we were in Paris, in this café. Young and decidedly hip Tehranis sat on the low stools and chatted. The music was electronic and Western sounding. Small chalkboards openly encouraged us to follow their business on Facebook and Instagram- despite them both being blocked here; everyone has Facebook, at least. In fact I think I’m the only person in Iran who’s had to do without it for the last month.

I love hanging around Tehran, and especially in the cafes which double up as little hubs of liberalism. To many young Tehranis they are the equivalent of your local pub. Alcohol is illegal (though secretly abundant), so it is the smoky corners of these cafes that provide a vehicle for unobserved socialisation of the young and like-minded.

I’ve been to some that are obviously very underground. And many Tehranis have an underground alias- in fact I was told once that if someone denies having at least three different lives, they’re either lying or boring. But today’s café was chic and Parisian- Perisian? And sitting having coffee and pastries it felt worlds away from the early afternoon I spent hanging around the bazaar, being harangued for photo after photo. Secluded, even, from the busy street outside, where a thousand horns pomped and exhaust fumes added to the opacity of Tehran’s skyline.

Tehran can be overwhelming, but it is undoubtedly the living soul of Iran. At the bazaar I saw Bandaris, Kurds, Azeris and Persians bartering together. The roads are hectic and life threatening for a rookie, like me. The smog gives you a feeling of general malaise, as if you’re teetering constantly on the edge of a cold. But the people are marvellous, and the young keep the city alive. It’s welcomingly overwhelming. It sucks you in and spits you out. It’s grey, and often ugly.

But I love it.