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They want us to be afraid, to hate, so we will rally behind them. Why on earth do you want to go there? The real tragedy of this attitude is that it is the result of the dividing line being deliberately blurred. True, concern is justified in the case of the religious government that has ruled the country for the last 25 years: but should it really apply to the million ordinary people that live there, or the country itself? I think we can agree that such a suggestion is obviously absurd. It is no different in Iran, a country around four times the size of France and the cradle of a civilisation that began well over years ago. Still, given the extent of misinformation the word is not too melodramatic , it was difficult not to feel slightly, well, scared as we flew across Europe heading east. And yet, indications that our fears were embarrassingly misplaced began the moment our plane touched down in Tehran, when Mahmood, our guide and soon to be lifelong friend, smilingly sorted out our visa hassles and laughed at our obvious discomfiture. It was a Sunday, and the large family groups sipping tea in the convivial atmosphere were visibly tickled to have a group of British white boys in their midst. It was a similar story later, when we walked through The Park of the Nation in the centre of the city. The feeling was heightened by the general activity in the park, with people sledging, strolling, chatting and, soon, mobbing us. Groups of girls caked in make-up flirted aggressively, while young Iranian lads told us their DJ names and offered to find us whiskey and vodka. By the time we left, a whole crew had gathered to escort us back to our van, cheerfully waving us off as we drove back to the hotel, exchanging glances and shaking our heads in embarrassment at seeing our prejudices so spectacularly debunked. And this was only day one. This inquisitive and heartfelt hospitality would be the recurring motif of our trip, and it soon became clear that our preconceptions were being challenged before our eyes. Soon we noticed it everywhere. It was written in such a style that you could almost see the raised eyebrow of the reporter. Most tellingly, we noticed it in the compulsive need among ordinary people to communicate this feeling to us. With his tattoos, trendy haircut and sunglasses, Reza, 23, was keen to tell us about his impressive playboy lifestyle. He runs his own construction firm in Tehran, but seemed to spend much of the time we spent with him maintaining an impressive social circle, drinking the alcohol that is strictly prohibited in Iran and smoking the marijuana he smuggled back with him from his three-month holiday in Thailand. European people think here we are very very bad. But we are not — we like to have a good time. According to Erik Lofgren, a Swede we met who had been living in Shemshak for a few months, more and more young people want to live like Reza. Part of it is the desire of any bored kid to own the latest technological gizmo, but in a country with religious strictures like Iran, openly pursuing such a lifestyle constitutes an act of very real rebellion. When we first met Reza we were surprised to find that Iranian kids even had the resources to be so up on the latest phone crazes sweeping the West. After all, as the biggest oil producer in the Middle East, Iran is the richest and most powerful country in the region. As previously noted, it is also huge, and this financial and geographical security perhaps explains why the US and Britain have preferred to follow a diplomatic route in their recent dealings with the country. It also explains why so many of the Iranians we met seemed to find the prospect of imminent Anglo-US invasion so hilariously unlikely. But less easy to square, in the light of the materialistic rebellion practised by Reza and friends, was their complex attitude to their own country. Scott Fitzgerald would have truly appreciated. Some of the young Iranians we met seemed able to flit between the two at will, alternatively hating their leaders while loving their land, appearing fiercely independent yet appealing to the rest of the world for understanding, and generally seeing the current situation as an aberration to be changed on their own terms. As we headed towards Isfahan, we began to realise that our view of the country had changed irrevocably, and that our constant surprise at the reality of life for ordinary people in Iran was beginning to diminish. Although he laboured away in upper class obscurity during his own lifetime, posterity has been kind to Byron and today he occupies a curious position as the unlikely poster boy of twentieth century literary travel. It deals in diary form with his s journey from England to Afghanistan and it is a very unusual kind of classic text. His paean of praise to the Sheik Luftullah Mosque in Isfahan must put him at least in the rank of Ruskin. Hell, it was why we were going to Isfahan and had been my main inspiration for the journey. An upper-class aesthete and fop like Robert Byron might seem an unlikely cheerleader for Iran, but today his influential alternative reading of the country is needed more than ever. But as the Safavids were eclipsed by raiding Afghans by , so Isfahan gradually slipped below the radar. It now has 2. We spent three days in Isfahan, and spent much of that time in the square. It felt strange, finally seeing a place I had for so long wanted to visit, and we concentrated on exploring the three architectural centrepieces in the square upon which the fame of the city largely rests: the Royal Palace, or Ali Qapu, the Imam Mosque, or Masjid-I- Shah, and the Sheik Luftullah Mosque that so enraptured Byron. But mostly, we walked around and goggled in awe at the architecture. But it is difficult to see how anybody can be anything but overwhelmed by the Sheik Luftullah Mosque. It is easily the most impressive building I have ever been in. I am not religious, but usually I like a cathedral or church mainly because of the efforts the architects and builders have gone to in confining a huge amount of open space in an effort to impress upon the visitor their devotion to God. Myself, I was just glad that others had definitively described the details of the room, leaving me free to enjoy its emotional effect. In contrast, with its music room, elaborate frescoes and view overlooking the square onto an ancient polo pitch, the Royal Palace betrayed its pleasure palace roots. In form, with its bowed and elegant wooden columns supporting the roof against seemingly impossible odds, it too is formidable and it is strange for the western eye to comprehend the different forms of beauty that these buildings represent. It was here in the 17th century, apparently, that a Russian ambassador became so overwhelmed with the surroundings and the excellence of the local wine that he was sick into his top hat. I almost knew how he felt. At sunset on our last day, we sat back at our teashop and watched flocks of crows fly towards the sun as smaller unidentifiable birds flitted around them. The mountains on the outskirts of the city looked like a lilac smudge on the horizon, while the sinking sun caused an orange glow to irradiate the outlines of the silhouetted buildings. As we sat in silence, a nomad broke the reverie by coming over and asking us how many languages we could speak. He shrugged when we told him English and French. Equally as compelling were the souks we spent an evening exploring, and the other architectural masterpiece that stopped Byron in his tracks, the Friday Mosque, where we spent a morning being escorted around by a blind man, bursting with pride at finding British people in his city and keen to tell us the history of the building. Welcome to Iran! I know 20, English words! I know words that that even English people do not know! For example, philanthropy. Do you know the word philanthropy? Speaking English makes my head hurt! By the time we reached Tehran and prepared to travel home, we realised that there was no escaping the fact that our views of our own country and our own lives had changed as well. Not any more. According to the guidebooks, the most famous inhabitant of the Lebanese mountain town of Becharre is a poet, artist and mystic called Khalil Gibran. What can we do to make the snow last a little bit longer, after the worst European season on record it,s about time we all Last year saw a break with tradition as a second British snowboard movie, Hungerpain, was released. Please enter your email so we can keep you updated with news, features and the latest offers. If you are not interested you can unsubscribe at any time. We will never sell your data and you'll only get messages from us and our partners whose products and services we think you'll enjoy. Home Share Search. Lebanon — The Axis of Powder According to the guidebooks, the most famous inhabitant of the Lebanese mountain town of Becharre is a poet, artist and mystic called Khalil Gibran. Features Green Snowboarding What can we do to make the snow last a little bit longer, after the worst European season on record it,s about time we all Travel Stories Lebanon — The Axis of Powder According to the guidebooks, the most famous inhabitant of the Lebanese mountain town of Becharre is a poet, artist and mystic called Khalil Gibran. Interviews Playground Rules - A new approach Last year saw a break with tradition as a second British snowboard movie, Hungerpain, was released. We use cookies on our website to give you the most relevant experience by remembering your preferences and repeat visits. However, you may visit 'Cookie Settings' to provide a controlled consent. Cookie Settings Accept All. Manage consent. 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SKIING IN IRAN

Shemshak buying powder

Baka Inaka Fukui t-shirts - the infamous design they tried to ban. We head to the Middle East to ski and snowboard in the Iranian ski resorts of Dizin and Shemshak and encounter the sweetness of the locals shining through the looming shadow of nuclear concern Enter your email address to receive the SnowSphere newsletter. Nuclear Neighbour: Ski Iran. Grinding the Axis of Evil: Snowboarding Iran. Largely overlooked by Western skiers and snowboarders, the mountains of the Middle East hold plenty of exotic allure for the snow traveller. Mitch Malli hits the ski slopes of 'axis of evil' Iran , to find plenty of powder, snowboarding equipment from the s, and a very eager Sun Burnt salesman Read ski and snowboard stories from around the world.

Shemshak buying powder