Our first impression of Tehran was overwhelming. From the hillside beneath the Alborz Mountains we looked upon a sea of mostly white buildings — a metropolis home to more than 8 million people. Down there, thick pollution stung my eyes and throat. One of our hosts said that spending a day in Tehran was like smoking a dozen cigarettes.
The northern end of Tehran is seen from the foothills above the city. (Chris Weidner)
Yet amid the smog and traffic, curiosity greeted us everywhere. Shortly after arriving in June 2011, our group of 13 Americans and five local climbers drove half an hour to northern Tehran, then hiked a dusty 90 minutes to some boulders above the city. The trip was part of a climbing and cultural exchange organized by the American Alpine Club and the Alpine Club of Iran.
Fifteen years later, as U.S. and Israeli airstrikes pound targets across Iran, I often think back to those two weeks I spent in that country. The headlines today tell a familiar story of geopolitical hostility and military escalation. But the Iran I experienced was something very different.
Along the trail we walked past women wearing flowing black robes and headscarves. Some had dyed blond hair, makeup and a chic look I didn’t expect in a conservative Islamic country. When we reached the boulders, the women in our group removed their headscarves. The men swapped hiking pants for shorts. Soon we were all climbing together on steep granite, cheering for one another.
From left, Majid, Mohammad and the author sit in a concrete hut near Alam Kuh. Deep snow prevented much climbing, giving them plenty of time to share life stories. (Chris Weidner collection)
On our first day I found myself afraid to commit to the final move on a tall boulder where I’d fallen repeatedly. On my last attempt I reached the crux, then suddenly felt a hand steadying my back. I tried and fell off again, but this time I was held firm by a young Iranian man grinning with encouragement. I never learned his name.
Throughout the day strangers approached us after hearing English spoken. One woman in her 30s asked where we were from. “You … England?” she guessed.
“No,” I said cautiously. “America.”
Her face lit up. It seemed she could hardly form the words fast enough as she stammered, in broken English, “You are welcome, Americans. Welcome to Iran!”
The following day our expedition split into two teams. One group would attempt Mount Damavand (18,406 feet), Iran’s highest peak, while mine headed toward Alam Kuh (15,906 feet), a dramatic granite massif not unlike the Diamond of Longs Peak. We all convened on the side of the highway to sort through piles of gear before our paths diverged. Suddenly several men in dark military uniforms appeared. Apparently, we’d parked near a battery factory, and photos a few of us had taken were prohibited.
A view during the hike into the Alborz Mountains, toward Alam Kuh (15,906 feet). (Chris Weidner)
Our Iranian hosts were escorted inside for questioning while the rest of us waited nervously in the midday heat. More than an hour passed before they returned. A guard examined one of our cameras, scrolling past photos — including anti-American graffiti outside the former U.S. embassy in Tehran. He passed those by, then asked about a picture of two of us playing ping-pong with locals in a park. “Where is this park?” he asked with interest.
Moments later the guards surprised us all by presenting a gift — an ornate piece of Persian artwork — apologizing for the inconvenience. We shook hands and continued toward the mountains with the blessing of the Iranian military.
The hike to Alam Kuh was spectacular: alpine meadows, waterfalls and flowers rising toward a hut at 12,400 feet. Our plan to climb alpine granite walls, however, was foiled by heavy snow. Still, we managed several climbs, including a new three-pitch crack climb. The richest experience, by far, was getting to know our new Iranian friends.
Later, we traveled south to the historic city of Isfahan, with its magnificent mosques and bustling bazaars. During our final dinner altogether, the warmth in the room was palpable. By the end of the trip I felt like a privileged guest.
Today, it breaks my heart to read about U.S. and Israeli attacks that are systematically destroying parts of Tehran, Isfahan and so much more. But I’ll always remember the anonymous climber who caught my fall, the soldiers who sent us away with a gift, and the woman on the trail who seemed overjoyed simply to meet Americans.
Contact Chris Weidner at cweidner8@gmail.com. Follow him on Instagram @christopherweidner and Twitter @cweidner8.