I am using the excuse that I only brought my snowboarding gear to Iran because I had it in Japan and it was cheaper to fly with it than leave it in storage. This covers my sense of the ridiculous for about the first five minutes, and its all down hill from there. I find a new hostel, which is hidden away in a small, rather primitive village, nestled in the valley about 3 kilometres before the snow resort. Both sides of the valley are covered in snow and show signs of recent avalanche activity - at some points the snow flows on to the road and makes it one car width wide, and head high snow on either side!! The incredible beauty of the snow covered mountains - stand in stark contrast to the scattering of half finished apartments - ranging from concrete slab scraped out of surounding rock, to rusting, steel spines to unfinished monuments to concrete brutalism that are boxier than Mike Tyson. Thankfully the hostel, housed in a once very chic 1960's villa, sits at the bottom of the valley, with a view restricted to the river in the backyard and the steep, unbuilt - or yet to be built - side of the valley.
After the big dump of snow the night before I am eager to get to the resort, but I get my first introduction to skiing in Iran - the resort is closed, says the hostel manager, too much snow. I resign myself to a day of rest, but go through the process of setting up all the gear. This proves a sensible move when 20 minutes later the resort is open, and the taxi driver is coming to collect me in 10 minutes. All of the other guests at the hostel are leaving - that have been stuck in the hostel during the blizzard that lasted for three days, and are keen to get to the outside world while they can.
The resort lives up to its reputation as another relic of the Shah regime. It was built in the late 1960s, and was once full of hip Iranians getting there snow dose. It looks like it hasn't seen any maintenance since the fall of the Shah more than 30 years ago. There are dead lifts all over the mountain face - with pilons askew and the cables hanging limp. The one lift that is operating is powered by a smelly, old diesel beast. After a 20 minute way in the queue, it breaks down 3 times on my first ride. It carries passengers in tiny, brightly coloured purple, fibreglass pods - that on closer inspection are fraying and cracking everywhere you look. The pods were built pre snowboarding, so whilst skis sit OK on the racks outside, you have to shimmy the boards inside, and ride with the door slightly open - as if unmaintained lifts weren't dangerous enough!! Fortunately the queue lines are created by metal cattle gates and turnstiles, so you get plenty of practice squeezing yourself in, before trying to fit the snowboard in!! The snow is fantastic, however visibility is fairly low, at one point I crest a hill to see a massive plume of dark black smoke rising before me. I think, I wonder what the lifties have set on fire to keep themselves warm, but as I come around the corner I see it is the groomer machine - this time a Russian looking relic, that is blowing smoke like a new Pope has just been announced.
The next couple of days are soured by a lack of snow, only two lifts operating, then a gale that blows in which closes the resort. Thankfully I am joined at the hostel by a group of 4 young Lithuanians, who are good coming and remain fiercely optimistic. The storm provokes an avalanche near the hostel, as a huge chunk of snow slides down the opposite valley side, across the river and in to the backyard - destroying the snowman we had built the day before. So much for worrying about provoking avalanches.
Friday - the Iranian weekend arrives with blue skies and no wind, and brings with it the Tehranian terrors - hundreds of the pampered elite from Tehran turn up in all the latest snow gear - no sight of sanctions here. (They probably got it during their last trip to Europe) Suddenly there are 30 minutes queues, and I find myself resenting the spoilt rich kids who love to queue jump, conveniently forgetting my status as a spoilt, rich kid jetting about the world!! During a lunch break I get to see the whole show - plenty of hair, makeup and tight fitting snow outfits on show by the womenfolk, and every opportunity to strip down to their t-shirts and show off their muscles by the men. We are also witness to a strange occurrence - an Iranian celebrity is sitting at the table behind us, and I watch people repeatedly as their faces change recognising him, then they dash over and ask for a selfie, for which he duly obliges, grabbing the phone and snapping away like a professional. In the space of 15 minutes I see this happen at least 30 times, and its all the more intriguing because we have no idea who he is.
Fortunately I have a cold, so slink off home early, cursing the wind blown snow and the locals. I am all set to head off in the morning, when for the third time this trip, it snows over night, the sky is blue and cloudless in the morning and I quickly change my plans. It proves the right move - the lifts all the way to the top are operating, everybody has returned to Tehran and it is a day of pure joy - looping around and around finding fresh tracks every time. Suddenly in one day my opinion about Iranian snow becomes incredibly positive.
After the big dump of snow the night before I am eager to get to the resort, but I get my first introduction to skiing in Iran - the resort is closed, says the hostel manager, too much snow. I resign myself to a day of rest, but go through the process of setting up all the gear. This proves a sensible move when 20 minutes later the resort is open, and the taxi driver is coming to collect me in 10 minutes. All of the other guests at the hostel are leaving - that have been stuck in the hostel during the blizzard that lasted for three days, and are keen to get to the outside world while they can.
The resort lives up to its reputation as another relic of the Shah regime. It was built in the late 1960s, and was once full of hip Iranians getting there snow dose. It looks like it hasn't seen any maintenance since the fall of the Shah more than 30 years ago. There are dead lifts all over the mountain face - with pilons askew and the cables hanging limp. The one lift that is operating is powered by a smelly, old diesel beast. After a 20 minute way in the queue, it breaks down 3 times on my first ride. It carries passengers in tiny, brightly coloured purple, fibreglass pods - that on closer inspection are fraying and cracking everywhere you look. The pods were built pre snowboarding, so whilst skis sit OK on the racks outside, you have to shimmy the boards inside, and ride with the door slightly open - as if unmaintained lifts weren't dangerous enough!! Fortunately the queue lines are created by metal cattle gates and turnstiles, so you get plenty of practice squeezing yourself in, before trying to fit the snowboard in!! The snow is fantastic, however visibility is fairly low, at one point I crest a hill to see a massive plume of dark black smoke rising before me. I think, I wonder what the lifties have set on fire to keep themselves warm, but as I come around the corner I see it is the groomer machine - this time a Russian looking relic, that is blowing smoke like a new Pope has just been announced.
The next couple of days are soured by a lack of snow, only two lifts operating, then a gale that blows in which closes the resort. Thankfully I am joined at the hostel by a group of 4 young Lithuanians, who are good coming and remain fiercely optimistic. The storm provokes an avalanche near the hostel, as a huge chunk of snow slides down the opposite valley side, across the river and in to the backyard - destroying the snowman we had built the day before. So much for worrying about provoking avalanches.
Friday - the Iranian weekend arrives with blue skies and no wind, and brings with it the Tehranian terrors - hundreds of the pampered elite from Tehran turn up in all the latest snow gear - no sight of sanctions here. (They probably got it during their last trip to Europe) Suddenly there are 30 minutes queues, and I find myself resenting the spoilt rich kids who love to queue jump, conveniently forgetting my status as a spoilt, rich kid jetting about the world!! During a lunch break I get to see the whole show - plenty of hair, makeup and tight fitting snow outfits on show by the womenfolk, and every opportunity to strip down to their t-shirts and show off their muscles by the men. We are also witness to a strange occurrence - an Iranian celebrity is sitting at the table behind us, and I watch people repeatedly as their faces change recognising him, then they dash over and ask for a selfie, for which he duly obliges, grabbing the phone and snapping away like a professional. In the space of 15 minutes I see this happen at least 30 times, and its all the more intriguing because we have no idea who he is.
Fortunately I have a cold, so slink off home early, cursing the wind blown snow and the locals. I am all set to head off in the morning, when for the third time this trip, it snows over night, the sky is blue and cloudless in the morning and I quickly change my plans. It proves the right move - the lifts all the way to the top are operating, everybody has returned to Tehran and it is a day of pure joy - looping around and around finding fresh tracks every time. Suddenly in one day my opinion about Iranian snow becomes incredibly positive.
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