We stand in the immigration queue in front of a veiled customs officer and don't know what to expect. And there's something else that's making our foreheads sweat: Our guest gift is gurgling in one of the travel bags - and alcohol is a punishable offense in the Islamic Republic of Iran. Why didn't we think of this earlier? Images of stonings and floggings flash through my mind as I slowly make my way towards passport control. The customs officer gives me a friendly wink: "Welcome to Iran." That's it.
Tehran Airport. The airport is only sparsely lit. In the dull, yellowish light, the slab-like terminal buildings are indistinct. At the far edge of the airfield, the silhouettes of tanks stand out against the night sky. In some hangars, people are working on fighter jets. The first impression is oppressive. It seems as if this country is forming itself against an external threat. Hopefully it was a good decision to come here of all places to go mountain biking...
We drive through Tehran at night to the Eram Grand Hotel, which will be our accommodation for the next few days. Ali, our "personal transport manager", gives us a crash course on customs and traditions in Iran as he drives us safely through the madness that is "road traffic".
"Freedom is forbidden - the forbidden is the freedom!" he says. Almost everything that is fun is officially forbidden here. A secret moral police force strictly monitors compliance with the religious laws. Only partially recognizable by their uniforms - but certainly by their black goatees and dark shirts - this kind of vigilante moral guard often simply blocks the street and checks traffic for alcohol and unmarried couples.
"The art," Ali explains, "is to create your own space and have fun in a private setting". And he is a great master at this, as we learn.
We are all the more surprised by the openness and friendliness with which we are welcomed everywhere, even though the circumstances suggest a mood of mistrust. But hospitality is the top priority here. Our Iranian hosts Farid and Alineza have prepared a program for the duration of our stay that leaves nothing to be desired: A mixture of culture, city life and mountain biking at its best awaits us. Over the next two weeks, we won't be able to rest.
Mount Damavand - Iran's highest mountain
After a sugary breakfast accompanied by loud oriental techno beats, we set off with our guides Mohammad and Sharam to Mount Damavand, the highest mountain in Iran. At 5671 m, the striking volcanic cone towers above the other 4000 m high peaks of the Elburs Mountains.
"Let's see how high we can get..." is the motto as the nine of us squeeze into the minibus with all our luggage, including bikes. At first, we only make it just beyond the outskirts of Tehran, where the engine dies and won't start again. This is getting off to a good start!
Calmly and without losing their good mood, our guides tweak a few oily screws and bend a few wires and, with a lot of persuasion in Persian, the engine can be persuaded to start again. Mohammad turns to us with a beaming smile: "Problems always come in threes here. That was the first one. Let's see what the next two will be..." Inshallah," I think - the most commonly used expression in this country for everything you can't influence - "Allah will sort it out!"
The multi-lane desert highway turns into a country road, the country road into a gravel track that winds its way between breathtaking valleys and gorges ever closer to the mountain giant. Mount Damavand rises directly in front of us. Its summit is shrouded in cloud. As the sun sinks behind the mountains, we are almost 3000 m above sea level. It gets cold quickly. And we are still climbing. Suddenly it smells charred and the engine howls loudly before it dies. The thin air and the overload were probably too much for our vehicle. Problem number two is here. In the distance, the golden dome of the mosque shines in the last rays of the sun. This is also our base camp for the rest of the ascent, our destination for today. The crescent moon slowly creeps over the black mountain ranges, wolves howl in the distance. We take on the last few kilometers in sandals and city clothes. Problem number three looms: How do we get our luggage to base camp?
