"You are very brave," said the worried-looking Iranian woman as she shook her head, addressing me and five other Americans at the London Heathrow airport last Saturday.
Her husband stood next to her with a wry smile. He warned, "We will soon read about you in the news." I joked with the man, hoping the couple couldn't tell that part of me was actually scared. I said something stupid like, "Or maybe we'll just be dead."
In response, he looked me in the eye and said, "No, you will wish you were dead." Just then we began boarding the flight to Tehran, Iran.
Last summer, 19 Iranians climbed with American host climbers in Wyoming's Tetons in an event organized by the American Alpine Club. Now, 13 Americans affiliated with the AAC, including five from Colorado (and three from Boulder: Jenn Flemming, Mary Ann Dornfeld and myself), are now in Iran as the other half of that climbing and cultural exchange.
After about 30 hours of travel, the six of us landed at the Imam Khomeini airport and were detained for over an hour. The police held our passports ... and then ignored us. As I sat in limbo, completely helpless to whims of the Iranian police, I considered that perhaps my friends were right: Coming here was a terrible mistake.
I daydreamed that I was holding my beautiful girlfriend Heather, with whom I shared a teary farewell just the day before. Our planned two weeks in Iran, plus possibly three more weeks on a personal climbing trip in Tajikistan, is going to feel like forever. I recalled many of the stupid things I've done in my life and realized that this may just top the list.
Half an hour later -- at 5 a.m. Tehran time -- we were all fingerprinted, then finally released from customs. That was 20 hours ago.
After getting settled in our hotel, our American group plus five locals from the Alpine Club of Iran drove half an hour to northern Tehran, where we hiked a dusty 90 minutes to some boulders situated at the base of the Alborz mountains.
Women passed wearing black burkas -- flowing robes that covered their bodies and most of their heads. Many had dyed blonde hair, makeup and a chic look I didn't expect from such a conservative, Muslim country. At one point, the trail offered a view of Tehran and its seemingly endless high-rise buildings shrouded in suffocating pollution. Indeed, I was looking at a city of more than eight million people, but strict Muslim laws prohibit alcohol, among other things. Imagine viewing New York City from atop the Empire State Building, knowing that there's not one bar or nightclub in sight.
When we reached the isolated boulders, the women in our group removed their headscarves and long-sleeve shirts. The men replaced long pants with shorts. On one high problem I was afraid to commit to the last move, but I kept trying it half-heartedly until one attempt when I felt a reassuring hand on my back, indicating that someone was spotting me. I tried the move and fell off again, but that time I was held firm by a young Iranian man who excitedly offered his support. I never learned his name.
My perspective drastically changed in the 20 hours I'd been in the country, from the intimidating airport to the alpine boulders above Tehran. Of course, I still miss Heather, beyond words. And I still do stupid things. But I'm not as scared. Throughout the day we passed hundreds of locals in the street and on the trail, at least a dozen of whom stopped to talk with us when they heard us speaking English. One 30-something woman asked me, "You ... England?"
"No," I smiled. Then I admitted nervously, "America."
Her face brightened into a wide smile. It seemed she could hardly form the words fast enough: "You are wel-come Ameri-cans. Wel-come to Iran!"
Chris Weidner: Boulder Daily Camera
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