Taking Shots in a Car Outside of an Iranian Wedding
Taking Shots in a Car Outside of an Iranian Wedding
Arak in Mavdasht
Mavdasht is not a common destination for tourists in Iran. Most tourists will day trip from Shiraz to Persepolis, passing through Mavdasht without really noticing the place. My travel partner, Linda, has arranged a night’s accommodation in Mavdasht with a local guy named Reza. I decide to join her and see what will come of it.
Reza is a well-dressed man in his early thirties. He speaks English well and studies engineering in Amsterdam.
“Educating my way out of this undesirable situation,” he says.
Within an hour of meeting him, he has invited us to a wedding. Linda and I dress in our finest travelers’ attire; Reza dresses in suit and bow-tie.
“I’m going to contact my dealer,” Reza says. “Do you want anything?”
Reza clarifies he is getting alcohol called arak.
“Everyone drinks at weddings,” Reza says. “At least they do on the men’s side.”
This is when we learn that men and women are segregated at Iranian weddings. When we arrive at the venue, Linda disappears with the women and I don’t see her again until the end of the night.
Reza and I join 500 men in a characterless hall, which is probably the largest males-only party I’ve ever been to. From the other side of the hall we can hear women shouting and screaming and dancing. I see some men in t-shirts and I feel comforted knowing I’m not the worst dressed at the party. Reza introduces me to his friends and they kiss me gently on each cheek. The men are nervous to meet me. Most of them don’t speak English.
When the groom arrives he shakes hands with every man in the room. We are served apples, bananas, and cake. The music starts and the men begin to dance. They link arms and slowly move around the hall in a constantly growing circle. Then the free dance begins. Men rush into the circle twisting hands upwards into the air and gyrating hips. One man drags me around the dance floor trying to force me to dance with him. He stares into my face smiling with encouragement, which makes me feel uncomfortable.
Some men have been sneaking arak into the wedding in plastic water bottles and are quite drunk. Reza tells me it is the groom and his groomsmen who are expected to provide the arak. We sneak off to his car at one point and take shots of the potent liquid. After the arak, Reza’s friends are much more open with me.
“A man and wife can…?” one man called Farzad asks.
I gather he wants to know if my girlfriend and I have sex. Farzad asks what would happen if my girlfriend got pregnant. He also asks what I think of homosexuality. To all my answers he opens his eyes wide with surprise.
“I heard that in Australia a man was pregnant. Is this true?” he asks.
Reza explains that coming into contact with new cultures is rare for Iranians.
“We would like to travel but we can’t,” Reza says. “We can’t get visas anywhere.”
The men are also curious as to what I think of Iran. They are happy when I tell them I think Iran is beautiful but concerned when I tell them that many Australians think Iran is dangerous.
“We are good people. We are friendly people,” Farzad says. “You tell them this. You say Iran is safe.”
I tell them some Australians are concerned by what they think of as fundamental Islam.
“But we are not ISIS,” Ali says. “They are not real Muslims.”
Some of the men start breakdancing; the strobe lights come on and the groom is lifted into the air on our shoulders; and then the party is over before midnight.
I join a wide-eyed Linda afterwards. She tells me women wore short skirts, low cleavage, lots of make up, and lots of gold. Although Linda found the experience overwhelming at times, she feels like she was treated as an honored guest.