Ski in Iran
Voyager visits the untouched slopes close to Tehran
WORDS | MINTY CLINCH
WE LANDED LATE IN THE NIGHT IN TEHRAN WITH A TON OF SKI GEAR AND PAUSED TO CONSIDER THE BEST WAY FORWARD. A night in the city or straight up to Shemshak, our target resort, an hour and a half out of town? It was February 2009, before the election unrest, and for myself and my two travelling companions it was our first skiing visit to Iran. We didn’t know what to expect but at least our yellow taxi, prudently pre-ordered for its roof rack, was waiting in the parking lot. Its driver, Mr Naziri, confidently took the decision for us. “I know where is so I drive you to mountains and find you hotel,” he said, unmindful of the midnight hour.
Within 30 minutes, our baggage was roped to the rack and we were off. Within 90 minutes, he confessed he’d never been to Shemshak. Within four hours, some of them spent slithering up Alborz mountain cul-desacs on bald tyres in pursuit of bright lights that might provide lodging, he accepted the inevitable. His car was our hotel. Finally Mr Naziri parked and turned up the heating – energy-profligate Iran always insists on hot, hot, hot – and we got some shut-eye till dawn.
The morning revealed an icy road with a chain across it. Jonathan bounced up to it with his customary élan, discovered Shemshak’s only hotel and, with the authority of one who is a corporate executive, commandeered a reluctant member of staff to take our luggage on the makeshift pulley lift. Panting after negotiating 264 icy steps at 2,550 metres, we checked into the Royal Suite with two double bedrooms, two bathrooms, large sitting room, kitchen, balcony and secret internal staircase, whose purpose can only be guessed at. Cost? €90 a night, divided between three. Carolyn, a hardy American ski instructor, and I wrapped our scarves around our heads in what we hoped was the approved manner and headed down to breakfast. There sat 60 boy racers, all dressed in black, who looked up at us from their tomato and cucumber salad in astonishment. Rapidly, we ate and left.
Iran owes its skiing scene to its last shah, an enthusiast who spent most of his winters in St Moritz and Gstaad. Closer to home, he saw the potential of the Alborz Mountains, a range of 4,000-metre peaks overlooking Tehran. In the 1960s and ’70s, he built two resorts, Shemshak and neighbouring Dizin, importing chairlifts and gondolas from France.
Now, 30 years after he was deposed, the resorts remain fully functional. Less satisfactorily, they are often closed, not for the weather, but for religious holidays that routinely bring Iran to a standstill. Travellers should check these before planning a trip; for instance a week’s ski trip in March would have a set back if organised during the three-day break commemorating the death of Muhammad.
Contrary to popular belief, Iranian slopes are not roped off into gender zones, and there are no separate days for men and women. Some of the base stations have two lift entrances, often a benefit for women as their queues are shorter. Most of the skiers and boarders are wealthy Iranians with shiny Japanese 4x4s and the season’s most expensive designer clothes. Think high octane glamour: the women wear full make-up, eyelids and cheeks dusted with gold, and replace their scarves with hats so that streaked blonde hair can peep out. The men are equally fashion conscious and ski like dervishes, putting in the maximum number of flashy turns until they run out of slope. Such foreigners as there are tend to be embassy personnel, the majority of them Scandinavians.
When we woke up, it was snowing gently so we set out on a mission to find a guide. The owner of one of the many ski shops we saw was busy with his mates. “Drink?” he asked Jonathan, flourishing a two litre bottle of mineral water. Jonathan nodded – Carolyn and I nodded too. Our host shook his head. Homemade hooch is gender segregated. Unwittingly, we’d found the party scene.
Ask anyone who’s been to Iran what they find most striking and the answer is always the incredibly hospitable people. Ask me and I’ll agree in spades. Once the owner understood the degenerate ways of these two Western women, the bottle passed freely amongst us. A few hours later, we were in the flat he shared with a ski instructor couple, eating kebabs grilled on a fire on the terrace. A few days later, we were practically part of the family, celebrating Carolyn’s birthday in their penthouse in Tehran. In between, they took us skiing with justifiable pride.
Shemshak is the older and more ambitious of the two villages, a work in progress currently stalled to leave a ragged main street overlooked by skeleton high rises. The outskirts are smarter, with high iron gates guarding villas owned by the Tehran elite. Our hotel was ski in, ski out so Jonathan and I made first tracks on well-prepared corduroy before breakfast. After a tough morning riding the chairlifts and skiing reasonably steep pistes and mogul fields with our new friends, we had lunch in the mid-station café: no glühwein of course, but plenty of shisha pipes using fruit tobacco generously shared with passing strangers. Later we tackled the 45-minute ridge walk and the rewarding powder fields beyond. And still the snow fluttered down.
The next day we drove for five kilometres along a spectacular hilltop road to Dizin, a compact resort built in the late 1960s. It has several brightly coloured gondolas – the kind the French call oeufs (eggs) – and a number of chairlifts. The runs are longer and easier than Shemshak’s groomed pistes, swooping and dipping into the distance over open slopes. On a perfect blue day, the Iranians were ripping them up with their customary zest.
That left the rest of the mountain, the part covered in virgin powder, for Team GB. Powder skiing is not popular in Iran so the great swathes of fresh snow were just for us. We plundered them systematically, finding untracked routes on every descent. Greatly daring, we worked our way towards ever-steeper sections, sometimes climbing small hills to get the best lines. Pure white magic. Like all true addicts, we did it again and again and again. The skiers of Iran don’t realise what joy they’re missing.
NEED TO KNOW
IRAN HAS 16 SKI AREAS WITH LIFTS, among them Tochal, the fourth highest in the world at 3,850m with direct gondola access out of north Tehran, but only Shemshak and Dizin have genuine resort status.
FOR FIT ADVENTURERS, touring is an excellent option. Damavand, a 5,671m volcanic peak 50km north east of Tehran, is Iran’s highest mountain, with 3,000 vertical metres of skiing. You have to climb it first and you need a guide.
VISAS: After the protests that followed the June 2009 election, visas were on hold, but it’s now business as usual. Visitors from most countries (including Britain) need an Authorisation Code. The relevant form must be accompanied by a letter of introduction, usually from a tour operator or a hotel. Applications can take eight weeks. You then take the code, your passport and the fee (UK £95, Europe £47) to the Iranian Embassy to get the visa. Note that women must wear a scarf covering hair and ears for their visa photo and also when visiting the embassy or their application may be refused. Further information from www.iranvisa.co.uk
MAGIC CARPET TRAVEL: This Iranian owned business supplies letters and applies for visa codes (£120, four weeks minimum). They also suggest tailor-made itineraries and can make advance reservations for hotels, transport and guides [+44 (0)1344 622832, www.magic-carpet-travel.co.uk]. Or you can make your own bookings by phone in Iran when you know what you want to do next. The Lonely Planet guidebook Iran (£16.99) is a good place to start.
FOREIGN CREDIT CARDS ARE INVALID IN IRAN. All expenses (including hotels and internal travel) must be paid in cash: take US dollars (preferred) or euros and change into rials locally.
