Iranian suit shops; there was an entire street of them just meters from our Tehran hotel. In their display windows mannequins show off the most hideously fantastic men’s wear I have ever seen (although the shops in the mariachi district of Mexico City are stiff competition). Haberdasheries of bling and of the cheesiest swag, these suits are Gangnam Iran style and I wanted one! Unfortunately our group quickly moved on from Tehran leaving me with an intense longing to return for a fitting.
On the final day of the tour we returned to Tehran where we had a very special dinner planned at the Armenian Club, the one place in Iran where non Muslims can drink. I didn’t have much time but I let Gareth Johnson, owner of Young Pioneer Tours and trip leader, and Marko Moudrak, “the Russian”, in on my plan; with just 45min before our dinner reservation we would get fitted for ridiculous suits (and I should be careful calling them that, I’m told they are wedding groom suits), surprise our group, and crash the Armenian Club with our new fabulous bling……and that’s exactly what we did.
But it was the following day when things really got ridiculous. Most of the group split up, many flying home, but the three of us with suits were traveling overland to cross the border into Armenia on our Young Pioneer Tours research trip for next year’s Armenia/Nagorno Karabach Iran trip extension. We did 11 hours in a mini bus to the Armenian border in our suits, crashing dusty truck stops and leaving locals slack jawed in disbelief in our wake. A dare had been put out there that we wouldn’t have the balls to cross the Iranian border in our suits, of course we did, although there were plenty of dirty looks shown our way by the police and customs officials – they kept us waiting a good hour giving us plenty of time to consider our stupidity, but in the end our exit stamps were issued.
The Iranian soldiers at the final check point had a better sense of humor and just laughed at us during their document check and we were finally released to make the cold and lonely walk over the bridge into Armenia. The Armenians greeted us kindly, and despite some problems with our electronic visas, professionally worked to sort everything out. After an hour wait our passports were handed over to us and the young border official offered us a “welcome to Europe” and then with a sly smile, “so…. what the hell is up with those suits?”
At the Armenian Club in our suits.
In my Tehran suit shop.