9 Amusing Quirks that are Part of Iranian Culture (Part 2)

Every culture has some eccentricities that, depending on how you see them, can range from annoying and confusing to interesting and downright adorable. Obviously, during my time here in Iran, I’ve picked up on quite a few of these cultural oddities, and they never cease to amuse me. From linguistic peculiarities to the everyday idiosyncrasies, here is a long-overdue part two of amusing quirks that are just part of Iranian culture.

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A word (or two) about the A/C…

For Iranians, the A/C is the culprit of all health problems. And if you’re garmâ-yi (hot-natured) like me, this kills you. I need the A/C on full blast at all times in hot weather. I’m sorry but just because the temperature has ever so slightly dipped below 105 degrees (F) to 98 does not mean that it’s khonak (cool), as one of my aunts alarmingly claims. Shared taxis in Iran don’t turn on the A/C, and you know what? It’s fine. I can tolerate the heat for half an hour. I’ll even put a positive spin on the sweating and call it detoxing. But what I don’t understand is how the drivers themselves tolerate going back and forth in traffic the entire day. And on top of that, they sip hot tea between rides. I know they say, ironically, it’s supposed to cool you down, but come on! 

Drivers of ride-sharing apps, though, are required to turn on the A/C. And if they don’t, you can tell them to. In fact, it’s one of the things that you can rate them on later. One morning, I was headed off to work when the driver asked if I wanted the A/C on. “I mean, it’s really bad for my health, but if you want it, I’ll turn it on for you.” Those were his exact words (albeit in Persian). Seriously? “Really bad for your health?” I find that hard to believe but fine. It was still morning (meaning it was “khonak,” in the words of my aunt), so I told him it was ok. 

If I’m not mistaken, the A/C is evil in Greek culture, too. I remember it being a topic my Greek-American friends and I could commiserate over. 

When it comes to giving directions… 

… Iranians tell you where not to go first. Instead of saying, “Go straight and turn right at the second light,” they’ll say something closer to, “Go straight, the first light-no! The second light, turn right.” While I was traveling through Bandar Anzali, this happened every last time we asked someone directions. “Go straight, the first roundabout-no! The second roundabout-no! The third roundabout, go left.” On the way to Meymand, it was, “Drive straight, and when you hit the fork in the road, don’t go left! Go right.” And just a few days ago, when I asked a taxi driver where the bus stop was, he kept true to Iranian form. “Straight ahead. The first alley-no! The next alley.” 

In all honesty, it just complicates matters because they mention both options. But you have to remember that the first one is a no. 

I mentioned this to my friends on my recent road trip through central Iran, and they got a huge kick out of it. It actually became a joke throughout the rest of our trip.

Side thought: It’s a wonder that anyone understands directions in Iran. I called once to get the address of an office and was told it was “the brick building on X street, the first real estate agency-no! But after the second real estate agency.” I called my friend to tell him the directions I got were, “Brick building on X street.” His answer? “Oh, you mean the one by the real estate agency?” Impressive…

When traffic comes to a halt…

…drivers switch on their emergency blinkers. The reason I classify this as a quirk is that it’s something my mom used to do in the US, and I never understood why. When traffic was flowing, but then suddenly slowed and you had to hit the brakes, my mom’s finger would also automatically go to the emergency flashers. Seeing as our car was the only one that did this, I couldn’t figure it out. But cars do this all the time in Iran, so you can imagine my delight at having solved this piece of the puzzle.

While driving along Haraz Road to Mazandaran, we came across several such instances. When my friend hit the emergency flashers, I called him out on it. “There! That’s such a typical Iranian move!” He was confused. “But there’s suddenly traffic. You’re supposed to do that.” I told him we don’t in the US, and he was surprised. “But it just makes good sense!” And that it does, I have to say. 

Side thought: In part 1 of Iranian culture quirks, I wrote about how car honks communicate a myriad of messages. But so do the lights. You might remember my handy guidelines for crossing the street in which a car flashing its lights means “don’t cross” (although it might also mean, “Do you need a ride?). But there are other messages drivers convey via lights. Like the time when a driver cut my cousin off and pulled in front. He then hit the right blinker and then the left to say “thank you [for letting me be an asshole].” Of course, I didn’t understand this. My cousin explained the meaning to me. Or a few years back when on a two-way road to St. Stephanos monastery from Tabriz, I noticed car after car flashing their high beams at those of us on the opposite side. I learned that it was a sign to mind the speed limit because traffic police were up ahead. Then there was the time I was waiting for a Snapp, and I saw a car down the street flashing its lights. I didn’t pay much attention to it since the license plate number was different, and he drove past me anyway. Thirty seconds later, the driver called, and it turned out to be that car. When I got in, he said he drove by me because I didn’t respond when he flashed his lights. Really?

They’re sensitive about how hard you slam the car door

Ok, maybe less so nowadays, but anyone who traveled to Iran during the 80s and 90s can attest to this fact. But even these days, you still come across drivers (or friends, ahem) who make snide remarks like, “Shekast!” (It broke!) or “Ghâyem-tar bezan!” (Slam it a little harder would you!?) I’m pleased that after all this time here, I’ve [almost] perfected the exact amount of force to exert.

At rest stop bathrooms…

…the line starts behind the stall doors. If you’ve ever been to a rest stop during an Iranian holiday, you know it’s ghol-gholeh (chaotic)! Which makes the line for the bathroom an absolute nightmare. But the weirdest thing is that instead of forming a single file line where the first person goes into whichever stall opens up (logical), women form lines behind each stall! So when you’re in said stall and open the door to come out, you’re like a fish swimming upstream breaking through a crowd of women trying to get in. (Although it still doesn’t compare to trying to get on and off the metro at Teatr-e Shahr station in Tehran. Horrific!) I was hit with a major bout of culture shock the first time I experienced this. The voice of Amy Winehouse singing, “What kind of f^ck&*y is this?” popped into my head. For the life of me, I couldn’t understand it. And then I heard an actual voice coming from the crowd. “Everywhere else in the world, they stand in one line. But here…,” she trailed off. Whew! What a relief that someone was on the same page as me. I guess it’s like Iranians always say: Injâ Iran ast. (This is Iran.)

(I obviously have no idea if men do the same, but I would greatly appreciate an answer. So if there are any men out there who can comment on this particular phenomenon, you know what to do…) 

Pro tip: If you can find the stall with the farangi (western-style) toilet, the line will always be shorter (or non-existent)!

Women tie their shoelaces around their ankles

Women always seem to tie their sneaker laces around their ankles. I have nothing more to say about this one, really, only that I see it all the time, and I find it curious. I guess it’s the style.

They’re fond of superlatives

Anyone who’s traveled to Iran may have noticed how tour guides and brochures boast about attractions being “the oldest”, “the tallest”, “the highest”, “the longest”, etc. I want to take a minute to congratulate those of you who were a bit skeptical about these claims. You caught onto another fabulous quirk of the Iranian culture: a fondness of superlatives. Much like the father in My Big Fat Greek Wedding who liked to insist that the Greeks invented everything, Iranians love to claim the -tarin (“-est”). Now I’m sure that a few of these are true, but there comes a point when you realize that all things “-est” couldn’t possibly exist in Iran alone. With that in mind…

New rule (thank you, Bill Maher): Let’s please stop doing this. If we want to make such a claim, let’s do so honestly. It’s not always the -est in the world. Sometimes it’s the -est in the city, the -est in the Middle East, the -est in the country. Sometimes, it’s only one of the -est. And you know what else? Sometimes, it’s not an -est at all! And that’s ok! When we constantly insist that everything is the -est in the world, we take away credibility from the things that really are.

They ask questions in negative

And when English is your first language, these negative questions end up sounding a bit rude. Like when my cousin asks, “Tadig-eto nemikhâyi?” (Don’t you want your tadig?), I feel like I’m obligated to say, “No. Why don’t you take it?” Or when students ask me, “Emtehân-âro tasih nakardin?” (Haven’t you graded our exams yet?), it sounds super pushy. Seriously, people, give it a day! Or when my Iranian friend directly translates and asks, “Didn’t you move into your new apartment yet?”, I’m like jeez, what’s the rush? 

In English, we tend to ask questions in the affirmative, i.e. “Do you want your tadig?” or “Have you graded our exams yet?” or “Did you move into your new apartment?” But Iranians have the tendency to ask questions in the negative, which is actually polite in Persian. It only sounds rude when you translate it into English because English-speakers do the opposite. I’m trying to get used to this one, but I can’t help but feel a twinge of irritation at times. A couple of friends and I spent the better part of our vacation breakfast debating this one. But that’s a story for another post. 

Side note: That’s why Persian has the word cherâ to mean “yes” (though it can also mean “why”). It’s like how the Germans use “doch” or the French use “si” to answer “yes” to a negative question.

The whispering voice

If you’ve been following my blog for some time, this one is sure to ring a bell since I know I’ve mentioned it on more than one occasion. You know that English expression “everyone and their mother…”? Well, in Iran, there are so many pop singers that it sometimes seems as if everyone and their mother is a singer. Here, the saying goes that anyone who’s had a falling out with their mom becomes a singer. And because there are so many, it’s hard to keep up with their names. Enter the whispering voice. 

At the beginning of Iranian pop songs, there a voice that whispers the name of the singer. Sometimes it repeats it at the end. And other times, the voice whispers the name of the singer at the beginning and the name of the producer at the end. Or vice versa. While it may seem strange, there’s a good reason for it. Singers often merely release singles, and in order for the audience to know who the artist is, they whisper the name at the beginning. As funny as it is, I must state for the official record that I am 100% in support of this. I usually keep up-to-date on new releases by what’s playing in the taxi at any given moment, so the voice is super helpful to be able to find the song later on. It’s like Shazam without needing to download an app!

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