Postcards from Mazandaran: Haraz Road, the Caspian Sea, and Filband

If ever there is a holiday in Iran, there’s one place Tehranis flock to- shomâl. Technically, shomâl means “north”, but it’s synonymous with other words like “beach”, “vacation”, and “good weather.” When my aunt was visiting the US, my parents decided to take her to the beach in Florida, south of where they live. She called up my cousin in Iran to give her an update and told her, “Yah, so this weekend, we’re going to shomâl.”

There are two main roads leading up to the north, Jâddeh Châlus and Jâddeh Harâz. One of the greatest things is that they aren’t just roads to the destination- they’re actually part of the destination themselves. Their beauty is so absorbing that the average 5-hour drive flies by.

This past weekend, I took a road trip on Harâz Road up to Mazandaran province and the Caspian Sea and stopped by Filband on the way back to Tehran. These are some of my musings and a few postcards from the trip that will hopefully inspire you to visit this beautiful part of Iran. 

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Harâz Road

In my opinion, Harâz is not quite as stunning as Châlus but still beautiful. And I’m so glad I finally got to experience the entire road. I had only had a brief encounter with Harâz once before when I made the rookie mistake of attempting to reach the north via this road on a holiday. You see, Iranians always talked about Châlus and Harâz Roads becoming ghofl (locked) on holidays. I would imagine R.E.M.’s “Everybody Hurts” video when I heard these stories, except instead of abandoning their cars at the end, Iranians apparently get out and start grilling or smoking hookah on the roadside. Other friends would tell me tales about how they drove to Châlus only to turn around and drive back to Tehran a few hours later because of the gridlock. Given Iranians’ penchant for exaggeration, I took it with a grain of salt. 

And I paid the price.

One stretch that should have taken an hour max took 4.5 hours (and we weren’t even a quarter of the way there yet). I didn’t heed their warnings, and I learned the hard way that in this case, they were not exaggerating- not in the slightest. So instead of sitting in that insanity, I hitched a ride back and officially joined the “I went a quarter of the way to shomâl and drove back to Tehran” club. 

But this time was different. We left before the holiday, and good weather and road conditions meant that my senses could take over. I couldn’t get over how the mountains had a different formation at every bend in the road. Going through each tunnel, I held my breath in excitement to see what new landscape was waiting on the other end. I wondered if the view from the picturesque villages clustered on the mountainside could ever become “ordinary” to the locals. And when I first caught sight of the imposing Mount Damavand, Iran’s highest peak, blanketed in snow (but without its signature cloud halo), well, that was the icing on the cake.

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Mazandaran and the Caspian Sea

Approaching shomâl is always a bit surreal for me. I only have one memory of being in the north when I was three years old. And to be honest, I’m not even sure it’s a memory. I think it’s a photo I’ve seen a hundred times that makes me think it’s a memory. 

Regardless, as you near the north, the scenery gets greener, and the air becomes more humid. And that’s when the landscape becomes incredibly familiar to me. My head does this woo-hoo thing where I suddenly forget I’m in Iran and for a brief second mistake it with rural Alabama. Or Florida. Or Virginia. On this trip, I even caught a flashback of La Serena, Chile, the sleepy beach town where I lived many moons ago. It’s about this time that my headscarf slides off, and pulling it back onto my head usually does the trick to reorient me. 

A lot of tourists who come to Iran always say that locals encourage them to visit the north. And I hear the disappointment in Iranians’ voices when they say that tourists aren’t too enthusiastic about their suggestion. “They don’t like to go to shomâl. They just want to go to the desert.” Well, I tell them, maybe the desert is more exotic for them. But there’s something about the north of Iran that’s so unlike what I’m used to that it’s equally as exotic for me.  

The pace of life seems slower in the north. The people, friendlier. Just sticking my hand out the car window to feel the fresh, cool air, a local mistook me for waving to him and waved back. And even though we were satisfied with a one-word “no” when we asked if the bread had eggs in it, the baker was not. The answer turned into a 10-minute speech where he proudly talked about his work and his awareness of vegans and those with egg allergies. Hats off to you, sir. 

As for us, we took a cue from locals and traded in the big city hustle and bustle for some small town, seaside R&R. We got up early to see the first rays shining over the Caspian at dawn, strolled along the shore to a pink and purple sky at sunset, and did some birdwatching around the wetlands. Orange trees lined the town streets which I found charming. And of course every meal was accompanied by sides of olives and sir torshi (pickled garlic). Because when in the north, you must eat varieties of pickled garlic to your heart’s content with no fear of the repercussions. Garlic doesn’t smell in the north. Didn’t you know? 😉

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Filband

Returning back to Tehran, we took a detour off Harâz onto Filband Road. After paying a small entrance fee, we wound our way up some crazy hairpin roads to Filband, a quaint little village sitting at the top of the mountain high above the clouds. With the forest dressed in its fall clothing, the road twisting and turning up to Filband was magnificent. It was hard to choose a spot to take a break and virtually impossible to stop at every picture-worthy scene. But we finally settled on a patch of velvety rolling green hills away from the packs of other picnickers who had set up tents for the day and were barbecuing. Who said sizdeh bedar only has to happen on the 13th day of Nowruz? 

The cool thing about Filband is that the clouds sink down so it’s as if you’re above them. If you’re really lucky, the valley beneath morphs into a sea of puffy clouds. We didn’t have the good fortune of witnessing this phenomenon on our pitstop here, but this post by the lovely Matin over at Travestyle will give you an idea of just how spectacular it can get! 

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