Conor O'Neillleft the Co Louth restaurant he manages far behind when he went in search of Persian culture
IT WAS 9pm on Sunday, January 13th, 2008 - or, according to the Persian calendar, October 19th, 1386 - in snowy Isfahan, in central Iran. A chance encounter with a stranger led to an invitation: "My name Ali. You come to my house?"
I decided to take him up on his offer and followed him to his early-1980s Paykan, an Iranian-made version of the Hillman Hunter. My travelling companion, Benjamin, a German backpacker I met in the hostel, took the front seat. I jumped into the back. Ali glanced in his mirror and signalled for me to sit up front, alongside Benjamin.
For a moment I was bemused. Then six of his family appeared out of the blizzard and squeezed into the back seat. I signalled to Ali about using a seat belt, but he just laughed.
The doors shut and the adventure began. For about 35km we zigzagged the wrong way up dual carriageways and one-way streets, ran red lights, overtook on inside lanes and even nudged vehicles ahead in order to keep them moving. Traffic in suburban Iran is horrendous at any time of day or night, and as for the rules of the road, they simply don't exist.
Ali sat smiling to himself, now and again glancing in our direction. Little was said during the journey, but chilling thoughts began to enter my mind, and I switched to high alert. Was smiling Ali really bringing us to his house, and, if so, why? Media terms began flashing before me: kidnapping, torture, fanaticism, jihad.
Finally, an hour later, we reached our destination, a sleepy suburb on the outskirts of Isfahan. The house was not dissimilar to an average three-bedroom in Ireland. The family gathered in the living room and gave us a warm welcome. Then the customary Iranian chai, or tea, was offered around, by which time their mobile phones were in full swing. Minutes later we were greeted by the extended family. Eighteen in all burst through the door, all excited to see the foreigners.
Then the women, heavily veiled in chadors, disappeared into the kitchen. We men were left to discuss the important topics of the day, although as Farsi and English have little in common there were long silences, with only pointing and smiling.
An hour later the women reappeared, signalling that the food was ready. Everybody gathered on the carpet, sitting cross-legged, for chicken, lamb, rice, salad and a selection of sauces. Persians eat very quickly, so they were amazed to see us still eating 20 minutes later.
I looked around and realised this was why I had come: to see beyond the distorted view the media can paint of this part of the world. This was why, as manager of the Glyde Inn restaurant, in Co Louth, I had decided to make Iran my holiday destination for 2008.
After dinner the men retired to the sofas, to continue their discussions, but this time with a twist. Their uncle Ahmad had just arrived, and he spoke decent English. Immediately we were quizzed about our age and whether we were married. In Iran it is generally accepted that by the age of 27 you must be hitched. The idea of being single at 30 confounded them. The conversation took a few strange twists and turns until Ahmad hinted that his daughter, who was sitting opposite, would make a fine bride. I managed to change the topic without too much awkwardness.
The subject of religion was bound to arise, and Ahmad explained the central role of Islam in people's lives. Alcohol, discos and gambling are prohibited. Women remain covered and are separated from men in public places, such as buses and mosques.
I asked how young people ever get to meet. Ahmad turned to his son, Abbas, who explained that Iranians flirt at every opportunity: at university, in shopping centres, in tea houses, on the internet. Once you close the door of your house anything is possible, including the drinking of alcohol and wearing whatever clothes you desire. Parties are common, but in secret, because, if found out, the organisers could face jail.
Iran is in flux, however, and its social laws are gradually being relaxed. Homosexuality is still banned, but, in an amazing twist, sex changes are quite common, and the country has some of the world's leading surgeons in this and plastic surgery. So that must explain all the people I had seen with plasters on their noses and faces.
The evening continued in an easy manner. Ahmad began to sing, then asked me for an Irish song. We drank chai and laughed about silly things, then went back to our hostel.
In the following days I told other travellers about our evening. They all had similar tales. Nobody could quite see where the Axis of Evil image had come from. I've travelled a lot, always judging a country by its people. Iranians are among the best I've come across.
The country feels extremely safe and easy to travel in. It is also cheap, and offers great skiing in the north and sun-baked islands along the Persian Gulf. Combine these with a wealth of historical sites, amazing architecture and a rich, diverse culture and Iran becomes an ideal destination.