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streets for fear that someone would stop us and ask about our relationship with her. In Iran, men are only supposed to be walking with a woman if they are engaged to her, or she is their mother, wife, or sister. The morality police could stop you and inquire as to your relationship to the girl you’re walking with, and if they don’t like your answer, they could throw you in jail. A lot of people who live in Tehran don’t seem to fear this, but when you’re visiting you’re on high alert and freaked the hell out most of the time. I was constantly telling my sister to stay five steps behind. Then I realized this looked misogynistic, so I told her to stay five steps ahead. Which made it look like I was stalking her. We eventually settled on walking on opposite sides of the street, and I would occasionally shout chauvinistic barbs at her, just to fit in.
    Of greater concern, alcohol is not allowed in Iran, although a lot of people drink it. The type that is consumed is either homemade or purchased from the Armenian black market. I did not dare drink in public, but the locals didn’t seem to care. We went to dinner one night with an uncle who snuck in a flask. He told us all to order Cokes and then proceeded to spike our drinks. (They weren’t actually Cokes, since Iran wouldn’t import American products like Coca-Cola because of sanctions. It was a knockoff whose name I forget, but we’ll call it Mullah-Cola.) Anyway, wewere freaking out for fear we would get caught, but he was totally blasé. This was another stupid policy in Iran, where everyone knew people were breaking the law, but they did not want to admit it. If it weren’t for the damn law I wouldn’t even want a drink. But since my sixty-year-old uncle had gone to such lengths to sneak it in, I indulged.
    Eight Minute Keb-Abs
    The last time I was in Iran, my father took me to a gym. When I say gym, I mean sauna. And when I say sauna, I mean a place where men go to relax and pretend they are exercising. You can see the difference in cultures between the Middle East and the West when you go to exercise in these countries. In California, a gym is a place with treadmills and elliptical machines, free weights and dumbbells, men and women and mirrors everywhere. In Iran, a gym has one stationary bike, four dumbbells, an enormous sauna and steam room, and men only—no women allowed. There are gyms for women, too, but I would have had to dress in drag to get into those.
    It was amazing how little thought was given to the actual exercise room at the gym and what detail had gone into the sauna area. There was a sauna, a steam room, a cold bath, a hot bath, and even a restaurant to eat rice and kebab after you’ve steamed. “Exercisers” go in, sweat out the pounds, then come out and put them right back on. Thankfully, I was there during Ramadan, so the restaurant was closed. Besides, I had eaten so many contraband cookies, I wouldn’t have been able to stomach a post-workout kebab.
    Men go to these places to spend the day together and get away from their families. They talk politics, sports, and finance andleave feeling like they’ve gotten an actual workout when in reality the only reason they sweat is because it’s so hot. I was shocked at how openly these guys were talking politics and criticizing the leadership. People had gotten to a point where they didn’t give a crap. And they knew so much detail about everyone in the regime. I think it’s a cultural thing, but Iranians will know every nuance about a person and his background. Whereas in America you work with a guy for ten years and never know his last name.
    â€œHey Mike! How’s the wife and kids? You don’t have a wife and kids? Your name is Ted? Are you sure?”
    In Iran people know first names, last names, family history, what car you drive, net worth, where you went to school, why you went to school, whom you slept with at