Ahvaz to Shush by taxi

by Caroline Sandes

A taxi-journey isn’t normally worth writing about, but my journey from Ahvaz to Shush, sometimes better known as Susa, in western Iran was more entertaining than most.

I’d caught the overnight bus from Shiraz to Ahvaz. The bus was clearly much loved by its owner as it was carefully decked out in red lights, inside and out, even round the windscreen. Together with its red seats and all the other things it was festooned with, I felt a little like I was getting into a mobile bordello. That journey was uneventful and I arrived at 5am in Ahvaz. I had forgotten, for some reason, that arriving long-distance buses were prey for eager taxi drivers looking for a fare and naturally I being the tourist on board was an immediate target. Being rather tired, my resistance wasn’t very high and I was soon haggling with a particularly tenacious driver over the cost of him taking me the 100km or so north to Shush. I had been intending to take another bus but the rial was so low against my euros that the cost was far too tempting. In the end we settled on the equivalent of 11 euro (see what I mean), though I knew that even then I’d paid too much, judging by the raised eyebrow of the man in the taxi office who took the payment.

I did, however, get a few extra services thrown in, not least the procuring of a bus ticket to Tehran for a couple of days later. I wasn’t leaving the bus station without this as I needed to get back for my flight and was a little unnerved by my failure to get train tickets. As it was too early for the ticket office, my taxi driver took me to the taxi office, cleared a seat for me and bought me a glass of much needed sweet black tea. As soon as the ticket office was open we went to see about getting the ticket. I should point out at this stage that the taxi driver spoke very little English, and I no Farsi, so the help of others had to be enlisted, resulting in about three of them trying to identify what I needed, though thankfully the guy behind the ticket counter did manage to understand. In due course I handed over some money and was handed a ticket with the assurances it was for the 6pm overnight bus to Tehran on Wednesday. I could only take their word for it as the ticket was, of course, entirely in Farsi.

And then we were on our way to Shush, out of the dusty city and along the straight and flat road through very green and lush countryside. The taxi driver had soon commandeered my phrase book and was busy rifling through it, holding it at the top of the steering wheel, all the better to drive and look at it at the same time…

He was soon quizzing me, as much as anyone can be quizzed using single word questions, about the usual things: married, children etc. I lied about the marriage bit and said yes, fishing out a photograph of my boyfriend (always a useful thing to have when travelling alone), but not about the children, saying ‘no, ‘no want’. Well, you wouldn’t want to be feeling sensitive about that issue for the taxi driver looked incredulous; ‘children, yes, yes, better!’ In the end I relented and said maybe later. On looking at the photo, he soon realised that my boyfriend was younger than me (I took comfort in the fact that I had just spent the night on a bus so wasn’t exactly looking my best) ‘a little’ I admitted. This is a particular peculiarity for an Iranian where men tend to marry women much younger than themselves. The taxi driver said proudly he was ten years more than his wife, who was 20, and they already had two children. My inner feminist was already cringing before he added cheerfully that one child was five (I am hoping there was a communication error but I doubt it).

 Then he moved onto politics: ‘democracy good’ he announced, and then he went on to list various countries ‘America democracy good!Iraq democracy good!Iran no democracy bad!’ before adding ‘Islam, no democracy bad!’. What could I say but nod my head. At which point he mentioned whisky. He liked whisky. I eyed him out of the corner of my eye before asking ‘you are Muslim, yes?’ ‘Yes, yes’ he responded, smiling, and then asked me if I wanted some as he could get me some. An emphatic no was my response. Alcohol is strictly illegal in Iran, unless you are part of the Christian community and then apparently you are allowed it but only within the privacy of your own home. Otherwise you risk arrest and I was warned by an Iranian colleague in London not to go near any alcohol.

And with that we came into Shush, where he dropped me off at what I think was the only hotel in town, the Hotel Apadana. He winkled a tip out of the hotel receptionist and off he went with a wave.