Driving in Iran is like bumper cars at an amusement park—it's a battle to the finish!
In 2017, when I was still a tourist, my first culture shock hit on the roads: a four-lane highway, one of which was the emergency lane, with five cars driving side by side—and one of them reversing! After that experience, I avoided driving when I moved here. Over the years, I experimented with different ways of getting around. Most of the time, I used Snapp (the local Uber/Bolt). For a while, I took public transportation or walked wherever possible. At one point, I even hired a driver. I’ve tried everything, but none of the options felt quite right. Sometimes it was my safety on the line, sometimes my wallet, and occasionally my nerves. Then one day, I had an epiphany: the answer was simple—I need a car!
Alright, but how?
The price of cars in Iran is kept sky-high, thanks to a long-standing ban on foreign imports. Even before the ban, importing a car came with a hefty 150% customs duty. So, what does that mean? It means locally-made cars, stripped of basics like power steering or any "luxury" features, start at around 2.5 million forints. If you're dreaming of airbags or central locking and prefer not to rely on the marvels of the Iranian auto industry, you'll need around 5 million forints for a 3-4-year-old base model Renault or a Chinese "wonder." Sounds outrageous, right? But here’s the kicker: while cars in Europe (and most of the world) lose value every year, in Iran, it's the opposite. With imports banned and local production unable to keep up with demand, even an Iranian "moving coffin" is considered a safe investment, appreciating in value over time. Despite rumors that 50,000 new cars might soon be imported, the market prices haven't budged.
When you factor all this in, the situation seems a little less terrifying, but still—who wants to drop millions on a car you could buy for a third of the price back in Hungary? That’s when it hit me: why not rent a car for 1-2 months to see if I really needed one? I asked around, hoping a friend might lend me a car for a few weeks, but oddly, none of them seemed eager to trust a foreigner with the wheel. Outrageous, right? I’ve driven everywhere—from the U.S. to Turkey, even Saudi Arabia! Clearly, they had no idea what they were talking about. No big deal, I thought. I’ll just rent one! But my excitement quickly faded when I realized rental companies wanted deposit checks worth several million forints, and the daily rates were higher than hiring a driver with a car. Ridiculous! I was ready to give up when a friend sent me the website of an Iranian company offering reasonable deposits and competitive rates. Bingo!
Soon enough, I got my hands on my trusty steed: a 2017 Renault Sandero, known as a Dacia in my part of the world. No power steering, but hey, it had airbags and—wait for it—automatic transmission! Eastern luxury, they say. In the first week, I offered rides to every single person I knew. "Need to go somewhere? I’ve got you!"—just to show off that famous Hungarian flair. This bumper car wasn’t just made for the amusement park—it was ready for the streets of Tehran. And oh boy, was my friend right. Here, there’s only one rule: survival. Cars don’t just appear from nowhere, they come at you from everywhere. "No entry," "No overtaking," and other such rules? Like many things in Iran, they exist only on paper.
Small fender benders? Nobody even gets out. If someone gets close enough to slap your side mirror, don’t bat an eye. If they cut you off, just honk—you’ll get zero reaction. Remember, the only rule is survival. That said, I have to admit, Iranian drivers have incredible reflexes and spatial awareness. Well… except for the chador-clad ladies. Best to just avoid them altogether. And survive. If you can.
Now, if you’re craving a Fast and Furious experience, beginners should head to southern Tehran, intermediates to the highways of inner Iran, and for the pros? The main roads of Baluchestan or Khuzestan. Let’s just say, people’s temper runs a little hotter down south!
Once, I was racing back to Tehran from Isfahan. The journey there had been relatively smooth, though I couldn’t go faster than 90 km/h even with the pedal to the metal, thanks to a headwind strong enough to knock you off your feet. But I made it. On the way back, a friend warned me to watch out for the so-called "shuti cars," since it was getting dark and they’d be all over the road. I’d heard about them before and could roughly recognize which cars were likely operating as shutis—these are basically smugglers' vehicles within the country.
Typically, they’re Peugeot 405s, a car that’s no longer manufactured anywhere except Iran. They usually have tinted windows and a raised rear end, which sinks back down when loaded, making them look like a normal car. They tear down the highway well over the 120 km/h speed limit, often causing accidents. Not that they’re the only danger—on average, there’s a fatal car accident in Iran every twenty minutes, so the population of 85 million is already taking a hit without their help. Shutis tend to travel in groups, staying 500-1000 meters apart. If the police manage to pull one over, they can signal to the others to avoid that route. According to rumors, they smuggle everything from household appliances to high-end electronics—and even weapons. So, it’s best to steer clear. And my friend wasn’t wrong. On the way back, several cars flashed their lights at me from the inner lane long before they whizzed by, leaving me in the dust. Almost all of them had southern Iranian plates.
In just a few weeks, I got so comfortable with driving that my more adventurous friends were happy to ride with me, while the less daring ones admitted that my bold driving style was a bit too much for them. I found both reactions amusing, but eventually, I let go of the idea of owning a car. One of the main issues is parking within the city—it’s at least three times worse than in Budapest, with even the pricey parking garages always full. Then there's refueling. Although gas is cheap, with a city of 10 million people and not enough gas stations, you can easily spend half an hour waiting in line. Lastly, safety concerns, especially on highways outside the city. Iran is huge, and it's common for drivers to doze off at the wheel due to the lack of rest stops—nothing like what you’d find in Europe. Car break-ins are also frequent, and let’s not forget the constant risk of your car being scratched or backed into. The streets are narrow, and without central surveillance cameras, any damage or repairs are your responsibility.
Reflecting on my driving experiences, a former professor from Tehran University once told me, "Now you can say you truly understand the Islamic Republic's position in the international relations system: they seize every little gap, every opportunity to survive, and whenever possible, they put the pedal to the metal."
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