Day 105 (Iran): rest day in Tehran III (”Mr. Markus, there is a problem.” - it seems that I am running out of luck)

Back to the Uzbek consulate it was. I get there and see Andrew the Australian and the two cyclists again. One of them is famous Japanese cyclist Daisuke who has been on the road for 10 years. He plans to continue for another 2 and then wants to go back to Japan. He is accompanied by Bastien, a French cyclist who is heading to Mongolia and then South America.

It is a waiting game. The consulate is disorganized I feel - the people inside don’t care about what is going on outside and the tour operators play with the rest of the people. Once one of them is in, the others hand him all the passports and the money and so Khalil spends like 2 hours up there. Eventually it is my turn and I anticipate little problems. Here is the letter that I thought I would need to submit - and which really only states that I am German and a whole bunch of things that are in my passport (for the German-reading people among you, you can click on the picture and see a large version). Oh yeah, it also asks for assistance … does that really matter? Anyway, with this I thought I was covered.

Boy, was I wrong. “Mr. Markus, there is a problem.” I am told in no uncertain terms that I have to go through a travel agency, need a letter of invitation (as opposed to a letter of recommendation which I have), no discussion allowed. The “I don’t understand this” face (I really don’t - airport face was in great form today) didn’t help. The consul says that Germany and Uzbekistan don’t have an international agreement on tourist matters and so I need to go through a travel agency. Or so he says. Many other countries do have such an agreement he says, I am out of luck though.

Darn … this throws a big monkey wrench into the plan. I had made sure before leaving that I had this stuff lined up so as to not get into this situation. Alright, the consul gives me the business card of an agency (how come they are always so handy, I wonder) and I head back to meet Isabelle to move the bike to their place as I don’t want to bother Ali and Ghazal much longer. I am still not happy about all of this. I had hoped that this would go without a hitch and now this …

Following Isabelle’s cab driver to their place doesn’t work and so I am trying to find my own way, but instead find Ali (another one) who is an interior designer and biker who just says to put the bike in the car, he knows where the place is and after some searching  and a lot of time (thanks so much Ali) I am putting my bike into its destination for the time being. Isabelle and I chat about the situation and she is great about calming me down. She says she will fix dinner while I am trying to sort things out with the travel agency. Off I go and meet up with the slimiest and unsympathetic person you can imagine. It didn’t help that he had an accident in which he got burn marks on his face, but I get the feeling that I am being set up. I am sure this guy (speaks Farsi and Russian only and yells at me) is in cahoots with the consulate. The letter of invitation costs $180, the visa is ready in one week. I reluctantly agree to this. There is is a stack of such letters in front oh him. The guy makes big money off of this and I get the nagging feeling that some of this money is going back to some little street in North Tehran. I want to fight this situation, but don’t know how. Something is very wrong here. Back to Isabelle’s place. This was supposed to have been the day where I could just let things go and not think about bureaucracy any more for a few days. The problem with the tourist agency visa is that is good for only 15 days. That is not enough time for me at all. And I don’t feel like running to Tashkent like a madman in a most likely vain attempt to get the visa renewed when I shouldn’t have to worry about it.

So, I scour the internet and lo and behold I find a page of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs which says that I need none of the documents that are being requested (scroll down a bit and ye shall see). The battle plan is clear: be nice to the consul, but make clear that Germans don’t need the letter of invitation by bringing a printout along.

I spend the rest of the day swimming in the pool, eating great pasta and having a wonderful conversation with Isabelle. I am I must admit intensely nervous about the visit to the consulate because all sorts of things could go wrong here. We shall see. I head back to Ali’s and Ghazal’s where we continue our conversation about religion from the previous day - and which is just as challenging and exciting. I am grateful for their openness in so many respects - which is something that I don’t take for granted at all. But I feel that the discussions we are having are in a very real sense letting me take a look into their thoughts. Thank you very much for that!!!