Day 106 (Iran): rest day in Tehran IV (back to the consulate)

Note: For reasons that will be clear when you read the previous post and this one, I have delayed bringing these posts online. My apologies for those who worried about me, but I am posting the flickr pictures earlier on these occasions so that you have an idea that things are moving along still. And Esfahan was a good place to take a great number of pictures, so enjoy!

I had a terrible night. I don’t really know what was wrong with me. I was as nervous as you can be and indeed felt like I was back in those days when you first enter elementary school. Or in my case third grade. I didn’t like my teacher back then - she went by the name of Mrs. Limmer. I remember complaining every Wednesday that I didn’t want to go to school. That kind of feeling. There was a knot in my stomach about this whole going back to the consulate business. It shouldn’t have been there and I felt that the consul was responsible for it and that it was unfair. Just for some money, because that is the only reason I can see. The website of the Ministry is quite clear. At any rate, you know the type of eeling I mean. I couldn’t eat much - and bid my farewells from Ali and Ghazal and was on my way. The waiting game took forever. I had all papers I made sure. Was helped by a travel agent just to be sure that I would have all potential sizes for the copies of my passport. I was early … and had to wait for a while.

Then it was time to go up - only to look into astonished faces of first the secretary and then the consul. He stared at me coldly and asked why I was here. I had prepared a line of answers, mentioning my preparation for the trip and that I had consulted with a number of people as well as the Berlin consulate of Uzbekistan. None of this seemed to faze him in the slightest. Then I pulled out the printout of the website, indicating that there is no need for a letter of invitation for German nationals. The cold stare goes to hostile. The secretary in the background looks amazed or at least that is my impression. The consul stares at the papers and says: “So, you do not agree with my decision?” I reply: “Of course I do, but I was confused and so I am seeking clarification from you.” Hostile stare continues. He then ignores me. Tends to other business. Says something about sending this to Uzbekistan. Then the secretary is told to prepare my papers. She is very friendly. Then the consul murmurs that I can pick up my visa in one week. I couldn’t believe it. Not sure that I am rejoycing yet, but I did give the Japanese tourist that I had seen the previous day and who was there again a hug. I had to, despite it not being appreciated in Iran - feeling elated.

Now, this could all go wrong still. The travel agency guy still has to be told to stop all of this and the consul could kill everything by denying or delaying the visa or by giving me too short a period in the country. We shall see what happens. I still hear his comment of yesterday when I tried to say something about other Germans having received their visas here before. “No German in the last four years received a visa from me.” Not sure that is true, but if so, I am hoping to be the first in four years.

At any rate, I am leaving Tehran ASAP, helped by Hossein - a jewelry dealer by letting me use his internet connection and making some phone calls and pointing the best way to the bus station. I get there with the help of a motorcycle taxi, the guy is driving like a maniac, but gets me there in time for a bus to take off. On the way there he points out that I should hold on to him tightly. I do. He is proud of his buddha-like proportions which I have no trouble making out as I hug him so as to not fall off. He says I am too thin, I didn’t tell him that I think he is too big.

A note for those concerned about my weight or rather lack thereof. I have lost a good amount of weight so far, but things are OK with me. I can bike long distances and feel fine with my weight and am sure that a few days and weeks at home and then in Miami will get me back to my normal weight range. I am eating and drinking like a madman, so no need to worry.

I sleep and write some blog entries on the way to Esfahan, am told that I must be a biker by a former boxing champion of Iran and chemistry professor somewhere in Iran and meet up with Nasser in Esfahan. He is the friend of a … OK. My cousin’s child is in the same children’s group (Krabbelgruppe) as the child of Mehdi. Mehdi and Nasser met up in university and so I meet in Esfahan by Nasser. Alright, it’s that simple really. But in the terminal things become strange. The guy making announcements calls me over by name. Turns out that Nasser was the head of the place at one point. We find a hostel and then he gives me a quick tour of this very amazing city. I eventually walk back and doze off.