How do you play signature bingo?…well…you are told to go to room 207 so you plod off and wait for the person in 207 to sign whatever piece of paper you have in your hand. Sometimes you get this quickly, other times you have to wait until you are called or you elbow your way in through the other people waiting. Then he sends you to room 113 where you repeat the process. Then on to room 216, 222, 112 etc etc….Occasionally you have to go back to a room you have already visited to get someone else to sign…it’s important that you get it in the right order. You get to shout bingo when you are given a sealed envelop. This means that whatever it was you were doing in that building is completed (for that day). Along with the sealed envelop you also get an address in Farsi - usually on the back of a calendar page that has been ripped off someone’s desk. This lets you know where you have to go next. As I can’t read Farsi, I just give it to the taxi driver and wait until I get there….it’s a surprise!
You then play signature bingo with a whole new set of people. You know you are getting up the food chain when there is a computer in the office and even higher when the person whose autograph you are wanting has one on their desk! Otherwise, its hand written notes with carbon paper to make copies. Throughout all of this, most people were very kind, trying to help me get the sequence right. The first question was always “where are you from?’ followed very closely with “you are alone?? why are you alone?” Travelling as a solo female is generally not possible for Iranian women - sometimes not even possible with two women - they should be accompanied by a male. It’s not illegal (like riding a motorbike) but culturally it’s not understood so they are shunned by hotels. No matter what I tell them, they just don’t understand, so I say that it is very normal for women to travel alone in many places around the world.
My view of Tehran is out of taxis. Most of the places I have to visit close at 3pm but this also includes the tourist spots, so I don’t see anything apart from some interesting apartment art. Maryam and Morteza are family friends of my sister’s work colleague back in Australia. They come to my rescue by helping me through some processes that would normally take 2 to 3 days!!! Maryam’s brother is particularly helpful with his contacts in the Export department. The Australian Embassy also fast racks my passport and I get to speak to some Aussies!!!
In trying to get a copy of the police report for the Insurance company I meet a very stern SAS type officer with bullet proof vest and guns. They don’t understand a word I’m trying to say so he gestures that they should drive me to what I think is another station where they do speak English. I get in the car, it’s driven by a junior officer (minus the SAS paraphernalia). As soon as we are away from the station, the SAS man turns to me, his huge brown eyes and beautiful Persian features light up with a smile… “what do you think of Iran”…Zeeba (beautiful) I reply. He is talkative, friendly and so interested in what I have to say about his county. He apologies for the theft. “It’s ok, it can happen anywhere in the world - I don’t think the people who took my bag represent Iran”. He seems relieved. I’m not relieved when they deposit me back at the Australian Embassy - but what can you do when a man with guns tells you to get out of the car?
Finally I have a passport and a visa in my hand. I head back to Esfahan to pick up the bike and a letter from the police giving me permission to ride to the border without insurance / licenses etc. In my quest for these documents, I am helped by the beautiful, smart, feisty Narhid. She is the daughter of one of Morteza’s work contacts in Esfahan. We have to visit a police station where hejab (modest dressing) is checked by a grumpy matron. She wants to know that the plastic tube in my bag is for. I show her how it’s used to drink water from a bladder when I’m on the bike. My acting skills would be in high demand here as she gets what its for and even smiles. We enter a door with prisoners in bare feet and ankle shackles. Buried at the end of a long corridor is the small filling room. Somewhere inside lies my police report. Light filers into the room through the bars on the two tall windows. The walls are lined with floor to ceiling shelves that are filling with bundles of green, blue and pink folders wrapped in yellow string. The folders spill on the floor and over the two desks that inhabit the room. The only space that is folder free is the photocopier and a small walkway to each desk.
A large thick ledger sits on one desk that has the file numbers and what appears to be file locations. I wonder if they say 3rd pile on the floor to the right of the door. Narhid starts to explain who I am…“ah yes, the Australian“ the file manager butts in...it seems I’m known in police circles. He dives under his desk for a couple of minutes to return with a pink folder in his hand. Wonder if they are colour coded - pink girls, blue boys and green…err….gender unsure????
I’m asked the usual questions…“are you alone…why are you alone?…. It is illegal to ride a motorcycle“…no…“you are a very brave woman“…I have to laugh at that one…no!!
After seven days I have all the paperwork in my hands. I have gone as far east as I can go with my time and dwindling budget…tomorrow Ginger and I head back to the border.
Where am I: Tehran and Esfahan, Iran
Police officers who tut tutted me: 16
Just missing getting the final person to sign something before the close of the business day: 3 (aaarrrrggg!!!)
Hejab Nazis I made smile: 2
Days that I haven’t ridden Ginger: 7
Safe travels back to the border
ReplyDeleteSuzanne