Iran > On the way to Tehran

Half past two. On the way to Schiphol. In the past few days, many friends have asked why I want to go to Iran. The country itself, the enthusiastic stories, and the unknown. But what do I actually know about Iran, apart from demonstrations around the elections? No widely known building or universally recognizable landmark. Perhaps that is exactly the reason: to discover the unknown. There is a long queue at check-in in the departure hall, with many children in line. It is holiday week, and many Iranians living in the Netherlands are using this time to visit their homeland. As I near the counter, I understand why it is taking so long. Someone ahead of me is trying to check in a 44-kilogram suitcase. In vain, but it takes a while before this is realized. On the plane, I sit next to a Dutch-Iranian woman. She has lived in the Netherlands for several years and is visiting her parents in Hamadan. We talk about Iran, the trip, and her Mathematics studies. The man on the other side also wants to know everything about my journey.

Iran - Two Iranian girls in the Sadabad Palace Park

In broken Dutch, he explains the currency and gives me a 1,000 Rial note as a keepsake. These notes are no longer printed. The plane is busy. People walk around, and children sometimes run up and down the aisle. It is an evening flight, so there is little opportunity to sleep. As we approach Tehran, a nervous tension spreads through the cabin. All the women put on their headscarves for landing, mandatory in Iran. For tourists, this is clearly still unfamiliar. At customs, there is a long line at the “Foreigner” desk. Eventually, we are allowed to go through a local customs officer. I collect my luggage from the belt and exchange 200 euros. With 2.6 million Rial in my pocket, I am instantly a multi-millionaire. A funny feeling, really. The main luggage is supposed to be scanned, but someone indicates this does not apply to tourists. I am not sure this man is even a customs officer, but I walk around the machine without any problems. There I meet Leen, the tour guide, and the other travelers. Outside, it is raining. In about an hour, the bus drives us to the hotel in Tehran. It is half past two, and the roads are now quiet. Leen explains the program as we pass the Mausoleum of Ayatollah Khomeini. Despite the late hour, the hotel welcomes us with a drink. I share a room with Gerben, a fellow traveler from Leiden. After a brief introduction, we turn off the lights at half past three local time.