Cultural shock

It had to happen sooner or later. We travelled quite slowly, moving by land. I imagined that this would give us a chance to gradually adapt to new destinations, both in terms of climate and local culture. Clearly this was not enough. We left Van (Turkey) in the morning in the direction of Tabriz (Iran). The bus was supposed to leave at 10 a.m., the guy from the bus company recommended that we be there on time, we left at an unspecified time between 10 and 11 a.m. No one informed us how long the journey would take and where exactly in Tabriz the bus would leave us. Which was more of a mini-bus than a bus, maximum capacity about 15 people. So we set off in the direction of Iran. With us were mainly Iranians returning from holiday in Turkey and a Turkish girl, sitting next to me, who was on holiday in Iran. After about an hour and a half we reached the border. The bus opened its doors and the faces of three or four kids peeped out. I don't know what they were saying, shortly afterwards I realised that they were trying to 'help' us in exchange for money. They were offering to carry our backpacks or lead the way. The bus dropped us off at the entrance, we would have to cross the border alone and then it would pick us up on the other side. At the border, vehicles parked haphazardly, groups of people with suitcases waiting for I don't know what. People queuing at the entry gates. We follow the Iranians on our bus and after a long corridor we arrive at the passport control to leave Turkey. Our passports arouse suspicion and we have to wait for an extra check. But this does not last more than a few minutes. After the control we have to cross another long corridor that culminates in the open air in a sandy courtyard. Everything is sandy around us. A few metres from the exit of the 'tunnel' is a first block guarded by Iranian guards. They check passports, visas and covid passes. We pass through and begin to be surrounded by children. They only know how to say 'thank you' and do their best to show us the way (as if we could make a mistake in one corridor). Everything becomes more chaotic. They check our passports and visas, I am clearly more suspicious than Peter, but at the end they stamp our visas and we pass. The number of children increases, like a swarm around us. They help us pass our backpacks over the security check tape, my paranoia is through the roof and I remain hugging my backpack containing valuables. Once we reach the exit, the swarm of children is joined by taxi drivers, legal or not, bus drivers, people offering to change money and other kids. I can only say "no thank you" trying not to lose sight of Peter. We exit into a sort of even more chaotic car park of cars and mini-buses, so many in such a condition that the car park looks more like a car wreck. After a moment of panic thinking we were alone, we spot our bus mates and approach them as if we were setting foot on an island of salvation. The children follow us and only decide to leave us alone after we offer them money. After a while, our bus arrives and we set off again.

After a couple of hours we reach a checkpoint, passport control. I am called in for an inspection. I am not sure what is suspicious about me, perhaps the fact that I am Italian or that I live in Germany or the combination of both. The fact is that the officer is clearly suspicious and starts asking questions. If it wasn't for a nice Iranian guy from our bus, I don't know how I would have answered. First of all they check my camera and went through ALL the photos. Then the phone: photos, address book, whatsapp conversations. Finally the backpack: my diaries, my book. They let me go, but point out that Peter and I will be kept under control by the security services. I get on the bus, I breathe, I fall asleep.

We arrive in Tabriz around 8pm, later than we imagined. We have no Iranian rials and not even a hotel to stay in. The bus stops far from the centre, but luckily a taxi driver accepts Turkish lira and takes us to the hotel where we have a reservation for the next night. He gives us change in local currency. During the taxi ride we cross streams of cars and horns honking, I don't know how there aren't accidents every second. At the hotel they have our reservation for the next day, but no free room for the night. We end up in a cheap and nice guest house around the corner. We go out for a refreshing drink and maybe something to eat and we run into the problem of money. The official currency is the rial, but people present prices in Toman (which is equivalent to rials divided by 10). To complicate matters, to avoid the impossible number of zeros, they simply say 10 instead of 10000. So when something costs 10 Toman, it actually means 10000 Toman which is equivalent to 100000 rials. We feel lost and above all we don't have enough rials to pay for two sandwiches and two drinks. We offer to pay in euros, dollars, Turkish liras but nothing. Luckily, the owner of the guest house exchanges dollars for us and we manage to pay for our sandwiches, only to leave ashamed, mortified, and embittered by the owner's annoyed grimace (from whom, by the way, we had asked the price beforehand, but it was no use). We take a walk to calm down. We go to sleep.

When I wake up I have a big headache, it must be the tension of the previous day. We check out and then check in at the new hotel (around the corner) and set off in search of a coffee. We bump into an Iranian guy, 'Akro', who starts making conversation and thus begins a wonderful acquaintance that lasts for 2 days. Akro is very kind and takes us for a coffee, then to the bazaar where I have to buy another Iranian dress, then to eat a typical dish of chicken and rice. Delicious. I gasp between the headache, the heat, not being used to being completely covered and with a headscarf on, the crowds, the cars, the vendors. Akro also helps us change money and buy tickets for the bus from Tabriz to Tehran. To go to the tourist agency we have to take the regular bus. I have to get on the women's side, separated by a grating from the men's side, so where Peter and Akro are. The women on the bus give me their seats, even if they are older, as a sign of respect for me as a tourist. Others, who can speak a little English, welcome me to Tabriz. We manage to buy tickets, many thanks to Akro. We also try to buy a sim card, but they want my passport. Paper, the copy alone is not enough. Unfortunately, we don't have it, our passports, as well as visas, stay at the hotel for police checks. We return and ask to book another night at the hotel. The man at reception, surprised, asks us "so you are not going to Kardan?" the only way for him to know that we were planning to go to Kardan is for him to have received information from the security service that knows our itinerary.

We go up to the room, I take off my Hejab and lie in bed, I can't move half a finger for the next 3 hours. I cry. I am overwhelmed and in shock!

The friendliest person: Akro's family friends. They gave us a delicious breakfast, fruit for the outing, then more tea and other drinks. We couldn't leave without first accepting bottles of juices and bags full of fruit (all from their garden, delicious!!)

Music: Shakhe Gol by Kasra Zahedi

Food: Kalibar's local fresh cheese. And then the RANI peach juice, which remained my favourite drink the whole time in Iran

Highlights of the trip: The landscape around Tabriz, colourful and foreign, with mountains inhabited by nomads