Where Americans Can't Go: Iran

After Cappadocia, we spent two days driving nearly non stopped, and two uneventful nights in smaller Turkish towns on the way to the Iranian border.  Before I left for this trip, nearly everyone who saw my itinerary said something to the effect of “Iran…woah…be careful there…aren’t you nervous about that?”  To which my reply was something like “There’s no way I’ll get a visa to Iran anyway, so it won’t be an issue.”  Lo and behold, two weeks before our trip departed, I received an email stating that my visa had been approved.  Americans simply don’t get into Iran…the only time any of us do is if the traveler is with a tour group, and if the visa is obtained in Istanbul.  So on our first morning in Istanbul, I went to the Iranian Embassy and picked up my visa.  If you know me well, you know that I don’t really get nervous or unsettled about much, but I must admit…going to Iran made me a little uneasy.

I’ve been enough places to know that regardless of government policy and prevailing stereotypes, the people you meet and with whom you interact are almost always friendly and helpful.  So even though I was a little unsettled,  I felt that once I got into the country all would be well.  The process of getting in, however, could get hairy.  *One additional note: Although I received an Iranian Visa, Awal did not.  Apparently it was merely a clerical error, but either way his application was not in Istanbul and he (with two others) stayed behind in Turkey, so I was the only American making this journey.

The Turkish-Iranian border is a beehive of travelers, guards, officials, guys trying to make a buck exchanging money, and kids who have nothing better to do than watch it all transpire.  I passed through the Turkish side with little incident, entered the no-man’s land, and approached a gate bearing a massive Iranian flag with the images of two of Iran’s leaders and the greeting “Wel come to the Islamic Republic of Iran.” Moving forward, I handed my passport to the boarder guard who gave my blue passport (which stood out among the 20 some red ones) a double take.  He gave me a half grin-half chuckle as he returned my passport and said with inquisitiveness in his voice “America…ok, go.”

I spent the next two hours or so waiting on paperwork, getting fingerprinted, and as my British friends say “fretting” over the whole situation.  Eventually, my visa was stamped and my blue fingertips and I were sent into out of the building where a gentle mist and distant storm clouds greeted me as I stepped onto Iranian soil.

I have so much to say about Iran…so much that I’m struggling to write it all.  I’d like some help on this one.  Please send me a question about my time in Iran…any question at all and  I’ll answer each of them in an upcoming post.  All I’ll say at this point is that I learned a great deal, met plenty of wonderful people, and remained safe throughout.  So please send me your questions and I’ll give a good and thorough answer…maybe sprinkle in a story or two.  Thanks!