Crossing the Iranian Border – September 15, 2004

Crossing the Iranian Border:

We left Doguybayazit late – after the palace visit – and had only 40 km. to bike before reaching the border, but it was dark by the time we got there. I was scared half to death more than once when huge, unfriendly dogs chased me coming down the mountainside, then again when a big, black dog came suddenly out of the big, black night at the border crossing.

A big event: I wore a headscarf for the first time. It was very stressful. I was worried about tying it the wrong way and worried that some of my hair might show.

The border crossing was chaotic. There were lines of traffic a mile long, engines stopped and people talking outside their vehicles. The line moved at a painfully slow pace. We walked our bikes across the border and met up with the Iranians that we had met in Doguybayazit, and who had been waiting at the border for several hours.

Once inside the customs house, the first thing I noticed – aside from the suffocating crowds of people – were the two large photos of bearded men: the Ayatollah Khomeini and the Supreme Leader Ayatollah Khameini. Then, a sign indicating the direction for the “Prefect of Passports,” the “WC,” the “Praying Room,” and the “Human Quarantine” room. A TV suspended from the ceiling in the middle of the room was playing “Funniest Home Videos,” and the nearly empty duty-free store displayed vacuum cleaners in its windows. There was little else.

What struck me most of all was the women. All of them, without exception, had their scarves pulled back from their forehead to display a lot of hair, which was mostly died or frosted a henna red, orange, or blond. They all had sandaled feet and immaculately painted toes and wore blouses with an open collar that showed the neckline. Most of them wore pants with a jacket that fell below the knee. Noticeably absent were the long black chadors that I had been expecting. I was the only one in the whole place who had my feet and hair completely covered. Unless this was a different breed of women, maybe the dress code had relaxed a bit over the past couple of years. I decided to wait and see how women in the rest of the country dressed.

As we reached the town, we met up with the Iranian trekking group for the third time that day. We ate kebabs with them, similar to the kebabs in Turkey. The woman, a doctor, told me that I didn’t have to cover my hair completely, and she reached over and pulled my scarf back off my forehead. I felt more at ease. Maybe I wouldn’t have to worry so much after all!