My heart beats with both excited and nervous energy as I gaze over Kat’s shoulder out the window and into the dark skyline of Tehran dotted with orange and blue lights. My ecstatic and curious thoughts are telling me “Kareem you are in Iran, you are about to experience the trip of a lifetime!” What seemed to be such a foreign land that so few Americans know anything about is finally waiting for our arrival below. Quickly, my excited energy fades to nervousness as the Luftansa flight attendant announces with a heavy German accent “We are preparing for our landing in Tehran, please be aware that no photography is allowed in the airport and by Iranian law all women must cover their hair with a scarf.”
Suddenly, the dozens of responses I received when telling friends and family that I was going to Iran for 3 weeks flashed through my head: “WHAT?! IRAN?? Why the heck are you going there for? Are you crazy?”, “Becareful Karl, are you sure it’s safe to travel there?”, “Please be safe KG, and watch over your Dad! He looks hella Jewish!”. All in addition to the sweet goodbye hugs in which some friends seemed to hug me as if they’d never see me again!
My nervousness turns to excitement again as Kat looks at me with a big smile and says “We are in Iran!!”. I smile back as she puts her scarf over her hair, and we both chuckle while watching my Mom and aunt Denise put on their head scarves for the first time.
As we approach the customs windows I can feel my heart beating faster. Will we get through customs with our “axis-of-evil” accusing USA passports? The signs with pigs on them telling any passengers coming from the US or Mexico who feel any symptoms of illness to report to the customs desk aren’t helping me calm down either. We lined up in the slow moving “Foreign” line while Kat breezed through the Iranian line with ease. A few Germans and Turkmenistanis pass through customs with no problem. My parents are next. The customs agent flips through their passports, checks their visas and quickly stamps both. Yes! That was easy right? Not so fast. The agent then gets up and walks my parents and their passports over to another agent, then back to where we are standing in line. Uh-Oh. This can’t be good. They quickly check mine, my Brother’s and Aunt’s passports and we join my parents on the wrong side off the customs windows.
We are told to follow the customs agent as he takes us down several hallways into a small backroom. Not many words were spoken between us as we all nervously entered the small room. The agent gets on his computer and asks us “Address in Iran?”. He stares us down suspiciously since none of us know Kats Grandma’s address. My mom quickly scrambles to try to find her visa application with the address. Luckily she has it. Then one by one we each get called up to get finger printed. Once we finish the fingerprinting process we all felt a bit relieved as the agent lead us back. But then we are stopped again and must wait as they make copies of our passports and fill out information about our occupations. A very nice young Iranian man dressed in a green army suit comes up to us and starts asking us questions in very good English.
“You work at ‘GoogO’? What is that?” he asks curiously,
“Yes, Google, it is an internet search engine.” I reply.
“AHH you mean ‘GoogEL’! Why don’t you pronounce the ‘l’??” he says with confusion.
We explain that the ‘l’ is kind of swallowed when pronouncing Google in English. The rest of the family one by one explains their occupation to them (including my brother who had to lie about his occupation as a professional Poker player!)
“I’m self-employed… I uhhh… have a internet business… I… teach people how to use the internet.” He replies nervously.
Finally we are finished! The very nice army soldier hands us back our passports and congratulates me and the family on the wedding and tells us how much we are going to love Iran. I asked him how often he sees Americans here, and he said about once a week, usually on a tour. We then enter the baggage claim area which is now completely empty! Relieved and very excited, we laugh as we see Kat rolling around our 7 suitcases with her parents and the 8 of us are the last to leave the airport.
We made it! Salam Iran!
Kats Thoughts:
My mind decided to not believe that we were all actually going to Iran until we got there. I had such a difficult time imagining Karl and his family in Iran with me, I figured not thinking about it too much until it actually happened would be more peaceful. As we touched down into Tehran, I woke Karl up to show him the nighttime Birdseye view of the city, a canopy of bright lights that seem to cover every square inch from such a great distance. We were here! I looked down at Karl’s aunt and mom who donned on their headscarves—the two most conservative looking women on the plane.
My initial plan was to go into the passport control line with them and explain to the official why all these Americans came to Iran. Then I remembered that I’d be going into a different line than them, the one for Iranian nationals. I went through without any problems, what a breeze. Karl and his family were still waiting patiently in line, which was moving very slowly. They finally all passed through the line, but instead of joining me on the other side, they were taken into a corner and seated. Gail motioned to me that they were going to get their fingerprints taken.
Several minutes passed and they were still sitting in the corner. I went over to the customs guy and asked him how long they would be. “Oh another five minutes. Hey did you bring these people here?” he asked.
“Yes,” I replied.
“Who are they, a tour group or something?”
“No,” I said, “they are my family. My husband, his mom, aunt, brother, and father.”
“Ok, yea another five minutes.”
Fifteen minutes went by and the customs guy called me over. “Hey how are these people American?”
“Well, they just are.” I replied, a bit confused by his question.
He picked up one of their passports and flipped to Gail’s passport picture, “This lady right here, she’s American?” he said, with a chuckle.
I laughed, too. “Yes she is.”
“How is she an American??”
“She just is. She’s Korean American, but she was born in the US, and so were her parents.”
He looked at me blankly, still unconvinced by my logic.
“But you’re right, she’s basically Korean.” I was defeated, and he looked quite pleased by this.
Ten more minutes passed and I decided to go down and get our suitcases before they were gathered with the unclaimed luggage and thrown into some random, unused room, never to be seen again. It took me no more than three minutes to find all of our belongings, and I was once again waiting for Karl and his family to show up. In the midst of all this, I could see my parents looking for me through the glass window on the other side of baggage claim. I waved to them, and through a series of loud yelling and hand gestures, I was able to successfully communicate to them that I was waiting on the “fingerprinting” process that Karl’s family was going through.
How long could fingerprinting possibly take??? A good half an hour had passed since they first went through passport control. I began to imagine the worst (I am, after all, my father’s daughter). Interrogation, intimidation, torture…all sorts of atrocities. What did I do??? Why did I bring them here?? Just as my mind was going through the many possible forms of torture, I decided to ask another airport official about KG’s family’s status.
“Yea, fingerprinting takes a while,” he explained.
“How long? They’ve been in there for over half an hour.”
“Are they foreigners?” he asked.
“Yes, they are Americans.”
“Oh well then it’s definitely going to take a while. They like to keep the Americans longer. When we (Iranians) go to America, they (American airport officials) really bother us, so we just reciprocate…make things even. Nothing to worry about though, it’s standard procedure. The whole process for Americans takes about an hour.”
Feeling some relief, I took our seven bags and headed towards the exit.
“Excuse me miss, is this all of your luggage?” asked the customs agent near the x-ray machine.
“No, sir, it’s mine and other passengers’ whom I traveled with,” I replied, hoping he’d let me through with their stuff.
“Well, where are they? They need to be here with their things.”
“Sir, they are getting their fingerprints taken and it’s taking a while.”
“Are they foreigners?”
“Yes, Americans.”
“Oh, what are they doing here?” he inquired.
“It’s my husband and his family. They are all here for our wedding.”
“That’s wonderful!” he exclaimed, obviously excited by this piece of information. “What do they have in their bags?”
“Just clothes.”
“Alright, send their stuff through.”
The bags passed through the machine and he never once glanced at the x-ray screen to see their contents. Instead he continued his conversation with me, more interested in my upcoming wedding than what the foreigners brought in their luggage.
“Good luck with your wedding. May you guys have a great life together,” he said with true sincerity.
“Thank you, sir.”
Bed engineer = berenj = rice
Hoshi+Ma+ze = Khoshmaze = Delicious
Koosh beef ball= Khoosht = beef
Morgue = Morgh = chicken
Mom+noon = Kheyli mamnoon = Thanks
Sorry Kareem and Kat, I admit that I was one of those people with ignorant comments such as the ones mentioned. Indeed, American media has poisoned our brains with negative images of Iran. All we seem to hear about is nuclear weapons and terrorists. I don't doubt that Iran is a beautiful country with a lot to offer. Please share your experiences with us when you get back.
ReplyDeleteThat sucks that you guys had to wait to get clearance, but at least they weren't assholes. I guess it's only fair though, people of Middle Eastern descent probably get that kind of treatment everywhere they go.
Can't wait to hear more. Take care everybody!
PS. That extra long hug before you left was because I'm so proud of you son!
Thanks KLo! I don't blame you at all, I also was one of those people too. We can't help but to judge from what we see on tv and in the media. I'm just trying to spread the word and show people how powerful propaganda can be. It has happened to every culture, race, gender, sexual orientation etc. I loved the extra long hug son! :)
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