There were five of us – all women: three native and one naturalised Irish and a Brexit-fleeing Welsh woman. The idea to visit Iran was mine to start with. Valerie , whom I met in 2015 on a trip to Ethiopia, joined in as soon as she got wind of the idea. Valerie is the ultimate travelling companion – the kind of person who makes one feel safe : calm, even-tempered and sensible, (a perfect foil to myself in other words) – so I was delighted. Valerie then set about organising the tour through her contacts in London. Suddenly it was all happening. Then my friend, Paula expressed an interest and said her friend Susie might come too. Just weeks before we left, Sheila, hearing of the project from me, immediately jumped in.
So far so smooth – except for some early wobbles! The mention of Iran in a money transfer caused a major tremor in my bank (of Ireland) which threatened to close off all my accounts – without explanation – and exacted a signed declaration that I have no business dealings with Iran, Syria or North Korea.
After that visa acquisition was easy, assisted by the wonderful Elmira of Tehran – our tour administrator from Pardisan who was a paragon of efficiency, responding pleasantly and by return to every query, and accommodating our every query and request.
From time to time, nervousness erupted here and there – stimulated in the main by acquaintances asking ‘Are you mad?’, the odd flutter regarding the predictability of POTUS vis a vis Iran, and blogs recounting the impossibility of getting across the street in Tehran.
Blessedly this was neutralised by occasional accounts from people who have actually visited and survived! Anyway our Welsh friend, Valerie, is a latterday Thesiger (sorry Valerie, I know you don’t like him) and will save us all!
A week before departure, our pre-travel anxiety latched on to the question of attire: scarves and how to hold them on; whether ankles may be revealed; if exposed toes may be deemed too lascivious; when is transparent… well… transparent?; and how long our obligatory manteaux must be. Of course the real worry is our appearance – to all these Iranians who surely care more about their dinner. Neither the Blessed Virgin look nor the Russian peasant 1917 hold great appeal. However we are all basically of a mind to ‘suck it up’. We are of an age to remember when many women in Ireland wore the same navy patterned, knee length, wraparound apron and hats, mantillas or headscarves in church. And religious conformity is also a familiar concept – to the Irish anyway. Of course, not a vain bone in our bodies, really – though some home draping and shaping goes on.
A CNN report just before our departure told of a street riot when some women in Tehran refused to wear the hijab. When arrested by the morality police, local people protested so much that the women were released there and then. Our anticipation heightens – will we be in for exciting times….?
Itinerant in Iran 