SOJAN GEORGE
IRAN
Iran,
whom everyone
loves to hate
It was around midnight. I was in a deep sleep due to the
previous day's mountaineering. Unable to open my eyes,
I heard the sounds of footsteps outside, so I forced myself
awake. We had reached the Armenian border from Iran
and our bus was waiting to make the crossing. I had two
pieces of luggage, one that I kept inside the bus with all
my clothes and necessary items for my trip while my
smaller handbag had my passport, small book of maps,
my laptop and my camera.
An Iranian immigration officer issued us our exit stamp and thus we started
making our way over to the Armenian border. I could see the small tent
with the Armenian flag fluttering in the moonlight. Taking my camera out, I
decided to take some photographs. Since the visibility of the flag was poor
due to the darkness I decided to use the flash to try and capture a few
images. Thus, I was concentrating on my shoot when all of a sudden, a few
Armenian soldiers approached me and demanded that I follow them.
Now I knew I was buttonholed as I realized the mistake I had made.
When I reached the tent I could dimly make out the sign that said –
“Photography Prohibited”. None of the Armenians in the tent spoke English
so I was forced to wait for the arrival of an officer who could speak English.
After an hour, my bus left, leaving me deserted at the border. Finally, the
officer arrived and examined my camera. I showed him the pictures in my
camera and deleted the photos which I had taken from there. He was not
satisfied and did not want me to proceed into Armenia. I tried all options
to be allowed into Armenia, but he was not impressed.
Just one mistake ruined my travel plans. I was forced to return the way I
had come and sat there at the Iranian border. It was around 2 am. Time
moved at a snail's pace in the absence of any activity around me but as
there were no buses, no cabs, I was forced to endure my endless wait until
early morning. Finally, when day finally broke, I decided to head to the
nearby town of Jolfa. Despite its national affiliation, Jolfa seemed like an
Armenian village, green and filled with friendly people. The Jolfa Free Zone
houses some Chinese companies, proclaiming the arrival of globalization
to this tiny village which despite its small size, retains an important role as a
border town facilitating the transport of goods between Iran and the states
of the former Soviet Union.
After spending an hour in Jolfa, I travelled on to Tabriz. I found a hotel room in
Tabriz, costing $30 per day which included a complementary breakfast. I did
not know anything about Tabriz as it had never been part of my itinerary. To be
safe in a strange place, I decided to book myself into the hotel for two days
before I left for Tehran.
28
OCTOBER 2014