Lucky 13th

I made the increasingly familiar trip to the foreigners police station again this morning, this time praying continuously to the collection of angels, saints, prophets, buddhas, bottisatvas, revered ancestors, etc. that have gotten me this far. The first good sign was that my passport didn’t appear to be in the ”waiting to be processed” pile any more. However, after a few minutes it appeared that it wasn’t in any of the other piles either — possibly at the foreign ministry. However, they found it eventually — perhaps it was in the ”people who keep coming back here and bugging us to do our jobs” pile. They asked us to wait — a good sign, and sure enough I was summoned to the window 10 minutes later where they delivered my passport complete with a 1 week visa extension.

We drove back to the hotel, where I hastily packed and loaded everything into El Guapo. The leisure battery had been completely discharged while it waited in Shiraz, but plugging in the battery charger overnight restored everything to working order. We departed the Hotel Khayyam at 10:00 sharp, and entered the mobile lunatic asylum that is Tehran traffic. Without GPS, we made a few minor navigation errors but before 11:00 we were out of the city and on the highway to Tabriz.

Over the next few hours, the traffic steadily grew thinner, and the landscape less urban and more dramatic. At several points, the road approached 2000 metres above sea level, but never quite reached that high. Eventually, we entered the city of Tabriz and spent a good hour circling around trying to locate our hotel, a tiny storefront entrance that I eventually spotted. Then spent another hour trying to figure out how to approach by vehicle, as the main entrance was located on a bus lane. Eventually we found the narrow alley — scarcely 40cm wider than El Guapo — that led to the hotel car park.

Navigating the narrow alley that leads to the Hotel Sahand car park

On a short pedestrian street nearby, I found more restaurant options than I did in all of Tehran, but had to wait until dusk to eat. Tomorrow, I hope to finally leave Iran.

Blogndog

13 July 2015

Tabriz

Lazy Shiites

Today was supposed to be the big day, the Get-Out-of-Tehran Day. We got an early start and headed over to the foreigners police office with my passport receipt, expecting to collect my passport with its extended visa. After a little difficulty in locating the office we went inside, upstairs to the ”Visa Extension” window, where there was no queue, but unfortunately also nobody working. However, through the glass I could see that my passport was on the very top of the pile!

When someone did finally arrive to assist us, however, we soon learned that that was the ”passports waiting to be processed” pile my passport was at the top of, and not the ”passports ready to be picked up” pile. The guy explained that because I was American, my passport had to go to the Foreign Ministry to have the extension approved. OK, fair enough, but what exactly had they been doing with my passport in the six days since I dropped it off? It was just sitting there with my completed application form exactly as I had left it with them, apparently entirely untouched these past few days, except perhaps for an occasional dusting.

Mehdi went to plead my case with the Colonel in charge of the facility, but all he could do was to direct his staff to expedite having the passport sent to the Foreign Ministry. Back at the ”Visa Extensions” window, they promised to do so and told us to call at 14:00.

Back to the hotel. We talked to the front desk. The guy there knew someone at the Ministry. He spoke with him. He promised to expedite processing of my passport as soon as it arrived, but he could nothing until the police sent it over.

In the meantime, we did a get some good news — El Guapo arrived at the Khayyam Hotel in running order. I thanked the two young guys who drove him here, cleaned it up and re-organised a bit, and confirmed that nothing had gone missing. Connected the mains power in order to charge up the leisure battery and run the fridge.

I decided I couldn’t wait any longer to sample some of my caviar, so I went in search of supermarket in order to buy some bread and sour cream to eat it with. I went wandering the streets of Tehran in search of supermarket with no success. Asking for a ”supermarket” inevitably got me directed to some hole-in-the-wall shop selling basics. I decided to try Google, which reliably turned up a half-dozen ”supermarkets” in the area, although none was less than a few kilometres away. I took the metro two stops to the closest one and found it was just a little bigger than the tiny convenience stores I had already passed up, and I couldn’t find any sour cream. There was another a few blocks away, but it wasn’t much better. I decided to settle for some yoghurt with shallots, and something called ”breakfast cream.”. Stocked up on some other snacks in the continued belief I would be taking a long drive in the near future. On the way, I found a bakery cranking out fresh Iranian bread and bought a few sheets. Then took a taxi back to the hotel.

Mehdi was waiting and we called the police office around 13:40 (they had said to call at 14:00); however, no one answered and after a few tries we concluded they had left for the day.

Had some lunch and a nap; it’s a pity I have no chilled vodka to accompany it, but I think its time to dig into that caviar!

Blogndog

12 July 2015

Tehran

Faith Tested

Given what I’ve been through in the past couple weeks, I am naturally hesitant to declare that I finally have all my problems sorted, but things are indeed looking positive as I write this on Saturday evening in my Tehran hotel.

TNT delivered the new starter motor to the tour agency in Shiraz this morning, and they’ve given it to the driver to bring to me along with El Guapo tomorrow morning.

My Dad’s health appears to have rebounded slightly; MJ says he hanging on for me, and I am sure that is the case. So I am increasingly confident I will arrive in time to say good-bye to him, but also concerned about the suffering he is enduring as a result.

I’ve just received word through Mehdi that the driver is setting out with El Guapo from Shiraz and is expected here early tomorrow morning.

And I expect my extended visa to be ready for collection tomorrow.

So, whilst it’s difficult to utter the words ”if all goes according to plan” at this point without experiencing a deep sense of irony, my realistic expectation is that I will be on the road before noon tomorrow and in Tabriz tomorrow evening. I hope to arrive at the Armenian border before noon the next day, and although the last four borders I've crossed were successively more difficult to clear, I hoping that I have finally broken that particular curse and will have a routine and problem-free exit from Iran and entry into Armenia.

Today was therefore hopefully my last day of sightseeing in Teheran, and we spent it in a more successful attempt to visit S’ad Abad. Most enjoyable about the visit were the grounds themselves, which were beautifully landscaped, heavily shaded and watered by numerous streams, which made the area noticeably cooler and more comfortable.

Reza Pahlavi Shah's "White Palace"

The main sites were two Palaces, one imaginatively called the Green Palace, and the other the White Palace. The Green Palace was constructed by Reza Shah, and the White Palace by his son, Mohammad Reza Pahlavi. To me, both palaces were most notable for their relative simplicity and lack of ostentation, especially in contrast to the Qajar-era equivalents. The Green Palace is probably less than 800 square meters in size, and the White Palace perhaps twice that, big enough for a tract mansion, but modest as a principal residence for a monarch officially referred to as the ”King of Kings”. In front of the White Palace were the two bronze legs, cut off at the knee, all that remained of a statue of the last Pahlavi pulled down during the revolution.

All that is left of the statue of the last Shah

There were many other museums on site, including the Museum of Fine Arts, but more than we could take in in one day. We had a look at the imperial collection of fine automobiles, again rather modest in both size (about 10 vehicles, including a snowmobile) and ostentation — mostly Mercedes and Rolls Royces, but nothing too showy. More interesting was the miniature painting museum, which included many artistic interpretations of the poems of Hafez, Omar Khayyám and other Persian poets. Several of these depicted drinking, sexual behaviour and other un-Islamic themes, and almost certainly would never be publicly displayed in Qatar or many other Arabic countries, an indicator that despite the reputation of its government, Islam here is still moderate, at least in comparison with the Wahabi-influenced Gulf states.

On the way back we had another wander through the bazaar at Tajrish, where I admired the freshness and breadth of selection on display at the fruit and produce vendors. One thing I had been looking for Iran — so far, unsuccessfully — was some Iranian caviar. In the bazaar we were approached by a random stranger who offered me a tin of something labelled ”Bluga” for 80 USD. I was hesitant, and Mehdi also was not entirely confident about the guy, so he told him to come to our hotel at 18:00 this evening. Mehdi figured if he actually showed, it was an indicator that he was probably legit.

The bazaar at Tajrish

After making the long slog back to Teheran, eating a late lunch and having a short nap, it was 18:30, the guy hadn’t showed, and the front desk clerk suggested another location to buy some. After walking for better part of an hour to a location near the German Embassy, we were told the shop we were after had moved to a new spot, just 5 minutes walk from our hotel. However, there was another shop nearby, so we decided to check it out. No Beluga, no Sevruga, only ”pressed”, the lowest grade of Iranian caviar was available for 1.7 million riyal, around 50 USD. However, it appeared of reliable provenance, with a production date on the label and a lead seal proving that the wire bail keeping the lid in place had not been tampered with. I decided to buy the tin and also check out the place we were originally looking for near our hotel.

We found it about 20 minutes later, and the shopkeeper produced an unsealed tin of what he said was Beluga. I’m not entirely expert in these things, but I do know that Beluga consists of large, distinct grey eggs, and visually it passed muster, so I forked over another 2.2 million riyal for 200 grams. Not quite cocaine prices, but getting close. On our way back to the hotel we met up with our friend from the Tajrish bazaar, who told us he had arrived at the hotel two minutes after we left (he was supposed to come between 17:00 and 18:00). I told him he was too late, indicating the shopping bags I was carrying. He apologised for being late, and offered me his tin of ”Bluga” for 750 000 Riyal, half of his original price. I declined.

I kept both my tins of caviar on ice and put them in the fridge in my room. El Guapo, of course, is equipped with on-board refrigeration, so getting it to Yerevan should not be difficult. Carrying to the USA with two changes of planes and 19 hours of travel will a little more challenging; hopefully I can charm a flight attendant into keeping it in the fridge for me, and also hopefully I will not forget to collect it at the end of each flight. Beluga has been almost impossible to lay hands on these days, and when you can — e.g., at Dean and Delucca in Doha — it was outrageously expensive, typically 300 USD for the smallest container. So if I manage this, I and my very closest friends will be enjoying some in Ann Arbor in the near future.

It’s evening now, just waiting for my dinner to be delivered before getting some sleep in preparation for what I hope is a successful departure from Teheran tomorrow, with vehicle, replacement starter motor, and passport with visa extension.

Blogndog

11 July 2015

Tehran

Shiny Happy People

Wednesday was an important Shia holiday, the Feast of the Martyrdom of Ali, the prophet’s cousin and son-in-law, whose murder triggered the schism that split Islam into Sunni and Shia branches. As a result, all the tourist destinations were closed, and so I took an obligatory break from my frenetic sight-seeing schedule and spent much of the day just hanging out at my hotel.

I did take a couple of long walks around Tehran, and checked out the Tehran Metro. There are four lines lines in the metro system: Line 1, Line 2, Line 4, and Line 5. No doubt Israel has something to do with the missing Line 3. It was unremarkable in many ways; vaguely reminiscent of Montréal, and like Cairo, features ”women only” carriages, although it is doubtful Iranian men have the same difficulty keeping their hands to themselves the way Egyptian men do. One unique feature I particularly liked was the train status board. Different Metro systems have different ways of keeping you informed about the next train — in Stockholm and London, there are information screens that tell you how long to the next few trains and their destination. In Warsaw, where trains run at fixed intervals, a counter starts when a train leaves the station, so when it reaches 4 minutes during peak hours, you know another should be arriving momentarily. Here in Tehran, there are graphic signs showing where the trains are — red dots indicating they are in a station, and yellow arrows showing when they are travelling between stations.

Where's my train?

There are many things I have come to like about Iran; I have to admit that the food is not one of them, although you might not guess that from seeing how my waistline has expanded since I have arrived. One reason is that there are not a lot of dining options in Tehran or anywhere else; this may in part be because of Iranians' preference for entertaining at home, where they can escape the social strictures imposed by mullahs and literally let their hair down.

That evening, I decided to get a break from the endless rice and kabab and seek out one of Tehran’s few fine dining venues, the nearby Baharestan Grand Restaurant. I arrived shortly before dusk (none of the restaurants of course would be serving until the end of the fast) to find the place brightly lit, the tables set, and plates of salad, bread, dates and nuts covered with plastic wrap already set out and waiting for the end of the fast. Dozens of people milled around, but nobody seemed to be charge, or even to speak English. Finally one charming young woman offered to assist in English, but she informed me that the restaurant was fully booked for the evening. But then she asked how many persons, and I explained that I was alone. ”Just you?” she asked, ”OK, no problem,” and she led me to a place at a round table.

I waited for a bit as they brought more food to each of the tables, including a steaming tureen of soup that looked and smelled fantastic. When the fast finally ended, I was joined by the young woman who helped me earlier (who introduced herself as Mehrnoush), and a fit-looking gentleman who turned out to be her brother. After speaking with them a few minutes I slowly realised that the brother — an apparently well to-do anæsthesiologist — had actually booked the entire restaurant for the evening for a private event with his very large extended family, and I just either charmed or buffaloed my way into this gathering, depending on your perspective on such things.

First priority for Mehrnoush, her mother and sister was determining my marital status and economic potential. They accomplished by asking a series of subtle, yet probing, questions such as ”are you single?” and ”do you earn a lot of money?”. Her Mom was visibly disappointed when I told her I was engaged, and she was not entirely convinced of this until I produced a photo of MJ, whom she nonetheless pronounced to be ”very beautiful.”

Second order of business was giving all the young cousins of the clan the opportunity to practice their English with me, which many of them did. Some were shy and hesitant, but in particular one charismatic 11 year-old spoke with much poise and confidence, and learning that I was from America, declared that ”I think your country is sensational!” Apparently, this was one of his favourite adjectives, as he also used it to describe the Chelsea Football Club, BMW automobiles, the iPhone, the Iranian Volleyball team and the sport of volleyball in general, and the dessert we were eating. I didn’t ask his views on the Greek economy.

Next came all the men of the clan, who each in turn stopped by my table to show off babies, ask my opinions on Football and Volleyball, complain about the sanctions and politicians, and tell me in which state they had relatives in the USA (it was always California).

Finally, the ladies — the charming, black-clad Iranian ladies — who arrived in a gaggle led by Mehrnoush’s mom and ancient Auntie, and who asked far more pointed and intelligent questions than the men did — what did I think of the nuclear negotiations? Did I like Obama? (they didn’t) Did I like Khomeni? (they liked him even less). How old was I? (I referred the question to my attorneys).

Undoubtedly that evening will be one of my best memories of Iran — they were all so charming, so welcoming, so friendly. It took me a full half-hour to take my leave, shaking hands with the men, bowing to the ladies, high-fiving the kids. Mehrnoush gave me her number and told me to call if I needed any help. I got back to the hotel to find Mehdi and one of the hotel staff having a cup of tea in the front garden and joined them for a bit before calling it a night.

Next day, it was back to sight-seeing with a visit to the Golestan Palace, a Qajar-dynasty complex of buildings arranged around a landscaped courtyard. Near the entrance was the marble throne where the Shahs of Iran have been crowned for the past 300 years or so (the Qajars moved the capital to the then-village of Tehran from Isfahan in the early 18th century). Even before this visit I was starting to get opulence burn-out — and this sent me over the edge: yes, very nice, the interior of this palace is marble. Ooh, this one is covered in silver and mirrors. Ah, here’s a gilt one, and this one is all intricately inlaid woods. Somewhat more interesting were the displays of gifts that the Shahs had received from foreign dignitaries and potentates over the centuries, including two Farsi typewriters from the USA, and a badge of the Royal Order of Kamehameha I from one of the Kings of Hawaii’i.

The Qajars liked things sparkly

After the palace, we headed to the nearby Grand Bazaar, which is reminiscent of the Grand Bazaar in Istanbul. Like most bazaars, it was organised into different sections with all shops of one type clustered together — carpets, kitchenware, housewares, electronics, office supplies, gold, spices, etc. A scrum of shouting, gesticulating men outside one of the entrances turned out to the city’s foreign currency market. We also made a short visit to the nearby Imam Khomeni mosque before calling it a day.

Friday was another day of enforced relaxation, as all government-run facilities, including museums, were closed to encourage everyone to attend anti-Israeli demonstrations for "Quds Day". We didn’t know this, however, when we set out this morning for Tajrish, in northern Tehran at the last stop on Metro line 1 in order to visit the Sa’d Abad complex, where two more palaces and various museums, etc. are located. Tajrish itself had a pleasant, village-like atmosphere, with lots of green-grocers selling impossibly fresh, beautiful looking fruit, a small but lovely bazaar, a wonderful bakery, and temperatures a few degrees cooler than central Tehran. Above it looms Mt. Tochal, a 3933 metre peak that hosts one of Iran’s most popular ski areas.

After travelling 15 stops by metro, we took a shared taxi to the entrance gate of the complex to find it closed, so we retraced our steps and ended up back at the hotel in time for lunch. Afterwards, I took a short nap, and then decided to visit the infamous ”Den of American Espionage,” formerly known as the Embassy of the United States of America to the Imperial State of Iran. I had been warned to be discreet and low-key, especially when taking photographs, but I arrived to find the place deserted and the anti-American graffiti faded and peeling. Immediately next to the ”Down With USA” graffito was a small convenience store selling ice-cold Pepsi and Coca-Cola, amongst other refreshments. I guess radical Islamists need that ”pause that refreshes” now and then, just like everyone else. I walked the entire length of perimeter fence and encountered no one except a couple of ladies strolling along. At the main entrance, the Great Seal of the United States had been obviously defaced but was mostly still legible.

A somewhat disappointing attempt at defacement – a bit of spattered blood and black spray paint would have been much more effective

I couldn’t avoid feeling cheated somehow — I came looking for wild-eyed radicals spewing hate-filled, anti-American invective and instead just found a quiet Tehran neighbourhood. Maybe I should try South Carolina ?

And when is the last time anyone did any maintenance on this graffito?

In the meantime, I learned from the TNT web site that Iranian customs cleared my new starter motor, and it presumably would soon be on its way to Shiraz. I talked to my brother and learned my Dad had pulled back from brink and had a couple of relatively good days, with his blood pressure back up from critical levels, although he still could go at any time. My ticket back to the USA from Yerevan is booked. Nothing much more I can do at this point but continue praying.

Blogndog

11 July 2015

Tehran

Busload of Faith to Get By

After driving north from Isfahan, and passing near both Iran’s hardened nuclear fuel enrichment facility at Natanz and the ”holy city” of Qom along the way, we arrived in Tehran yesterday.

Our hotel, it was soon obvious, was in a district where all the auto parts and supplies are sold; in my walk around Tehran yesterday and today I learned the entire city is like this, with all the auto parts shops in one district (which in turn is sub-divided into a tyres section, a batteries section, an exhaust system section, etc.), all the musical instruments in another, pet shops in another, electronics in another, etc. Seeing the hundreds of shops — each of which was better stocked than anything we had in Doha — I couldn’t help but wonder if there wasn’t some place that could rebuild my starter motor.

Yesterday I was also finally able to try to follow up on the starter motor shipment from Nene Overland. First problem was that the TNT website had no phone number for the Iran office, and only an 0800 number for the UK, which couldn’t be dialled from Iran. I went to their ”Sweden” page and was able to find a regular fixed line number in Sweden. I rang them and they informed me that the shipment was being held in the UK with ”unshippable” status, but they had no details of why. But they gave me the UK phone number. I called the UK office and they also confirmed the ”unshippable” status, but still could not tell me precisely what was wrong and referred me to the Iran office. I rang the Iran office to find that they were closed for the day and would not re-open until 8:00 this morning.

As if all of this wasn’t stressful enough, my visa was set to expire on 9 July (three days from now), and my father, in the USA, who has been ill for some time, was expected to pass away imminently. I had already anticipated this by organising a place to park El Guapo in Yerevan, Armenia, while I flew home to be with my family. But a lot had to happen between here and Yerevan.

I started developing multiple contingency scenarios:

1. Option A was to get the new motor shipped to Iran and delivered to the mechanic in Shiraz, get a driver to drive El Guapo to me in Tehran, and then drive north to Tabriz, to the Armenian border and onwards to Yerevan. But the status of the new motor was unclear.
2. Option B was to fly out of Tehran, be with my family, then apply for a new visa, buy a new starter motor in the USA, fly back to Shiraz, have the vehicle repaired, and then continue the drive to Europe. However, there was no guarantee I would get a new visa or any way of knowing how long it would take — sometimes, months are required.
3. Option C was to fly to Yerevan, hire a flatbed there, have the Iranians put El Guapo on a flatbed to the border, where I would meet them with the Armenian flatbed and then have it taken to Yerevan for repair before continuing my journey. Time consuming.
4. Option D was to explore the idea of getting the starter motor rebuilt in Tehran.
   

Options A and D would almost certainly take more time than was remaining on my visa, and I was told that extending for Americans was close to impossible. Both of these options also had a higher risk of me not being able to see my Dad before he passed away.

I started my day today with chasing up Option A by ringing TNT Iran. They didn’t know anything I didn’t, which is that my shipment was showing up as ”Not Found” in the system. They advised me to ring the UK office, which wouldn’t open for several hours. In the meantime, I decided to try extending my visa. We went first to one office, then were re-directed to another. We talked to one guy, then another guy, then a third guy. Mehdi, my guide, explained my situation. They agreed to extend. Then came the inevitable standing in various queues — getting the form, completing the form. Passport copies. Visa copies. Proof of payment of the fees at Bank Melli, down the road was necessary. Fortunately, directly outside the visa office an enterprising Iranian was selling payments receipts at a markup from face value with no waiting — he made a living standing in the queue at Bank Melli, making a few dozen payments and getting the payment receipts and then selling them to foreigners like me with more money than time. Finally the completed application was accepted and I was told to return on Sunday to collect my passport with a 15 day extension. A good outcome, but less than ideal — I really wanted to get going, and only needed one, maybe two more days, but getting the extension would take 5.

Finally was able to speak to someone at TNT and read them the riot act — why they didn’t inform me PROMPTLY that there was problem was beyond me, and Nene had in fact called them before shipping to verify that sending to Iran was possible, and nobody thought to mention that there were any special requirements at the time. And WHY the wild goose chase of referring me to the Iran office?

In any event, spoke to someone who explained that there are ”special procedures” for Iran, but he wouldn’t explain them by phone. He took my email address and promised the send the necessary information. When his email arrived, I found all that was needed was for the shipper, Nene, to complete a short form attesting, amongst other small points, that the shipment did not contain ”any goods of US origin.” I forwarded the form on Nene, and rang them. They sorted it within minutes, completing the form, scanning it, and sending it on to TNT. TNT confirmed receipt and promised to dispatch the parcel right away.

So far, not a bad start to the day. Back at the hotel, one of the managers there directed us to a shop that might have a suitable starter motor, naturally located nearby as we were in the ”auto parts” district. They were not, in fact, able to help, but they directed us to a nearby workshop that they thought could rebuild the starter. We found it easily, and spoke with the owner. No problem, he said, he could fix it. Mehdi rang the agency in Shiraz, which dispatched a driver to the mechanic in Shiraz to collect the starter and take it to the airport. He got it on the next flight to Tehran.

In the meantime, we had time for a little sightseeing. First stop was the Treasury of National Jewels in the basement of the National Bank, whose vaults contain the Crown Jewels of Iran. I’ve seen both the Imperial Russian Crown Jewels in the Kremlin, and the British Crown Jewels in the Tower of London, and I don’t think the two combined came anyway near the splendour of this collection. In fact, it once contained the Koh-i-Noor diamond, which was stolen by the British and now sits atop Queen Elizabeth’s sceptre. At one point, Iran threatened to sue the British for its return, but then India said that if Iran did so, they would sue Iran, as it was stolen from India by Nadir Shah in 1739. Then Sri Lanka stepped in and reminded India that it had been stolen from Sri Lanka by the Khilijis in the 14th century.

Even without this stone the collection is mind-blowing. At the entrance is the Peacock Throne, rumoured to contain parts of the Mughal Peacock Throne, which was also plundered from Delhi by Nadir Shah. Several huge crowns, dozens of diamond, emerald and spinel tiaras. Golden, bejewelled harnesses, saddles, stirrups, firearms and swords, including one a metre long with a scabbard encrusted its entire length with thousands of diamonds. And an incredible globe, a meter in diameter, with the continents set in rubies, the seas in emeralds and Iran in diamonds.

Next stop was the archaeological museum, which had an amazing collection of pre-Islamic Iranian works — pottery, bronzes, terra cotta, stone — decorative works, vessels, tools, weapons, jewellery, etc.

On leaving we were informed my starter motor should be at the airport, so jumped in a taxi and joined the insane, high-speed throng that is traffic in Tehran and headed to the cargo terminal. It arrived in short order and we dashed back into Tehran and delivered it to the workshop. I left as the owner pounded away at it gleefully, assuring me, ”don’t worry, I can fix.” We headed back to the hotel for dinner and before we finished eating he rang to say it was ready.

Mehdi and driver, starter motor in hand

A new lease on life for my starter motor

The driver took the now-working starter motor and headed south. He won’t make Shiraz tonight, but will stop in Isfahan, and get to Shiraz tomorrow. Tomorrow, by the way, is the Shia feast of the Martyrdom of Ali, one of the most important holidays in Iran. Museums all closed, so a day of enforced but much-needed rest.

Overall, a successful day, but one that nonetheless ended on a down note. I rang my brother and updated him on my situation — I could now give firm confirmation that I could expect to leave Tehran on Sunday, spend Sunday night in Tabriz, and reach the Armenian border by mid-day on Monday, and hopefully Yerevan that evening. Fly out Tuesday, Wednesday at the absolute latest and arrive in Detroit the same day. However, although my brother said my father’s condition was somewhat improved from yesterday, he didn’t think he would last that long. I managed to have a reasonable FaceTime conversation with my Dad and tell him I loved him and was on my way. The rest is beyond my control.

Blogndog

7 July 2015

Tehran