Iran with my jolly Headscarf (I)

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Not knowing what to expect, I secretly worried as I boarded Iran Air Flight#800, after all, it seemed like the only Japanese-equivalent of Lonely Planet edition of 'Persia' (NB> Not 'Iran') was outdated since the Islamic Revolution and they just wrote random baulderdash to fill the blank spaces and inlcluded photos that were clearly from the 80s. Or was this really Iran today? I turned back to the dodgy Farsi phrases-section at the back, convinced that my previous knowledge of Arabic would definitely help. Ah, no. Only the numerals, I suppose then. It could be worse. And come to think of it, the random pet name my Sunni Muslim friend gave me was 'Aisha', which isn't all that pleasant when it comes to Shiite terms. Bother. Great start, mate.

Anyhow. I decide to look around the plane. Interesting, the first screen announcement isn't a 'Thank you for flying with x airways' but a booming prayer where I could make out the letters 'Allah' on the screen, with a shot of the Kab'ah in Mecca. There's a prayer room onboard with a Qibla compass pointing towards Mecca. Intriguing....I wonder how it works?

Along with the others in my group, we couldnt figure out when exactly it was time to donn our headscarves, 'Did you practice at home dear? ' No. Did I have to? 'Well, I did. I brought my lovely French Disneyland scarf. It's pure silk and I have something similar from Monaco. Aren't the mickeys adorable?' Not when it's bright red, madam. Not when guidebooks tell us to avoid bright colours, especially red. Way to go to choose the best 'How to get shot' outfit. I'm definitely not sitting next to you on the bus, woman.

The meals were quite nicely Iranian to start off with, beef and tomatoes, lots of rice. Not bad at all, impressed! Although the air hostesses always had their hair hidden under their uniform scarves, they looked quite elegant and dazzling. Great service, the stewards ranged from a younger version of Omar Sharif to Sean Connery James Bond with olive skin. The old women were terribly busy eyeing them all as they whipped out their fans.

My first (serious) marriage proposal popped up from a steward who happened to be so awfully nice it all made sense at the end. I admit i was first captivated by the amazing service and his attentiveness which made me think Iranian Airways tended to every single bloody passenger and their needs. Ah. Late 40s, very direct and by the end of the flight, full of personal questions. Sadly, I did not feel like converting to Islam and joining his household as his 4th wife (sorry) and that was that. Was it really true that Japanese women were somewhat popular in Iran? Do they also believe in this international fantasy that the ideal life is about living in America, having a Japanese wife and hiring a French cook? (I cant understand the second part by the way).

It basically turns out that since there aren't many tourists in Iran yet, so it's quite a rare sight to see Eastern Asians with their flat noses, somewhat pale(r) skin and weird fashion tastes. During the course of the trip, most people from little school children to older people would flock at my odd-looking group and I to take paparazzi shots over and over again and ask for our signatures. Apparently Germans were not all that fun because they had been in Iran more frequently with their socks and sandals. We did bump into a few of them everysooften.

Anyway. So the headscarves. A steward told me that as long as it's covering my head, it didnt matter whether if random strands poured out from the sides. Apparently the tradition was originally Zoroastrian, and the introduction of Islam made it a stricter deal. To this day, even in religious places it is forbidden for an Iranian woman to hide her face in public (with things such as burkas).

An hour before landing, as soon as we saw that we were flying over Afghanistan, the Iranian women whipped out their scarves and we did the same. By our arrival, it was midnight in Tehran. We saw our guide waving to us, a light-skinned gentleman speaking fluent Japanese (without a bloody trace of a foreign accent - the ladies flipped out in joy) and like zombies, we were escorted to our bus...

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Photos

Our Plane
A stopover at Beijing to drop off the hoards of Chinese visitors who'd gone amock shopping for Japanese electronics. Last stop, Tehran.

Azadi Square
Freedom Tower, but alas I was too tired I don't know what happened to the camera when I took this. It looks groovy enough.

Comments

[grantcorp]

Aviation archaeology part IX
Just an odd note about the Boeing 747SP. One of the great charms of Iran Air is that the U.S. embargo on planes and spares have resulted in a fairly exotic fleet of really old birds. Count yourself lucky to be among the priviledged to ride the SP (intended as a long haul version), a dying breed of which only some 15-20 are still flying.