Iranian Rappers And Persian Porn (35 page)

I told him I’d think about it.

Outside the restaurant, we bade each other farewell and promised to stay in touch. Before I left, Kimya said to me, “I hope you can come back and visit again someday with either your wife or sister.” I told her I’d like to.

The rest of the day I spent packing, getting some of my diary notes written up, and generally taking it easy.

I had an early start on my final morning in Iran as my train left just before dawn. I’d asked the hotel’s reception staff the night before to order a cab for me. I waited and waited in the lobby, watching the clock. The car was very late. After twenty minutes of nervously biting my fingernails, I gave up and went out into the chilly near-deserted predawn streets in search of another one. It was still dark and there was next to no life about. After ten minutes of panicked searching, I spotted one and flagged it down, waving my arms about like a madman. I didn’t know the Farsi for “train station,” so I did silly little choo-choo train impressions with the appropriate hand moves and noises. The driver turned around and looked at me like I was a fool.

“Do you want to go to the train station?” he asked in perfect English. I told him yes and that I was seriously late. He put his foot down and burned off at racecar speed. And thank goodness he did, because I arrived only a couple of minutes before my train left. If I’d missed it, I would have been in serious trouble; my visa lapsed the following day, and I definitely didn’t want to be in Iran illegally.

I shared a spacious cabin with just one other guy who spoke no English whatsoever but was a warm and friendly chap who shared his bag of candy with me. I spent the next few hours gazing out of the window at wonderful mountain gorges and the huge sprawling surface of Lake Orumiyeh, which the train skirted past. Northwest Iran has some mind-blowing scenery.

Before long, we crossed the Iranian border and were into Turkey. It was party time. The girls suddenly took their hijabs off and changed into revealing Western outfits. The guy from my cabin who’d shared his candy with me rolled up and smoked a spliff. He puffed away while I checked for guards in the corridor. Afterward, he crashed out listening to his Walkman. Even through the headphones, I could tell it was none other than our Irish friend. Could I ever get away from the guy?

I was both sad and excited to be at the end of my Iran adventure and the end of my journey. Everywhere I traveled, I encountered the friendliest people I’d ever come across and constantly had to remind myself that I was in Iran—part of the so-called Axis of Evil. Although I obviously make no apology for the abysmal Iranian government and its terrible human rights abuses, the Iranian people were just incredible.

On the long journey back to Istanbul, I met a group of Iranian girls in their late twenties in the train’s restaurant car who belonged to the minority Baha’i religion. Being part of this religion would have meant death or imprisonment in Iran until recently, and its followers are still prevented from employment opportunities or attending university. The girls had managed to obtain visas through the UN and were leaving Iran for Istanbul, then heading to Canada for a better life. This would be their last time in Iran for many years, and possibly their last time ever. I said how happy they must be to be off to Canada, but the eldest one shook her head.

“No. There is no place like home.”

I could well understand. It wasn’t my home, but I was certainly made to feel welcome. It was, however, time for me to take my leave as well. After all, you can only take so much Chris de Burgh.