The journey from Zanjan feels long and tedious. More police stops, more counting but we push through and do not stop for lunch. Even as we enter Tehran, it feels like any other large city. Same high rise concrete. Same busy streets. Same chaos. Our 2nd bus driver is nearly mown down as he tries to hold up the traffic to let the bus turn into the hotel car park. Our hotel takes us to the next level.. Our room is immense with a super king size bed and a single bed, dining table, coffee table, little kitchen and bathroom. There's even a balcony. Graciously, I offer the super king size bed to Isabelle, my roomie for the night. She tells me she prefers the single. I insist but she is adamant. Oh my God, no-one is going to believe me. I go out onto the balcony, leaving off my headscarf,.Others appear on their balconies, still with headscarves. I feel quite the rebel as I shake my hair out. Then, a chorus of jeers echoes when someone asks which bed I got.
Later, walking down the high street, people are not shy as we go past. The girls are mainly very glamorous in their tight fitted coats over tight jeans or trousers and extravagant makeup. Head scarves are loosely draped over bouffant hair. This contrasts sharply with others fully covered in Hi-jab. All around us are electronic shops. It's like Tottenham Court Road. Crossing the road, you take your life in your hands. Traffic lights are only a suggestion and a suggestion that most drivers ignore. Even the pavements are not safe as the Honda 125 s push their way through. As I negotiate 6 lanes of oncoming traffic, I spy a local bus bearing down on me out of the corner of my eye. I am a target and he is determined I will not make it across the road. At the last second, I turn to look up a him and raise my eyebrows over my sunglasses . He grinds to a halt, only inches away. Oh, yes! I am triumphant, as I stroll nonchalantly to the pavement.
Later, walking down the high street, people are not shy as we go past. The girls are mainly very glamorous in their tight fitted coats over tight jeans or trousers and extravagant makeup. Head scarves are loosely draped over bouffant hair. This contrasts sharply with others fully covered in Hi-jab. All around us are electronic shops. It's like Tottenham Court Road. Crossing the road, you take your life in your hands. Traffic lights are only a suggestion and a suggestion that most drivers ignore. Even the pavements are not safe as the Honda 125 s push their way through. As I negotiate 6 lanes of oncoming traffic, I spy a local bus bearing down on me out of the corner of my eye. I am a target and he is determined I will not make it across the road. At the last second, I turn to look up a him and raise my eyebrows over my sunglasses . He grinds to a halt, only inches away. Oh, yes! I am triumphant, as I stroll nonchalantly to the pavement.
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