Angels Favorite Dream

13

After a smooth landing, Berk and Osman stepped off the plane in Tehran, greeted by the cold air. Berk felt refreshed after managing to catch a quick nap, but Osman, still under the influence of alcohol, struggled to stay upright. Berk looked at Osman and took a deep breath. "I hope we get through passport control without any issues," he muttered to himself.

"Osman, pull yourself together. We need to get to passport control," Berk said anxiously.

Osman could barely stand, his eyes half-closed and his steps unsteady. "Passport? Where did I put that..." he mumbled, digging into his pockets.

Berk nervously looked around, worried about drawing unwanted attention. He headed to passport control first. The passport officer gave Berk a brief, expressionless glance before stamping his passport without question. Berk let out a sigh of relief, but Osman was not in great shape.

Osman approached the checkpoint under Berk's worried gaze. When the officer looked at Osman carefully, Berk's heart started to race. He feared that if any questions were asked, Osman would give a ridiculous answer. Luckily, the officer stamped Osman's passport without asking anything. Berk let out a deep breath as Osman stumbled over to him.

"Getting into Iran was easy; the officer didn't even ask a question!" Osman said with a slight grin.

"Good thing they didn't. I have no idea what we'd have done if they had," Berk muttered.

After grabbing their luggage, they passed through customs and officially entered the country. Berk, drawing on his experience working at airports, remembered there were a few low-cost airlines.

"I recall some Iranian airlines from my time working at the airport. Their offices should be in the departures area. Let’s go check; maybe we can find a flight to Karachi," he said.

The idea of continuing their journey by plane excited Osman. "Sure, let's go check. I don't have high hopes, but maybe we'll find something," he replied.

They went up to the departures level to look for airline ticket offices. Despite being Iran’s largest international airport, the terminal was quite small, and there were no visible offices. After wandering around for a while, they found a ticket agency instead of an airline office.

Berk approached the counter. "Is there a charter flight to Karachi today?" he asked.

The woman behind the counter gave him a look that suggested she didn't understand and called over someone with better English skills. Another woman came over to help. Berk turned to her with hope.

"Hello, how can I help you?" the woman asked.

"Is there a charter flight to Karachi today?" Berk asked again.

Before checking the flights, the woman wanted to see their visas. "Can I see your passports?"

Berk handed over both his and Osman's passports. Seeing that they were Turkish, the woman suddenly began speaking in Turkish. Berk and Osman exchanged a surprised glance.

"You speak Turkish? Where did you learn?" Berk asked.

"I'm an Iranian of Azeri descent. We were born here, but we learned our language," the woman replied.

When Osman heard the woman speaking Turkish, he was distracted by her attractive appearance and stepped in front of Berk, leaning towards her. "So, you're Azeri? I know a bit of Azeri myself," he said, adopting a flirtatious tone.

Berk frowned. "Dude, let the lady do her job," he whispered, trying to keep his voice low.

However, Osman ignored the warning and continued to approach the woman. When she responded positively, Berk looked around anxiously. He remembered that Iran had morality police who could intervene in such situations. Thankfully, the woman noticed Berk's tension and turned back to her computer to check the flights.

"There are only two national airlines flying from Tehran to Karachi today. The low-cost ones depart from the airport on the other side of the city," she said.

Berk and Osman thought about what to do for a moment. Berk turned to the woman. "Can you see the prices for those flights from here?" he asked.

The woman gave an apologetic look. "Unfortunately, this system doesn't show the other airports," she said.

Berk turned to Osman. "Going to the other airport would cost us a lot of time. Plus, we don’t even know if there's a flight today or if the prices are reasonable. It's best if we stick to our plan and continue by road," he said.

Osman's attention was still on the woman. "Alright, whatever you say," he said, trying to talk to her again. Berk, unable to take it any longer, thanked the Azeri woman and grabbed Osman by the arm, pulling him away.

As they headed for the exit, Berk gave Osman a stern warning. "Osman, pull yourself together. You can't behave like this in Iran. The morality police here are strict. You could get us into serious trouble."

Osman chuckled. "Alright, alright... I still haven't fully recovered. Let's go exchange some money and get to the train station," he mumbled.

They went to a bank in the terminal to exchange money, but they had doubts about being scammed since they didn’t understand the Iranian currency. Iran had two different currencies, and one had more zeros than the other. Berk tried to communicate with the teller to understand the difference between the two currencies, but since the teller didn't speak English, he couldn't get a detailed explanation.

Berk sighed and turned to Osman. "This isn't working. We can't understand each other," he said.

Osman looked around. "Let's find someone who can help us," he said, wandering around the terminal.

After a while, he came across a modern-dressed Iranian passenger preparing to leave the terminal. "Excuse me, there are two different currencies here, and we don't understand the difference. Can you help us?" Osman asked.

The Iranian man smiled slightly. "Ah, I see. The one with fewer zeros is the new currency; it's called toman. The one with more zeros is rial, but it's slowly being phased out. Both are still in use for now," he explained.

Osman thanked him and quickly returned to Berk. "The new currency is called toman, the one with fewer zeros. The other one is rial, but it's gradually being discontinued."

Berk felt relieved. "Good, so we weren't scammed," he said. But then he remembered another problem, and his tension returned. "So, how are we going to get to the train station?"

Osman frowned, thinking. "From what I read, there's a bus from the airport to the train station. But I don’t know where it departs from."

Berk was getting frustrated as they were still wandering around the terminal. He looked around for someone who could help, but despite being at an international airport, no one seemed to speak proper English. The staff seemed to keep their distance, as if avoiding them because they were foreigners. Being in a tightly controlled country like Iran already made Berk anxious, and not being able to find anyone to help was making him even more tense.

While they were wandering around aimlessly, a man approached them. In broken English, he asked, "You... what looking for?"

Berk took a deep breath, relieved by the man's words. "We need to get to the train station. How can we get there?"

The man smiled slightly and pointed at a bus. "I... driver. Bus leaves... five minutes. You get on... quickly," he said.

Berk and Osman grabbed their bags and headed toward the bus. Before getting on, they wanted to smoke a cigarette; they hadn't smoked for hours, and it was starting to make them dizzy. As they hurriedly smoked, the bus driver came back over.

"Bus... Azadi Square... you get off... there... metro. Metro... train station," he said.

As Berk tried to understand what the driver was saying, Osman stepped in. "The bus goes to Azadi Square. We'll get off there and continue to the train station by metro," he said.

Berk laughed. "I guess you understood because his English is as broken as yours," he said.

They quickly took a few more drags of their cigarettes and boarded the bus. Osman scanned the passengers as he looked for a seat. The foreign couple sitting in the back immediately caught his attention. He quickly made his way over and sat next to them. Berk understood Osman's intention and felt a bit annoyed. Osman was always eager to meet everyone he saw.

As soon as he had the chance, Osman turned to the couple. "Hello. Is this your first time in Tehran?" he asked.

The couple initially thought Osman was Iranian, and they seemed a bit uneasy. Then the man, with a slightly hesitant expression, said, "No, actually, we were just about to leave. Our flight was an hour ago, but we missed it because we forgot our passports at the train station. We're going back to get them now."

When Osman heard they were headed to the train station, he excitedly turned to Berk. "Look, we found someone else going to the train station!" he said. His chattiness had paid off.

He then turned back to the couple. "Where are you from?" he asked.

The man replied, "I'm Austrian. My girlfriend is Slovenian. Are you Iranian?"

Berk, wanting to put the couple at ease, jumped in with a smile. "No, we're Turkish. We're traveling to Pakistan by land, and we need to get to the train station. It's our first time here, so we're not sure how to get there. I'm Berk, and this is Osman," he said.

The couple looked at each other, visibly more relaxed. The man said, "Oh, Turkey... We were actually planning to head to Istanbul after Tehran, but we need to return to Austria urgently. I'm Johann, and this is my girlfriend, Alenka. Nice to meet you."

As the conversation deepened, they lost track of time. When they arrived at Azadi Square, the driver stood up and told Berk and Osman that they needed to get off. They all got off the bus together and walked toward the metro station.

Once inside the station, Johann looked confused. "Actually, we don’t know how to get to the train station by metro either. We should ask which line to take," he said.

After buying their tickets from the kiosk, Berk approached a security guard at the entrance and asked, "How can we get to the train station?"

The guard gave Berk a stern look and then said the name of a stop. Berk didn't understand, but Johann stepped in. "I know that stop. Let’s go," he said.

After waiting on the platform for a short while, a metro that was more luxurious than they expected arrived. Just as they were about to board, a station attendant pulled Johann out, and Osman, Berk, and Alenka had to get off the train, not understanding what was happening. The attendant spoke in Farsi, and none of them could understand what he was saying.

At that moment, Berk noticed a sign indicating that men and women had to board separate cars. The attendant had noticed Johann and Alenka getting on the same car. Berk made a gesture to the attendant to show that he understood, and the attendant grumbled as he walked away. Berk's unease grew. "I need to get out of this country as soon as possible," he thought.

This time, knowing they had to board separate cars, they waited for the next train. While waiting, Berk noticed a map on the wall showing the metro routes. He started examining the lines but struggled to understand the system. There were five lines in total, all running between the east and west of the city. The three central lines followed a straight path, while the top line curved downward, and the bottom line moved upward. Their destination was the last stop on the top line, but they would need to change lines midway.

After a long journey, they exited the metro. The bright winter sun dazzled their eyes and warmed them. Berk was surprised to see the surrounding mountains covered in snow. He had always thought of Iran as a hot country, but winter here was quite cold.

Looking around in astonishment, he said to Osman, "Look at that, the mountains are covered in snow! This place is different from what I expected."

Osman shrugged. "Well, it's a high place after all. It's colder than I expected too, but we'll warm up as we head toward Pakistan," he replied.

Since it was still early in the morning, most shops were closed, and they couldn't find anywhere to have breakfast. Hungry, they walked toward the bus stop for the bus to the train station. When they boarded the bus, Berk was surprised to see a metal rod dividing the men's and women's sections. In Iran, men boarded at the front and women at the back, sitting in their designated sections. Johann and Alenka were separated because of this, but a few stops later, as the bus got crowded, people began to mix and sit next to each other.

Noticing this, Berk whispered to Osman, "They kicked us off for boarding the same car on the metro, but here everyone can sit together. How strange!"

Osman chuckled. "I guess the rules loosen up when it's crowded," he said.

After a while, they arrived at the train station. As Osman and Berk looked around in confusion, Johann pointed to a building. "That's the station," he said.

Once inside, Osman said, "I guess this is where we part ways. I hope you find your passports and get home safely."

Johann smiled. "Good luck on your journey to Pakistan. Maybe we'll meet again in Istanbul," he replied.

Osman smiled back. "We don't live in Istanbul. We work in Kabak Bay, near Fethiye, in southern Turkey. If you come to Turkey, you can find us there."

Johann and Alenka were surprised to hear that they lived such an unusual life. "That sounds interesting and exciting. Alright then, see you in the bay," they said, and they parted ways.

Osman and Berk began looking for a ticket counter to buy tickets for the train to Zahedan, near the Pakistan border. When they didn't see a counter on the ground floor, Osman frowned. "Do you see any ticket counter?"

Berk looked around. "I think we need to go upstairs," he said, and they headed up together.

As they climbed the stairs, they were met with a bustling crowd. Everything was written in Farsi, making things even more challenging. Osman started grumbling impatiently. "Are we supposed to wait in this line? What do we do now?" he said.

Berk smiled slightly and shrugged. "If we're taking the train, we don't have much choice but to wait in this line," he said.

They approached one of the empty counters, and Berk asked the woman there, "Where can we get tickets to Zahedan?" The woman, without even looking at Berk, gestured toward the crowd in the line.

Berk turned to Osman and, accepting the situation, said, "I guess we need to get in that line."

Just then, someone who spoke English approached them. "Hello, do you need help? Where are you headed?" he asked.

Berk took a breath and said, "We're going to Zahedan, but we couldn't figure out where to buy tickets."

The man greeted them with a smile, indicating he understood, and looked at the Farsi schedule at the entrance. "There's a departure at 10 a.m. today, but you'll need to get in this line to buy a ticket," he said, pointing to the long queue. He then led them to the attendant, where they could get a queue number. Berk and Osman received their tickets with numbers written in Farsi.

"Thank you," Berk said gratefully for the man's help. They then joined the queue and began waiting their turn.

Despite being tired and sleep-deprived, they waited patiently. The attendants were letting people through the turnstiles according to their numbers, but Berk and Osman couldn't understand what the attendant was saying. Berk's patience started to wear thin. Finally, he snapped and handed his ticket to the attendant. "What's our number? When will it be our turn?" he asked.

The attendant, realizing they were foreigners, let them through without delay, or so they thought. Once inside, they were met with several offices and tried to figure out where to go. As they looked around, a man approached them and started speaking in Farsi. They didn't understand what he was saying, so Berk said helplessly, "Zahedan, Zahedan." The man nodded and led them to an office, calling someone from inside.

The officer who came to them asked for their passports when he learned they wanted to go to Zahedan. He typed something into his computer to check for availability, and then, under Berk and Osman's curious gaze, indicated with his hand that there were no available seats. He motioned for them to wait, took their passports, and walked over to the manager's desk.

After examining their passports, the manager placed them on his desk and said something to the officer. The officer returned to Berk and Osman, saying, "Please wait in the hall." This made them uneasy. They couldn't understand why their passports were taken or why they had to wait. With no way to communicate effectively, they had no choice but to wait.

After a while, a security guard came over and told them they needed to wait outside, escorting them out of the office. They tried to figure out why they were being held when there were no available seats on the train. They had planned to take a bus if they couldn't get a train seat, but now that their passports had been taken, they couldn't even leave the station to go to the bus terminal.

An hour had passed, and still, no one had explained anything to Berk and Osman. Finally, Berk dozed off where he was sitting. Osman, unable to keep his eyes open any longer, also fell asleep. But after a while, Osman woke Berk up in a panic.

"Hey, Berk! They gave our passports back. Let's get out of here as soon as possible!"

Berk, in a sleepy voice, asked, "Why did they make us wait for so long?"

Osman shrugged. "I have no idea. We can't communicate with anyone. At least we got our passports back," he said. Frustrated, they grabbed their bags and left the station.

To get to the bus terminal, they decided to take one of the taxis waiting outside the station.

Turning to Berk, Osman said more seriously, "Let me handle the talking. We might need to negotiate."

Osman greeted the taxi drivers, "Salam alaikum," and they responded, "Alaikum salam." Berk didn't like these types of greetings very much. In Turkey, this greeting was used often, but he always preferred saying "Merhaba" instead. Because of this, he often received responses like, "Why don't you return Allah's greeting?" His response was always, "I'm not Arab, and I don't speak Arabic. I'm Turkish, and I speak Turkish." But since they were in Iran, he greeted people this way to blend in.

Osman asked the taxi drivers, "We're going to the bus terminal. How much would it be?" The drivers looked at each other before asking an unexpected question. "Which bus terminal? There are four bus terminals in Tehran."

Berk and Osman looked at each other. With a hint of concern, Osman turned back to the taxi driver. "We don't know. Which terminal has buses going to Zahedan?"

The driver thought for a moment, then pulled out his phone and called someone. As Berk and Osman waited impatiently, the driver finished his call and turned to them. "Get in. I'll take you to the right terminal," he said.

Osman took a deep breath. "Let's hope you take us to the right place," he said, then added, "Okay, but what's the fare?"

The taxi drivers exchanged mocking smiles. One of them said, "I'll take you for whatever the meter says," as if stating a simple fact.

They got into the taxi, and the driver quickly set off. Sitting in the back seat, Berk looked out the window, watching the chaotic traffic of the city. Then, curiously, he turned to the driver. "Why are there four bus terminals in Tehran?"

The driver smiled. "Buses going to the north, south, west, and east of the country depart from different terminals. Since you're headed to Zahedan in the south, I'm taking you to the terminal for buses going south," he explained.

Osman and Berk looked at each other and chuckled lightly. Berk said, "It's really hard to understand how things work in this country."

When they arrived at the terminal, Osman and Berk found themselves in the midst of incredible chaos. Men shouting things from all directions approached them.

The chaos reminded Berk of the bus terminal in Istanbul. There, too, company employees wandered around trying to find passengers, asking everyone where they were headed. So, Berk began telling the men approaching them, "Zahedan." When they didn't get the response they wanted, he noticed the men moved away.

At that moment, a man approached them and asked, "Zahedan?"

Berk replied excitedly, "Yes!" The man gestured for them to follow him and led them to a ticket office. The clerk at the window asked, "Where are you from?"

Berk replied, "We're Turkish."

The clerk turned around and called someone. A middle-aged man approached and asked, "What's up?"

The clerk pointed to Osman and Berk, saying they were Turkish. After giving them a quick look, the man smiled and began speaking in Turkish. "You look very exhausted," he said.

Osman immediately jumped in. "Since we landed in Tehran, it's been a bit of a rollercoaster," he said, giving a brief account of their experiences.

The man just smiled, as if they'd experienced something routine for everyone traveling to Iran. He then prepared their tickets and told them the bus would leave in five minutes, urging them to hurry to the platform.

They rushed to the platform, looking around in confusion. They struggled to figure out which bus to board, as the destinations on the front windows were written in Farsi.

Berk turned to Osman. "Wait here. I'll go and ask which bus is ours," he said, then quickly returned to the ticket office. Seeing the Azerbaijani man, he said, out of breath, "Which one is our bus? All the signs are in Farsi."

The man went to the window and glanced outside. "The bus hasn't arrived yet. Wait down there; it will be here soon," he said and sent Berk back.

Berk returned to Osman and said, "The guy who told us the bus was here five minutes ago now says it hasn't arrived yet. We'll have to wait."

Osman took a deep breath. "Well, at least we didn't miss it," he said, pulling a cigarette out of his pocket and offering one to Berk. "Let's have a smoke and relax a bit."

A short time later, a man got off a bus that had pulled into one of the parking spots and started shouting, "Zahedan!" Berk and Osman hurriedly grabbed their bags and went to the bus. To make sure they were getting on the right one, they showed their tickets to the attendant. The man ignored them and busied himself with other tasks. They kept following him until he finally glanced at their tickets. With a stern expression, he said something in Farsi and gestured for them to hand over their bags.

After handing over their bags, Berk noticed a small shop across the platform. He turned to Osman. "I'm going to that shop to grab something to eat. We haven't eaten anything yet."

Osman nodded tiredly. "Alright. But I'm getting on the bus; my legs are killing me. Hope you find something decent."

Fearing the bus would leave without him, Berk walked quickly to the shop. When he saw large sandwiches in the fridge, he felt relieved. After grabbing four large sandwiches and two sodas, he headed to the counter. When the shopkeeper told him the price, Berk smiled at how little he had to pay for so much food.

Iran was a country where you could eat, stay, and travel at very affordable prices. It was also rich in culture and history, making it worth exploring. Osman had wanted to explore Iran, but Berk wasn't keen on the idea, thinking it could be risky to travel without a guide. Plus, Berk's primary goal was to reach the woman he loved as soon as possible; his longing for her was what motivated him most on this journey, and sightseeing felt like a waste of time.