Where in the world is John Henzell?

“No visa.”

The Iranian immigration officer was as gruff as he was direct.

“Can you tell me why?” I implored. “Am I not eligible for a visa? Or have decided I am a bad person? Do you know that Australians and New Zealanders, unlike Americans and Brits, can get visas on arrival?”

I silently cursed the Emirati habit of putting occupation on the UAE resident’s visa, so it was clear — in English and Arabic — that I was a journalist. Was it because I was on my second tourist visa in three months that they decided I wasn’t actually a genuine tourist?

But the only response was: “No visa.”

Then he told me I would have to get on the plane on its return flight to Dushanbe in Tajikistan. I was being deported.

“But why?”

No response, just a polite but firm insistence that I get on the plane. I didn’t have a return entry visa to Tajikistan so that was not shaping up as a very helpful option so instead I asked if there was a flight to Dubai in the United Arab Emirates.

There was, and two hours later I was enjoying the view over the wing of the Iranian Airways plane of Mt Damavand, a 5600m volcano that is the highest peak in the Middle East and which was the subject of my visit to Iran, the culmination of my get-fit trip to the ’stans to prepare myself for the CDT.

It was time to think up a Plan B…

This entry was posted on Tuesday, June 8th, 2010 at 10:34 am and is filed under Uncategorized. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.