Escaping an Epidemic
I had originally planned to post a little blog recap of my trip, full of cute anecdotes and pretty pictures. Usually our family trips to Iran are full of family gatherings, tons of food, souvenir shopping, and excursions to landmarks and monuments. My parents and sister always wait patiently while I take a million pictures to get the perfect shot and film everything for posterity (and for my vlog channel). For the first time, I planned to daily vlog this trip, rather than amass all my footage into one long video, like I’ve done in the past. But, as they say, “Life is what happens while you’re busy making other plans”, and life definitely didn’t care about any of our plans for this trip.
We booked our tickets a few months ago when my cousin announced her engagement. I have approximately a zillion first cousins on my dad’s side, but this cousin is one that my family and I are very close with. She and I are close in age, and have promised each other for years that we would be at each others weddings. I got to meet her fiancé last summer when we were visiting and I was so excited for them. Plus, this girl KNOWS how to throw a party. The venue she chose was insanely beautiful. She planned a huge buffet, dancing (men and women are rarely allowed together at weddings there), and would top the night off with fireworks. Luckily, the date of the wedding coincided with my sister’s school break and the rest of us were able to get off work (although I did have to make the tough call to give up my first NCA experience with my cheer team). Unshaken by January’s missile strikes, we wouldn’t have missed it for the world.
We flew out of LAX on February 18 on Turkish Airlines. The check-in line was long, as usual, and we caught up with each other while we shuffled our luggage inch by inch down the cordoned rows. In the next section over, the check-in booths for Air China stood ominously empty. Even the stanchion posts had been removed. There were no flights to check into.
Our flight from Los Angeles to Istanbul was pleasantly uneventful. Foreign airlines are my favorite. The food is always better and the wine is free. Our layover was short and we got onto our quick flight to Tehran with no issues. We got through customs and pushed the luggage carts out into the diesel-thick night air to the taxi line. We had to get a van to fit all four of us and our luggage. Give us a break though, it was winter-time there and boots and jackets take up more room. The vitamins and other small luxuries we bring as gifts while Iran is under sanctions take up at least one suitcase on their own. Imagine calling vitamins a luxury, but here we are.
My sister and I sat in the middle row, eating pita chips and fiddling with my camera while my dad argued over directions with the driver. I was taking videos of the road and the lights and silly selfies with my sister. There’s this one mosque near the airport that’s always lit up at night and I always try and get a shot of it as we pass because its so beautiful. This time, I caught a silhouette of my dad in the front seat with the mosque lights behind him. I was so proud of how that shot came out and I didn’t even think about it again until I was editing my footage later. While I was playing with the camera focus and crunching pita chips, the taxi driver had been updating my dad on current events. I don’t speak Farsi fluently, or even well, but when I play back that footage of my dad staring blankly out the front windshield, I can make out the phrase, “coronavirus”, and the word, “marg”— the Farsi term for death.
In the morning, I found my dad alone in the dim living room making phone calls. This is pretty standard, so I wasn’t alarmed. He and I have the best talks and I get to hear his best stories on those dusky mornings in the living room while everyone else is still asleep. My mom and sister were sleeping off the jet lag, and my dad, I assumed, was calling around to let people know we were here and wanting to visit with them, like he always does. The phone calls he was really making were to warn a couple of our extended family members that had been planning to travel to the city of Qom that day. That’s when I got caught up. While we were in the air, it had been announced that two people had died from coronavirus in Iran, both in the city of Qom. I had loosely followed the stories on coronavirus in China, reminded of the SARS and H1N1 pandemics and how crazy everyone had been over, seemingly, “nothing”. I knew that it would be a little bit of a risk being in airports and on planes, made exceptionally clear by the amount of travelers wearing medical masks, but I hadn’t ever expected it to really come so close.
My aunt and cousin, traveling for a wedding, and one of my uncles traveling for a funeral, all turned around and came back to Tehran at the request of my dad. Later that day, the news showed Qom was completely shut down and the roads in and out were closed. The events they’d been panning to attend were all cancelled. The university in Qom that my cousin teaches at was closed. My dad had been planning to take us to Qom during this trip to visit my great aunt, the last of my grandmother’s sisters, but obviously we couldn’t go anymore.
That night, most of the family came over for dinner. The usual cheek kissing greetings and the warm enveloping hugs from my aunts were replaced with awkward waves and fist bumps. Cheek kissing etiquette has always escaped me, anyway (Two kisses, or three? Do we shake hands first? Where do my hands go? Who are you again?), so I wasn’t too terribly upset to skip that. But it was weird. Everyone was just so hyper-conscious about it.
The food was delicious, of course. When we’re in Iran, we stay in my grandmother’s old apartment, across from my aunt, and my aunt is such a wonderful cook. I was so happy to see my cousins, even though I had to fight my droopy jet lag eyes to stay awake. We had cake and sang and celebrated all of the February birthdays in the family. I taught the colors, in English, to my cousin’s two year old using the party balloons. It was a sweet night. But underneath everything, you could tell how tired everyone was. Things aren’t easy in Iran right now. I don’t know if they ever have been. I think they kind of put on a show for us when we come so that we will want to visit more often. But we know.
The next two days were kind of rough just trying to adjust to the time change. Iran is on the other side of the world from California and the time difference is like eleven and a half hours. We didn’t get out of the house much. My dad and sister went hiking one morning. That afternoon we went dress shopping with one of my cousins so she could get a dress to wear to the wedding. We had dinner at a couple of my other cousins’ homes. Once we adjusted to the time a little better, my sister and I were looking forward to spending every minute out and about with our cousins.
We came home from dinner at my cousin’s home in Lavasan one night and were hanging out in the living room. The phone rang. My dad took it in the kitchen. A minute later he came out and turned on the news. Reports of the coronavirus were growing and the country was getting ready to take action. The health minister (who tested positive for coronavirus two days later) was on the news telling everyone not to panic. Universities and schools were already closing. There were rumors that the airlines would shut down and that foreign travelers would be quarantined. I brushed it off as an overreaction as I sat with my cousin on the couch looking through Pinterest for wedding hair and makeup inspiration. My parents sat silently, gazing in rapt attention at the tv screen. The last dregs of jet lag melted over me and I went to bed.
“Girls…”
I woke to my mom tapping lightly on the door to the room I was sharing with my sister. I groggily opened my eyes. The room was still dark.
She started abruptly:
“We have to leave tonight.”
I couldn’t hear anything she said after that. I felt like I’d been plunged under water.
The rest of the day passed too quickly. A couple of my cousins came by. We had lunch together and sat and talked for a little bit. Mostly about the virus and the affect it was having on everything. I couldn’t say anything. I was sure that if I opened my mouth the dam would break and the tears would crash out of me.
I wasn’t ready to leave. My cousin’s wedding was supposed to be the next day. I had barely gotten to spend any time with my family. We had hardly left the house. I was devastated. We traveled to the literal other side of the world and we were going to have to turn around before the jet lag even wore off. Our long-awaited trip was being ripped away. All I had been looking forward to for months was laughing with my cousins, hugging my aunts, and watching my uncles’ faces light up as they animatedly told old stories. It’s not like they can visit us in the States. It’s not like I can get two weeks off work and hop on a plane whenever my heart desires. My heart was breaking thinking of the good times we wouldn’t be having together.
I didn’t have the fortune to grow up around either side of my family. We have lived far apart, relegated to short visits on holidays and over summer break. It is always such an incredible experience to go to Iran and sit in a room full to the brim with my family. My blood. There are quiet, serious conversations in the corners, where we shoulder one another’s pain and grieve one another’s sorrows. There are boisterous cousins that will jump up to lead everyone in a call-back song while my aunt drums out a beat on the bottom of a plastic bowl, everyone laughing and talking over the melody. There’s the way the room gets eerily silent after everyone has just gotten their dinner. My cousin’s sweet toddler that is so proud because she can count in Farsi AND in English, her little shrieks and giggles like confetti decorating the room. I recall, on a visit years ago, the way my heart felt like it was physically expanding when I looked around that room and realized I was surrounded by people who loved and accepted me without question or condition. I was lighter, and more grounded at the same time. I thought I might explode.
The trip home was not as easy as the trip there. We weren’t sure of what lay ahead of us. Would we be questioned? Tested? Quarantined? We had heard about thermal scanners to detect fevers and worried about my mom’s sinus cold. My uncle drove us to the airport and my cousin drove our bags in his car. We had waited too late to reserve a larger taxi. When he dropped us off, we couldn’t even hug each other goodbye. It was so odd to jokingly tap elbows with each other while also trying to hold back tears. Everyone in the airport had masks except for us. The workers in the security lines and at the ticket counter were more gruff than usual, the tension in the air like taut elastic. We waited in line for exit customs and cracked jokes in front of the poster of Soleimani, who glared back at us, unamused.
Instead of flying back through Turkey, we took a different airline into Doha, Qatar. Upon arrival, we had to go through security while leaving the gate and our newly purchased bottled water was swiftly confiscated as people cut the line front of us. The four of us sprinted down the terminal while I jokingly hummed the theme from Home Alone. You know that scene where they’re running through Chicago O’Hare all frazzled? We knew we were cutting it close, but the security line into the gate was still moving. New York, here we come! We slipped through security, feeling relieved to have made it in time. We stood in line to have our tickets checked to be let into the gate, and the woman at the desk looked up.
“Did you just come from Tehran? I’m sorry, but you need to go talk to my supervisor.”
We were ushered over to a group of people standing around a distinguished-looking gate agent. I recognized a few of them from our last flight. One woman was crying. The agent was trying to comfort the group, who were all asking question after question in broken English. My mind raced. Was it too late? Were we unable to go back to the states?
Apparently, our bags weren’t going to make it onto the flight, but because of the crowd, we weren’t able to get that information until we had also missed the flight. They sent us to the customer service desk where they informed us that the next flights wouldn’t be until morning— it was after midnight at this point. It was too late to send us to a hotel, but our flight, now to Dallas, wasn’t for six hours. They gave us food vouchers and we went to find somewhere to sit. We took turns sleeping and walking up and down the terminal. Gotta get your steps in no matter the time zone, right?
We rode the little monorail around the terminal a couple times and ate “breakfast” in the cafeteria. My family eats pretty healthy, usually. My dad is a prevention-focused doctor and we all are or have been some level of vegan, so our diets usually involve a lot of fresh produce. For the first time ever, my dad said, “Avoid the fruit and salads.” At this point, the nuances of coronavirus were still pretty unknown, and other easily spread diseases, like e-coli, flourish on uncooked foods like fresh fruit and veggies. So, in an effort to be safe, I had french fries for breakfast.
It finally came time for our flight and we got to the gate. At this point, we were all so loopy, my sister and I were playing on the moving sidewalks like kids. Not having had a proper night of sleep or a shower in a while, I remember very clearly feeling like stale bread. I looked at myself in the viewfinder of my vlog camera and it was…messy.
This was the long flight. it was a nice plane, full of people in masks and wearing gloves. I’m not sure how they planned to eat with their masks on, but I minded my own business. I watched every sad movie they had in the catalogue (what is wrong with me, really?). The food on this airline was pretty gross, but I ate it anyway. I always bring a lot of work to do when I travel, like vlogs to edit, posts to write, books I’ve been meaning to read, things like that, and I never end up doing any of them. I kind of slept and kind of watched movies and reapplied hand sanitizer and kind of stared off into space. Landing in Dallas was going to be the big one. Would the US quarantine us when Qatar hadn’t? Customs usually asked us a lot of questions coming back from Iran. What was the nature of your business and all that.
We landed in Dallas and rushed to customs because we had another close connection. The line was long. Lots of people were cutting. We were pushed through pretty quickly. When we got to the front, there was no interrogation. They barely looked at our passports. The only question asked was whether we’d been to China in the last fourteen days. Really? Okay.
By then, we were already pretty sure we were going to miss our flight, but we ran to the security line anyway. We got separated where they check your ID’s, but having seen the chaos ahead of us, we had already agreed to meet at the gate. I got through first, and saw my mom and sister were close behind, so I waited for them. I could see the number for our gate a couple hundred feet down the terminal. We looked for my dad, but couldn’t find him. I called him as we sped towards the Gate 34 sign, but he didn’t answer. Probably still in line. We got to the desk and the door was shut. The sign read “Boarding Closed”. The agent directed us to the customer service desk. My dad called back while we were at the desk and said he thought we went ahead of him so he got on the plane. He was on the plane. I sat on the floor and cried like a child. Does anyone else regress around their parents? Was it the fact that I hadn’t really slept in thirty hours? Or the fact that this was so ridiculous it couldn’t even be real? I don’t know, but I was overwhelmed.
The lady at the desk was so nice and helpful, even with me acting a fool and crying on her dirty floor. She booked us on the next possible flight to LAX two hours from then and we decided if we were going to be stuck that we would at least enjoy it. My sister and I thought it would be hilarious to find “Coronas”, like the beer, to drink while we waited. I don’t know why we thought it would be so funny, as Coronavirus had really just wrecked a whole bunch of stuff for us, but we did. So we walked down the terminal and asked at every restaurant we passed. The first place was out. The second place didn’t serve it. The third place said they were’t getting more until Tuesday. What day is it at this point? Not sure. But they had margaritas, so we settled.
The flight from Dallas to Los Angeles was quick and painless, other than the fact that I had only brought airpods and domestic airlines don’t pass out headphones, so no movies for me. What is four silent hours on an airplane at this point? A first-world problem and the closest thing to bliss, honestly.
We arrived at LAX and quickly found my dad at baggage claim. Our luggage had been trickling in on different flights since he’d arrived, with the last bags arriving with us. We eventually collected all but one. The carousel stopped. My bag didn’t come. My bag with my electric toothbrush, my hair straightener, all of my clothes, everything I needed to feel normal again after living in airports for two days. I couldn’t do anything but laugh. Because, really, what else did we expect? It made a lot of sense in my time-zone addled brain, that of course, my bag wouldn’t come. Luckily, right when we started to walk away, the carousel buzzed and starting moving again, spitting my suitcase out immediately. Relief washed over me.
We had officially made it back in one piece.
My family in Iran is all okay. They are bored stuck at home in quarantine, but everyone is healthy. My parents, sister, and I all self-quarantined at home for a bit and presented no covid-19 symptoms.
My cousin’s wedding was cancelled while we were in the air. She had to cancel the night before, but luckily, because of the way marriages work in Iran, she and her fiancé were able to quarantine together with her family. They will eventually be able to reschedule the wedding, but the odds of my family being able to attend again are slim to none. I am so heartbroken for her and how her special day was taken from her.
I know I am one of the luckiest people in the world right now. My family managed to get home and away from a country where, weeks later, the death toll is still rising and the overloaded healthcare system was questionable to begin with. We got home with absolutely no hassle other than some impossibly close flight connections. We got home healthy. We got home.
We got home.
Check out my daily vlogs from the trip:
