With the return of the TV series "Pan Am" on Sunday night, I recalled my layover in Iran.

Tehran was a destination that held mystery to me. Another stewardess was dating one of the princes and wanted me to meet him. The Shah had done wonders for this country and had given rights to repressed women. I wanted to see their struggles towards independence.





When we landed at Mehrabad airport, the Alborz Mountains loomed in the distance. Janice was my good friend who flew with me and on another trip to Tehran had met one of the sons of the Shah.

As we drove up to the Hilton Hotel which was situated on the slope of the Alborz Mountain, we passed the bazaar in the center of the city called Tupkhineh Square. The streets were not paved and mud was everywhere. It had snowed. When we got to the hotel, we had to be careful not to walk on the sidewalk, which also was not paved. Mud-filled potholes were everywhere. The Hilton was a lavish hotel despite the condition of the surroundings.

Janice and I roomed together. "I'll call the Prince and see if I can invite you to the palace."

I looked out the window at the snow-covered mountains and thought how much fun it would be to ski there.

"Janice, let's go skiing if we can't get to the palace. It's OK by me," I said as we unpacked for a one-day layover. "Or, you know, I wouldn't mind going to a museum. This is a truly revitalized country because of the Shah."

Janice hung up the phone and looked glum. "The palace secretary told me the Prince was out of town on business."

"So let's go to the Ethnological Museum. The hotel concierge recommended it. "

As dull as it sounded, it was an exhilarating experience. We took a taxi down from the mud covered mountainside and passed the bazaar. White tents covered foods, knickknacks, clothing, any ware that could be sold. Most of the women wore black veils though some did not. I tried to seek out these women without veils who were few, but had no success.

The Ethnological Museum was a dark, somber structure. Our English-speaking guide took us from room to room and ended in front of a giant painting of kneeling Persians draped in blood soaked white caftans. Their foreheads were dripping with blood. A man with a saber had cut each man's head.

"What is the painting about?" I asked our guide.

"This was an Islamic celebration we used to have once a year where men offered their heads to be cut by a saber. This ritual was considered an honor. We no longer have this celebration."

"When did it end?"' I asked thinking it must have been some 200 years ago.

"Ten years ago," the guide said with a smile in 1966. I frowned.

When the Ayatollah gained power over the Shah, I understood, because of the barbaric nature of Iranians.

A couple of years later I had the pleasure of skiing at St. Moritz while staying at the Palace Hotel, the most luxurious hotel in the Swiss Alps. One night with my new fiancé, the artist, Ron Mallory, we joined a gang of Italians at the discotheque in the King's Club in the Palace Hotel.

In the candlelight as I gazed across the cocktail table surrounded by Peppo Vanini who was the owner of the disco, and my fiancé, sat the Shah of Iran. The Bee Gees were singing when the Shah said to me, "Would you like to dance," I was flattered and so was my fiancé.

Because the Shah attended a Swiss Boarding School, he was refined and spoke with little accent. He was not tall, but was good looking, wore a dark suit and smelled of a fine cologne. On one of his fingers he wore a ring with a large diamond. He had a wonderfully full nose, while his hair had distinguished streaks of gray.

His eyebrows were thick and dark brown like his eyes. His skin was smooth. No way had he ever done dishes. His nails were manicured. We danced to the Bee Gees during which we had a chance to talk.

"Where do you live, Carole?" he asked.

"I'm a New Yorker, but I model in Paris from time to time."

"Have you been to Tehran?"

"Yes, not long ago. I flew there while I was a stewardess for Pan Am."

"Pan Am has layovers in Tehran. I have met many stewardesses who are well-educated and good company.

"Why thank you." I said, flattered that he was not a pretentious snob who looked down on stewardesses.

"My sons like to date Pan Am stewardesses."