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An
internet Cafe,
Fethiye, 04-04-07
Mountains and minarets
Muğla to Fethiye
(2 cycle days; 142 km; 1470 alti meters)
Köyceğiz (64km;445m) is our next
port of call. Again, the trip is tough, but we take
it easy: stop regularly to recuperate from the hill
climbing and take in water due to the gloriously warm
day. The views are rugged and natural and we are surprised
at the sheer ruralness of Turkey. Every little village
has several corner stores selling exactly the same thing
and a mosque. The shops are cheap but very limited.
Fresh fruit and vegetables are hard to come by, except
from local farmers on the side of the road or by asking
at restaurants. Alternatively, you'll never want for
bread in this country. It must produce millions of loaves
everyday and I wonder how they ever get to sell it all.
Maybe that's why the chickens appear so well looked
after. Teller machines dish out 50 lire notes that are
impossible to change. No-one ever has small cash and
the guesthouses constantly ask us if we can pay up front
for our room. They are not at all embarrassed to say
it is because they have no cash. The ready-money in
winter is virtually non-existent. But then again, if
I see how many men gamble on the horses, maybe this
could count for the cash-flow problem. Raki, in contrast
and surprisingly for a Muslim country, flows pretty
freely.
On the way to Köyceğiz, we
bump into a couple of Tasmanian guys, Jon and Sean,
on bikes going in the other direction. Checkout their
site: Cycopaths.
We chat briefly and then continue on our way. We arrive
at Tango
Pansiyon while the sun is still
shining brightly. Then the usual routine of unpacking,
showering and then venturing out; this time to discover
quite a beautiful township that obviously profits greatly
during peak season. Not so sure I'd like to be there
then. The Istanbul pide shop on a side street off the
main thoroughfare serves delicious food at unrecognisable
prices. Worth a visit.
Köyceğiz to Fethiye
(78km; 1025m) nearly kills me. It is such
a strange journey. At 11am we stop to eat by the road
sign that says 57km to Fethiye. Normally that would
take you a few hours. Today however, it's nearly double
that. We arrive five and a half hours later, both beat
after totally energy zapping climbing (me more so than
Ali of course). I'd actually want to pack it in after
50 or so kilometres but there is nothing here and we
don't have supplies for overnighting in the bush. Just
didn't expect the climbing to be so full-on. The last
hill, trying to find a guest house in Fethiye stops
me in my tracks. At least I know when to stop! Ali takes
over. There's no sign of life at Tan Pension, so we
opt for
Ideal Pension, which has a friendly and
most hospitable owner who is working hard to build his
reputation after one bad review in the Lonely Planet.
The views over the lake are magnificent from the roof-top
restaurant and we can appreciate the atmosphere that
would exist in this pension at the height of season.
We spend a day of rest and plan the
next journey. It has been decided that we will take
the inland route. Better camping opportunities and over
a 1300m pass. We'll take it easy and should be in Antalya
in approximately three days.
Sabah Pansyion
[website],
Antalya, 07-04-07
Take it easy, my eye! (I mean...ankle!)
Fethiye to Antalya (3
cycle days; 215 km; 2512 alti meters)
It is overcast and we ride through the
occasional sprinkling of rain. Left without breakfast
today, partly because the girl who serves it is so lethargic
that it takes her half an hour to put everything on
the table, which in our books is a waste of half an
hour and partly because it isn't a meal worth waiting
for anyway. The plan is to stop along the roadside somewhere.
We spy nothing under shelter, so opt for the old favourite:
the service station. They are all amazingly modern and
seem to be brand spanking new with restaurants, toilets
and mini-markets attached. Nearly all sell bread at
local prices. Petrol on the other hand is disproportionately
expensive (2.90 lira/ litre for unleaded 95). While
eating our monster bread loaf filled with cheese, tomato,
cucumber and mayonnaise, another cyclist pulls in. Nasir,
(I think he said his name was), is on his way back to
Istanbul, where he will have completed his cycle tour
around the Turkish border. From what we could understand,
it took him one month. His bike is built for racing
and there's minimal luggage, but that's still pretty
quick in anyone's book. And he's not the youngest of
men either. He points to his thighs and says "very
strong". I believe him, considering the terrain
we have encountered so far.
The day picks up and so do the inclines. At one stage
we stop for an orange, (nature's own heavenly designed
energy-thirst quencher) and look behind to see a sign
boasting 9km of 10 percent decline. No wonder I was
zapped. The rest of the day was climbing, sweating;
climbing, pushing my bike; climbing, waving back at
all the friendly motorists; climbing and some more sweating
as well as a lot of puffing until the 1300m point; which
Ali, myself and one determined ankle slowly manage to
push myself over at 16.14pm.
You don't have to worry about water in Turkey. There
are an abundance of stops along the roadside, generally
in the middle of nowhere, with fresh, clear, mountain
cold refreshment to fill your water bottles and thirsty
mouth with. Most of these concrete blocks either have
a prayer room upstairs or toilet facilities . Can't
comment on the cleanliness of the latter, seeing as
I haven't yet needed to venture inside one, but if the
level of hygiene is the same the rest of the public
facilities I've frequented, then it's a peg on your
nose while attempting the balancing squat without letting
your trousers touch anything. Good exercise for the
thigh muscles. As you would expect, you need to carry
your own toilet paper nearly everywhere with you in
Turkey.
From the top, we happily drop into the outstretched
farming fields below. We are chased by a herding dog,
who comes out of nowhere and whose owners sheepishly
hide behind the safety of the parked car until the kafuffle
is over. The animal is stunned immediately by our latest
and my most favourite purchase: the dog dazer. You still
have to stop, but after a few zaps, the dogs don't want
to get close to you and it gives you enough time for
the getaway. Fabulous addition to our kit but a word
of warning, doesn't work so well on old dogs. A few
kilometres on and we find a flat grassed area 100 metres
from the highway and pitch tent just before
Kinik (70km; 1489m) We are both impressed
with today's innings and appears my ankle is not going
to give up the ghost after all.
Next day is overcast again and remains so for most of
the day. From our map, we envisage much of a downhill
journey, apart from a 40-50m climb within the first
10km. Can't be too strenuous, but as most cyclists already
know, maps lie through their back passes and we have
to traverse a further 802m taking us to the unreferenced
height of 1607m. Minor detail to leave off a map. The
landscape makes up for the aching limbs and we are totally
stunned by the beauty and ruggedness of the country
in sight. Rock faces completely surrounds us: from blue
metal mounds and granite quarries to magnificent iron
coloured gorges rising high into the air. In contrast,
we find ourselves dropping suddenly into valleys of
luscious green crops back dropped by these barren protrusions.
We decide to pick up a few supplies in Korkuteli and
camp 10kms down the track, on a hill close to the highway
near Korkuteli (89km; 802m).
It's a little rocky to say the least, but we find a
small green patch perfectly created for the shape of
our tent. All the usual chores and then it's cold enough
for Ali to take refuge inside with me. Tent is zippered
and despite the busy road right next to our ears, we
sleep like logs.
Dust bunnies in view
We have surely got to go down today: Antalya is only
50kms away and we are still sitting on 1400 or so metres.
After a few hills, of no where near the intensity of
the previous days, we plummet elatedly down the mountain.
After stopping to buy a huge bag of fresh peanuts we
glide in past a monumental city entrance and into the
sprawling metropolis of Antalya. The mountains to the
right of us are as rugged from this angle as when we
were cycling through them and it is an awesome feeling
to look up at the same snow-peak viewed from our tent
the night before.
The city looks incredibly modern and
has a very relaxed atmosphere from the moment we begin
our descend towards the centre. A six laned highway
complete with bike-friendly shoulder and fairy floss
cart moving against traffic is separated by a well manicured
median strip. The road is super smooth and total bliss
after the poorly laid, gravel roller-coaster ride we
just left behind.
We find Kaleiçi, the old quarters of town, relatively
easy but the road works along the side streets prevent
us from riding directly to
Sabah
Pansyion. After a few detours, we make it to a sunny
guesthouse terrace just beckoning us to sit down and
drink a cold beer. There's a few tasks before this pleasure
though. Firstly, we are welcomed into a friendly family-run
pension, and lead upstairs to the cleanest, lightest
and airiest room we have had to date. It feels like
home and literally it is for us. So, while I scrub the
clothing clean and revamp our private bathroom into
a laundry, Ali goes on an adventure trying to find a
Sony Service Centre to clean the dust bunnies in our
camera. Yes again!! (for those of you who have followed
our story from woe to go.) There's a Sony shop close
at hand, which he first visits and who send him on to
a service centre in the neighbourhood. He couldn't find
it for love or money and after querying in several shops
he was still none the wiser. More directions asked and
he is ushered around by shopkeepers and receptionists
alike until he finally ends up in a real estate agent.
Here, they have the common sense to ring the business
he is looking for. A little while later, a young boy
turns up to usher him 10 minutes up the road to the
Sony Centre's new premises. (not on their web site yet)
They couldn't do anything to fix the camera and would
need to send it to their affiliate shop. We can come
back in two or three days. Ali doesn't like that plan
and decides to go himself. A taxi is called to send
him on the 10 lira ride. As we have heard numerous times
before from Sony Service Technicians and we have spoken
with quite a few, a new lens is diagnosed. According
to this technician they are burn spots, which is a total
load of polly-waffle and even if it was the case, a
replacement lens can't be arranged for at least 10 days
because it needs to be shipped from Belgium. The only
other option is to clean the lens which they offer to
do for 80 lira. Ali barters it down to 40 lira but forking
out any money still smarts since it is the second time
in 5 months. Ali sees no other choice at this point
in time. But let it be known that the 350 euro Sony
Cybershot has been the biggest disappointment of all
our purchases. It is clearly, not up to the hauls of
travel and the service centres are not well-versed on
the problems of dust-bunnies. An afternoon internetting
will bring them up to scratch on the topic not to mention
the moans and groans of digital camera owners right
across the globe. We simply can't afford the inconvenience
nor the cost of having this camera regularly cleaned.
By the time we get to Australia we will have bought
the camera all over again and the problem won't be rectified.
We are now on the lookout for a replacement camera and
it won't be a Sony.
The world is small after all
The next morning, we look out over the balcony and who
should be sitting there, eating their breakfast, but
John and Linda: a couple we met in Selçuk. Needless
to say, conversations started where they had previously
left off. It was great fun to meet up with them again
and share travel experiences and just get to know one
and other better. I'm pretty sure we'll all keep in
touch. They went out to Lara Beach for the day, while
we pottered around the town and researched which camera
we might like to buy and we now have our eyes on the
Olympus E-400. Any comments/reviews?
Lining the roadside, throughout Turkey, are restaurant
after restaurant selling gözleme. Get into a city
and this gourmet delight seems quite difficult to find.
It is basically a griddled pancake filled with anything
from spinach and feta to spicy aubergine and potato
and is not only absolutely delicious to eat but sheer
entertainment to watch being made. For the first time
in a tourist area, we found a small restaurant in the
back streets of the city. Made our day.
The System
Our bus tickets have been booked for the
following evening when we will travel on to Göreme.
A 12 hour ride and tickets cost 33 lire per person for
the bus company plus a back handed fiver per bike made
payable to the driver only. Can see it's going to be
fun from now on in. Visa's for Central Asia are already
beginning to dictate our travel plans for the next months
and the catch-22 of the whole system is a little frustrating.
I will try to make head and tail of it here:
In order to get into Turkmenistan (our first call after
Iran), you need your Uzbekistan visa, (second call after
Iran), This will not be issued without a letter of invitation
(LOI), which is easy enough to buy (30 euros each) from
a travel agent. The LOI must state your entry and exit
date into the country and takes 14 days to issue. We
only have 30 days in Iran and once across the border
will need to get to Tehran (900kms) within a certain
period so that we have enough time to apply for these
visas and get out of the country as well. We are now
in Antalya and have to envisage when we'll be at the
Iranian border, assume that we will get a 5 day transit
visa for Turkmenistan and then it's then simple mathematics,
in order to give the exit and entry dates to the company
issuing our LOI. But basically we are sewn up for the
next two and half months. Travelling by bike makes it
rather difficult to say exactly where you are going
to be, so far in advance. Hope the deadlines don't become
too stressful, but we do foresee a bit of public transport
in there somewhere, unless of course the riding is easy.
Firouzeh
Hotel [website],
Tehran, 27-04-07
Off to a land of fairy chimneys.
Our bus trip to Göreme isn't that bad except for
the usual freaking out by the bus driver and steward
when we rock up with bikes and our 10 bags of luggage.
Most prominent during the hands in air discussion, that
lasts a lot longer than the packing process itself,
is the word "problemi", but we have heard
it enough times before and know that it's all part of
the procedure and the bikes and gear will eventually
make it onto the bus without jeopardizing anyone else's
luggage space and all will be honkey dory. It's just
getting to that final stage is usually a bit frustrating
and the Turkish way of doing things can be very pushy
and often appear quite rude.
The first stages of the journey are
pretty steep and the road in general is really bad,
even for a bus. Seems like the whole network of Turkish
roads are under construction. We go through the usual
routine. Water just out of the bus terminal, then tea
or coffee, followed by the traditional squirt of lemon
eau de cologne in the hands to freshen you up. The bus
aisle also gets several spouts of air freshener. Soon
after the movie starts. Dvd's are seldom seen in Turkey.
It's a world of vcd's over here, which means movies
are on two separated discs and that has one major drawback
in the bus travelling scene. After getting the gist
of a Turkish dubbed Hollywood block buster it reaches
the halfway point and stops; generally in the middle
of a sentence, not that that affects us too much. This
usually coincides nicely with the first pittstop. As
soon as everyone has had their cup of tea, paid the
man sitting in the little windowed box outside the toilet
block 50 kurus just for being there and then braved
the inside, it is back on the bus. First a head count
and then before you know it, the bus is rolling down
the road. While we anxiously await the second half of
the film, the smelly lemon stuff comes out again, and
then the lights go off. But this is because it's Turkish
bedtime and not setting the mood for the climax of the
movie. This is the second deprivation of this kind and
we are beginning to think that the bus companies have
shares in the video business. Nothing else to do but
fall asleep ourselves.
We wake the next morning, to an unanticipated
changeover of buses 13 km before the destination. The
new bus driver appears quite irritated by the interruption
to his usual routine and drives like a maniac through
the winding valley roads of Cappadocia, to make up for
lost time. Our thoughts are on the extraordinarily breathtaking
views. I don't think there's anything quite like this
anywhere else on our planet and we both can't wait to
do a bit of exploring around the area. We unload, make
our way up to Rock
Valley Pension and get attacked by a protective
mother of three young pups. Dazer does not work on her
at all. Either she is deaf as a doornail or the whole
mother thing has led her to believe she is invincible.
I'd bet on the latter personally and is probably another
shortcoming of the dazer. Needless to say, with snapping
teeth on your tail, we cautiously but quickly wheel
our bikes to the pension. The room is just amazing and
it's even got a bath! We decide to eat some breakfast
in the common room with almond blossom views of cave
homes. Then it's on the bikes and we tour around for
the best part of the morning and early afternoon. Everywhere
you look, there's a different and more spectacular shot
and one could go completely snap happy in a place like
this.
Back in our room, after the usual
dinner of pide and salad, which we are getting a little
bored with, we lie on the bed discussing the fact that
it's a bit early to go to sleep. Doesn't help any, because
within a few minutes we are well and truly in dreamland.
Both bus and bike trips have had their toll.
Following day starts with a deliciously
filling Turkish breakfast, followed by helping one of
the owners register Rock
Valley Pension on Tripadvisor.
We then catch a couple of local buses to one of the
underground cities in the region and although entry
is 10 lire, is definitely a must if you come to Cappadocia.
The labyrinth system, which dates back as far as 2000BC
is quite unique and Ali had a great time crawling into
every nook, cranny and accessible tunnel; light or no
light. I took it a bit easier than him, due to the uneven
ground and a still somewhat apprehensive ankle.
The wheels on the bus go
round and round, up and down, side to side and all over
the place really.
Our bus leaves for Van at 8pm and we get
to the bus station at 7.30. We have been told it is
a 13 hour trip in all, with a changeover and an hour
and half wait in Kayseri. This means we arrive at 9.00
the next morning and we plan to cycle on as far as we
can past Lake Van, camp somewhere for the night and
then continue on into Doğubayazıt the next day;
a total of 170 odd kilometres. The bus arrives at 8.20
something and the usual "problemi" can be
heard muttering from the stewards lips. The bikes fit
in ok though and we are off like a rocket to Kayseri;
70 kilometres up the road. It takes a good hour and
we go to pick up our tickets only to learn that the
trip to Van takes 14 hours. Our whole itinerary goes
out the window, as this means an arrival of 12.30pm
the next day. Still, there's not much we can do and
have to wait until tomorrow to see what the roads, weather
etc are like. We wait along with a few others until
almost 10.30pm for our bus at bay 16 as instructed,
but it doesn't arrive. An official looking man does
and beckons, "you, come". We are then ushered
across the bus station to the highway and have to board
an already packed bus from another company. The steward
this time is a pleasant older man, who picks up my bike
as though it weighs nothing. Everything is done with
haste though and you've got to be quick to make sure
all the luggage goes in. We get in and start our very
long journey at 10.40pm. Definitely too late for a film
tonight.
By the next morning, everyone that had been on the bus
prior to our boarding looks completely frazzled and
we wonder where the earth it had started from. Some
kind of hell journey through the whole country no doubt.
All the women and one very sick old man wearing a mask
have been throwing up the whole way and the atmosphere
is less than pleasant. Tension is released, after stopping
in a village for a breakfast of a couple of simit; tasty
oversized bagels with sesame seeds and a typical Turkish
in between snack or meal accompaniment. I had seen little
of the road during the night but had certainly felt
it. Ali said that in certain parts there wasn't a road
at all and apart from a couple of cities in the early
stages of the trip, the villages are badly bituminised
or cobbled and more akin to a mud bath. The bus swerves
from one side of the road to the other to avoid potholes
and the impression is, the east of Turkey is extremely
rural. Houses and lifestyle match equally. That is except
for the sky dishes on the most rickety of homes and
the latest fandangle mobile telephone hanging from the
ear of the humblest of characters.
Bus Relay to Doğubayazıt
We make it to Tatvan and the bus does a u-turn which
causes us a bit of confusion. Isn't Van is the other
way? It dawns on Ali, who has been following the journey
closely on his photocopied map, that we are going to
Ercis first; a complete circumnavigation of Lake Van.
Ercis is closer to Doğubayazıt than Van and
we can save a lot of time by getting off there. Not
to mention all the rain we've encountered, the amount
of snow on our trail and that Ali discovered a 2600m
pass on the way. The steward seems to think we can continue
on further with the ticket we've got, but he must have
been agreeing to something else, because when we disembark,
unload all the gear, beat off the crowds of curious
locals and proceed with trying to find a bus to Doğubayazıt,
we meet with some unwelcome information. After initially
thinking our ticket is interchangeable and our bikes
are stuffed into the front seat of a minibus, we discover
that one: we can't use the same ticket, two: we not
only have to pay for ourselves but double for the bikes,
three: the minibus only goes as far as Çaldiran
and four: we would then need to get out and find a second
minibus to Doğubayazıt and pay a further 40
lira. We decide we have no other option than to pay
up and see what time we arrive in Çaldiran. There,
we can decide if we either bus it or try and bike it
up the rest of the pass and onto our destination. The
whole ordeal was not particularly pleasant though: the
scene reminds me of the Monty Python skit with the philosophers
on a football pitch minus the funny bit: this time it
is a load of Kurdish men in a parking bay. They seem
to wander around forming little discussion groups, then
breaking off and joining up somewhere else. Everyone
is talking really loud, throwing arms about and know
what is going on except Ali and I.
It is well after 12:30pm when we arrive. As we take
the bikes out of their snug positions and are discussing
whether we could ride 70km in total and up the 600m
climb left of the mountain, it begins to hail. That
does it! No hesitations: bus it is, but we swear solemnly
that this is the last time, if we can possibly help
it. The minibus driver must know the roads pretty well
for the speed that he travels and in hindsight we are
definitely glad we opted for the easy way out. There's
metres of snow everywhere and during our high speed
journey, it begins to add more to the roadside piles.
The pass doesn't seem too steep, but then again, it
never does from the comfort of a vehicle seat. Checkpoint
at close proximity to Iraq is conducted by very stern
and tough looking military boys carrying guns almost
as big as themselves.
Doğubayazıt is so very far from modern: cobbled
roads full of mud, donkeys and carts, sheep herded through
town, machinery and tractors all over the place, and
many children begging for money. But on the other hand
Doğubayazıt has some spectacular views; Mount
Ararat, though shrouded in clouds for our complete stay
and the mountains on the other side that lead up to
Ishak Paşa. It can also boast the greatest number
of internet cafes that we have ever seen in any town,
village or small city for that matter. Another extreme,
though not what I would want to brag about is, if you
ever wanted to know what it's like to be in heavy military
terrain, then this is the place to be. Doesn't give
you much chance for holiday snaps though with all the
barbed wire fences.
We go with the guide books recommendation and get a
room at Tahran Hotel. The receptionist is very friendly
and speaks really good English which is a consolation,
because the room, while bare minimum stuff and not so
clean sheets, has one of the grottiest bathrooms to
date. Doesn't matter too much though, it's only for
a couple of days and we have a lot of things to do.
The best thought is surprising Simon and Pierre-Yves,
as we are one day earlier than expected. We have a lot
of fun playing pool, eating and chatting, not to mention
chinking glasses of raki for the last time together.
We say goodbye to the boys for the second time and will
either meet up on the road in Iran or in Tehran itself.
There's a couple of days to get everything done: clothes
shopping for baggy trousers (can't help singing the
Madness song here), baggy shirt for me along with a
few head scarves. We also get new chains fitted on the
bikes for a total of 14 lire, which will teach us a
very good lesson: always try the bike out after someone
else has worked on it. On our last day we climb to Ishak
Paşa, which was exhilarating. The castle itself
is worth a visit but not anywhere near as stunning as
the gospel guide book says. On the way up we stopped
at a newly opened campsite: Lalezar, when we learned
that the part owner was a Dutchman. We enjoyed a couple
of cups of tea with Bertil Sanders, while it lightly
rained. On the way down, we met Jason, a fellow Ozzie
traveller who's been on the road for two years or so.
We stopped yet again at the campsite, this time with
the three of us, to enjoy a raki and some traditional
Kurdish music by the other part owner Meçit Taurikulu.
We depart to do some internetting, eat and then off
to bed. An early start is on the cards.
Pars
Online [website],
Tehran, 06-05-07
Bad luck comes in threes, so they say...
Day One: Not what
you'd call a flying start.
The morning comes soon enough and we are out the door
just before the banks open at 9.30am. We want to change
some money but a small tip is don't try and use banks
in Turkey on a Monday morning. You'll end up waiting
in a very long queue. We take our chances at the border.
Now the part comes where I was telling you about checking
your bikes after having someone else work on them. So,
we can only blame ourselves when we discover that the
chains aren't the right ones. Any pressure and they
just slip. There's another bike shop on the way out
of town and we stop to see if they have the correct
chains. Of course they don't. We still have two chains
which we brought with us from Holland and just end up
swapping these over. The bike shop owner helps us even
though he doesn't have a chain tool. As we take off,
the chains still slip a bit and we put it down to travelling
too long without changing them in the first place and
back cassette probably needs replacing now as well.
Chains also seem too long, so we make a second stop
to remove a few links, a few kilometres or so down the
road, at a petrol station.
The night before we had noticed that one of our ocky
straps was missing as well as 2 mini-discs. I was certain
that we had all these items when we first took the room
at Tahran Hotel but after turning the place upside down,
we still couldn't find them. Now, at the petrol station
I try to find the Victorinox tool and realise that this
is also not in our luggage. A little suspect like the
door handle on our hotel room door. We borrow something
from the owner and to add to the fun start of the day
it begins to snow. And not just a little either: a full
on storm that lasts about 45 minutes. We are calmed
a little by the copious cups of tea given to us by the
guy who runs the place, which are later released at
random intervals on the stretch of land between the
petrol station and the border crossing.
Our journey finally begins around 12.30pm.
Roads are slushy and we have all our wet weather gear
on. It's cold as well. Luckily a wind in the back sends
us flying towards the border and makes up for a little
of the time lost. So, on this occasion, we have to say
goodbye to a lot of things. Simit and crusty, fresh
bread, eating karsali pide while looking at one of the
uncountable versions of Atatürks noble portrait,
sweet aniseed flavoured raki and the Renault 12. I'm
sure there'll still be chickens on highway median strips
and cows grazing by petrol stations and of course plenty
of goats, sheep and donkeys dotted along the countryside.
Not quite sure what else to expect though. The media
and Turkish folk would have us believe only bad things,
but somehow we have a little more faith than that.
Our
(cycling) trip through Turkey: Click HERE to view larger
map and more details
Apart from me having to throw on a
head scarf (easier said than done on a bicycle) and
cover my arse with a long shirt, the formalities are
just the same as anywhere else in the world. Po-faced
officials that get a kick out of looking at documents
as though there is something amiss, but that's about
as bad as it gets. At the last post, the customs officer,
more warmly than his position requires, welcomes us
to Iran. Pity that the cold south easterly wind had
other ideas: tried to blow us back the way we came for
a few kilometres before dying down and allowing the
sun to warm us back up. Immediately, the surroundings
give off a completely different vibe and apart from
the obvious differences in landscape, housing style,
over-abundance of Paykan vehicles and language, it's
hard to put a finger on what exactly has changed.
We stop for supplies in Maku but are
unable to find any bread. Looks like tomorrow's breakfast
will be our favourite: chocolate rice pudding, overnight
soaked dried apricots and biscuits; the latter, like
in Turkey, are in plentiful supply here. The bread buying
thing proves a problem for the first few days, until
it becomes apparent that you just need to be observant
to detect a bakery. The obvious sign is an informal
gathering of both men and women by an inconspicuous
glass window somewhere in the village. They don't gather
communally in public for any other reason, except on
the roadside to hail down a taxi or bus. Quite often
the shop is off the main road or tucked away in a corner
somewhere, so keep the eye's open. The other tactic
is, of course, to ask for "nun" at any shop
or restaurant. You will most likely get some of their
own supply, which they buy in more than adequate amounts,
so don't think you are taking their last morsels. It's
either that or you'll be escorted to the local bread
shop. In the bigger towns you can usually suffice with
flat bread found in small local stores. Don't expect
to see chain-supermarkets here because they just don't
exist. And just like the good 'ol days, you'll need
to visit a couple of shops to purchase all your needs.
Besides the little township of Maku,
it's rural everywhere you look. (Doğubayazıt
to near Marganlar: 106km; 275m). Camping
along the roadside is easy and no-one bothers you. In
fact, we have never felt safer. Herders even respect
your privacy and steer the sheep and goats amply around
the tent, giving a friendly wave as they do. Days are
much longer now: starts light at around 5am (not that
we are up then) and is dark by 7.30pm. Gives you time
to cycle a decent amount of kilometres and the chance
to get the evening meal ready without draining the battery
power; which is working a treat. Higher sun for longer
periods and the battery is fully charged each day. Complete
turnabout from our previous months. Still bitterly cold
at night, though at 1300m or so it is expected.
Day Two: Not a tree nor shop in sight.
After a few hours of treeless craggy rock-face scenery,
reminiscent of the Greek landscape around Tripoli and
absolutely no shops anywhere, we stop for a break. A
curious herder comes over and shakes Aaldrik's hand
and offers to slaughter a sheep for us. Not quite sure
what he thinks we'll do with it: throw the poor beast
over the back of the bike and let the blood drain out
along our route? Ali, of course, politely refuses and
the herder continues on his merry way. We do as well,
though I'm suffocating a bit going up the hills in the
warm sun, with a scarf wrapped around my throat.
The night before we left Doğubayazıt,
the well known tour guide, Memhet, warned us not to
stay in or near a town called Evoghli. According to
him, they all smoke opium there, but seeing as it is
literally the only township we see after 60 odd kilometres
that might possibly have a shop, we take the turn off
anyway. They all seem pretty alert and an old lady opens
her shop especially for us. Unfortunately, she has little
on offer, but we buy two fruit juices and a couple of
chocolate bars for her troubles. Cost the grand sum
total of 3000 rials (25 euro cents). The men appeared
to be speaking Kurdish so we ask for "ekmek"
(bread) and before we know it a scooter has pulled up
and we are offered an excessively large plastic bag
filled with several kilograms of bread tied in cloth.
We motion that carrying this will somewhat overload
the bike but they are insistent: it's either the whole
bag or nothing. The fact that they want nothing in return
does register as a little over generous, but we are
pretty hungry and the extra weight seems a small price
to pay. We stock up on bottled water at the entrance
to the town and a bit further down the road, rest in
a farmers field. Here, we learn exactly why the bread
was given to us for free: it's stale condition was more
suitable for a local chicken pen. We ditch the lot except
one piece that seems edible but in hindsight this was
not such a clever idea: the cramps and bowel movements
a few hours later are not at all pleasant.
We pass so many small mud house villages
with no apparent amenities what so ever and we wonder
if the whole of Iran will be like this. To be on the
safe side, we decide to stock up for a few days at the
next available place. However, this place doesn't come
before we need to find a spot to pitch the tent for
the night. (near Marganlar to near Koshksaray:
99km; 717m) Before cooking, Ali gives
the gas burner a long overdue clean but it decides to
play up after this. The next morning it won't ignite
at all and having a cup of coffee is looking ominous.
By the time Ali has pulled the thing apart and put it
back together for the umpteenth time, I abandon initial
cooking plans and get on with making a salad for breakfast.
It is actually pretty delicious and an optimistic donkey
thinks so too as he tries his luck by wandering as close
to the tent as possible to watch us eat. His owner leads
the herd of sheep and goats with a wide birth around
the tent while we pack-up. Instead of the early start
envisaged we leave at 9.40am.
Day Three: Climb against
the wind
It's a slow climb the whole day and especially when
side winds pick up to gale force after Marand. I find
it exhausting trying to keep my bike on the road and
stop regularly, which irritates Ali no end. Admittedly,
we have only done 23kms since starting off and it is
already 11.30 but the pressure of the two 100 kilometre
rides the days before, the slight incline, the incessant
wind and my still not yet strengthened ankle is a bit
too much. I strap the latter with a second bandage and
continue on. So does the climb and we refuge halfway
up at a petrol station, where we are refreshed by a
couple of warm cups of tea. They only sell diesel, so
a truckie kindly fills our petrol bottle from his own
supply. It costs us nothing and just to put it into
perspective: a litre of petrol in Iran is 6.4 euro cents.
(yes...that is a point between the 6 and the 4).
We both really battle the next 3 kilometres,
and as close to one and other as possible which almost
results in a few near collisions with ourselves. Another
stop and we shove down some flatbread and Nutella: great
cyclists food indeed! Another couple of kilometres and
what seems like forever, we make it to the top. The
reward is a downhill ride into Sofiyan: a quaint city
centre with all the mod-cons. Tabriz is only 30 kilometres
further on and we opt for continuing. While riding into
town and having to fight our way through the sea of
Paykan cars and motorcycles, it begins to rain quite
heavily. Just our luck that it couldn't hold off a half
an hour or so, but it isn't half as bad as having to
cycle a further 6 or 7 kilometres of congested peak
hour traffic before finding a hotel for the night. (near
Koshksaray to Tabriz: 99km; 887m)
We settle for Hotel Djahan Nama along
the main strip. It's being done up and stinks of paint
but it's not too bad for Iranian standards: a toilet
that pongs, tell-tale black hairs in the bed confirming
that the sheets haven't been washed, pillows made of
stone and a central heating system that comes on at
the weirdest of times. On the plus side though, it is
a majestic old building with high arches and ceilings,
ornate cornicing, and marble everywhere. The owner is
a friendly old man and the room rate is a steal at 90,000
rials/ night (€ 1 = 12,500 Rial). Another
bonus is they serve a really great traditional breakfast
of flatbread, feta cheese (that beats any feta we've
ever tasted), butter, honey and a bottomless teapot
for 1 Khomeini (=10,000 Rial) per person (about 80 euro
cents).
Like all good things, bad
luck comes to an end too.
The legs are tired and we spend a rest day in Tabriz,
sleeping in, eating, wandering around the bazaar, buying
some supplies and visiting the atmospheric Modern Tabriz
Restaurant a few doors up from our hotel. We thought
we'd try our luck here the first night in Tabriz. Before
we'd even got a foot in the door we are told "sit",
which we do of course. The coloured fluorescent lighting
and decor reminds you of a Chinese restaurant and a
couple of almost comical waiters in creme silk waistcoats
fuss around the table. The place gets quite busy, mostly
with families. Without even saying anything, a large
bowl of soup, flatbread, onions, gherkins, salad and
either fanta or coke appear just seconds after sitting.
A yellow clipboard with the menu for every type of kebab
possible promptly follows. Luckily for us, we can stick
with the vegetarian soup, even order a second one plus
a plate of rice and fries. We finish off with a refreshing
cup of tea. In total it's a ridiculous 40,000 rials.
The next day is Friday: the first day
of the weekend in Iran and not every shop is closed
as some guidebooks would have you believe. While riding
out along the highway, it's almost continuous waving
on our part and we accept drinks and numerous other
goodies out of car windows. We now know what it feels
like to be the queen and a participant in the Tour de
France simultaneously. Today we collect an unbelievable
amount of presents: 4 cans of juice, 4 chocolate bars,
a packet of biscuits, two large handfuls of toffee,
2 mandarins and 2 apples and it paints a completely
different picture of Iranian people and life here. Being
the weekend, the roads are full of family packed vehicles
driving to their favourite picnic or camping spot or
just out seeing the sights. The family unit appears
to be very important in Iranian culture.
All the goodies came in handy today
as it's yet another slow climb; not too difficult to
reach the 2111m pass but still we are wondering if we
will ever go down. Tonight we camp at 1722m (Tabriz
to near Qarah Chaman: 92km; 945m); our
highest ever camping altitude. The surrounding views
of green and brown earthed mountains with silky sunlit
snow-caps are absolutely stunning although the sides
of the road look like recent landfill areas in sections.
Highways are heavily patrolled by police. Mostly for
document checks and speeding controls. Not much chance
of drink driving here, which is a consolation for cyclists
and especially after the notorious Turkey truckies.
We get stopped at nearly every point, more out of curiousity
and a chance to practise their English than anything
else. Only one check point actually wants to see our
passports and then I have to make photos of the two
coppers with Aaldrik and his bike.
Downhill all the way.
Finally it's the roll downhill that we've been waiting
for and if it hadn't been for the two broken spokes
(one each), we would have made a record trip. Adding
to the effortless journey is a slight tailwind, which
allows us plenty of time to gaze around. The countryside
is just amazing: rocky, lots of very fast moving water
from the mountains, rickety old bridges, smiling faces
and big hellos and welcomes. Genuine hospitality. The
image the rest of the world has of this country is so
completely wrong. We have never felt more at home, safe
and welcome anywhere else. We still haven't bumped into
the two French boys and it is now unlikely. They are
probably already in Tehran seeing as they are planning
to catch the train from somewhere close to Zanjan and
they left two days before us. Our campsite tonight is
an unused farmers field next to the railway line.
(near Qarah Chaman to near Rajein: 112km; 143m)
We stop around 5pm and still have a good few hours to
sit outside the tent, devour a bag of the ever so addictive
salt-roasted sunflower seeds, watch swallows dance above
our heads and wind down to a mountain sunset.
Start as early as possible for the
ride into Zanjan today, though no matter how hard we
try, the early morning routine always takes around two
hours. Nonetheless, we are on the bikes just after 8.30am
with beautiful clear blue skies ahead, a moderate sun
above and a cool breeze tickling our backs. Landscape
is quite different today: fields being irrigated heavily
by the abundance of mountain water followed by quite
a bit of rock mining. We reach Zanjan at around 15.30,
pick up supplies and then head out of town to an orchestra
of beeps and hellos. The highway is very busy but that
still doesn't stop people from slowing down by the side
of us to pass out chocolate bars and drinks or just
simply find out where we come from, where we are going
and to welcome us warmly to Iran. Even those with limited
English still manage to hang their heads out of the
window and scream "Hello, I love you". We
are stopped by a couple just out of the town and offered
to spend the night with them but we have our hearts
set on arriving in Tehran in four days time and it would
mean going back a number of kilometres. The woman, who
does all the talking in English, wishes us well for
the rest of the journey and pleads that we tell everyone
that Iran is a beautiful place and that the Iranian
people are not bad. Without a word of a lie we can and
we will do.
We stop by an orchard just on the outskirts
of town, (near Rajein to outside Zanjan:
116km; 686m) and I'm glad because any
longer and I'd need an operation to prise the bike seat
from my bum. The trip was quite long today: nearly 7
hours in the saddle and one buckled link in my chain
to repair. Our chosen spot is close to the highway and
a little noisy but we still manage to get a well earned
rest.
Recommend the train.
The road from Zanjan to Tehran is long, straight, flat
and boring, not to mention incredibly busy and windy.
The landscape is just as dull. We take the old highway
but notice that there is more traffic where we are,
than on the brand spanking new asphalt laid a kilometre
to the side of us. Adding to our concentrated efforts,
it's in poor condition and with a severe lack of bitumised
shoulder so, we often have to ride on the loose gravelled
and potholed sides, which slows us down and makes for
a bumpy ride. Trucks rule the roost and when no traffic
is coming from the opposite direction, they use the
road as a dual and even triple carriageway, regardless
of whether we are on the road or not. Keeps us on our
toes springing from road to uneven shoulder continuously.
I keep thinking about Pierre-Yves and Simon, sitting
comfortably in an air-conditioned train and secretly
wish that we had done the same.
Soltaniyeh is 5 kilometres from the
highway and we decide to add some sight seeing to the
day's journey and turn off. The famous brick dome is
okay but scaffolded completely inside which kills the
atmosphere. The rooftop views are pretty alright though.
Thank goodness for the numerous townships along the
way, which help break up the monotonous ride. There's
very little ground suitable for camping and we resort
to asking a vineyard farmer if we can pitch on his land.
(Zanjan to after Abhar: 102km; 181m) I'm
not sure if he exactly knew what he was saying yes to
but he didn't bother us once we were set up, so I guess
it was okay.
Today, we stop outside Takestan University for a mid-morning
breather and watch the students arrive by bus, car and
taxi from all four corners. There is an overwhelming
majority of male students and except for the two audacious
guys who later followed us up the road for a chat, they
are not what you'd call fashionably dressed. The girls
don mostly jeans, manteau and head scarf with overly
coiffured hair poking out at the front. Maybe 30% have
the traditional black cloak and are conservatively covered.
A few push the boundaries with jeans a little above
the ankles, sleeves at just over three-quarter length
and maneaux that leave little of their owner's body-shape
to the imagination.
Our destination is Qazvin (73km; 108m),
a town whispered about for its large homosexual population.
We are very curious to see if the rumours are true.
They definitely are and it is oh so obvious with the
male occupants. It's a little hard to tell with women
heavily cloaked and only showing a moon shape for the
face. It does seem a little weird having these two extremes
walking down the same street though. But what I found
extremely double-standard was the fact that I was more
of a spectacle in my blue scarf and oversized white
shirt than the two guys playfully bouncing down the
street, handcuffed together. Still, besides the very
atmospheric bazaar, it is a bit of entertainment in
an otherwise not so interesting city.
After a few attempts and finally getting a hand-drawn
map from a not so attentive hotel receptionist, we found
an internet cafe. The "@" symbol and the ADSL
letters were the only give away that up the two flights
of stairs, we'd find a small "cafenet" (the
term used in Iran). Our LOI for Uzbekistan has come
through, though scanned in incorrectly and it takes
a bit of time in Photoshop to get the pixel ratio correct
before being able to print it off on a A4 page. Times
like these and I'm glad I studied Art. The guys at Qazvinit.com
were extremely patient and helpful and they gave us
the internet time and printing for free, along with
warm wishes for the rest of our travels.
The day before we enter Tehran and
we want to go as far as feasible, making the following
day's trip into the city as short as possible. Again
the journey is nothing out of the ordinary except for
the numerous breaks to talk with people stopping their
cars on the side of the road especially to chat with
us, invite us back for tea or lunch, or give us something.
Anyway, after a good innings, a rapidly moving black
sky and what seems like the beginning of another built
up area, we find a long enough field that we can venture
half a kilometre into; well away from the highway and
out of view of passing traffic. (Qazvin
to near Kamal Shahr: 86km; 237m) We are
just in time because just after setting up, it begins
to bucket down along with thunder, lightning and strong
wind. It let's up enough for us to cook an evening meal
and then continues practically the whole evening and
early morning.
Not as bad as we thought.
A curious herder comes by the tent as we are packing
the next day and just sits and watches us for 10 minutes
or so before moving his herd on. After about twenty
minutes we hit Karaj: a very busy and modern city town
with congested morning traffic and little or no signposting
(except to the freeway). We end up on the wrong road
but only detours us 10 kilometres or so. The road is
in pretty good nick and with a tailwind pushing us all
the way to Tehran we breeze in quite easily. (near
Kamal Shahr to Tehran: 84km; 268m) We
had been really apprehensive about this trip, especially
after hearing all the horror stories from other bike
travellers. The highway is definitely busy and we find
travelling along the middle section and not the service
road much easier than dodging the buses, taxis, motorcycles
and pedestrians. We make it into the centre near Imam
Khomeini Square and where all the hotels are situated
by mid afternoon. We are not quite sure where Hotel
Khazar Sea is and stop to ask. A very friendly but a
little pushy local, who conveniently speaks fluent German,
decides it is his duty to take us under his wing and
to find our hotel. The hotel has a good vibe, simple
rooms, share toilets and showers. It is the bare minimum
but at 80,000 rial (approx 6 euros) for us both per
night you could hardly expect more.
The French guys are not far away and
we spend the rest of the afternoon and night exchanging
experiences and stories of the past two weeks of travel.
We all agree that it's fantastic to travel by bike and
camp in Iran. Ali and I are also pleased to hear that
falafel shops are rampant in Tehran. Although the hygiene
levels of these take-away leaves a bit to be desired,
we have finally found a fast food item that a vegetarian
can eat! One falafel and a small bottle of drink costs
about 40 euro cents. Can't complain about that now can
you?
Tomorrow will be Friday and a day off
for most Iranians, although some shops are open in the
morning through to early afternoon. Bakeries are open
every morning. If you are contemplating riding into
Tehran then the best day would be a Friday. The traffic
is at an absolute minimum. Late Thursday afternoon is
also an option as most people have already left work
for the day. After the weekend, we will be occupying
ourselves with the quest of obtaining our Uzbekistan
and Turkmenistan visas: a task not at all clear nor
standard for everyone. We meet Niall, another cyclist
going the same route at Firouzeh
Hotel a bit of a travellers hangout for drinking
tea and generally chatting, even if you are not staying
there. We team up to tackle the Uzbek Embassy on Sunday
morning.
The joys of obtaining visas.
The stories and what you need are so varied, that we
go with just about every document we have on us, only
to find all we need is two passport photographs, our
Letter of Invitation number, and our passports. To our
amazement, they even fill in the application form for
us and all we have to do is sign both pages, pay 30,000
Rials admin costs and the 75 US dollars visa fee each.
Niall, an Irish citizen, has to pay 93 US for his visa.
How or why remains a mystery to us all. Still, everything
is conveniently processed the same day and for that
we are most grateful. It comes as a complete surprise,
because when we rocked up at well before opening time,
a queue of travel agents with wads of passports had
already formed and the system: being write your name
in turn on a piece of paper that they tuck above the
door bell seemed a little dubious. Niall believes it
to be rather forward moving in comparison with earlier
experiences. We took his word for it and went off to
find a coffee (harder than you think in Iran) and when
we returned the white piece of paper had made its way
inside the building. A step in the right direction,
we all agreed. We waited a good two hours in total,
before being summoned, to queue again in the stairwell
next to a tiny sliding window in the wall.
With the visa well and truly stamped
in our passports, we decide to try our luck with getting
the application forms from the Turkmenistan Embassy
even though it is closed to the public in the afternoon.
After a speedy taxi ride through back streets and alleyways,
I have completely lost all sense of direction. We are
not ripped off this time and we give the driver an extra
5000 Rial for his excellent car manoeuvring skills.
A bit of negotiating on Niall's behalf and one application
form is passed out through a wooden window and with
the instructions to photocopy it ourselves. Fine by
us, and we leave with a "job well done" feeling
and going on today's procedures, a sense of security
that tomorrow, everything will be processed and we can
start to think about moving on.
We decide to leave early and armed with the filled in
application form, pass photo, copy of our passport,
Iranian and Uzbek visas, all in triplicate, we ring
the bell at the appropriate outside window. Niall goes
first and is given a glue stick to paste his photos
on the application form. He then discovers that he only
needs to give two copies of his passport and two copies
of the Uzbek visa. The news that the visa will take
7-10 days follows and totally puts a spanner in all
our plans. We plead with the official to try and speed
things up for us and explain that we are cyclists and
need time to first ride to the border (at least 1000kms
away). He promises to do what he can and we take his
name and number to call back in two days time (Wednesday).
We leave rather deflated and the decision to treat ourselves
to a restaurant meal is easy. Niall suggests a vegetarian
place run by the Iranian Artists' Forum in the park
near the US Den of Espionage (former US Embassy
at Taleghani Metro Station). The food is great and inexpensive.
Service could be improved though. Back in our hotel
room that evening we work out that even in the most
optimistic of circumstances, we will now need to train
it across most of Iran. Not at all what we had in mind
and a dead pity that we can't experience more of what
this country has to offer.
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