Day 100 (Iran): Zanjan - Qazvin

daily distance: 121km
total distance: 6880km
riding time: 6h (and some bus time)

The strange world of Iran’s bureaucracy. In my - as it turns out - vain attempt to get my visa extended in Zanjan I set out to get to work on things. Two English students are helpful in trying to find out where to go. So I head to the first place which turns out to be the local passport office. That wasn’t the place to be. The people there are very helpful though. They make phone calls and when they write down the address in Farsi (which tells me exactly nothing) there is a lot of running around. Not sure what happened, but all of a sudden there is a taxi in which I am shuffled, the cab driver speeding off to I don’t know where - a very outlying part of town, that much I can say.

Once there, the officials look at me as if I had come out of a UFO. This is a big police complex of relatively recent origins (why are the ceilings so low then?) and I am handed from one person to the next until I arrive in one office. My showing of my passport brings astonishment into the guy’s face. He swiftly marches police officer # 6 who had brought me here and myself into another office. Three women are having their breakfast, one speaks some English. I try to explain what I am here for. Incomprehending stares. The usual questions - where are you from and so on. Take a look at my passport I am tempted to say. But I am very polite and say my thing. Nothing happens for 20 minutes. I am ready to bag it saying that it will be easier in Isfahan and I already see myself on a bus there at the beginning of next week. Then an elderly gentlemen enters the room and as it turns out he is from South Asia (all these strange references are to protect the people I am talking to, I do know his place of birth) and works in Zanjan (can’t really tell you what line of business he’s into). He translates everything and still we get nowhere. It seemed to me that there is a complete shunning of responsibility and he confirms as much, saying that the person in charge is not here (he himself had been ordered in to see him, it’s a man of course) and so nothing can be done. Ouch … The people are very nice and friendly and my partner in suffering confirms as much as well, saying that they are not encouraged, but rather discouraged from making any decisions. He also tells me that this whole complex has been put up just a year ago - moved away from the city and for him is a symbol of the secret police state that we are in.

I take a taxi back and go about a few more errands and eventually leave the city. It turns out to be one of those days on which biking is not meant to be for me. I stop to have lunch after an hour (only left the city at noon) and things are a bit better, though the wind is pretty powerful in my face. I reach Soltaniyeh and gawk at what is there.

Just after arriving I am approached by an elderly gentleman who turns out to be German. We chat a bit and I tell him about the plan to head to Tehran and Isfahan when he calls out someone. Andreas comes over and again by sheer coincidence I seem to meet someone who could be helping me a lot. First thing, I can leave the bike at their place in Tehran for some time, no problem. Wonderful. Problem solved.

I tell him about the visa issue and after a few phone calls it seems that I have a chance to get a workaround through his secretary and his company. They do this kind of thing all the time and his secretary thinks that it shouldn’t be a problem to get the visa. I have an appointment with her on Saturday (Friday is the day off here) and we will take it from there. It would save me a lot of time and hassle running back and forth from Tehran to Isfahan. Other things are in the making as well it seems and so things are looking a bit brighter. After a farewell I visit the site when the rain sets in. On my way to another little gem not far away I meet Andreas and the others again - and get to eat some of the homemade German bread and other goodies. Great stuff!!! Thanks so much.

On for more km …. until I can’t go any longer if I want to reach Qasvin that night. I have to take a bus. It was unrealistic to think that I would reach it to start with and so I am rather resigned to the thought of not biking the full distance. But because there is another chance in Qasvin to extend my visa and I couldn’t be there before the weekend here, I decide with a heavy heart to do the 60km by bus. I arrive when one is about to leave, the guy tries to screw me about the price - I hate that kind of stuff. All is well though in the end and I arrive in Qasvin only to have the feeling that I am screwed again in the hotel that I am staying. Described as a nice place (which it is) the people in the Hotel Iran are not overly forthcoming and in the end I resolutely carry the bike into the room instead of leaving it on the street. Needless to say that our relationship isn’t the best.

But the food here was amazing - no kebab tonight, but slowly simmered lamb over rice and barberies. Yummy … topped off with banana milk. Cannot complain.