Category — Iran

daily distance: 114km
total distance: 7304km
riding time: 5-6h

A sort of good night with a bit too much snoring halfway through. The kind of snoring which makes you want to go over to the guy and pinch him or hold his nose shut or something. Pretty atrocious, you see. Kind of tired when we got out of bed at 6am and after some more bumbling around I left at just before 7am for the roughly 50km to Amol.  

The downhill was still exhilerating and all along you can see the construction crews in the various stages of building the new highway. Pretty impressive stuff. The driving was not as horrible as yesterday at this early hour of Friday and so it was easy coasting for the most part.

These pictures show how the scenery changed quite a bit over the course of an hour. From rocky and very sharp-edged rock formations to gently rolling and very wooded territory with rice paddies dotted throughout the ever-wider valley. When I wanted to take a break, something happened on the bike. I could hear a sound as I was biking away from a beautiful spot where I had intended to spend a few minutes, but was approached by an older gentleman. It was slighly uphill to get back on the street and I put a bit of force on the pedals and somehow during that pushing I heard a knack, but couldn’t really place it. I just felt some slippage every now and again.

It took a while to figure out. I couldn’t see anything on the rear derailleur, neither on the front one. The chainrings were fine, so were the cogs in the back. I checked the chain, but couldn’t see anything either. So I got myself into Amol, knowing that something was up and that I had to do something about it. The slippage was tiny, but noticable every so often. Not the kind of thing you want to bike to China with, not even from Iran.

Spent three cool hours in a blazingly-fast internet connection in which it was unnecessary to go through any hoops to access the flickr site (damn the providers in Tehran) and then moved on.

More slippage when I continued. Had to take another look and then I saw it. In one of the chain links, the one where I put the chain together in Ankara, one of the two plates had been bent and thus the pin was no longer where it should be. That was no good news as I either had to shorten the chain by two links or try to put the link back the way it belonged. Easier said than done. I moved into the shade, getting things ready when a couple of guys approached me. Not the moment to do that I thought, but it turned out to be a good thing. One of them owned a hardware store (well, calling it a hole in the wall, the hole being taken up by tools is a better description) and so we went across the square. There was no way to bend the thing back into place, but one of the three wanted to give it a go. Knowing that he wouldn’t be able to get the pin back into place I let him go ahead. He of course pushed the pin out entirely, then tried to replace it with a sawed-off drill bit. That was a no-go. Shortening the chain was an alternative, but Dieter from Speedzone had insisted that I take a chain lock with me and so we just replaced the missing link with the chain lock … works like a charm and should hold up alright. If worse comes to worse, I am carrying an extra chain. In the meantime, the guys had pretty much brought out half the tools in the shop, not worrying about anything getting dirty, had also seen to it that I was fed (one of them brought some chicken, rice and drinks over) and in the end gave me an adjustable wrench and a hat because they thought I might need it. Not sure how they got the idea, but hey. Thanks a bunch for helping out guys.

Here is to the Germans among you and the debate about abolishing this sign in Germany. Not that anyone here really cares about street signs …

I was heading out again in the afternoon heat. It is muggy here … and hot. A not-so-pretty combination and in contrast to the other areas of Iran you just don’t dry up ever. My shirt is covered in sweat basically all day long, which makes for some icky riding.

I found some nice spot at night time to pitch my tent, cooked up some pasta and had some more cookies for diner, replenishing the lost energy. And slumbered off into a very peaceful night.

daily distance: 142km
total distance: 7190km
riding time: 9h

This was it … heading out of Tehran. Got out later than I wanted to due to some more backing up and giving DVDs to Isabelle who also left that night for Germany. But the streets were rather empty when I hit the road just before 7am.

Made some good progress up the wrong valley and had to come back down the mountain (a 10km detour) only to hit a very busy highway. Mohsen had warned me about going up there on a weekend, but I was itching to leave Tehran ASAP.

Nasty traffic and lots of uphills made for some grueling riding over demanding terrain. A couple of walkers hit me with the flag that they carried - without intending to do so of course, but it was a close call. Heavy traffic continued all the way up the mountain, which was at about 2900m (my starting point was roughly 1500m, the total for the day was 1999m in altitude). A good workout especially given the wonderful stale air in the tunnel just before the top. Crazy Tehran driving coupled with a bad road and no visibility. But the scenery outside of the tunnel was stunning, switchbacks making for some good fun.

At the top I was welcomed by a very touristic mosque (for the Iranian tourists) and a guy giving me an apple as well as cooler temperatures. Good stuff overall. After changing into a long shirt (shorts were on as I felt rebellious and had been reasurred it would not be a problem) I made for the downhill. Not much in terms of high speeds though. The wind was straight from the front, making for slow and frustrating progress at first. Then Mount Damarvand appears with its head covered in the clouds. Still an impressive sight, the clouds brooding and giving the whole scene a gloomy feel.

Further downhills were interrupted by tunnels with no oxygen it felt (I am thankful for not having to go up there) and drivers who have no problem overtaking in tunnels amidst heavy traffic. Craziness. One guy flags me down, gives me a banana and we talk for a while.

Then it was time to find a place to camp. But there was either police, too many people or flooded access roads in the narrow valley to get to the places that I wanted to go. Or the owner of one place warns me of wild boars roaming the area. It took a while and a lot of laughter to get that one across, covering pretty much every conceivable animal.

I end up with some construction workers he tells me to go and they welcome me with open arms. What a difference to the comforts of Northern Tehran.They set me up with tea and a shower and a place to stay. It was great fun and it made for some interesting observations. 

Seniority is clearly observed here … the tea drinking goes by age I am pretty sure as there are only four cups. So I thought I would stay there when all of a sudden they talk about a restaurant. Hm … not sure what was going on. Off we go and one of the guys says to take the bike along. We left it there only for me to discover that I am brought to the actual construction site where I was to sleep in a real bed as they refused my sleeping on the floor in one of the rooms with which I would have been fine. So back to get the bike (the two places are one km apart). We cook dinner, have some good conversations (more than I thought we could do) about their work and the working times (no break during the summer really, they work seven days a week far from home) and despite some heavy snoring I crash pretty quickly.

Another trek to the embassy of Turkmenistan. This time they were open and this time the consular official knew my name and said only: “Your passport.” Good stuff … that meant that the application had been approved. I filled out the forms and did the usual paperwork. It asked for a local address too and I have really no idea and no intention of releasing that information either. What to do? “Where are you staying?” “With friends.” “Friends!” “Yes, friends.” He rolls his eyes. “Just put down a hotel name, that’s fine.”

With that done, I thought it was over. I handed over my money, but only heard: “Problem, Mr.” What??? Alright, I had seen some markings on the bills and had heard about this. But try to find clean US$ bills here. The argument that I got this money from the Uzbek embassy (weak I know, but I was hoping for some Central Asian solidarity here - I should have known that Uzbekistan doesn’t get that) was met with an incredulous: “Uzbekistan! This is the embassy of Turkmenistan.” Yes, no kidding, I know. I have been here four times now. At any rate, we agree that I can scour the city for real money until 4pm when I am supposed to pick up the visa anyway. Luckily one of the dreaded tourist agency guys comes around the corner and I ask him with the help of the consul whether he’s got the goods. He does. One of his bills is also unacceptable to the consul, but that is no problem. Mr. Tourist Agency has more. He exchanges some of my bills and asks for a Iranian money for the rest. A fair deal in the end, saving me a lot of time.

I meet up with Maryam from a few days ago again and together we walk through the city and also take a last crack at getting nylock nuts or loctite. While waiting for her I snap this one, a good indication that foreigners get away with so much more than Iranians.

We pass a bike store and got a good lead. That lead sounded promising, but was the epitome of what makes things difficult here. The place was full of great bikes, but none of the people there had any idea about bikes. Brandspanking expensive bikes galore, but all they could say was that I should bring my bike here so that they knew what I needed. I showed them the threading on one of their bikes - for a couple of people this was the first time that they even saw the threading in the frame. But in the end, despite many promises and a great deal of patience on the part of Maryam (who now is an expert on nylock nuts and loctite I am sure), we left empty-handed. It was worth a try. Will have a few of them sent to Tashkent, need to pick up some documents there anyway.

The visa pick up was a no-brainer. I got the visa, have five days within a six-day period to enter and leave the country and better be out before the five days are up. The consul was nice and friendly, wished me good luck and I was off to get back home.

No more fashion police at Tajrish, which I take to be a good thing. I had planned to take some more pictures at some distance to let you see how this works here, but for better or worse, that didn’t happen. But just as in Qazvin, colored chicks are in high demand here.

As my time in Tehran is now coming to an end, a big massive thank you to Isabelle and Andrea for putting up with me for so long. I had hoped to be out sooner and not the same morning that Isabelle is leaving Tehran as well while also managing a great number of other things. Life would have been a lot more complicated without them. Thank you, thank you, thank you is all I can say.

Another trip to the embassy of Turkmenistan … another disappointment. It was ominous when the larger stack of papers didn’t contain my file and so the consular staff said something along the lines of: “It is not here yet, come back tomorrow.” I didn’t want to show any emotions, but couldn’t help but let the disappointment show. This the guy took as an affront and so I had to listen to the it takes one week I told you so speech. Thanks! He is a nice guy though, unlike other people …

Not much else to report … saw a good number of Afghans and Central Asians working construction (no rights and bad treatment and of course, cheaper than Iranian labor from what I hear) …

and tried to wash the disappointment down with a good banana milk shake.

I pottered to the Turkmenistan embassy trying to see whether I was maybe a bit lucky this time and get the visa a day before I was told to come back. No such luck really. The embassy was closed. No reason given. Just come back tomorrow. I wasn’t the only one who didn’t like it … but what can you do. Banging on the door or something like this … and the chances of my visa being approved would have dropped to zero.

I had contacted another couchsurfer from Tehran and the two of us met up and had another one of those conversations that make this trip so special. Just before meeting her however, I was reminded that I was not in a free society. As I was walking along Tajrish Square in the heart of Northern Tehran, I saw the fashion police in action. This sort of funny term has a different sound here. This is serious. The setup is always the same. Two police cars, one Benz and one van (and I should point out that sometimes things are not what they seem).

Two men and two women - all of which are police. The women are of course wearing the full gear and are - at least not to me - identifiable as police personnel. They are however. And they stop every woman that they consider to be dressed inappropriately. I meant to take pictures of this, but was too chicken to do so. I should have really. It is an intimidating sight and no fun for those concerned. The first woman that I saw had to defend herself heavily in order not to be taken into the van. What happens is not quite clear. There are different warning levels, but ultimately you can be imprisoned. It was clear that the woman was wearing heavy makeup and the scarf didn’t really cover her hair much and hence she was in a difficult situation. The second time the police women were approaching a mother with her child who had no idea what was going on. I also saw no real reason for the woman to be approached, she was dressed like everyone else up here. Quite liberally, but like everyone else. She was ordered to do this and that and in the end one of the police women was tugging here and there. The little kid looked bewildered. I moved towards them and couldn’t help but sing a song in my head when I passed - along the lines of: “Keep on fighting.” It wasn’t long ago when these things didn’t happen in this part of the city. Today, the police was out in full force to enforce these rules. I saw no less than 6 such convoys around two adjacent squares.

Shortly thereafter a young man playing an instrument was picked up by the police and I wished I had taped his music before the police came. It would have been an interesting sight to see whether they would have picked him up with a foreigner being there. Doesn’t seem like it is standard procedure. Not that it would have helped the poor guy any in the long run …

The couchsurfing friend: her name is Hamraz and is quite fitting I would say given the openness with which we talked. It means person with whom you share a secret. We toured a bit around Northern Tehran and had a great time visiting, but by far the best part were the topics we covered throughout the day. Covering politics, society and everything else imaginable, I learned a great deal yet again. And had a great companion, so thank you very much. A word about the usage of Northern Tehran. To me the place is an island in a sea called Iran. I don’t claim to have any real idea about the country (and a cab driver pointed out that it would take years at any rate), but Northern Tehran is a different place. It is the upscale part of Iran, you can see the money in a great many ways. It is also an influential part, yet at the same time people here are most liberal. None of this makes a great deal of sense maybe and at some point I will try to put these thoughts together in a more coherent fashion.

We had lunch at some fancy pizza place and I couldn’t help but notice some of the descriptions on the menu. Check it out by clicking on the picture and choosing a larger size.