Pedaling from the Black Forest to the Yellow Sea

It is Friday, meaning the city is empty. For the most part and as emtpy as Tehran can be. It is also the day that a parking garage in Tehran gets converted into a bazaar. It is not the grand bazaar (which is much, much bigger and pictures of which will appear in the not to distant future), but has become popular among parts of the population as there is no need to travel all the way to the real bazaar which can be a bit unwieldy in many ways. Isabelle and Andrea are about to leave Tehran for good (or maybe not, it’s a bit complicated), so the contingency planning involved a trip there and some potential last minute shopping. The place was a zoo, albeit an interesting one. Tons of second-hand ware and certainly for someone like me it was a place to refresh very old memories and look at things that my parents would have had when first putting together a household (or maybe their parents in the case of the sowing machine below). My apologies for the poor picture quality, it was a bit dark in the bazaar and I didn’t want to use the flash.

There were also beautiful pieces of cloth and of course carpets.

We ended up with loads of stuff … a big chest, some camel box covers, some cushions and lots of little things … but the best item I saw was this record player - check out the record on the left hand side (it is certainly not permitted here, but then again there is so much around that is prohibited).

Strange kind of situation when we arrived back home - the taxi driver was clearly overcharging and Isabelle insisted on a lower price at which point the taxi driver made to give the money back. Isabelle slipped past me into the entrance and the taxi driver was trying to push his way towards the door where I was standing. Slight standoff. He wanted to give the money back, feigning insult. Isabelle grabbed it then - me in the middle with the guy pushing me from behind. It is a rather clear rule that he can not enter a house or apartment and that this could spell big trouble for him. He did of course not want to give the money back. I had enough at one point and yelled at him, which didn’t help. I was loaded down and couldn’t really do much if I didn’t want to let him pass. He eventually relented. Never seen anything like this … and neither had Isabelle.In the afternoon I met up with another couchsurfer for another conversation which was ultimately too short as G. had to leave due to an emergency at home. Nevertheless, an interesting conversation ensued about life and society in Iran.

Another short day: I met Jan and Alex - it has been a while since we’ve been in touch. Well, we’ve been sending 19 emails back and forth to be exact. Gmail let’s you know as much. This is one of those stories. Antoinette, who spent some time at my place during her Europe bike ride last summer, at one point sends me an email saying that a couple who have spent time at her place are on their way around the globe by camper van. Sounds like a fantastic journey.

The two of them and I have been in touch for a while over email, but have so far been unable to meet up. Now, this is finally the day this was to happen. I meet them in the center of Tehran, but because Alex isn’t feeling well we resolve to meet again in a couple of days. It was good fun at any rate …

My search for Loctite has been unsuccessful … it doesn’t seem like it is something that anyone really knows. I talked to an engineer and he doesn’t know the stuff. I am sure that most cars contain Loctite in some way, shape or form, but that didn’t ring a bell either. I need it for holding a nut in place that keeps shaking loose and the search for nylock nuts (a special kind of nut preventing slippage of nuts from screws) proved equally fruitless. Oh well, there are other ways and means to fix the screw into place. The glue that people wanted to sell me instead isn’t one of them.

Quick update - went to the Turkmenistan embassy today and dropped off my application which I wasn’t able to do yesterday. It really was only handing over a copy of my passport and a copy of the Uzbek visa. Nothing else. I am hoping for seven days, but am expecting no more than five. Really, that was it for the day … internet, pool and much-needed downtime.

So, this is the day of … what now? The day of reckoning maybe, the day my trip will take a sharp turn (meaning going back to Azerbaijan and try my luck there) or the day I finally get my 30 day Uzbekistan visa. The way it should be - not difficult as the last week or so have been.

I head back for the fifth time - I should have been there no more than twice really. There is a long line of people in front of the consulate, so I sign up my name on the slip of paper that I know so well (this is all a self-made way of organizing things by the people waiting outside, the consulate staff couldn’t care less I feel). Then I just plunk myself down, doing the good old waiting game. Eventually I talk to a girl who is waiting in line behind me and we get into this conversation about the dating game in parts of Iran. Her case is interesting to say the least. She tells me about her suitor who happens to be German-Iranian. She was approached by family members and ultimately refused. Not really my idea of romance, but hey … She felt that she should get to know the person better and that it was difficult to do so over the web. No kidding. There was lots of talk about Germans and Germany with all the stereotypes you can imagine (funny stuff that I hear about the serious Germans who never smile and the like).

Then it’s my turn … I take those darn steps again. Nervousness galore. The nice secretary takes my passport, I am trying to stay out of view of the consul as long as I can. Don’t give him any ideas. This is of course silly. Then he yells my name. No happy thoughts on my end, but I just give a neutral “Yes”. Then he asks for $75 (the legit price) and asks for the entrance and exit dates. Punches everything into the computer and out comes my visa. The guy taking my money pulls out his calculator and hammers 100-75 in several times. Not sure how often you do this dude, but it is 25. He was getting on my nerves … the frayed nerves that is. Move things along. I just want my passport back so that the consul can’t do anything with it … I fear he will take it back and laugh a sardonic laugh … yes, strange visions.

I get my passport and have … no feelings. I am not elated, just sort of glad that things worked out in the end. Then it’s something between this gladness and a slight hint at “gotcha”, but that passes quickly.

I must move on to the Turkmen embassy, which is of course closed by now. Darn, losing yet another day. My Iranian visa days are running short sort of. I meet Bastien there again, he is ready to pick up his visa and will head out of Tehran to explore central Iran (a bit too hot he and I think).

Spend the rest of the day just laying low and not doing much. Internet (until the power goes down as it does so often here in the country - in some places with detailed schedules to conserve power; some say that it is because of lack of spare parts, some because of bad management, yet others are conspiracy buffs claiming that the government literally likes to keep people in the dark [and not only in this regard]), swimming pool, good food. Just trying to calm down … it’s so darn necessary.

Note: No pictures today - didn’t really feel like it and there wasn’t anything interesting to take pictures of. But as always, there are plenty of pictures on the flickr site.

And: Happy holiday to the French - this is a bit late as I am posting this, I know. But it’s the thought that counts (or something like that).

The night train should be that … you get to sleep. The guy in the bunk across from me didn’t think so. He wasn’t too happy that I almost fell asleep at 11:30pm last night (meaning the other passengers put their bunks down, too) and now woke up at 4 am to chat with one of them. That would have been fine, had it not been 2 ft from my ears. I tried to plead with him and said please at first. He just looked at me, said that I was crazy and continued on in his deep voice. Sure, I am crazy - I won’t object to this. After all the biking trip is a case in point. But when he talked for five more minutes I thought “OK … that was it”. We are still 4 hours away from Tehran and I want to sleep. We have a slight dispute and I try to convey to him that he should take a hike. He does eventually after two more people complain. Needless to say though I was the only one whose hands he didn’t shake when we all got off. I sort of feel bad about this, I don’t want to do any of this - but I really wanted to sleep. After all this not-so-fun-stuff going on with the consulate, I don’t need any of this. I am tired of fighting on these fronts.

I made my way back to the consulate. Had to change Euros into $ on the way, not sure whether was given fake bills or not. No matter or so I hope. When I arrive at the consulate I am nervous yet again, uncertain of what to expect. I slowly climb the stairs and the nice secretary raises her hands and says: “The consul is not here today, you have to come back tomorrow!” Ouch … he said Monday, now he’s not here and I continue to be in the limbo until tomorrow. No matter really … sure matter. It sucks. I just want to know. And again, I can do exactly nothing.

The saving grace are Isabelle and Andreas. They are super kind, invite me over and so I can hunker down for a few days until I have my visa situation sorted out. After a nap in the afternoon and some great food I am happy to slumber off somewhat more peacefully. There’ll be another day tomorrow.