Pedaling from the Black Forest to the Yellow Sea

No biking today. Instead I was slated to go on a tour of Tabriz with one of the booksellers of the town. Naser was an excellent tour guide and is a great person. We first tried to get an extension for my measly 15 day visa. The tourist information guy was extremely helpful - spoke fluent German, English and Spanish and was pretty angry at the personnel at the Istanbul consulate for giving me only 15 instead of the usual 30 days. He wasn’t hopeful that I would get an extension because I had not spent enough time in Iran, which is apparently nine days. I was going to try anyway.

On to the foreigner police - what a surreal experience. Guy no. 1 was too high for me, so he called his subordinate. He was friendly and started out saying: “Fortunately for you Mr. you still have 9 days on your visa.” I nodded understanding. Alright, this might be difficult. So it went back and forth a bit. “Fortunately for you Mr.” was said about 10 times with a sardonic smile on the face. It was a bit frustrating. Nothing to be done. My questions about the next offices where I could apply wasn’t answered. He just said Tehran and Isfahan. My explanation that it might be difficult to reach any of those places within nine days did not faze him the slightest. Tehran is also not recommended as a place to apply for an extension. So this throws a monkey wrench into my plans a bit. Will have to adjust a bit I think. I asked again about other offices on the way. The guy tells me that he speaks German. Great. Wonderful. Could you answer my question? “Das Buchstabieren mancher Woerter ist eine schwere Aufgabe.” [Spelling some words is a difficult task]. Where in the world did that sentence come from? I nod politely, figuring that it might be best to appease the guy and maybe get something out of him anyway. No chance. In the end I insist on him writing down where to apply for the visa extension between Tabriz and Tehran and leave.

Naser and I spend the rest of the day touring the city, a bike store which could have been in Germany (meaning extremely expensive bikes, up to EUR 5000) the old bazaar which is fantastic and reminded me of the one in Istanbul. The conversations were absolutely great - it was a pleasure and I learned so much about a range of different things going on here. Hard to put into words.

We eventually go to Aydin’s workplace and head home afterwards. We see this …

We meet up again and have some drinks (meaning banana milk and blackberry juice) and after dinner with Aydin’s family eventually hit the sack. I feel well-fed and figure that this is probably the caloric intake I should be doing every day. But oh boy, what a night I had ahead of me …

daily distance: 86km
total distance: 6448km
riding time: 5h

I wanted to get to Tabriz before noon, figuring I would escape the heat. That didn’t work out really.

On the way to Marand, I saw some scary stuff too …

In Marand I wanted to check up on a couchsurfing host - but that came up empty. People were not there or had family members over. Bummer. But I got my first taste of government people relations in Iran. As I entered Marand, a young guy (I will not mention names here in Iran at the insistence of a number of people) was riding next to me and we started talking about this and that. He showed me the internet cafes, they were all closed, but in the end brought me to a friend of his who had a good connection. But the more important thing was the conversation we had … A caricaturist, he showed me some of the works he has done and some are politically inopportune I would think in Iran. I was treated to breakfast and we discussed a range of things and the topic inevitably turns to politics in some way or another. It was interesting suffice it to say.After leaving Marand, I was forced up another big climb (10km uphill) on what was supposed to a “downhill from Maku to Tabriz”. It became hot again and the wind was straight in my face on the last 40km to Tabriz. No fun really. Apart from the police car that shouted: “How are you? How are you?” at me. I was shot when I entered town. There was an ice cream place. Good stuff. Then all of a sudden one of the guys whips out a cycling shirt and leads me into the center of town. Well, he rides off and figures that I would follow him. Communication was hard, there was not common language really, but it was enough to determine that I was looking for a bookstore and the center of town generally speaking. He got me to some book vendors on the street and this is when things turned completely into the surreal.

As we were talking I asked for a place to buy a copy of a guidebook (sorry, all is closed on Friday) or an internet connection (sorry, those are closed too on Fridays). Darn. I said that it would be great to find one at any rate as I have to check on whether I can stay at someone’s place. At this point one of the guys says: “Are you a couchsurfer? Are you Markus?” I whip my head around and look at him. “Yes!” Well, then you’re staying at my place. I had no time to answer you yet, but you had emailed me about this.” It was a complete coincidence. And I am very fortunate to have made this connection. Aydin still had to work for an hour or so during which time I slurped down a few banana milk drinks and was invited to ice cream by a random person. As we trotted to Aydin’s place we were already in a deep conversation about everything Iranian, which was not only interesting but also eye-opening. At Aydin’s family’s place I was welcomed very warmly and made feel at home. There was great food (bikers are always hungry) and after some time we set out to explore some parts of Tabriz with A’s brother and a friend of his. More food was to follow later on - including Iranian pizza and more ice cream. The best part however is certainly the high degree of hospitality that I am enjoying and the glimpse into the life of people.

Thanks for writing in about the blackout during the Germany - Turkey game. I guess I was the only one here who got the break in Farsi then.

daily distance: 173km
total distance: 6362km
riding time: 8-9h

The story of the day is rather short - quite in contrast to the length of the riding time and distance. I started in Maku and continued down the valley trying to figure out more about what was around me. A different alphabet doesn’t make orientation easier and different transcribing on maps and street signs can be confusing. Translations can be fun though (it asks you to maintain a low speed) …

The day was hot and long. I hadn’t planned on riding for as long as I did, but the places inbetween were unappealing. The heat was oppressive but was long as I kept moving things were OK. The ride was supposed to be flat, but 800m altitude is anything but. It was varied though. Desert-like stretches were interspersed with places that were lush and green and much more pleasant to ride in. It was also good fun to just feel cold water over your body, especially given that I am riding in long pants, which makes things a bit less fun.

Towards the end of the day I tried finding a place and having covered 100 miles (162km), I was ready to bag it, but couldn’t find a place for a good long time. People I asked turned me away (most likely because I didn’t make myself clear I think) or there were too many people milling around. In one town I asked and after 20 minutes of discussion among the locals there was still no result. Plenty of great places abounded though and language wasn’t an issue. The first person spoke some English, but it seemed to me that his wife’s English was much better. She however didn’t intervene, but it was clear that the sporadic sentences her husband whipped out didn’t impress her. Another person came into the conversation and translated things, but that didn’t lead anywhere either.

In the end I moved on, about to bike into Marand and into the upcoming wind (very fierce now), but then an older man called me over and after a bit of back and forth we figured out what the deal was. He let me sleep under the roof of his garden hut and brought me a big bowl of apricots, was intensely curious as I cooked my pasta and despite the language barrier we had a good time. I was done though - the long day had definitely taken its toll on my body. From what I can tell, I downed 12 liters of fluids over the course of the day, which is a bit on the high side. Won’t do that any more.

There are good news on the donation side of things: as some of you remember, the delivery of some spare parts took a bit longer than anticipated. DPD has however agreed to donate EUR 500 in total. Thank you very much for this support!!!

daily distance: 59km
total distance: 6189km
riding time: 3-4h

It was a slow start into the day that was supposed to lead me to Iran … it did, no worries. I just knew that I wouldn’t have to cover a great distance as I was wanting to watch the football match between Germany and Turkey on the other side of the border with Iran - hence the goal for the day was the city of Maku and a hotel that had a TV.

As I was heading past Mt. Ararat to my left the wind was fiercely blowing into my face. Regardless of the way the valley turned, the wind was coming straight from the front. Seemed like it didn’t want me to go to Iran.

Once I got to the border I was surrounded by people who wanted to exchange money. Not knowing what a good exchange rate was I wasn’t going to go for it. It was a good thing as the price there would have been 30% less than later on in Iran. And what I don’t understand is how people are allowed to hassle you in the cordoned off area on the Turkish side. Nothing like it on the Iranian side.

Then things became interesting. I was practically through the Turkish control when I was held up. The bike seemed to cause an issue. Understand that I was about 5m (15ft) away from the border gate between the countries. It was literally within reach. The official told me that I was missing a plaque on my bike. This is at the end of the trip through Turkey. I tried to tell him as much. I am LEAVING the country and not entering. He wasn’t going to have any of it. I was sure that there was no requirement for a plaque and I certainly wasn’t going to get one here. Turns out that he was wrong and that it was a requirement for motorcycles and not for bicycles. I had told him as much, but he was chastised by this superior in the end for holding me up for 30 minutes. Strange feeling it was as I was leaving Turkey and going into a country that I didn’t really have much of an idea about. I always get a bit of a strange feeling entering a new country - one of anxiety and nervousness. But that is part of the fun I suppose.

Then, stepped over the line … and was in Iran. I was greeted by enormous placards depicting Khomeini and very courteously by an Iranian border guard and led into the control area. Looked like an airport terminal. Nice, sleek and modern. I had made sure that all the files were backed up and on a separate hard drive before entering. I shouldn’t have worried. Things were typed into a computer and then scrawled on a piece of paper, I was asked where I intended to leave the country - and that was that. Smiles from the border guards as they saw the bike and all of a sudden a person from the tourist organization - answering all sorts of questions and friendly as well. I was off after a bit of money changing and couldn’t help the gloat on my face as I was rolling down the hill into a new country. I was in Iran. Not that it looked much different. Mt. Ararat was still there and the road was the same as on the other side. Sure, women wear head scarves and it takes a bit to get used to it when you see it everywhere. And the driving is just as mad as it is in Eastern Turkey, but no real surprises there. The mosques also have a different look.

Then I rolled into Bazargan, the border town intending to change some money. That proved to be more difficult than I thought. I went to Melli Bank Iran (the National Bank of Iran), figuring that it would be a natural place to go. It wasn’t. I enter and no one pays attention to the foreigner. After a while I say something about exchanging money. The three people behind the counter stare at me like a ghost. And all of a sudden get into high gear. Things are moving fast. One guy discusses things with another, throws him his car keys. I understand nothing of course. Then in very broken English I am told that I should put the bike in the bank. What??? Yes, bike in the bank. This is Melli 4. We don’t exchange money. Melli 1, Melli 2 and Melli 3 do. But not Melli 4. So we drive off to a money exchange place and I get to change some Turkish Lira into Iranian Rial. Good stuff, thanks so much for taking care of this Mustafa. All the while, an Iranian soldier is standing next to my bike in the bank with his gun ready. I guess it is worth defending.Then I cover the next few km into Maku, which is located in a canyon - but not really attractive. I am shown to a couple of hotels by someone I meet on the street and book into a small and somewhat shabby room. It was cheap and the old adage holds true in Iran as well: you get what you pay for. Except in Maku you didn’t have much choice. I stroll through town, trying to get my handle on things in a new country, new money, new rules, new customs and that sort of thing. Female attire is of course different here, but you can see there is a rebellious streak in a lot of women as they defy the strict rules by wearing jeans, makeup and letting the head scarf slip back just so much more than would be “appropriate”.

I watched the football match with Albano, Alex and Nataly - Albano having cycled from Australia to Maku and now on the way back to Switzerland. It was great to exchange some information about our trips and Albano was kind enough to leave me his map as he was taking a bus to Southern Turkey with his friends the next day. Good luck with the remainder of the trip. Check out their site here. Needless to say I was the only one to be happy at the end of the night. The Swiss remain as neutral as ever. And the Iranians here are of Turkish ethnicity and were beholden to their brethren. In a hotel with 15 other people, I was in the clear minority, but it was good fun to watch the game, despite the rather substantial time difference. It was slightly annoying that the Iranian TV station actually cut out the really good scenes (meaning the last three goals), apparently claiming that it was a worldwide outage. People tell me that this is not true. At any rate, the Iranian TV station kept repeating scenes and we thought it was only a minute, but in the end we saw football pundits from Iran discussing the game instead of the actual match. Oh well …

daily distance: 82km
total distance: 6130km
riding time: 5h

Waking up early can be a real treat. Everything is still quiet and you can enjoy the surroundings. Such was the case. I had a melon that I ate for breakfast with some other goodies and set out to head towards Dogubayazit. It was described to me by one reader as the most dangerous part of the journey through Turkey. I wouldn’t subscribe to that view, but the day was eventful to say the least.

After a brief stop in Caldiran, the climb continued - first almost entirely flat only to become successively steeper towards the end.

This was also serious military land. There were more military vehicles on the road, tons of guard towers on my right (the border with Iran is only a few km away) and a checkpoint. Once I got past the guy that only wanted to chat me up out of boredom (they were building a guard house and had nothing to do with the actual check point) and because he could speak English (where are you going, why are you going, you are not going to Azerbaijan) and me trying to be polite but I eventually told him that I’d be happy to answer any question at the actual checkpoint 50m up. Once I got there I was barraged with questions in Turkish - I handed over my passport (apparently not fast enough as I got yelled at) and tried to answer as many as I could. After a bit more yelling (Markus, remain stoic) I was let go and moved further up the pass. The higher I got the more desolate the villages became.

This is the top of the pass … (I know this is nothing compared to Central Asia in terms of hight) after eating a bit something and enjoying the view I headed down again. This is where things went sour for me. Just after taking this picture I happened upon a goat herd with five or six herders. I was stopped because the animals were crossing the road. No problem. Then the second guy asks me for a cigarette (the oldest person, about 50-60 year old), I say I don’t have one. Then a kid basically yells in my face and I roll past him figuring that things are alright. I hear something behind me, turn around and see a herder’s stick flying towards me - the kid having thrown it. I bring the bike to a halt (don’t want the stick to fly in the spokes) and pick it up. I was ready to break it - I should say I was a bit fuming at this point, maybe understandably - when I see three young guys moving towards me. I just throw the stick away and roll down. I was disappointed and angry and didn’t understand what the !@#$ had happened.

Still fuming somewhat I cruised down the mountain when the headphones played a cover version of Bob Marley’s “One love”: let’s get together and feel alright. That helped somewhat as did the panorama when Mt. Ararat appeared right in front me (you can sort of make it out on the picture, the blob in the center). It was impressive …

Just as I snapped this one I got badgered by two more young guys throwing stones at me after I didn’t give them any cigarettes (they were like 8 years old). An elderly woman just looked on and when I told her that this is !@#$ she was rather non-plussed. Can’t get my head around this stuff. Are they getting off on this kind of stuff?

Sure enough, a few km down the hill - after many more smiling and waving kids - a girl waves at me only to have her younger brother spit at me. That was about all I needed. Of course you can’t figure out why they would do this. I am simply biking along and the owner of the hostel was just as much out of his depth. He said that they were - for some reason - extremely aggressive in these villages. But so many kids weren’t so openly hostile. It was just strange. More One Love goodness made things better again after more wind struggles I finally got to Dogubayazit.

The castle above the town is magnificent and having Mt. Ararat on the other side is a great feature. I hitched a ride to the castle filled with banter about the upcoming Turkey - Germany football game. There are lots more pictures on the flickr site.

Strange thing - though not unexpected: as I am heading to a different country again, I am warned that people are strange and can not be trusted. I heard that so many times before. I am not inclined to believe it this time either and must say that I am intensely curious about what lies ahead.

Ended the day over dinner with a Canadian traveler. Maybe I should try some of this stuff to give me more strength. It looks yummy …