Tag Archives: traffic

Day 290 – Princes of the Caspian Sea

the mountain wearing a veil

We were lucky: Despite the thunderstorm at night, our tents were dry by the time we got up. Again, we could hear the wolves howl at night but Flo said they must have gotten into a fight with the dogs as he heard some serious fighting noises. I am just thankful for my earplugs otherwise I might have lost A LOT of sleep…

Joris was all packed up by the time one single cloud dribbled rain drops on us but our tent was still standing. It wasn’t too bad though; we narrowly escaped the really bad weather. For now, the sun returned and we followed a road around the mountain for another 20km before getting back onto the main road.

Stop time is photo time!

Leaving our camping spot, we had to wait for a flock of sheep to get off the road which made for quite the picturesque scene.

Mountain roads in Iran are lovely but as soon as we got back onto the main road the traffic became horrific. Not dangerous or crazy just pulling-your-hair-out-in-despair congested. It was one single line of cars crawling up and down through the valleys with no end in sight. Since it was Thursday, I wondered if all these cars belong to Tehranis who escape to the Caspian Sea for the weekend. The riding wasn’t fun even if we made way better progress than any car as Joris and Flo were overtaking left and right. Behind us, dark, stormy clouds were gathering and thunder rolled over the valleys. Somehow, we managed to skirt the rain only ever getting slightly wet. So we kept going and going and going through bad traffic and chased by bad weather.

Time to say goodbye

Finally, we arrived in Muhammedin, the city where our paths would separate again. Flo sorted out the data code for his mobile phone so that we have mobile internet again and while waiting, Joris found a bakery where he bought lunch and we got doughnuts as snacks for the beach. Thus, a Transalp and an Africa Twin arrived at the shore of the Caspian Sea.

The Caspian Sea…the Lonely Planet already warns travellers that it is not pretty. Polluted by every country that borders it, an algae grows rapidly in it and it is close to extinction of the fish (and thus caviar) population. The reason why it is a popular spot for Iranis is because of all the lovely rain the shore gets; a fascination no European will ever share. With our treasures from the bakery, we sat down in a shoreside pavilion for a shared lunch. Then, it was time to say good bye. It was the first time we travelled together with a fellow overlander for a bit and we liked the experience. Plus, Joris is probably the most laid back traveller possible. 🙂 Looking forward to meeting up again at some point in Europe but for now: Safe travels, Joris!

Back on our own, we continued along the Caspian Sea. It is not pretty. Most of the time, the sea is completely hidden by the 1970s hotel complexes in rather poor repair. Between the hotels, you find all sorts of shops for brands like Levi’s or Hilfiger and we were not sure if those are copies or the real thing. After a while and some desperate searching we ended up at “KFC” for lunch. As one might expect, it was overpriced and not good. Continuing on our way, it drizzled on and off and the grey sky made us both really tired. However, we couldn’t find a hotel that looked inviting so we decided to try and camp. Since we had descended to the Caspian Sea, forests were the main feature of the landscape. With so many trees to hide behind, camping shouldn’t be a problem. We stocked up on food and started looking. Shouldn’t yes, but it was a problem; suddenly the density of population was overwhelming. Behind every hill was a village and on every slope was a house. After three serious tries with getting off the main road and trying to get into the no-mans-land, we gave up. By now, Masuleh was only 70km away. Masuleh is an ancient mountainside village that is known for its houses; it is so steep that the roofs of one row of houses work as footpaths for the next row up. Getting there would be a real push but camping was impossible here and we didn’t want to stay in a probably overpriced ugly hotel.

almost there, only 35 km to go

Once we left the city of Rasht behind us (which was annoying in the evening rush hour) and started to get into the mountains again, we both felt better. It was pretty here and we could probably find a camping spot if we had to. A lot of people were around, most of them having a picnic and all the restaurants had colourful light outside.

It didn’t get any emptier on the way up to Masuleh. First, we passed a “toll booth” which luckily, we didn’t have to pay, then we came across many tour buses all parked below the village. But the locals kept waving us on, further up into the village. Here, colourful decorations were put up in every street…so many indeed that I started to wonder if there was a festival going on. In one of the turns to go further up, a local stopped us and asked which hotel we wanted to go to. Hearing that we didn’t have a room yet, he got all business-like and dragged Flo off to show rooms and negotiate prices. I was quite happy guarding the bike as I was super tired by this point but people kept coming up to take pictures with me or have a chat. Just when Flo came back, I was standing in front of the bike with a baby on one arm and a little kid standing next to me. Unfortunately, WE don’t have the picture.

Got settled in just as the sun had set

Flo found a beautiful room with a balcony and a view of the village for 1 million rial. That is on the pricey side but by far not the most we have paid for rooms here. So I just said that we take it and we dumped all our things in it. It turned out that somehow we had rented the whole house as the owner gave us the key and told us to lock it when we go out and also at night.

It was just getting dark and also just started to rain so we put on our rain gear (first time for the hoods, yay!) to explore the village. It might be a village that lives off tourism and it might also be not authentic anymore but at night with all the lights on, it was a magical place. It felt a lot like wandering through a Christmas market. Everything looked pretty and inviting, bathed in light. After exploring multiple levels of the village, we sat down in a tea house to have a wonderful cup (or three) of hot tea with rock sugar. The perfect ending for a looooooooooooong day.

: The view south at first light

: the mountain wearing a veil

: Joris definitely fits a bike this size better than us

: Stop time is photo time!

: for now, we enjoyed it up here – down to the valley on the next road

: Serious clouds looming ahead

: Time to say goodbye

: Looks good, but no luck

: almost there, only 35 km to go

: woodlands all around remind us a lot of home (both of them)

: Got settled in just as the sun had set

: The whole house in the middle was ours

: all the cars below from all the weekend tourists

: The town has a little bit of a Rüdesheim tourist vibe going

: Lots of nick-knacks, but we liked it

: All in all, it had a very Christmas market feel

: This cute shop was only accessible via ladder

: Just browsing, not buying 🙂

: Tea and rock sugar to call it a day

Day 289 – The company you keep

Two motorbikes leaving the hotel in the morning

As it turned out, both Joris and we were ready to leave Tehran this morning. Both of us were annoyed by people trying to fleece us – which so far has pretty much only happened in Tehran to the level that does annoy. Finally, we both wanted to head north. What could speak against joining up for a wee while then?

Therefore, such we did. Joris had two more bits to sort on his way out. Going to the moneychanger, which happened to be on our agenda too, and checking back with the Turkmenistan Embassy about his visa. We tagged along, changed what we hope will be the last USD and agreed to meet up at the embassy once we had done our last bit of sightseeing. For me, the Azadi tower is an iconic image of Iran and I wanted to pay at least a brief visit.

Not as high as pictures make you think but still an iconic image of Tehran

Traffic was bad and got worse over time, but we would have made the 30 km trip in about an hour if I had not missed my exit on the motorway. The final 5 km detour took us another 30 to 40 minutes! Yet it turns out, that was still good progress. Trying to leave Tehran for Iran’s highest mountain Mt. Damavand, we got caught in a full on gridlock at one intersection. For once, the Iranian system of “just squeeze harder” collapsed on itself and we had front row seats at a 20 minute comedy show watching well-meaning guys trying to break the knot by convincing a single driver to maybe move back, say, 30 cm and let a car escape the knot. Instead, every hard fought gap was immediately filled by a new driver pushing into the madness and packing it ever tighter. Meanwhile. I imagine Iranians try to untangle a ball of yard in a similar way, by pulling at loose ends as hard as they might …

Finally! Onwards!

We eventually made it out and onto the highway. The urban sprawl got looser and we could get a bit of wind into our jackets. Lunch was pushed out when all of a sudden, Nina realised that she forgot something important. She should have called her mother for her birthday 15 minutes ago! So we stop in front of a bunch of little shops and try to get the call going. After some ten minutes of failed attempts, it became evident that we had just run out of data. I was able to top up the phone, but no one knew the codes for data packages so in the end we resigned and actually used the “phone” part of the phone to call. We may have placed less than ten traditional calls on the entire trip. 😉

Into Polour village for lunch but the mountain is already a beautiful backdrop

With catastrophe averted, we decided to push on for the final 30 km to Mt. Damavand for lunch. The sight of this free standing giant is quite the thing to behold. Unlike a lot of peaks, this one is visible from pretty much everywhere in the area.

No sooner had we picked a lunch spot, when we were hit once again with a lovely surprise. Helga came out of the restaurant next door, swiftly followed by Uli. They had stopped right there for lunch themselves and after a moment of jolly surprise and much hugging, we decided to join them at their place. Joris was sold the moment he learned that they serve fish. After weeks of Kebab, it is about the little things.

Lunch with Joris, Uli, Helga and us two. Everyone is eating fish except for me :S

We had met Helga and Uli back in Yazd, almost two weeks ago now. Over lunch we caught up with our respective progress, got Joris introduced and discussed plans from here on out. Uli recommended an alternative route along the valley, following the western edge up high rather than the main road in the valley below. This would also have plenty of camping spots. Given that Joris had dropped off his partner Noor at the airport in the middle of the night, he was keen for an early camp.

We said farewell after an expensive but excellent lunch, stocked up for dinner and breakfast and hit the mountain. The road was stunning, with constant views of the valley on one side and Mt. Damavand on the other. At one point, we passed the perfect camp spot. Unfortunately, after much deliberation and careful trying, we decided that there was no way we could safely get Rocinante and Joris’ Africa Twin over the steep ramp onto the plateau. What a shame …

Two bikes and a mountain

Not much later though, we followed a dirt road leading to a bunch of quarries. The rugged ground further up – volcanic ash and rock – did not provide any good spot to put our tents, but the uppermost quarry was nice and flat and looked pretty abandoned. A little while later, we were pretty glad about the decision. Storm clouds were drifting in and strong gusts of wind carried big clouds of volcanic ash with them. There was at least a bit of cover down in the pit.

We had dinner in the serene silence of the slopes of Mt. Damavand. When it looked like the rains would set in for the night, we packed everything up and had an early night. Once again, the distant howls of wolves were our lullaby.

: Two motorbikes leaving the hotel in the morning

: Fully packed on the way to Azadi tower

: Not as high as pictures make you think but still an iconic image of Tehran

: Looks pretty but we didn’t go. Too expensive with the uncertainty if there will be any views at all

: The gridlocked intersection stopped us for a while

: Finally! Onwards!

: Taking pictures of other riders while riding really is a thing

: A new quarter in the desert?

: Hoping for cooler weather higher up

: Into Polour village for lunch but the mountain is already a beautiful backdrop

: Lunch with Joris, Uli, Helga and us two. Everyone is eating fish except for me :S

: Towards Mt Damavand

: Tantalizing in the distance

: Looking around from the slopes of Mt Damavand

: The head was in the clouds. 5671 meters is pretty high

: Going up dirt tracks to look for a secluded spot

: Two bikes and a mountain

: The view was beautiful this high up but it was exposed…

: …so we just had a little break before going a bit down again

: Good company and a hot cup of tea 🙂

: Looking out for the dogs and rain

: The camp from above with rain coming over the mountain

Day 287 – Humps and bumps

Totally sealed, Garmin, totally sealed

It seemed we had managed to hit the perfect camp spot – not too hot, not too cold and undisturbed the whole night long. I felt really well rested getting up this morning. Besides, we had only a light day ahead, so what was there not to look forward to?

Maybe I should have been a bit more suspicious of the fact that the Garmin found a “third way” over the mountain that was neither on the Lonely Planet map nor on our Iran paper map. But it was set to avoid dirt roads, so clearly it knew something the others did not…?

The condition of the dirt road deteriorated quickly

Well, as it turns out it may have been that avoiding a 50 km “detour” back to pass number two overruled the no dirt rule. Or the open street map is a bit ahead of its time, since for the most part there were roadworks actually on the way to transform this into a proper sealed pass. For now, however, it was not. For about 60 km we had everything from a perfectly compacted gravel road to “this is a muddy riverbed at a 30° angle, if it rains now, we die”.

You can see our camp spot and the tunnel we came through

In all fairness, it was mostly good though. I mostly enjoyed the exercise, but I also could do without any more drama on this last leg of the trip. In the end, we made it and were rewarded with another set of fantastic view from up to 2400m back down to the valleys to the north.

Once on the other side, the motorway called and we got back into full cruise mode for a short hour to cover the last 120 km. Traffic truly got interesting once we got into greater Tehran, but nothing much surprising left to it. The Lonely Planet calls it “a Darwinian game of chicken”. There are still rules to it, though. They end up in a higher risk game than most sane people would engage in, but on the other hand, people get from A to B much quicker than they would in high survival rate countries under the same circumstances. I just go with the flow and compensate with better gear for the worst case, I guess.

Quite the shock to be on the motorway into Tehran

We had lunch in a hip cafe at the House of Arts – good burger and veggie pasta for once. A lovely place we probably like to come back to (the House of Arts, that is). For now though, we need to find a place to stay. Hotels are pretty expensive, so we settled on one place slightly too expensive, in the knowledge that A: There is not much else cheaper and B: we had saved some by camping the last few days.

When I parked the bike I saw another overlander bike from the Netherlands and back in the hotel found out that we were next door neighbors, so I knocked and introduced myself. Joris and his partner were busy for the day, but we agreed to catch up tomorrow.

That was pretty much our day, except for the one hour it took me to find some bread around here. The entire neighborhood – a full city block – is exclusively dedicated to selling auto parts. Not even a single little grocery shop anywhere among them for the most part. I did, however, get a replacement for the second screw that had vibrated off our windscreen in Iran.

: Good bye Alamut valley! You have been fantastic!

: Totally sealed, Garmin, totally sealed

: Climbing higher up…

: Last look back towards Alamut before riding through the tunnel

: Old-school: No lights and an uneven muddy ground

: Crossing over a bridge to get to the next mountain range

: The long and winding road

: The condition of the dirt road deteriorated quickly

: You can see our camp spot and the tunnel we came through

: See? Tunnel!

: It made for some great motorbike shots

: Quite the shock to be on the motorway into Tehran

Day 126 – Borobudur

“When you realize how perfect everything is, you will tilt your head back and laugh at the sky.” – Gautama Buddha as quoted in Civilization V Brave New World

Saying goodbye to Andy who hosted us for a couple of days. He even prepared lunch care packages for us today.

Before heading out, we had one last morning with Andy. He really pulled all the stops for us. Not least of all getting up with us at 7 in the morning. Staff in the cafe remarked on the fact that they have never seen him around this early. Once again, all we can give is our appreciation and gratitude for what he has done for us. We had breakfast together, got the bike out and loaded up. After we got one last of Andy’s treat for the road, all that was left was to say goodbye. It has been a great weekend, just what we needed and a pleasure to meet fine Andy again. Hugs and goodbye, back on the road.

All the routing tips from Andy were absolutely golden. The first one led us away from the truck laden main highway through the fresh green countryside towards our first goal of the day: Borobodur.

Stairs leading up to the platform on top

We were a bit apprehensive about going. The price tag is hefty on our new Indo adjusted budget and we had such a bad experience at the Mother Temple on Bali. But then again, it is on the cover of our Lonely planet, so what can you do? Overly prepared to be annoyed we actually ended up having a pretty good time. Yes, the hawkers were the worst in Java, but on the other hands there was almost no crowd. Borobudur is impressive for a 1200 year old structure, with great scenery to boot, but not on the level of the Vatican, Milford Sound or Uluru. I wanted to come here, if only to bag as many Civ wonders along the way as possible and we did not leave disappointed.

Right after the Temple, we stopped in a roadside warung to get some drinks to go with our treats from Andy. The panini with home made pesto were soooo good! We will miss Andy, but we will also miss his food 🙂

And, of course, along the coast

On we went, following the south coast to Cilacap. Once again, we have to thank Andy for the recommendation. The traffic was light. We passed over several hills and through beautifully green fields and were in Cilacap by 4 pm. For the first time in a long while, we had a bit of a challenge in finding a room for the night. The first hotel was out of our league, the second I turned down because of the horrible smell of cigarettes in the room. We ended up in a rather odd place in the end: The go-to business hotel for the local (state run) Pertamina refinery. The price fit though, and the next day we got the manager really excited when he realised that we were on a big touring bike, so all was well.

: Saying goodbye to Andy who hosted us for a couple of days. He even prepared lunch care packages for us today.

: No drones! After Australia and the drone at Uluru, it is a good reminder

: A guardian statue on the first aka ground level

: Stairs leading up to the platform on top

: One of the many Buddha statues

: Close-up of the faces of a relief

: Animal-themed…or as Flo said: “Look the pig is smelling the elephant’s butt!”

: A shot onto the rows of reliefs

: Flo studying some of the stonecuttings

: Lovely landscape all around

: The platform at the top

: Me in epic landscape

: Selfie at the top

: Flo reading a sign

: -.- …yes, that is exactly what I had in mind…

: Leaving Borobudur, we went through rice fields

: And, of course, along the coast

: Looking back towards Flo and the bike from the point where I had been taking pictures of the view…

Day 120 – Crashes

This could have been an uneventful day. Our only goal for today: Eat miles! With over 350 km to go till Solo, our next “want to see” item on the list, it was clear that we had to stop somewhere along the way, but no place was coming forward as a logical stopping point. All we did was set a route as far south as possible and got going. To force us south and avoid going through the busy and populated middle I set a waypoint on what I thought to be the last proper road somewhere half way between Malang and Pacitan.

This looks promising, and less traffic as well.

After a light breakfast we got on the road early and were in for the first section of pain. The urban traffic of Malang was exhaustingly slow going. I would not mind if there were a ring road or motorway around, but everyone has to go right through the heart of the city. Two hours later we had covered maybe 20 km.

From here on out it got better, but in no way enjoyable. It seems that every possible stretch of flat land on Java is one endless settled mess. Rubbish, vehicle, people all moving about each other. The roads are good but full. It was one long exercise in overtaking. Everything was made even harder by a bunch of the worst drivers in Indonesia to this point. In ascending order: slow cars – Mostly new ones, so I expect inexperienced drivers plus tiny 800cc engines. Black Mitsubishi pickups – The primary means of short range haulage, most drivers think they are the main character in Gone in 60 seconds. Plus, they constantly try to squeeze in with the bikes and block everything. But the crown of jerks must go to bus drivers – The number of times we have seen these 10t death wielders force others off the road in just three short days is shocking. They stop where they want, they go where they want and I am sure if they were allowed to mount crash bars they would start pushing the people in front out of their way.

3 more seconds. See the deep rut on the right?

It was on a more densely settled stretch that we witnessed our first accident. We heard it mostly. With the sound of a giant water bottle being crumpled, someone came off their scooter just behind us. We stopped to check a couple of meters down and saw the rider crumpled on the ground, but there were already a bunch of others on the case. Plus, people started looking at us. We were not directly involved, but maybe someone was distracted by us or something. We felt it prudent to leave to avoid getting into a pickle here.

Then suddenly 50 km on, the same road took a turn and everything became bliss. There were steep mountains on the horizon, and when we hit them, the traffic turned to a trickle. The road got windy and settlements ended. We had a short rest in this stunning scenery, at a spot where we could even see the sea. Further down, the road became this beautiful brand new strip of tarmac, leading along the beach and sweeping on a new bridge over the river. And then, it stopped. The brand new road ended in a gravel track. On the GPS I saw another road maybe 500m down, and the gavel was not looking too bad. Even after a small river crossing … see, there was the other road, 50m ahead, just up the … very steep washed out track. Hmm. Nina got off and thus catastrophe commenced. Ten meters short of the seal, I hit a rut and dropped the bike. Nina was there in no time and we got the bike up again. A check revealed only minor damage. Good. When I got back up, Nina let go of the bike due to a miscommunication on my part and I fell hard into the exact same rut. Sandstone! This time, one of the paniers got a dent and a bunch of nasty scrapes and our mood was down to arctic levels.

The dent can be bashed back out, miffed about the sticker though …

After a long breather and an assortment of curse words, we were now on the right road. Only to learn that it too would end just around the corner. So would every other, leaving only gravel tracks to go further. It turns out that I marked a gravel track as our waypoint and have led us into a 35km dead end 🙁 – Ah well, at least these were the nice 35 km. That, unfortunately also removed all hope to get to Pacitan in time tonight. Back where we took the wrong turn, I checked for hotels along the road and found two about 45 km further along. It would be a bit of a push but that seemed doable.

What followed was one of the nicest stretches of road in Indonesia, yet. A winding road led over the mountains towards the sea again. There was barely any traffic. The views were gorgeous and our spirits rose while our butts started to cave. We made it to Panggul on the coast by 5pm and the hotel was within our price range. We even found a warung with a lovely owner staying open for us so that we could get a dinner.

: This looks promising, and less traffic as well.

: At our Coffee stop. Very sweet lady there.

: 3 more seconds. See the deep rut on the right?

: The dent can be bashed back out, miffed about the sticker though …

: and out again. Nice, but a bit costly …

: A last look back

Chaos roaming the world

random pieces of life of Nina and Florian