Monthly Archives: May 2016

Day 292 – Aras River Valley

No snakes or other big creepy crawlies to report in the grass

No snakes or other big creepy crawlies to report in the grass

Our camp spot remained hidden until we had packed up in the morning. All that we left behind was a patch of flattened grass…and an allan key that Flo luckily discovered when he rode Rocinante out of the meadow. From here, it was another 130km to Babak Castle which we wanted to see. The first moment of joy came early when it was confirmed that the nasty noise from yesterday was indeed the chain that was too loose.

Riding in the morning, up in the mountains was cold but beautiful. We made good progress and arrived in Kaleybar, the village next to the castle, around 11 am. I felt like the whole vilage smelled of freshly baked bread. We stopped to try and figure out how to get to Babak Castle as there was no sign in the village so I hopped off the bike to buy some of that fresh bread. The bread here is still a flat bread but much thicker than the usual sheets and reminds me a ot of Turkish flat bread. Asking for two loafs, the baker gave them to me for free, still warm. Thus, we both had a bite of warm, fresh bread and were really keen on lunch soon.

up in that white blob would be the castle

up in that white blob would be the castle

Up the mountain side, we found the path that leads up to Babak Castle but the whole top was in clouds. Not wanting to spend an hour hiking up, paying the entrance fee and then hiking back down for no views, we decided to skip the castle. With just a hint of regret, we moved on. At least we have done the Assassins’ Castles in Alamut Valley.

Going over the mountain range, the weather got worse. It didn’t rain but the clouds were hanging really low. The visibility got incredibly poor; to me it looked like a range of three meters. Many cars stopped (why don’t Persians turn their lights on in bad conditions?) but it was too cold for that so we slowly rode on. It remained this way until we got back down on the other side where we greeted the sun enthusiastically and stopped for a great lunch break.

Real borders are strange. left Iran, right Azerbaijan

Real borders are strange. left Iran, right Azerbaijan

Entering the Aras River Valley from the east, we rode towards Jolfa. The river seems to be the natural border between Iran and the neighbouring countries: First you ride along the Persian side of the river with Azerbaijan on the other side which, after a while, becomes Armenia instead. The river valley with its towering mountains to both sides is quite the experience. When it is flat enough, locals sell their honey and fruits on the road side but mostly, you see watch towers and guys from the army keeping an eye on the border…if you see anyone at all.

Walking towards the main building of the monastery

Walking towards the main building of the monastery

Following the river for 120km, we reached Jolfa which is the border town with Armenia. It’s not a touristy place but quite industrial and the amount of Turkish goods available increased drastically. We didn’t stay but only stocked up on food before heading out to the St. Stephanos monastery, an Armenian church that is a Unesco World Heritage Site. The ride there was beautiful, just interrupted by a police check point, and the site itself was rather busy with Iranians. Many decided to have a picnic in the wider monastery as only the main building has an entrance fee.

This is well preserved

This is well preserved

The church has been renovated and is pretty from the outside. Especially the southern courtyard with its blooming roses makes for a good place to spend some time. The inside is less well preserved and there were scaffolds around so maybe it’s not finished yet. While wandering around, we got quite a few requests for photos again, but one lady also offered to take a picture of the two of us.

Leaving St. Stephanos in the evening light made for a pretty ride. Some of the mountains looked red now and I tried to take photos without getting the police check point on it (which I nearly did). This time, we just passed through Jolfa to get fuel. It was getting late so we set the GPS to our next destination, the city of Tabriz, and left. About 20km out of Jolfa, we found a great camping spot off the road where we had a view of the hills and Flo cooked a delicious dinner. We only attracted the attention of one shepherd who promptly had his flock of sheep circle us once so he could have a look. Sheep are the ultimate eating machines; it was so noisy when the flock passed our tent.

 

Day 291 – Thick as a brick

Our awesome view was almost entirely replaced by fog and rain

Our awesome view was almost entirely replaced by fog and rain

As we got up in the morning, we sure got a load full of what Iranians come here for: Thick fog and drizzly rain. We got up a bit early since our guesthouse owner insisted, three times, that we would leave at 8 am. Everything was done, packed and ready to go onto the bike – yet no guy and thus no passport anywhere in sight. We made the best of it and got the bike loaded up. When it was all done, there was still no one to be seen. I gave him a call in the end and I am pretty sure I woke him up, that joker.

Almost an hour late and packed like little Michelin men we hopped on the bike to brave the rain. I briefly considered taking the pass from here to Tabriz, but a quick inquiry revealed that it was unsealed. Not something I’d like to tackle in the cold and wet. That meant back to the Caspian Sea and due north instead.

Sorry for the creepy look. That's what you get for trying to take pictures in the pouring rain!

Sorry for the creepy look. That’s what you get for trying to take pictures in the pouring rain!

Nina’s comment: We stopped shortly in the first village that we reached from Masuleh: Fouman. Already on the way in I had seen posters of a particular kind of pastry everywhere. Now, on the way back, I bought two of them to try. It’s a pastry filled with a cinnamon paste that is eaten warm and it was just the thing to try when you ride through the rain. By the time we thought of taking a picture, even Flo had bitten into his. The boy who had sold me the pastries saw what we were doing and ran out into the rain to give me a free third one so that we could take a picture of a whole one. So freaking nice!

The forests are so wet that fog escapes from them into the sky

The forests are so wet that fog escapes from them into the sky

The ride along the coastline was much the same, but at least with fewer towns and tacky tourism than yesterday. Repeated showers hit us from a clouded sky in regular intervals while we made good progress towards the pass to Ardabil. We did briefly consider to stay at the coast, but we were still itching for some more km (and better weather).

The pass was a dodgy affair in the rain and with heaps of weekend traffic. It got even more disconcerting when we hit the cloud level and visibility was reduced to 25m at times. Even this did not stop some Peykamicazees to barrel on at 75 km/h. I was mostly worried with how slippery the road was.

Another round of emptying out the puddle

Another round of emptying out the puddle

It was a big relief to hit the top and come over onto the Ardabil plain. Just, that it was cold, so very cold. It got better for me when I drained my left shoe for the second time of the day and ran some laps to heat up.

Back on the bike, a noise that started this morning got me more and more worried. A metallic rattle when accelerating. It was a bit hard to pin down, since it only sounded in gear under load. All potential loose screws were checked but nothing could be found. When we started looking for a camp spot, I got one more clue and it was horrifying. I could feel a rattling crunch via the gear lever, further narrowing the scope. Some loose part in the gear box? 1000 km before the border? Nothing could be done for now though, so we continued our search for the spot while moving towards the next item on our “to see” list.

Looks like the perfect environment for camping

Looks like the perfect environment for camping

The third try was the charm this time. After a beautiful site that unfortunately was always in view of the road and another one that had a settlement nearby, we scored. A little orchard tucked about 100m from a bend in the road provided perfect cover from prying eyes and the deep grass made for a great camp spot. It was quite cold though, as it turned out after dinner.

Regarding the bike, I went to bed thinking I might have dodged a huge bullet, though. While doing one last thorough check and opening the front sprocket cover to check for damage there, I noticed scratch marks on the chain. It was loose! Like, really loose and it looked like it had scratched a lot today. Come to think of it, the last time I adjusted the chain was in Sohar … idiot that I am. Let’s see. Tomorrow’s first kilometers will tell.

Day 290 – Princes of the Caspian Sea

the mountain wearing a veil

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!

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

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

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

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.

Day 289 – The company you keep

Two motorbikes leaving the hotel in the morning

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

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!

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

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

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

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.