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Day 295 – Grenzerfahrung

Last bit of road in Iran

Last bit of road in Iran

Writing the blog post from two days ago in the morning, with the thoughts on returning home at the end, left us in a bit of a low mood after breakfast. Thus, packing took extra long this morning. Not a big deal, though. We had only 130 km to go to the border.

Near lunch time we hit the border town of Maku. We filled up one last time with the obscenely cheap fuel and sat down along the main road through that narrow valley for lunch. It is always good to tackle a border with all primary functions tended to. Just as we were doing some last minutes preparations (I forgot to take proof of my German bike insurance which is valid and required in Turkey) Iran decided to give us a very Iranian parting gift. A guy jumped out of a taxi, shoved a melon and some bananas into my unsuspecting hands and jumped back into the taxi with a “welcome to Iran!”. Now we had bananas and a melon to declare as well – and another amazing memory of Irani hospitality.

Random gift of bananas and a honey melon. A melon?!?

Random gift of bananas and a honey melon. A melon?!?

We reached the border shortly thereafter. By the looks of it, it is only ever used by thousands of trucks or pedestrians. There is a lane for passenger vehicle crossing, but all booths are abandoned and no one was to be seen. It was relatively easy after all. Dodge the hawkers, find an official and then get led to the equivalent desk in the pedestrian terminal through back doors. Maybe 45 minutes later we stood in front of the two gates that separate Iran from Turkey with all the required stamps. Iran opened its gate for us and we called over to the Turkish guys …

… and waited. A long while. The Turkish border guards who saw us after one minute played manly man games with the Iranians and us. They left us hanging for about 20 minutes before pushing the the button that would open the gate. What a great start. Smile and wave …

Note the line of truck starting at least 6km before the actual border

Note the line of truck starting at least 6km before the actual border

We had to work around a similar way on the Turkish side. Passport immigration police guy was only available in the passenger terminal, so through some more back doors we went and met Mr. Grumpy Number two. I will never understand why some guys feel the need to underline their authority with outward rudeness. It did not get better when he saw our German passports. “Deutsche? …” sneer … then he only stamped one passport and got really annoyed when I remarked that I would like to get an entry stamp, too. Smile and wave …

Great light and dark due to the rain clouds

Great light and dark due to the rain clouds

Luckily customs guy did not know what to do, really, so our workaround regarding the insurance remained untested. I helped him with the carnet and off we went, into thick storm clouds on the horizon. We put our full rain gear on, ducked down and headed into the Kurdish town of Doĝubayazit. This grey border town had nothing to offer, neither phone shop nor ATM in sight, so we pushed on northwards along the border.

Our first sight in Turkey was the former Armenian capital of Ani. To get there, all roads lead through Kars, the regional center. En route there, I felt the strong need to answer nature’s call and we stopped on the first pass. Right then a van pulled over and four soldier type guys came out. One was a sergeant and had this way about asking what we were up to that showed suspicion hidden behind mere curiosity. We moved along.

The world appeared to end at the horizon so I, wisely, packed the camera away

The world appeared to end at the horizon so I, wisely, packed the camera away

The rain started for real beyond the pass, with lightning and thunder hitting left and right. It was cold, too, and just kept on getting colder as we got closer to Kars. The last pass went over 2300m, we were soaked and shivering by this point. Looking around there were still patches of snow on the ground…no wonder it was cold! We had done another 200 km on the Turkish side by then and stopped at a petrol station maybe 5km before the longed after hotel. The guys there took pity on us and shouted us a hot çay (tea). That got us the rest of the way through freezing rain without frostbite.

The hotel was cheap, which was the best to say about it, really. To make up for it, we went out that night to a really nice restaurant. What a treat – tablecloth, fresh bread and really good not-kebab food. Just what we needed to get the spirits back up again!

Day 293 – The end is neigh

The meadow was full of poppies and yellow flowers

The meadow was full of poppies and yellow flowers

We did good yesterday, in terms of distance. That meant that we only had two hours to go to Tabriz, giving us ample time to upload 6! blog entries and do a bit of sight-seeing as well. The first guesthouse we aimed at was jackpot, right away.

I came into Darya guesthouse only to stumble over two German overlanders in the process of checking out. They had only good things to say – the price was right and the parking safe. Meanwhile Nina got into a little chat with another young couple staying at the guesthouse. We booked in without much hesitation, unloaded the bike and got it parked safe and sound in a chicken coop in a backyard around the corner.

Cream-filled puff pastry! Success!

Cream-filled puff pastry! Success!

There were a couple of hours of light chilling and blogging, including a good afternoon nap. At about 4 pm we made our way to town to do a bit of sightseeing still. The main draw for us was the UNESCO world heritage bazaar, which also had the money changer that we needed. Once again, the bazaar was a really cool experience and with far less motorcycle dodging than Esfahan’s. Shame on me though, I forgot to re-stock our date supply.

After that, we felt like some more relaxing and went to look for a recommended tea house in another shopping street. It turned out to be hard to pin down, but as always in Iran there were helpful locals all around who could lead us around the corner to the back-alley entrance. The tea house was super cool – a brick vault with a fountain in the middle. Judging by the people around, this was just our crowd. Heaps of “slipping” hijabs …

Cozy seats around the fountain and real daybeds further up

Cozy seats around the fountain and real daybeds further up

Tea and baklava were good, but by now we needed something more substantial to fill the hole in our stomachs. So off we went in search for another recommended restaurant, but this time in vain. We passed the spot three time, but not even the friendly locals were able to find it for us. We did, however, find two more stragglers in search of food. Giona and Uliana, the young couple from earlier at the hotel, were looking for the same place. Spontaneously, we decided to join up and try our luck together at the next place.

Sadly, this one was closed as well. People told us earlier that today is an Islamic holiday in Iran. That might explain it. Uliana knew that the kebab shop next to our hotel would do vegetarian kebabs, so we defaulted to that place. What was lacking in the taste department was more than compensated by the good company. Uliana and Giona are overlanding in a 4×4 campervan from Europe to Mongolia and back. It was also refreshing to chat with more “global citizens” with a more complicated idea of home. There were at least seven languages spoken between us, with English and German as the lingua franca of choice.

Tabriz had some very particular shapes for their cookies...filled with lemon jam...yum

Tabriz had some very particular shapes for their cookies…filled with lemon jam…yum

After dinner, we had to pay one more visit to one of the many sweet shops in town to restock Nina’s supply before retreating to bed for one more blog post …

 

… not yet. I keep on forgetting to write about a big looming cloud that is constantly at least on my mind. We continue to travel and do things as we have done them and so write blog posts that are probably similar to Australia or Asia. But every day now, my thought wander to Germany. Where money was our big worry in South East Asia, re-integration is it for Iran. We have not lived in Germany for years. A lot has changed since then, mostly for us and our outlook on and expectation of life. Every second interaction with Europeans is a dreadful reminder of the reasons we left in the first place.

So I keep on worrying, scheming and planning. What route to take from Istanbul? What about health insurance, warrant of fitness for the bike. Will I find a job? When to start applying? How to do a German style CV … on and on it keeps on encroaching on my everyday thoughts. Tabriz was the last city in Iran, from tomorrow on we will head for the border. In two days, we will be in Turkey, the last country we will travel in for this trip.

Then, Europe. A crazy sprint through Eastern Europe and then the culture shock of being back. Stopping. Resting. Building a life once again. In a place I am not sure I want to live in again. The end is neigh …

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 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.