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 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.

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.

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.

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.