Iran

Iran. Where to begin with Iran?

To be honest, things didn't get off to the best start in Iran. It was pouring with rain at the border. I was completely drenched because I didn't put the waterproofs in - I assumed it was only going to be a quick shower. Then the sun came out and mixed with the rain soaked gear to produce that unique 'biker' smell. The GPS had the wrong time zone information for Iran so I thought it was an hour earlier than it actually was. I ended up having to dart into Tabriz at night (I promised never to drive in a foreign country at night, a promise that has been repeatedly broken) and find a hotel. Every hotel was full or cost about a million pounds. I nearly ran out of fuel before finally finding a place that only wanted half my life savings. The next morning I filled up the petrol tank so much that it created a small hydrocarbon lake on the forecourt.

Towards the end of my time here I have missed much of the stuff I wanted to do, been attacked by wild dogs, run out of water in the middle of the desert, I have almost no money left and there is no way to get any more.

But Iran more than makes up for my general lack of competence.

That was just the first day. It carried on in pretty much the same fashion ever since.

I needed to buy an Iranian sim card so stopped off in a town on the way to Tehran. After several dead ends I found a guy in a Sony shop who knew what I was after. But he didn't sell simcards so he locked up his shop and took me down the road to another guy. This guy didn't really speak much English and I couldn't really explain what I needed so he locked up his shop and took me down the road to a basement. The guy in the basement was an English teacher and was able to translate for us.

Ali was just the first of many Iranian people to welcome me to Iran very warmly and give me his phone number with a promise to help me out with whatever I need wherever I need it.

But first I had to do something for him. I get shoved into another room.

M: Uhhhh. Hello.
15 English Students (in unison): Hello.
M: How are you?
15ES(iu): I'm fine, thank you. How are you?
M: Good. Thanks.

<awkward>

M: Please, sir, I need to go to the toilet.


Of course I didn't have my camera for any of this but after a couple hours and a couple more phone calls to Ali I left Bostanabad with a shiny new Irancell sim card.

But it was late now and I only made it to Zanjan that night. I went to another hotel so I could do some internet stuff.

The next day I sort of didn't do anything. Whenever I stop for more than 30 seconds I am surrounded by people. In Zanjan I needed to make a phone call but my Irancell sim card had been blocked. I ended up being given a phone, finding out there was no point in rushing to get to Tehran, then going into town to find an internet cafe with some passing strangers. I then spent all afternoon drinking tea with Patrick, Alex and Charles. By the time I got out of the restaurant there was no point in going anywhere.

Patrick, Alex and Charles. Traditional Persian names

The problem I had in Turkey with never doing any real distance was only getting worse in Iran.

Iranians are not allowed to have motorcycles over 250cc. But of course sometimes one or two slip through the net.

I met up with Behzad in Tehran. He very kindly put up with me while I was in the city for a couple of nights.

Tehran actually has a lot in common with Liverpool.

I went in to central Tehran for a day. On the main streets it is pretty grim. Too much traffic, heat, chaos and people everywhere. But there are some very nice, quiet places to be found.

My main job in Tehran was to visit the Turkmenistan embassy and start the visa application.

M: Hi. I want to apply for and collect a visa in Mashhad but was told I need to submit my documents here first.
Turkmen Visa Officer: Transit visa?
M: Yes.
TVO: Express or normal?
M: Express.
TVO: Ok. No problem. In 5 working days go to the consulate in Mashhad.

<later>

M: That was easy. Too easy. I wonder how this is going to go horribly wrong.



Behzad's sister and niece turned up from America while I was there. On the day I left Tehran, Behzad offered to take me down to a salt lake south of the city.

Laurel and Hardy

Looking back it wasn't particularly sensible to take this bike offroad. Again.

Beached

But it was great fun

And then the inevitable happened.

The more technically minded among you may be able to spot what is wrong with this picture. For those of you who haven't been able to work it out I will tell you - the bike is slightly more horizontal than is traditional. This is not recommended because when the bike is in this position it has a negative effect on braking, acceleration, comfort and handling.

It wasn't actually a proper off. I tried to rest it on the side stand only to have the stand disappear into the lake bed. Of course that made it all the more difficult to get upright again. Even with all the luggage off it took the two of us all our effort to pick it up.

At first it seemed like there wasn't any damage. After all, it was stationary. But later on I discovered that this spill had had the most disastrous consequence.

Look what happened to my kettle!

That's it. I might as well turn around and head home right now. There is no point in continuing. Everybody knows that the English survive on tea. This kettle is ruined. I had to prise the lid off with a screwdriver and a rock (due to an administrative cock up my hammer of encouragement was left at home on day one). Now I have to boil water for tea in a saucepan. And that's just disrespectful.

O, humble kettle. You shall never know what joy you have brought over countless weeks (4 weeks). The world is poorer for losing you.

Fortunately Iran is a civilised country and they understand the importance of tea. So life is not over just yet.

On the way back I got stuck yet again. Properly stuck. It took all three of us to get it out this time. And we had run out of water. And we were several kms away from the nearest village. And we were all getting headaches. And it was the middle of the afternoon.

We did make it to the village where a very kind family gave us water. Back at the road we said our goodbyes and I headed further south to Qom.

The next day I started off to Isfahan. I stopped in a town called Delijan for some water and something to eat. In the 30 seconds I was in the shop a crowd had gathered around the bike.

One of the guys there, Ali Akbar, invited me out for lunch, gave me his phone number and made me promise to call him when I pass back through.

In Isfahan I met up with a university student called Majid who loves motorcycles. Having never had the chance to ride on a bike larger than 250cc we spent the morning going around the city.

Before I left Majid went off and bought me a massive bag of fruit.

Out of the city I had to stop for a while just to get out of the sun. Within 2 minutes someone had stopped and offered me petrol, someone else had stopped and given me water.

Here I had to make a decision. I was quickly running out of money and thanks to EU sanctions there was no way to withdraw any more. I had also discovered that my chosen route through Turkmenistan meant that I wouldn't be able to get any more cash there either. I still had to pay for my Turkmen visa and all the border fees. Oops.

So I decided to not go to Yazd or Shiraz and just get to Mashhad as efficiently and cheaply as possible. The most direct route to Mashhad was the desert road. Given what happened the other day I thought it would be best not to take that one. I had heard it was of questionable quality and I didn't want to risk going by myself and getting stuck, particularly considering that my water carrying system consists of two 1.5 litre bottles bungeed onto the back seat in such a haphazard way that they keep vibrating themselves off. You could probably start in the UK and find me just be following the trail of discarded water bottles along the roads.

So it was back north to Tehran and then east. I stopped back in Delijan that night and met up with Ali Akbar again. We went back to his flat and met his friend Mr. Ahmedi who has the best trousers in the world.

After another day of baking in the sun I headed up into the mountains for the night.

When I was cooking dinner that night there was a dog hanging around the area. It kept well enough away but it was a little disconcerting. The only 'weapon' I had was a tyre lever and I hadn't had any rabies shots. On the sides of the hills around I could see more dogs moving. I very quickly distributed food and cooking equipment around a large area and retreated to the tent for the night.

The next morning there was no sign of the dogs. I was up at the crack of dawn to pack up and get out. As I was putting the last bag on the bike 2 dogs appeared about 200-300m away and started moving towards me. The last few bits and pieces were dangerously strapped on and I took off down a dirt road with the dogs in pursuit. On the tarmac they had no chance of keeping up but this didn't do much to ease my concerns about wild camping.

The next couple of days were just spent on the road moving rather slowly. Each day I would pull into a rest area around midday for a couple hours to escape the heat. One day a family came up to me and gave me lunch. A shopkeeper provided tea and cakes and then sat with me all afternoon while we talked using grunts and lots of hand waving.

Another day I stopped into a shop and picked up 2 apples and a bottle of Coke. I gave the owner 20,000 rials (just over $1). He gave me 18,000 in change. As I turned to leave he stopped me and gave me a massive bag full of apricots. I went outside and sat down when somebody else came and gave me 2kg of dates.

Other people will come and sit. Sometimes they try to talk, but generally people only know a few words of English. Sometimes they just want to sit. Always they offer cigarettes or water or food. And always they shake my hand, smile and say "Welcome."

About this time I realised I had a serious money shortage. I had only 100,000 rials left - not enough to buy fuel to get to Mashhad. To make matters worse it was Friday, the weekend in Iran. The banks would be shut until Sunday so I couldn't change any more money.

But I didn't really want to use the banks since they give a much lower rate than the black market. Unfortunately the black market tends not to put up massive neon signs.

I went into a couple of shops but they all refused to change any money for me.

It has been explained to me many times in Turkey and Iran that looking after people on a journey is a big part of Islam. To do this Mosques in Iran always provide free, clean drinking water by the front door. There are roadside mosques every 10km or so along main roads so running out of water in Iran is never really an issue. I stopped at one to fill up the bottles and spotted a shop. Inside I managed to convince the 10 year old behind the till to change $10 for me. Not a huge amount, but at least enough to get me to Mashhad.

In the city I headed straight to Vali's guesthouse. Vali is well known for providing good accommodation to travellers in Mashhad and helping to sort out visas. When I arrived there was no one in but as I hung around a guy on a motorcycle turned up. He didn't speak a lot of English but he said that he was a motorcycle mechanic.

I asked him to take a look at my chain. He noticed a small amount of wear on the rear sprocket

and we decided it needed to be changed for the spares I bought in Istanbul.

Omid is a crazy guy, but a lot of fun.

He wouldn't accept payment for his time, he just made me promise that I would return to France (?) and tell everyone about what had happened here.

Another guy called Mehdi turned up and invited me back to his house for the night. When I tried to leave the next day he convinced me to stay for another night. So I spent 2 days living with Mehdi, his wife Fathema and their 8 year old daughter Elah. One night Mehdi and I went out to a home for mentally disabled children. Mehdi is a mechanic by trade but donates his free time to the children in the home. They were all delighted to see him and the way he acted towards them was really special.

During the day we would hang out around the shop and I would talk to all the hundreds of people who would come by and notice the bike. Everybody on the street knows each other and there is a really good atmosphere.

I really enjoyed my time sitting around with Mehdi, Fathemas wonderful cooking and Elah teaching me Farsi. It was very hard to drag myself away but I need to get things sorted and move on. I hope I get to meet them again someday.

Right now I am sat at Vali's house and will hopefully get my Turkmen visa tomorrow morning. My financial crisis continues as does the pressure from visa deadlines so I am having to be very creative with planning Turkmenistan and Uzbekistan.

The change in the way people look has been remarkable, both skin colour and physical characteristics. Sometimes I forget that in a straight line I am pretty much half way to Kuala Lumpur, it still feels close to home here. But that hasn't stopped people from continuing to mistake me for a native citizen of whatever country I happen to be in at the time. "Really? You look Italian to me", "Sorry, I thought you were Turkish" and now "Are you sure you're not Persian?" If this is still happening in Mongolia I am going to be very worried.

I wish I was better at writing because I am finding it so hard to summarise what has happened this past two weeks.

When people go to Iran they come back going on and on and on about how amazing Iran is and how everyone should go there. I guess I am part of that group now.

This place is quite simply incredible. I won't bother saying anything about the history or culture (of which the Iranian people are quite rightly very proud) or the scenery (which is jaw dropping) because any history or geography book can tell you the same thing. But what those books don't mention is the quality of the people living there right now.

I have been fortunate enough to visit a fair number of countries as a tourist. I have good memories of all of them, but I don't remember ever having someone say to me "Welcome to ...." When I return to the UK I show my passport but nobody says "Welcome home". In Iran I can't count the number of people who have shaken my hand, smiled and said "Welcome to Iran" or "Welcome to my city". This is the one memory of Iran which will stay with me longer than any other. It's nothing big or flashy, it's only 3 words. But it expresses a kindness and warmth in the people which I have never seen anywhere else

Add to that the number of people who beep and wave from their car on the road, the people who try to have conversations with me when stuck in traffic, the people who desperately want to talk even though we have no common language, the people who stop and give me food and water just because I am a guest in their country, the people who stop me on the street and call a friend to act as translator, the people who invite me out for lunch or dinner and insist on paying, the people who invite me into their homes even though they know nothing about me and owe me nothing.

There is a great deal of anger in Iranians about the perception of Iran in the west. They are painfully aware of the image of Iran portrayed by our government and media sources. They are fully aware of the quality of their own government. And they are deeply offended that people in the west would consider Iran to be full of terrorists, or somehow be an unsafe place to visit. More than once I have listened to complaints about the British or American governments, but I have never felt under personal attack. In fact, I end up agreeing with what they say. Iran is one of the safest places to visit. So long as you go with an open mind you will find nothing but other open minded people who enjoy making new friends and learning about other cultures as much as anyone else in the world.

The only negative experience I have had in Iran was at petrol stations. In some countries you expect to pay tourist prices and I thought Iran would be one of them. Generally this hasn't been the case. But on more than lots of occasions I have caught petrol station attendants trying to make me pay for someone elses fuel as well as my own. Yesterday one tried to make me pay for 20 litres of fuel - the Tranny only holds 16. And then they get arsey when I refuse to be ripped off. It is a shame because everyone else I have met has been so honest and friendly. I have never felt safer leaving my bike unattended in the street.

Some things became a bit of a theme through Iran. Like western music. Some 'artists' make it into Iran (underground, of course) but the selection seems a little bit weird. If I ever come back here I am going to come wearing a sign around my neck.

"Yes, I know who Justin Beiber is. No, I don't like him. I'm not answering your next question."

The internet is littered with lists of "The top 10 things you must do/go/visit/eat/poke with a stick/set on fire/steal/kill before you die." I hate them. I think they are arrogant, contrived, lazy but worst of all they fail to take into account the massively varied readership they attract. So I am going to hate myself for writing this but I am not a talented author. I have written far more than I expected but I am not happy with any of it because I do not have the words to express what I feel about this place. I doubt any of this will change anyones opinion, but.


If there is one place in the world you must visit before you die, it's Iran.

Just make sure you take enough money.

And water.

And keep away from petrol stations.