Silk, Sand and Vodka: August 2016

Friday, August 26, 2016

Of Modest Clothing, Debauchery and Dead Mothers

My life in exile has almost come to an end. I have tried to eat endlessly to put some weight on again. And also a glass of wine or two. Not that it matters now because everything is underneath a hejab. This is the name for the modest dressing that's required in Iran where we will be for the next 3 weeks. Another word is chador which is the more extreme type of dressing which literally means tent in Farsi. This is what one has to wear when visiting some religious sites but hopefully not when one is cycling.

Modest clothes

After spending three uneventful days in Tashkent in Uzbekistan I flew to Almaty to transit there until it was time to enter Iran. Here I could laze around in a comfortable hotel, do some shopping for cycling and being in Iran and make sure my hair looks excellent underneath the burka.

Almaty has some fabulous restaurant with local and international cuisine and cocktails to die for. I almost did after a rather spectacular Long Island Tea in the opera garden. Or at least I woke up after my siesta with a terrible headache and mini hangover.

The four days in Almaty flew and it was time to board the aeroplane for Teheran.

The flight was three and a half hours and quite eventful. A 21 year old man who sat behind me decided to get drunk for the last time before he spends one month in the country of only tea. After his seventh whiskey he shouted for the whole plane to hear that he hates Europeans because they are all gay and he hates Americans because they are all fat.

I sat at the back of the plane and I was quite comfortable sipping my two glasses of wine until a gentlemen invited himself to the chair next to me. I didn't chase him away immediately because his pick up line was that he had contacts for wine in Teheran. But after that fabulous bit of info things deteriorated rather quickly. He showed me pictures of his dead mother and then started to cry. On the pictures his mother luckily still looked alive. Then he more or less asked me to marry him. The story ends with me running through customs to get away. I looked over my shoulder only once to see that the 21 year old was being carried of the plane.

I spent two days in Teheran and didn't do too much Mosque visiting because I know that in 10 days time I'll be dragged by the hair to go with Erwin. So this time it was shopping and visiting the 6th highest tower in the world. It's about 450m high. I hoped there wouldn't be an earthquake when I sipped my ginger latte and carrot cake on the top.

The next morning I had to catch the early train to Mashad. This is Iran's answer to Mecca and has The Imam Reza Holy Shrine which is the biggest Mosque in the world. Twenty million pilgrims visit the Mosque every year. Today when I went, there was at least one million. At the entrance they gave me the tent to wear and nylon socks. It was quite the experience and I can understand how a stampede can form. I drank some holy water from the pit. I wished it was wine. But Mohamed doesn't like drinking. Not like Jesus.

The train journey from Teheran to Mashad was hell. I got a female only compartment and sat like a sardine for eight hours looking at Iran flying by through the window. Crawling is actually a better word. I think I saw a tortoise overtaking the train. Mashad means martyr in the Arabic language and somehow I can understand why.

The women around me were all dressed in black and very friendly. They offered me fruit and nuts but not a word of English. The girl next to me lighted up her journey by reading in the Koran.

When I finally got to the Paradise Hotel. Which I can rename to something more appropriate, there was no water and no electricity. When the electricity finally returned I was very reluctant to take the lift but my bag and I made it to the six floor. When I finally got into bed the management decided to switch on the central air conditioning. For a moment I thought there was an earthquake and then it felt like I was lying in the engine compartment of a Boeing 747. Needless to say I had to put my modest clothes on and drag myself down to reception to ask for a room far away from the air-conditioning units.

This is the end of my tales of indulgence and debauchery. Not quite the debauchery that I would have liked but nevertheless some sort of oral pleasure. Tomorrow I will join the group again to cycle the last six weeks destiny Istanbul.

Thursday, August 18, 2016

Of Turkmenistan, Uzbekistan and Kazakhstan

So now the time has come for me and the other unfortunate person to be born in Africa to leave the group. Our wild guess as to why we were not allowed in Turkmenistan is that they think we have AIDS, Ebola or both.

We are gone for 11 days and will join the group again on the Turkmenistan/Iran border on 27 August.

In the mean time I'm roughing it in the Radisson Blue hotel in Tashkent until my visa for Uzbekistan runs out on Friday.

The Radisson Blue Hotel spraying moisture over the pool bar to cool off the customers.

Breakfast at the hotel accompanied by a duet. This is in contrast to standing in line to receive breakfast in a camping site usually littered with some sort of animal manure at 0500 am in the morning. Strangely enough I miss it.

After Tashkent I will sit in transit so to speak in Almaty, Kazakstan until it's time to fly to Teheran. I worked out that the flesh pots of Kazakstan are more enjoyable than in Iran. Also it's cooler without a burka. And they serve Gin and Tonics.

Tashkent is a bit of a disappointment after Samarkand and Bukhara. It's a modern because most of the ancient city was destroyed after the 1917 revolution and later in 1966 to an earthquake.I've been walking, riding busses, taxis and the metro trying to find something charming. But have only seen some Soviet era statues that I've been seeing enough of in the last two months.

Otherwise I'm trying to eat like a pig to put on some weight. I can count all my ribs in the full length mirror of the Radisson Blue Hotel. Even the small extra ones that I got via Adam in the garden of Eden.

These things might help a bit.

I have also learned how to count money. The exchange rate is 6000 Uzbekistan Som to one Dollar. Which means one tree for one ice cream and a handbag weighing like a ton of bricks and not much place left for essential items like my lipstick.

About 50 $

My last rest day with the group was in Bukhara which was a big surprise. It was even nicer than Samarkand which is noticeable on all these pictures that Erwin took while I encouraged him from my spot in the shade. Which was very exhausting. I got very tired watching him running around clicking away.

It was also a major stop on the Silk Route and a major medieval center for Islamic Theology and culture.

The Priest had to climb all the steps of the tower five times a day to sing to Mecca. I hope he wasn't fat. Maybe he had slaves to carry him up. I don't think the right name is priest. Will have to look it up.

Yes it's Erwin's hat.

The most important monument in Bukhara which I missed. I was taking a siesta when Erwin took the photo.

Not Romeo and Juliet because Romeo was better dressed.

Erwin got half my head in the photo and part of his thumb.

This is the train I took from Bukhara to Tashkent. It was an air conditioned suite with 2 beds. A nice way to spend 8 hours. The only problem was that I had to share it with Zimmerman the last hour.

Otherwise I have been behaving and have not ended up in jail jet. I will not go into the graphics about what could happen to me in jail again because my mother is still not speaking to me. Let's just say I wouldn't be able to sit for a while. Which will be impractical because I still have about 4000km to go on a bicycle seat.

Next stop Almaty, Kazakhstan.

Friday, August 12, 2016

Of Borders, Mass Murderers and Rectal Canals

Now we are in Uzbekistan and more specific Samarkand. Of all the border crossings that I have suffered the one into this country is the worst ever. I am sure that it would be easier for Hitler to slip through the pearly gates than for a westerner to enter Uzbekistan. There are many horror stories from my fellow cyclist and I will highlight a few of them.

My personal passage took 2 hours. Most of this time was taken up by a female border guard flicking through all the photos on my iPhone. I wouldn't boast that I have the biggest collection of male productive organs but I stand a good chance to take second place. The penis museum in Reykjavik being the first. And not to speak of my collection of selfies taken in the bathroom mirror.

While this process was taken place I was feeling rather uncomfortable. This was caused by the images of me rotting in a Uzbekistan prison, ending up with a rectal canal big enough for a dwarf to do somersaults in.

By some miracle my iPhone was handed back to me without a word. Maybe she thought my collection was a recipe book for German sausages. But I didn't want to ask. Not to speak of the bath room mirror.

A drone was confiscated and someone's supply of codeine tablets. Luckily my Grandpa Headache tablets made it to the other side. To add to the discomfort the officers sat in air conditioned offices and we had to move like cattle through steaming hot corridors and examination rooms.

Once in the country we found ourself in desert like conditions and temperatures straight from hell. There we have travelled four days to get to Samarkand. Finding little relief from the heat. The bearable hours are from 0300 to 0500 in the morning. But we can't cycle then because it's not full moon yet.

Samarkand is an ancient city full of mosques and mausoleums and Asian tourist. Once upon a time it was the most important city on the Silk Route. It is also known for a mass murderer called Temor 1336-1406. In his prime he killed 17 million people which at the time was 5% of the population of the earth. His statue towers heroically over the center of the city. Not an ounce of pigeon shit on his head.

I went to his mausoleum where he is peacefully resting in a black marble grave.

One can perform open heart surgery on his head, it's so clean.