Of Fig Leaves, Mount Ararat and Soapy Massages

Iran and all its tribulations are long gone. We had a bit of drama crossing the border but we are safely enclosed now by the Hills of Anatolia in Northern Turkey. I'm far enough from Iran now to disclose that we found a restaurant who sold us 5 bottles of Whiskey. That ended a period of 4 weeks of drought. Usually I don't indulge in Whiskey but desperate times call for desperate measures. Somehow I forced the brown caramel like liqued down my throat. Whether it was a homemade brew, nobody will ever know but it certainly did its job. The hangover was real.

First Beer (I don't really like beer either)

The last bit of cycling in Iran to the border was quite boring. A very busy highway and nights spent camping next to the road. The border crossing day did not come too soon and exactly the night before, eleven policemen were killed in the border town. The military answered by bombing the hometown of the PKK rebels. 

We were taken by bus to a hotel nesting on the foot of Mount Ararat. The hotel hasn't seen tourists for quite a while. I could see that  by the amount of mouse droppings underneath the doormat. But I was thankful for a sitting toilet and bed to sleep on. Everything looked very rosy through the C2H5OH that we bought at the C2H5OH Tax Free shop at the border. It even made the truck load of weapons that was carried into the hotel for protection look very docile. 

It's Mount Ararat 5137m. Not visible behind the clouds.

The situation in NorthEastern Turkey was too dicey for us to cycle so we drove about 130km in a bus to a town called Kars where we would rest for two days. Even though we were in Turkey the climate was still quite conservative so there was only one restaurant in the whole city serving alcohol. We still had to wear modest clothes but thankfully no head scarves.

Erwin's idea of modest clothes

My idea of modest clothes

The Fashion Catwalk of Tour'd Afrique

Kars is a city of about 70 000 people and very close to the Armenian border. Matters between the two neighbours have been quite shaky after Turkey murdering 1,5 Armenians in 1915-1917. They haven't kissed and made up yet so there are no open borders between the two countries. The only thing to do around Kars was to go to Ani which is a ruined Armenian city with 10001 churches. Once it was splendid and magnificent but after some earthquakes and raids by the Mongols it is now just a heap of stones with a UNESCO World Heritage Site stamp on it. I didn't go but the people who dragged themselves there said it was nice.

After Kars our muscles were well rested but not our livers. A period of 7 grueling riding days followed which I only made by the skin of my teeth. We covered 847km and lots of climbing and some bad roads. The Turks are building a dam in the valley so the road will be under water soon so no one has the incentive to maintain the road. We saw some abandoned villages and a mosque tower sticking out from the water. 

Apples and tea beside the road

Who's got the biggest bum?

The days are getting shorter and much cooler. It's rainy and gloomy and I almost froze to death again on a rainy 143km day ending at a muddy river camp. Our tents and sleeping bags and clothes are wet and damp and it's all a bit of a nightmare. 

Ron and I hiding from the rain

A small accident but only a few bruises

Another accident only with bruises. This is Jordan's bike.

But today is a rest day in a wonderful town called Amasya. When people still went on holiday in Turkey it must have been buzzing with tourist. Lots of souvenir shops and restaurants and Turkish Baths. And above that the sun is shining and everything looks wonderful through the window of my hotel room.

Yesterday after the 7 day stretch of freezing hell Ruth and I went straight to the nearest Turkish Bath. I quickly read up on the etiquette of such an establishment so that we knew how to behave. We opted for the full experience. We stripped down to our panties and were shown to a heated round marble plate underneath a dome. The worlds biggest chandelier was dangling from it. Here we laid supine to relax and soften our skins before the peeling. The half naked lady who was going to scrub and massage us came to check the texture of our skins now and then. Just like one would check the Sunday chicken roast in the oven. I couldn't really relax because I could see the crystal chandelier falling down on me and flattening me like the Sunday pancake.

When she was satisfied with my skin she pulled me into a wash room where she sandpapered me down from head to toe. I was topless but I read on the internet that I should keep my panties on. When I was red with every nerve on end she emptied several buckets of water over me to wash away the dead skin. My tan lines disappeared down the drain.

Then she took a soft cloth with an abundance of soap and massaged my whole body for twenty minutes. I opened my eyes once and closed them quickly again because it looked just like a scene from an erotic movie. All the foam and soap and two half naked bodies. Then she washed my hair three times. Afterwards tea was served.

I have cycled 10730 km by now and the end is definitely in sight. We are starting to see signs and distances to Istanbul.

The feeling of Fin de Siecle is in the group and it will be an interesting final week.

Of Apples, Hangovers and Nervous Goats

The section of the Silk Route from Teheran to Kars in Turkey is called The Garden of Eden. I'm waiting with baited breath for the garden to unveil itself because so far I have only seen apples and snakes.

A local handing out apples. I remembered to say no three times before saying yes. As the custom is in Iran.

I was not too sad to see the last of Tehran, which was a revisit for me. A nice thing that happened was that I visited a colleague of mine who is on holiday here on one of the two rest days.

Farnoush and I

Farnoush, mother, sister and I

Because of the traffic mayhem in the city we were bussed to the outskirts. From there we rode to Takestan where we camped outside an establishment calling itself a hotel. We could use two of the rooms for toilet and facilities including a cold shower. I put my tent up in a perfect corner with no wind. As we have learned in life in general and on this trip specifically  everything can go wrong.At sunset the security lights were switched on and my tent basked in lights bright enough to perform open heart surgery. Here I wished I had a black burka to throw over my tent. But in my burka fashion, white is the new black, so I had little use of mine.

After a sleepless night we cycled 130km to a town called Zanjan where we could sleep comfortably inside an establishment calling itself a hotel. This wasn't too bad except for the squatting toilet. In the restaurant where we ate that night, something exciting happened. This will be revealed in my first blog from Turkey.

The next day we rode to a camp in a dry riverbed with brownish slow flowing water full of turtles. I didn't actually see them but one could notice the signs. Something like the Blair Witch Project. If it was Africa they would be crocodiles. It was a sweaty day so I had to dive in anyway. Naked, because it was in the middle of nowhere. Erwin bravely put his right big toe in the water. 

We always get up before the crack of dawn when it is still pitch black. In this camp surrounded by mountains it was especially dark. Erwin got a lecture on the night sky. He was introduced to Orion's Belt in the hope that he would buy himself one. A belt that is. He is currently using a piece of string. Some progress has been made in his wardrobe in a bazaar in Iran. He bought a new pair of pants. He did it behind my back and it makes him look like a Woodstock supporter of the 1960's. But don't tell him that.

The last night before the rest day we had, as far as the eye could see a perfect camp under some gumtrees which were not really gumtrees. But we are not on this trip to correctly identify trees. We have bigger fish to fry. I told everyone that nothing can go wrong which of course was not the case. We are dealing with real life and not the end of a Hollywood movie.  At 8pm the farmer decided to start ploughing his lands next to the camp. Unfortunately he did not use oxen but a very loud Massey Fergusson turbo diesel tractor. Another sleepless night. But what the f@&ck? I can sleep when I'm dead. 

I'm on dish duty in the Gumtree camp.

Now we are resting in Tabriz, a 1,5 million population town in the East Azerbaijan district of Iran. On the map we are only 4cm away from Turkey and one can almost smell the beer and wine. In reality it is 300km left which we will cover in two days. Thursday night will be spent on the border and Friday we will enter Turkey to have the mother of all parties and to make a bonfire of our modest clothes.

I have spent 28 days in Iran which is a hell of a long time, a full cycle of the moon and longer than the gestation period of a rat (24 days) and a chicken (22 days).

The Pamir Highway have spoilt our references so the mountains of Iran have not impressed that much. We have cycled on busy roads often into the prevailing Western winds. The people drive like crazy and Iran ranks as number four in the world in the amount of fatal car accidents. Only topped by Dominican Republic, Thailand and Venezuela. And remember that is without drunken driving. 

Some people of the group have been talking to Iranians who can speak English and got some inside information. A young 30 year old Iranian was discussing his life in general. He knew about the negative qualities of alcohol and said that he has heard of something called a hangover. He couldn't understand why people would want to drink if it leads to such a terrible condition. 

Premarital sex is completely taboo because it could, amongst other things, spread diseases. He admited with eyes cast down that he tried masturbation once. To clarify it in Afrikaans, " Hy het eenkeer draad getrek".

 The question is what fun is there is left to do apart from eating pistachio nuts and driving like lunetics? I saw a Ferris wheel yesterday. Maybe that is the answer.

Yesterday was a religious holiday in Iran. It was to celebrate the day when Abraham was allowed to  sacrificed a goat instead of his son. In the Koran the son was Ismail who was the first borne he had with Hagar, one of his servants. His wife and half sister Sarah could not get pregnant. She did get pregnant when she was 90 years old and gave birth to Isaac. Abraham agreed to offer his son but was stopped just in time.

Now I understand why I saw so many nervous goats in the field during the day.

The hotel where we are staying in Tabriz has a wonderful write up in the TripAdvisor. Here is the uncensored, unspellchecked version: Such a disaster! Dirty everything, leaking toilet to torn up bed sheets full of human body hair.(Thankfully not goat hair) and such impolite personnel. The kitchen staffs uniforms have not been washed since the production date. Located on one of the busiest streets in Tabriz.

Another day in paradise as the saying goes. Luckily there is a sauna and a swimming pool and a jacuzzi but with one small problem...men only.

 Bring on Turkey.

Of Livers, Gates of Hell and Constipation

I have now been in Iran for almost three weeks, which is more than what any flesh and blood can stand. I can not see the light at the end of the tunnel yet because it's still eleven days and 16 hours and for that length of time one needs a really strong telescope, which I left at home. 

The people are the nicest so far on the Silk Route but it's the absurd rules and regulations which are killing me. It is a hostile invironment for a single Western woman traveling alone. Luckily I can cling onto Erwin and Paul to soften the blow a bit. My liver, however, is thanking me for this sojourn in this promised land of only milk and honey. My hair also, which has become a place where the sun doesn't shine.

Since I met the group at the Turkmenistan border we have cycled for eight days. In between we have had one rest day in a town called Gonbad.  The Tripadvisor found my location there and gave the following information: Restaurants: Zero, Things to do: Zero, Hotels: One. But don't stay there unless forced at gunpoint or really drunk. And we all know the latter will not happen. I was so unnerved by the squatting toilet in the room that I couldn't produce a blog. Constipation and squatting is not two words that you would want to use in one sentence. Luckily it wasn't so bad as the story of Andy Warhole who allegedly spent 24 hours on a toilet once with a bout of the above. I hope for his sake they didn't have squatting toilets in Manhatten at that time.

I can see my ex husband rolling his eyes now because he has advised me several times not to use lavatorial information in my blog.

I found out from the group all the things I missed in Turkmenistan. The president is in favour of all white things. Most buildings in Ashgabat is painted white and for the last year only white cars are imported into the country. That is why Mr Zimmerman and I, both whiter than the president, but born in darkest Africa were not allowed into the country. 

That caused us to miss about 600km of cycling on rough roads and headwinds in a desert like landscape which I am not going to cry about too much. But we did miss something that is a great pity and really appeals to my sordid sense of humour. 

In Tyrkmenistan is a crater called The Gate to Hell. This is an engineering mistake of the Soviets which set fire to a gas line which has been burning for more than 40 years. 

Back in Iran time is dragging on and I can't wait to enter Turkey. It is a war torn country but from my current position it looks like The Gate to Heaven.

As I mentioned before the Iranian people are extremely friendly. We get stopped on the road and offered food and drinks and get invited to their homes. We also get stopped to be photographed in selfies with these people. It seems to be strange for them to see foreigners and even stranger to see a woman on a bicycle. I haven't seen any other Westerner in the country so far. Except when I look in the mirror to adjust my headscarf which keeps falling off. 

I have tried to play by the dress rules on the bicycle but I'm getting more and more daring. For the last three days I cycled without the scarf and wearing only a helmet. On my head that is, not only as in really only. So far I have not ended up in jail and have not heard any warnings. Not in any understandable language anyway. It has been quite challenging to cycle in 40 degrees with arms and legs covered in some horrific lycra, albeit pink.

A chador can be used for a politically correct outdoor Iranian shower.

The Golestan Palace in Teheran where some national treasures are kept. It has a Coffee House without coffee. Something like a pub without beer.

Erwin and Paul longing for coffee that is not going to materialize.

Read the words

The flag that The Khomeini raised

Pink Lycra

Bruno making his own shade

The Iranian police warning the traffic by displaying life size car wrecks. You wouldn't want to rent this wreck.

This is what some Iranian people do for fun. Picnick on the side of the highway.

Father and son bringing bread but not wine. Anyone knows the recipe how to turn water into wine?

Last kilometers into Tehran

Now we are enjoying two rest days in Tehran. Enjoying is maybe not the correct word but even Erwin is smiling.