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.