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.
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.
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.
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.
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