Dave’s Reise nach Osten

The safest streets in Iran

The funny thing in Iran is, it is enough to cycle on an overland street to meet people. It happens regularly that a car drives slower next to me and asks: “Where are you from?”, “Which country?” or plain Farsi with some hand gestures. Sometimes they stop and want to talk, I even got invitations like the following: “Call me when you are in Teheran!” / “Here is my address in Mashad!”. And all that does not stop when you cycle on the highway! Even there they slow down and start talking to you.
“Highway?” you may ask. Be assured, for a cyclist, this is the safest street type you can find in Iran: A whole lane for your own that (normally) nobody else claims. And at the toll station, you just drive through, wave and they wave back. Same for the policemen: they see you, but don’t bother. Street rules in Iran are really only decoration.

Update: I heared having a lane for yourself highly depends on the time of day you are on that street. Seems, I was lucky.

Along the Caspian Coast

On the road along the Caspian coast, I got invited three times by English teachers! The first time I stayed there for a whole week. It was a real pleasure to stay with Yazer, he did everything to be a good host while he and his wive where really not wealthy. I was really in need of that rest as my intestives where in a bad mood. Not to bad, but I was understrength and for the first two or three days at his place I was just sleeping! That Yazer stopped me on the street and invited me to rest at his place was really one of the best things that could have happened to me.

It is true, the hard thing in Iran is not to find hospitality, it is to go on! The day I cycled on from Yazers place I got invited by the next English teacher and I refused that invitation. At lunch time the next one showed up and lured me into eating lunch with him. I stayed and one lunch turned into staying at his place for one and a half day. He wanted me to visit all the classes in his English institute, which most of the time was fun and a cool experience. Also he was a great guy and his wive cooked some Iranian specialities for me. Yummie! After that I made it to Teheran cycling 5 days in a row, almost everyday doing a 100 kilometers.

And now I am in Teheran! 6200 Kilometers, 150 days of travelling.

I was cycling for ten days with Chris and Larissa (if you speak Dutch, check out their homepage), from Dogubayazit in Turkey to Ardabil in Turkey. It was good for a change cycling with others. Now they went on to Turkmenistan with the bus. It was a good time and we did a lot of kilometers, but I am also happy to be in my own rythm again.

It seems like my first week in Iran is best told about around the top four challenges I faced. I already had some points in my mind, when something new jumped into first place:

1. Making clear to some village people that you want to sleep in your tent and not in their house

   We were tired and had met a lot of people for a few days, so our only wish that night was to find a quiet spot were we can camp and relax. As it is in those moments, you find nothing. But there were some nice looking trees in distance. We went there and found not only trees but also a field with a man working on it. So we asked if we can camp there. He brought us to a student who spoke somewhat English. He told us to follow him what we reluctantly did and showed us ‘his garden’ – the gras area of the village, opposite their creek. You won’t believe how long we had to discuss and how many misunderstandings we had to struggle with (because of their bad English and our not existing Farsi) to persuade them that sleeping in our tents is what we want and that we don’t need anything else.

   Later the same night, some young men came to our tent, shouting: “Mister, Hello Mister”. First we did not react, pretending to be asleep. But an hour later (around 11!), they came again, this time really waking us up and always shouting “Hello Mister, Hello Tourist” until I protruded my head out of the tent and we had the following dialog:
   “What do you want?”
   “I want to see a tourist.”
   “So here I am.”
   “What do you need?”
   “Sleep! Sorry.”
   “Sorry. Sorry. Goodbye.”
   How stupid are they not to come in the morning?

   In general, we were astonished by how stupid some people here react on us. Take a cheap hotel where they say they have only a room. And that they don’t have a shower. They told me I should go to the Hamam. Because I have already heard that answer in other hotels I tried to find out where the Hamam is and how much it costs. Easy questions, aren’t they? And I could even say them in Farsi. “Hamam how much?” “Hamam where?” But we had to discuss for ages and then they showed me the shared shower… So why don’t you show me that right away when I have a look at the room?

2. Pollution

   I have never seen cars like that. Some of them really send out black clouds the way you expect after Santa Claus jumped your chimney. We even tried to ride with masks for some time.
   
   Beside that, I really like the city traffic here. It is chaotic and everything goes. And by everything I mean everything! It is common to drive on the opposite lane, drive the ‘wrong’ way in a three lanes roundabout and stuff alike. I think it is a very organic way of driving. You just go your way, you take the space you can get, others take the space they can get. But they also let each other drive. And that is the beauty of it. If you cross the street and claim your space, drivers let you go. So if you don’t fear the traffic, then it is on your side. I like it.
   Ou… and sometimes there are even a lot of police officers doing something on the crossing, but you can still drive the way you want. And everybody does. I don’t get it.

3. Making yourself understandable

   Ok, I don’t know Farsi. I am learning their alphabet – slowly. But we just had the impression, people here were acting more stupidly then in other places on this globe. (see also point 1) It could be because of the big brain dead (everybody rich or intelligent leaves the country) or because the difference between ours and their culture is bigger. But I can’t really believe that.

   One scene that is repeating itself regularly is that when you stop in a village some people come to you and tell you where you are. Well, I know the name of this place, it is on my map, thank you. Why do you think I am lost?
   It gets worse if you aks for the way. Often they would look at our map (for minutes!), then point out their village “Sufiyan, Sufiyan!”. So often the call someone else and that one starts to discuss with another man on the street and soon, you have a big crowd discussing … what exactly??? The hell, we have just asked for the way to the next big city! And then it ends with one man pointing this way, the other one the other way. Ironic.

4. Their way of politness

   If there is no big crowd around they can start talking to, they just tell you something. It is very annoying. They try to be helpful, but are too polite/to proud to say: “I don’t know.” Same thing if their English is not so good. They just say “Yes, yes”, even if they don’t understand.

   While searching a cheap hotel in Ardabil (don’t try, they are dirty and/or filled with stupid staff) a man approached us and told us he knows a hotel for only 4 Dollars just 50 meters from here. I gave it a try, followed him, saw the hotel, told him that I already had a look at that one. He told me there is another one right there. We walked and walked. “You said it is right there, where is it?” “There, there”. He pointed with his finger to somewhere, it looked close, I should have left him, but walked with him for another 3- or 400 meters. We went in, he asked for the price: 11,50$. …

I have to admit, this list is a little unfair. We also received a lot of hospitality. The people here are very nice, and the people in the village mentioned in the first point invited us for food and were looking after our tents during the night – very hospitable! But more in other posts…

First, we have to talk about food: It is a big pile of rize. And kebap.
Just to make that clear, kebap here does not mean the same thing as at home! (here = Turkey + Iran). Kebap simply means “meat and open heat”. In Iran even more distinct: “meat on a stick over the heat”. [Auf Deutsch: Grillade, gegrilltes].
We also make meat over the fire in Europe, but call it differently; we only started to use the word kebap because we did not have a word for the big meat sticks the Turks introduced in Europe.
But back to here: Try to go to a small restaurant aside the street in Iran and get something else than kebap. Impossible! What do you have? That. Aaand that. First the owner points to the meat and than to the chicken kebap. The chicken in pieces on a metal stick, the meat often mashed around a wider stick. And what else do you have? Kebap. Oookey.

Once in Tabriz, we asked a shopkeeper where to eat around his shop. Is that sandwich place over there good? “Do you want to eat real Iranian food or sandwich?” Seems like this guy knows where to go, let’s go for the Iranian food. Well, it was a nice little restaurant, but they served only kebap. And not even good one!
After two months in Turkey I am pretty much fed up with kebap all the time. So going to a fastfood place in Tabriz and getting a good burger was a celebration!
I have to say, there is actually good Iranian food, e.g. aubergine with a filling of mashed walnuts. But you only get it in homes. It’s a pity.

Drinks. There are lot of softdrinks around. The big softdrink producer called Zamzam sells a copy of Pepsi and something called Fanta but written ‘Fana’. Not as good as Fanta (or Yedigün in Turkey!), but drinkable. They also have the original Coca-Cola! So if someone can explain me how this embargo from the USA works, please tell me! Any additional article, link or whatever is appreciated, I really want to understand why they can have Intel products, French cars – and Coca Cola while there is an embargo. Update: I know now that most of this thing are imported via other countries, but still, I am wondering how they can fill Coca Cola bottles in Iran…

And I bought some chocolate. But it is not very good. (In Turkey they have really good one, I was amazed!) How not to get homesick without good chocolate?

It is a country. There a people living there. They have jobs, go to shops, drive cars, have fields and cattle, computers, plastic, friends, tea, television. They are like you and me. Just to have that said for everyone thinking it is one big atomic bomb factory surrounded by angry Mullahs and fundamentalistic politicians.

These are my first impression of Iran:

At the border: You can buy vacuum cleaners in the duty free store.

They have a lot of graffities here! Almost every wall is painted! Who expected that?

And this very ugly plastic palm tree:

PS: This article was uploaded with 48 Kb/s. And that was in an Internetcafe! Do you remember the times? …

Endlich! Nach 2 Monaten Türkei hatte ich ziemlich genug davon – meh hets eifach irgendwenn gseh. Der Grenzübertritt war problemlos – man hat noch unsere Temperatur gemessen wegen der Schweinegrippe. Hat die WHO nicht schon vor meiner Abfahrt erklärt das sei kein lokal gebundenes Phänomen mehr? Item…

Gleich nach der Grenze kommt ein kleiner Ort in dem wir ein billiges Hotel suchten und fanden. Bazargand ist noch der schlimmere Grenzort. Jeder, (aber wirklich jeder!) will hier ein Geldwechsler sein und fragt einem ob man Geld wechseln wolle: “Change, change”. Sogar aus dem vorbeifahrenden Auto rufen sie einem das zu. Zum Glück sagt einem der Lonely Planet, dass es im Zollgebäude eine Bank hat – für solche Dinge ist er wirklich nützlich!

Ich bin jetzt Millionär! Die 150 gewechselten Euros ergaben gleich 2 Komma irgendwas Millionen Rial. Und das gibt dann ein hübsches Bündel Noten! Die grösste die sie haben ist 50′000. Das entspricht ca 5 Dollar. Ein ziemlicher Witz. Ich bin aber sehr froh, dass der Umrechnungskurs zum Schweizer Franken 1:11000 ist und nicht 1:1.75 oder 1:2.3 oder so was. So streicht man einfach 4 Nullen und weiss dann ziemlich genau was wieviel kostet.

Ich bin euch jetzt übrigens 2.5 Stunden voraus.

Der Iran ist wirklich anders und das ist erfrischend nach 2 Monaten Türkei, zu essen gibt es zwar auch fast nur Kebap, aber er ist anders gewürzt, das Frühstück das wir bekommen besteht plötzlich fast nur noch aus Spiegeleier. Dazu dünnstes Fladenbrot und Tee der plötzlich ohne Löffel daherkommt. Hier nimmt man das Zuckerstück (das auch anders ist) auf die Zunge und trinkt den Tee hindurch. Und dann die Schrift und Sprache… Ich übe, aber im Moment bin ich noch vollkommen verloren. Zum Glück sprechen hier in der Region noch viele Leute Türkisch und auch immer wieder einige erstaunlich gut Englisch.

Machts gut, bis bald wieder einmal.
Schreibt mir mal ein Mail von zuhause, ich freue mich über jedes.

PS: Das Internet hier ist langsam und es ist ziemlich viel gesperrt: kein Facebook, kein Youtube – ich bin froh sehe ich meine Mails…

Der Osten der Türkei (die kurdischen Gebiete) war anders. Aber nicht so fest wie ich erwartet habe. Etwas ärmlicher, teilweise etwas konservativer. Speziell in Urfa wo man auch einen interessanten Mix von Menschen beobachten konnte: Türken, viele Kurden (mit violetten Kopftüchern) und Araber.

Von Urfa bin ich weiter nach Osten gefahren und es war einfach zu heiss. Deshalb (und besonders aus Zeitgründen) habe ich zu grossen Stücken den Bus genommen – oder (mit dem Velo und allem Gepäck!) Autos gestoppt – klappt besser als man denkt. Das hat sich gelohnt. Der Vansee liegt auf 1600 Metern und in Van war es etwas kühler. Nach etwas Erholung fuhr ich dann in 3 Tagen zur iranischen Grenze – es waren nochmals 3 wunderbare Tage. Die Route dem See entlang war wunderschön, ich wurde sogar zweimal von Kurden zum Picknick eingeladen. Es ging stetig aufwärts und es hatte Gegenwind, aber das war mir egal, ich konnte wieder fahren! Nicht mehr krank, nicht mehr zu heiss. In den Dörfern hatte es unglaublich viele Kinder die “Hello, hello” (mit diesem ganz grässlichen, touristischen Akzent) und dann “money, money” riefen. Es wurde nerviger als das Gehupe.

Nach zwei Tagen fahren kämpfte ich mich dann den Pass hoch, 2644 Meter! Es waren nur noch 10 Grad Celsius. Im Dorf in dem ich übernachtete waren es 15 Grad im Haus… Danach wurde ich mit einer wunderschönen Abfahrt mit Ausblick auf den Ararat belohnt.

In Dogubayazit wollte ich nicht allzu lange verweilen. Nur kurz E-Mails checken. Aber ich hatte nicht erwartet wie so ein Grenzort ist. Die meisten Reisenden in den und vom Iran kommen hier durch und auch die Grenze von Aserbaycan und Georgien sind nahe…

In meiner Mailbox war eine Nachricht von einem holländischen Pärchen auf dem Fahrrad, sie seine gerade in Dogubayazit. Abgeschickt vor einer halben Stunde! Ich schrieb gleich so schnell wie möglich zurück, fragte nur kurz ob sie noch online seien, es klappte und wir vereinbarten ein Treffen. Auf dem Weg dorthin traf ich noch ein Zürcher Pärchen auf Fahrrädern an, sie konnten allerdings wegen ihrem Visum erst 2 Tage später weiterreisen.

Mit Chris & Larissa (die Holländer) bin ich nun seit 3 Tagen unterwegs und wir verstehen uns sehr gut. Nachdem wir ihre Geldprobleme gelöst haben (man muss alles Geld in bar in den Iran mitnehmen!) fuhren wir zur Grenze. Auf dem Weg dorthin trafen wir auf eine Pilgergruppe aus Kasachstan, alle in Weiss, sie liefen in 6 Monaten nach Mekka. Das waren total fröhliche Leute.

Dann kamen uns noch 2 Polen entgegen (auch auf dem Fahrrad), sie haben das Land in Shorts betreten und verlassen! Die sturen Kleiderregeln scheinen also für männliche Velofahrer nicht zu gelten. Da habe ich doch glatt ein Hemd umsonst gekauft!