23-29 July 2008

Iranian visas in hand, a burning bus, Turkish military might in the shadow of Noah’s shipwreck and a taste (literally) of what was to come as we headed east to Iran, the ‘axis of evil’: or is it? 

To us, Iran is a far cry from any preconceptions harboured by people from the West. Concerns are quickly vanquished by the call of ‘Hello Mister, Hello Missus’, the genuine interest in us and the invitations to share in their lives. 

Ankara-Dogubeyazit (bus)
Our jubilation at finally getting our Iranian visas was only marred by the 15 days we were given, meaning we would need to extend our visas when in Iran. Still, we were on our way at last! 

It was an epic 20-hour bus journey to the impossibly named Turkish border town of Dogubeyazit (Dog Biscuit is much easier to pronounce). There were initial protests from the bus driver’s side-kick about transporting our bikes but this was quickly overcome – dealing with embassies had refined our firm stance/negotiating technique. We were astonished to see a motorbike loaded onto the bus further down the line. The motorbike didn’t survive the journey as well as our bikes and the owner looked a little miffed when his brand new Kawasaki Ninja was removed with bent brake levers and scratched panels. 

At about 1am the bus unexpectedly stopped to a commotion going on outside. Looking out the window we saw another bus that was fully aflame. All passengers had been offloaded but luggage was still being thrown out. The flames easily reached up to 15m above the bus (we tourists joined the locals and shot a short video of the action – we’re unable to upload videos though). 

The team were the only passengers left on the bus when it arrived at the Biscuit, a Kurdish town close to the Iranian border. There was an increased military presence in the area to control any uprising from the Kurds who seek an independent state. Only weeks before we arrived, German tourists had been kidnapped in the area by a Kurdish rebel group, the PKK. The team were on high security alert.

Aside from these issues the Biscuit is a nice spot. We cycled up a very sharp 4km hill to our campsite beneath historic Ishak Pasa Palace with spectacular views over the village, plains and distant mountains. 

Dogubeyazit-Maku, Iran (65km)
We rolled down the hill and out of town early, eager to cross the border. It was a relatively easy and scenic ride to the border with Mt Ararat (Turkey’s highest mountain and the fabled place where Noah’s Ark came to rest) to the north most of the way. Di donned her headscarf and body-encompassing ensemble and we cycled up to the border. We were met by numerous money changers and a daunting queue of trucks and buses. This is where the bicycle pays dividends – we went straight to the front of the line and were processed immediately. Turkey’s gates opened to release us, followed by Iran’s to accept us (although Iran did make us wait 10 minutes). 

After entering Iran we ran into a couple of fellow cyclists who gave us their map and valuable advice (Superpedalatos, we encountered frustrations with the map too… 70km was actually 120km), then carried on to a small town called Maku which is located in a dramatic gorge. It’s a stunning, brown, landscape. We found a cheap hotel and then the Roller succumbed to his first session of uncontrollable bowel movements. He was aware that this was going to happen after rising in the morning to a grumble of a different tone and a cramp of a different pinch to the norm. Fortunately this was just a mild session and was over by the following day. 

Maku-Tehran (bus)
We were awake early the following day and about to head out for some supplies when we received our first request from a man keen to practice his English. A hand offering two nectarines snaked around the opening of the door when Di answered the first knock, the second time he came a-knocking it was with the request for conversation. We invited him into our room with the thought that 6.30am was somewhat early to be undertaking all this communication, only to realise later that we had neglected to put our watch forward by an hour. 

With the need to extend our Iranian visas on our minds, and to sort out our ongoing Tajikistan visa issue, we decided to head for Tehran immediately to get the process underway. Our first bus lesson for Iran was that the old Mercedes buses bounce copiously and you need to make sure you get a seat on the side of the bus without the sun. Observing the locals on our four hour bus trip to Tabriz was an interesting cultural introduction to Iran. 

When loading the bikes onto the bus it was noted that the Iranian punters were of a similar nature to the neighbouring Turks when it comes to baggage: they follow the ‘use force and it’ll fit’ philosophy. This is not the best approach (in our opinion). Voices needed to be raised, and a demonstration of twisting and angles followed, before the bikes were snug in the luggage compartment for our overnighter to Tehran. 

We arrived early morning for our introduction to cycling in the city of Tehran. Blurry eyed, we were quickly woken up as we pulled out of the South Terminal bus station bound for downtown surrounded by cars and buses from all directions, beeping horns, motorbikes and fumes. Road rules are not applicable in this city where it’s a case of look straight ahead and go for it. Trailed by two Spanish cyclists we negotiated our way to Hotel Naderi, a stylish remnant of the 1950s, and our abode for the six nights we ended up spending in Tehran.