30 July-5 August 2008

Two strangely clothed foreigners on bicycles climbing mountain roads in the midday heat resulted in spectacle status. The Turkish love to toot; Iranians love to shoot and there are now many photos of the sweaty team throughout Iran. The scenery is spectacular. 

Sahand. Sadaf. Maryam. Mr Alikaram Haghshenas. Abrahem. Fazel. Nader. Shahrokh. Hojatollah. Saied. Abolfazil Soltany. Samane. Meysam. Gervekan. Mohamed. Javad Danesh. Amir. Kheili Khob. Ali. Mahdi Shakeri. Roghegh. Ezat. Mustafa. Hesam. Hamed. To name but 100th of our new Iranian friends whose kindness entertained us, and resulted in us never going hungry, thirsty or sleeping rough. 

Tehran (notes and key words of a tourist) 

Tehran is a vast city of which we saw a few pockets. 

Public holidays: fantastic for locals and a tourist’s nightmare. In the middle of trying to sort out the Tajikistan leg of our journey there was a religious holiday and all of Iran closed for the day. We ambled around a park for a while in the afternoon and the Roller played table tennis with an enthusiastic Iranian while Di kept score in Farsi (her own sporting skills would have been hampered by her enveloping clothing). 

Working hours: half days (in particular banks – Sarah, Ruth, perhaps you might like to look at a transfer??). 

The Paykan: the Iranian chariot. It is modelled on, in fact pretty much identical to, the classic Hillman Hunter. The quality varies – some are beaten with no front or rear lights and more dents than the Stick can count to in Farsi, while others are immaculate with tinted windows, lowered and with white walled tyres. Across the board these vehicles emit copious pollution and are a significant contributor to the poor air quality of Tehran. Paykan production ended in 2005 however their abundant number means that they will keep truckin’ far into the future. 

Power cuts: frequent due to lack of water. 

Water: used liberally for footpath and other non-permeable surface irrigation in the heat of the day. 

New Zealand Embassy: air-conditioned, ice-cold water, tea with milk and biscuits, internet access and the perfect respite when visa frustrations take hold. Many thanks to Paul Foster who probably doesn’t realise what a true gem he was to us.

Noses: nosejobs are all the rage. Walking around with post-op white plasters on the nose is all part of the look.

Taxi drivers: will take you places they don’t know. Ask random punters on the street and in other vehicles for directions. You get there in the end.

Crown jewels: reportedly amazing. We tried to see them four times but could never fathom the working hours. 

Tehran-Esfahan (bus)
Esfahan is regarded by many as the most beautiful city in Iran, with much of the country’s historical buildings and monuments. It’s the Iran of photographs: intricately tiled mosques, historic bridges crossing the river, inviting teahouses and friendly punters. We spent three days exploring the city (and extending our Iranian visas). It was here that we were invited to our first Iranian meal at the house of Sam, a local who has moved to New Zealand but was back in Esfahan on holiday. 

The meal of rice with vegetables, meat and delicate spices was a quiet affair at about 9pm. Sam’s mother and sister were there, and we sat on the carpet eating and conversing with Sam translating. Three hours later and the room was transformed. Sam has nine brothers and sisters and they had arrived en masse, with their husbands, wives and children. Another feast was underway and the walls were reverberating with the sound of very loud laughter and conversation. It’s customary for Iranians to visit friends and family late into the night. They have siesta in the afternoon. 

Esfahan-Koruyeh (bus, cycle 48km)
We set off from Esfahan on our bikes at sunrise, but when crossing a main highway through heavy traffic the Stick hopped off her bike, had another foot-stomping session and we ended up on a bus to Shahareza, a town about 80km out of Esfahan. We were perched on steps outside a closed shop in Shahareza breakfasting on bread from the bakery (“bread window”) when the baker came out first with cheese and then with sliced melon which made our breakfast all the more enjoyable. 

After deliberating whether to follow the advice of most of the locals and take the main road to Shiraz, or whether to go against popular opinion and go the alternative (“dangerous”) route through the mountains, we set off on the latter option and the best ride of our trip so far.

The road initially crossed an arid desert landscape with just a gradual incline before we reached the distant hills (the Zagros Mountains). We had planned to camp for the night near a village called Koruyeh. In what was to become the usual sequence of events, we were escorted by a youth on a 125cc motorbike to the village, who led us to the shop for supplies, to a fresh water spring and then a camping spot. Watching workers from the mountains returning to the village on their donkeys, surrounded by orchards and with the adobe village in the distance it was a pleasant location but for the curious boys and men from the village who kept coming to check us out. 

Late in the afternoon we decided to go for a walk into the village to look around. We were watching a procession of men followed by chardor-clad women heading into the mosque when a Paykan pulled up and the man inside gestured for us to get in. We were taken to his house and treated as guests of honour. They insisted on feeding us – first fruit then fried eggs with local bread and yoghurt – and then they gave us our own room and rolled out mattresses on the carpet where we had a comfortable, if different, night’s sleep. 

Koruyeh-Semirom (50km)
With a sunrise send off from the family, their cow and their donkey, we headed into the hills and an introduction of what we had before us – a quiet road, mountainous scenery, nomadic tents, herds of goats, orchards. Pasta-tainted tea with powdered milk tastes amazing with expansive views. 

The town of Semirom is famous for its waterfall. After checking into its only hotel we got a taxi to see the waterfall later in the afternoon, and were fascinated more by the campers around the waterfall than the main attraction itself (mid-summer and not much water was falling). 

Iranian people love to camp! By waterfalls, in parks, outside mosques, on roundabouts, in carparks, on the edge of motorways, beside road toll stations…