It’s crazy how weird stuff, if they just happen often enough, can become normal. In Iran this was truer than ever before, and in time it seemed like nothing came as a surprise anymore. Especially as it came to the hospitality of people.
One of the big challenges I had was to not let myself become numb to the never-ending flow of kindness I was receiving. I mean. If you’ve been invited to spend the night in different people’s homes for 10 days in a row, it’s pretty easy to take the 11th family kind of for granted.
The 5th time you get stopped that day, because yet another person wants to give you fruit and soda – it’s easy to just feel slowed down rather than to actually acknowledge what just happened.
When another random stranger on the street suddenly hands you his phone, and he has called up his only relative who speaks english, just to find out what you might need help with. And you firmly have to explain to yet another person that you don’t. need. anything. It’s easy to even get annoyed by peoples’ overwhelming willingness to make your day better.
And I don’t want to be that person.
So I had to constantly remind myself.
Being handed so much food that you have to start transporting it outside your panniers, is not in any way normal or reasonable. Spending night after night as the long lost daughter of new families is not something that a lot of people are fortunate enough to ever experience. Someone reaching out to help you is a good person, not a distraction.
‘You are one lucky girl, Fredrika.’
To expect the unexpected is pretty much the only way to go about life on the road. In Iran more than anywhere else. So even if I feel like I managed to stay humble and grateful – the element of surprise disappeared pretty quickly.
After a while, you accept pretty much anything as ‘normal’. Like that time I was shown into a room and was greeted by this big applause – only to find out that the people inside where waiting for me to ‘give my lecture’.
Well, this one kind of did catch me off guard actually
My odd life on the Iranian roads kept on being extreme in all ways, and I was really starting to get comfortable with it. As I was getting closer to the capital, things were changing rapidly. In one day, my surroundings changed from this:
To this:
I remember riding into Istanbul. That was pretty crazy. Making my way into Tehran was insane. I’m not in any way stating that Turkish drivers are respectful towards cyclists. I’m just saying that Iranian drivers…
Well. You get it.
In short I’m pretty happy I’m here to write this.
In Tehran I did a bit of Visa stuff. And a bunch of pretty crazy (and highly illegal) partying with people who’ll never show up in this blog. It’s really a shame I can’t share them here with you guys – because these are some good stories. Though definitely not good enough to risk my friends getting sentenced to jail, lashes, or bizzarely enough… death.
Leaving Tehran I had had enough of the desert like landscapes I’d been stuck with so far in Iran, and decided to head up to the coast of the Caspian Sea. Good choice it turned out. Crossing the mountain range between Tehran and the sea, was really the only exciting cycling I got in all of Iran.
A pretty tough pass got me both a new altitude record (2700 meters or so), and an incredible sweet ride down this narrow mountain road, decending all the way to the sea.
Can you see it? Down there to the left
The Iranian summer had been hot since the start. And according to the locals, this particular one was even hotter than normal. Like with everything else though, you get used to it.
As I reached the sea, it was no longer only hot. Here it was also incredible humid. I was sweating. A lot. Almost making myself worried I was turning into liquid.
5 minutes after showering, in a desperate attempt not to soak my ‘clean’ set of clothes
As I was cycling into the North Khorasan region, things got strange. During my two and a half weeks in the country, I hadn’t been stopped once by the police.
Then I was. Not once or twice. But 12 times in 3 days.
?
Still have no idea what really happened here.
They all seemed to want different things. Sometimes to check my papers. Sometimes simply to chat (in Farsi..). Sometimes to give me a lecture about how ‘women shouldn’t be on the road like this’. Sometimes to offer me an escort – of course without taking no for an answer (I had one car driving 10 meters behind me for 15 km).
I wanted one thing. To be left alone. As I realised that wasn’t happening, snaping sneak pics of the officers, became my way of entertaining myself.
Entertainment that got a lot more interesting when I got caught
After three days, the cops disappeared just as fast as they came and I had some short but sweet riding through green surroundings. Now, this was great.
Golestan National Park
I kept on being adopted
And took up a short but intense career as an English teacher
In Bojnurd I was lucky enough to stumble upon Hossein. Working as a mountain guide he took me trekking in one of the national parks nearby, knowing exactly where we would find all the cool animals.
After spending a little too much time with people along the way, I ended up having to rush quite a bit in order to make it to the border before my visa expired. I did have one important thing left though – getting my next one.
Where?
Mashad!
This is the 2nd largest city in Iran, and I wasn’t going there only for the visa. Just in time for Eid al-fitr (the ending of Ramadan), I was heading into this legendary city – the holiest place in all of Iran. Now that’s what I call good timing.
But more about that in the next one.
Fredrika