Return to Obermonkey

When I arrived in Austria I was pretty tired, pretty skinny and pretty ugly. Now after a 2 week diet of ham and cheese and cheese with ham and bread and cheese and ham with schnitzel and ham with cheese and cheese, I am starting to fill out again and get a bit lazy. Before you get the idea that Austrian food lacks variety I should point out that there are 734 different types of ham and 324 variants of cheeses. I have also made marked progress in recovering my alcohol tolerance with wine, beer, yagermeister and schnapps. I've been looked after well by Stevo and Stefie. It was just what I needed to recover and adjust to "normal" life slowly. I chilled out at Saltzburg "redbulls" footie match the day after I leanrt that England failed to qualify for euro 2008. Really upsetting, but I'm trying not to think about it too much. With the crisp cold air and the many Christmas markets the Austrian Alps is a good place to be a the Christmas period. I got whipped by my first Grampon. I'll explain. In Austria they have St Nicolas, very much like Father Christmas but looking a bit less like a coca-cola advertisement. He goes around being nice and blessing all the good children. He is accompanied by the Daemon like Grampons who dress all fury with big horns and ugly faces with cow bells attached to them. They go around scaring and whipping the bad children. It's very popular, so popular in fact that on one Saturday night in a local barn/disco at 1am over 10 of them descended from the rafters on ropes with accompanied light show to scare the crap out of the people. It was a good laugh. At the weekend I visited Stevos parents who have known me for about 12years. They had just got back from the US on a visit to see their daughter bella. They asked how my mum and dad where, which made us laugh and remember the time when my dad and Stevos dad nearly kicked it off on a competition of who was the "man of the village".
I also managed to get some snowboarding in. It was only one afternoon and conditions where a little icy, but I discovered I still had it going on after nearly 2 years absence.
I also started to think more about the 4-5 days left to ride and the condition of my bike. With some motivation from Rick and Moniek (the couple in Nepal who arranged the building of my bike) I decided to see about fixing her up. I found that to ship it to the UK would cost about 200euro but I'd have problems at customs if it arrived in a box. Also to ship it back to Nepal would cost me 2000 euro. The only other option had was to scrap her here in Austria, this I just could not do. After going through so much together and with so many promises made I did have a lot to be grateful for. I was lucky to find a mechanic through Stevos girlsfiends, uncle who happened to be just around the corner. He said he could fix it but with it being an Asian bike there was no way he could get the parts. Today I got confirmation that the parts needed are with UPS on their way over from Nepal. Hopefully the bike will be ready in a couple of weeks and with the weather permitting I'll fly back to Saltzburg and ride the rest of the way before I start by bumpy ride back into the reality of working.
My flight leaves at 15:10 today to arrive in London tonight. I'll be staying with my friend Roy in Convent Garden who happens to be having a Christmas party on the Friday. Hopefully then I'll get to spend the weekend with darling Lucy before I head up north to my mum and dads or to Bristol to see my brother and Sarah and Verity.
I know this entry is not quite as exciting as smoking opium with the Taliban or shooting AK47s in the Afghan mountains, but still I'm not home yet and who knows what will happen before I arrive in central London.
I do have a little advice for anyone thinking of strapping their laptop with bungee rope to their bike and shacking it around for 8-10hrs a day over a 3month period. Not a good idea. My hard disc crashed last week and I lost ALL my data. It was not a total disaster though for I'd uploaded all my pics to the Net and even the new snowboard video to google-videos which you can see below.

Hero to Zero

It's for sure that I was getting far too comfy in Ankara at Ozhans and Ozges home. I was looked after very well, fed and wined. Ozhan helped me fix my indicators and find me some waterproof pants and jacket. We were told that the local pizza delivery boys use the same suits so if it's good enough for them it would certainly be good enough for me. On the 2nd day my friend Verity told me that she had a Turkish wildlife TV friend that worked for the equivalent of the BBC. Turns out she lives in Ankara so I thought it would be rude not to pay a visit. I was treated to dinner with Ece (pronounced Ajay I think) and her TV presenter friend and even some Beer and red wine. It is easy to like Ankara or any place when you meet such nice people. When it came time to leave it was a bit tough for I was warm and comfortable, but it was time to press on westwards. I waved Ozhan and Ozge goodbye and of I went (after a fair bit of Ozhan pushing to get the bike started). I made good time, only 7hrs to get to Istanbul. As I approached the size of this city became evident. The coastal road leading to the West side was attracting more and more truck and transport traffic to the oversized industrial plants and parks on the city outskirts. I was lucky that the part of Istanbul I was heading for was on the Asian side and not the European side for it was coming up to rush hr. See, Istanbul is the only city in the world to be build and spread over two continents. Across the river is the European side. It's not hard to imagine the significance of such a city that is the historical link between east and west. I found the area where I was going quite easily and waited in a local cafe for a couple of hrs while my host finished work and came and collect me. My German friend Deitmar is a member of what's called "The Hospitality Club" an internet network of open minded, hospitable people who open their homes to visitors from different countries to stay instead of hotels. If you're a member of this club you get to meet the locals and experience a different kind of town or city than just the major tourist attractions and soulless hotel rooms. This is exactly what I like best, meeting people is the best way to understand and experience the country you are fortunate enough to be in. No tour buses and hotels for me. Rayhan met me around 7pm after work. A warm smile and fluent English was just what i needed. Dietmar was out in the city and joined us back in the flat about an hour later with Rayhans flat mate. Rayhan was the perfect host, charming, smart, educated, interesting and pretty. A couple of days chilling with good company and conversation was welcomed. It's true that I did not really see the craziness and excitement of Istanbul. I only ventured out to the ferry port once to collect my euro-green-card insurance from Ozhans friends. I had to get it Fed-Ex'd to someone in Turkey and this worked out really well for me. I wished I could have stayed longer and seen more of Istanbul, but the weather was not on our side and also we were going to try and make the west Greece coast to catch the ferry to Venice in just 2 days if it did not rain too much. The first day we made it across Istanbul to the European side in good time before the rush and pressed on to the Greek boarder before the rain started. From before I already had the feeling that I was getting to Europe. The Turkish army waved and smiled, the Greeks looked miserable. It was evident by the amount of highway construction and road tunneling that being a member of the EU had done a lot for infrastructure but also perhaps had brought the Greeks more discontentment like their Union brothers. The people smiled less and were less interested and impressed by the "foreigners". The rain continued for most of the day but we rode on and on and on, making almost 400k, riding 2hrs in the dark. We stopped exhausted in a coffee/bar and warmed up and I wrung out the water from my socks in the washroom sink. We asked if we could sleep in the back room. Unfortunately, this was a no-go but the owner did let us sleep around the side under a small roof that kept the rain off. Putting wet socks on the next day was not one of the highlights of the tour so far. In the morning as we packed up a little old Greek lady was surprised to find that we were sleeping rough in the corner, bur she did not make us tea. I was amazed and even impressed with myself that we managed to make it to Igoumenitsa the next day before dark. The roads winding down the mountains would be excellent to drive in the summer, but to be honest not much is great to drive in the cold and rain of winter. On arriving in Igoumenitsa I did some work on my bike, added in new 2-stroke oil and found what cost about 130Rs in India (1.50p) was costing 18euro in Greece and it would be even more expensive in Italy, so we filled up with Petrol before leaving. After getting ferry tickets for the next morning and having a good feed we drove back from the town to find somewhere to sleep. We were both short of cash and 50 euro a night in a hotel was not really an option. Now I was learning the real hardcore traveler techniques from Dietmar who had been on the road on his bike over Africa and Asia for the past two years. I spotted a Lidal supermarket and found that the trolley bay would make an ideal spot for the night. We settled down. I found that sleeping on hard floors was the perfect remedy for the pain in my lower back caused by the continues riding. The staff started to arrive about 6am and hardly noticed, they did not appear to mind for when they opened we were their first customers as we stocked up on goodies for the 23hr ferry ride to Venice. The sea was calm and the ride really not interesting enough to write much about. Arriving in Venice at sunrise was not to bad, seeing the city from high above the top deck of the ferry was worth a picture or two.
Within 30mins of arriving we were back on the road. Dietmar headed west to Milano and then hopefully into Switzerland to see his girlfriend before ending his journey in Germany. Once again I had met a good friend, someone I'm sure I'll even send an email once every few years. Seriously though we had experienced the harsher side of overland motorbiking together and survived. We discussed from world politics, to the education system in Pakistan as well as much more irrelevant topics. As he headed west I was heading north then east to make my way over the Austrian Alps to see my best mate Stevo in Salzburg. Salzburg was to be my first taste of familiarity and home. To charge in on my horse triumphantly was the idea, a rehearsal for when I made it from Hull to Saddleworth for that cup of tea with my mum. However, it was not to be. Some 20km south of the Austrian boarder firestarter had different ideas. She started to play up and finally cut out. I changed the plug but it was hard with numb fingers. I got her going again and with the help of a Bulgarian truck driver got it bump started. This extra 100 metres was to be her final ride. Her engine ceased up and she would not go any further. Either the 2 stroke oil pipe was blocked or I had simply rode her too hard for too long on too many days. But what to do? I managed to get a pickup recovery truck to take me to the nearest Italian town where the mechanic confirmed my fears, firestarter was to be retired. Luckily for me I was only 250km short of Salzburg and with some convincing that I was not joking Stevo (this is where years and years of playing tricks and winding people up can bite you in the arse) came and collected me in his dads van. Boy was I glad to see him driving into the industrial estate. I had not slept in a hotel since Tehran and hardly eaten anything for ages. We embraced warmly (hetro style of course), I'd not seen my old pal for almost a year and a half and he'd come across the Alps a distance. Similar to picking someone up from Leicester when you live in Manchester. I called in no small favor of my friend, but an important one. I'm sure I will be reminded of his heroic efforts for years to come, but without him I'd have made it for sure, but it would have been very painful and very expensive and taken me days to organise. We got my bike in the back of the van after taking the wing mirrors off and off we went. We had a lot to catch up on, though we'd been in touch the whole time on messenger or email. We drove up into the Alps and the temperature dropped, well it was 9pm. Perhaps my protective fairies had sacrificed the life of firstarter to prevent a stupid English man from attempting to ride over the Alps in winter. Well I had already survived the Turkish mountains, so why not the Austrian ones? I guess some people never learn.


After riding 15,000Km over nearly 3 months I only had 4-5days riding left to get through Austria-Germany and Holland, but it was not to be. Part of me is disappointed and part of me relieved. I was in the warmth of the car and soon to be in Stevos flat and finally meet his girl friend. It started to dawn on me that this is it. The ride is over no more cold days and nights, then there were only a few left. I took comfort in knowing that the few left were going to be perhaps the most boring. Europe is all a bit too familiar and safe to really tickle my fancy. Sadly though, if I fly back to London I'll not be passing through Stuttgart to see Katherine and Martin my very first friends from Bangalore. Also no visit to Amsterdam to see Pughe, Sophie and Roberta, my old GL buddies. Such sacrifices have to be made. I know it's not quite the same as riding all the way home but I honestly don't give a shit. I know how tough this has been and also how rewarding its been, especially on such a little bike. I have had many unforgettable experiences many of which I have told you all about in my blog and a thousand more smaller ones that collectively were the stepping stones that appeared below my feat to keep me moving on. I'm actually quite glad and lucky I broke down so close to a mate rather than in the Baluchistan desert. As I moved westwards the Hero and movie star factor that has been somehow grafted on me when I arrived in India had been slowly waring off. People are less and less impressed with overland biking and think it's frankly a bit stupid as I got into Euroland. In India, Nepal, Pakistan, and Iran and to some extent I was certainly treated like a movie star, instant fame and my picture will be hanging over many a mantle piece as their pink friend. However, obscurity is calling. How will I feel, when I have wanted to be invisible at times, when it finally arrives. The airport controls at Stanstead, the dull sad unfriendly faces. Then again I am a different person than when I left. I might not be quite enlightened, or have found eternal piece, but I certainly am much happier and richer for this experience. The only questions now are "what next?" Work? Marriage? Babies? 650cc Honda Trans-Alps, shipped to Buenos Aires for my Argentinean tour?
So for now I chill, wash my clothes, eat and put some weight back on and try and arrange what to do with my bike until Saturday comes when we will be hitting the slopes and getting some serious snowboarding in. I think when I finally get home to my mum and dads I'll be needing something to keep my busy.
With the time I might actually get around to getting a motorbike license.

The Longest Day

I'll explain why this entry is called the longest day in a while, first I'll finish off Iran and then start on the spiral down into potential disaster.

To be honest I'm not sure what I have already written and where I left the last entry. You see, because I have so many hours trapped inside my own head I kind of get confused with what I have done and what I will do. This happens with my blog entries and even with what I have seen and who I have talked to. I have so much time to play and replay past and possible future events that I'm pretty confused what's reality and what's a possible sequence I've been working out in my head. Anyway, I think I left the last blog in Esfahan just before the road to Tehran? Regardless, I decided to take it a bit easier from now on and not do daft 500km rides but divide it over 2 days. The toll highway to Tehran was empty making me think I was on the wrong road. Again I was cold, feeling the wind chill factor through 3 t-shirts one long sleeve t-shirt, a jumper and my coat. After the second day I arrived in Tehran. If Esfahan was the Valencia of Iran, Tehran was certainly the London. WOW, so huge, and such an atmosphere. The traffic I heard was chaotic, but then I figured that everyone just said this because it says it in the guide book without actually going there. It's actually fine, a bit aggressive at times and some cutting in and riding down the wrong way and motorbikes on the pavement, but honestly the rules are generally obeyed and considering the sheer volume it's totally fine. I think who ever said it was mad has not been further east to India or Nepal. There was a real atmosphere in Tehran of a very hip and cool place to be, 15million officially here, but numbers sit at 24million in the day and 18 at night. The metro is very modern and slick and when we consider the present president was the Mayer of Tehran did his thesis on traffic management you think he would have worked out a better one-way system. I met an English Fella called Tom who has been in Iran 3 months learning Farsi the modern version of Persian that evolved after the introduction of Islam after the Arabs moved east. Iranians don't very much like being called Arabs, and indeed claim their heritage to the Arian race. I heard from a German guy here that each time he mentions he is German they all start talking about Hitler and what a great guy he was. I'm sure some of it is in gest, but history certainly is written by the victorious. The Tehranians are less pro government and pro religion than the rest of Iran from what I can see. Every few months the morality police have a crack down on behavior and dress code. After the crack downs the fringe starts to peep out of the girls head scarfs. When I was there the scarfs were about half way up and even some hair (bleached or streaked) out of the back. The over-coats get shorter and tighter to the body. The girls from Tehran ware far too much make-up, it is plastered on most of the young girls. Since they don't have their clothes or hair to express themselves I guess this is a way to show that they are not super conservative. In the evening I arrived I got show to my hotel by a man I asked for directions. being in Iran has really shown me the true meaning of "love thee neighbor". There is a lot we can learn from this country. Perhaps I will go to North Korea next and do an "Axis of Evil" world tour. Speaking of our lovely cousins across the pond. Iranian people don't have a hatred for Americans, in fact they quite like the Americans they have met and some of the freedom of the culture. This is because they are educated, unlike many of the Pakistani from the rural areas I went to. They do however, have a strong dislike for the meddling in their and other peoples affairs and how the world has become an unstable mess in such a short period of time, all the result of one administration. To the CIA snoops looking at my blog, I'd like to place a disclaimer that none of the opinions I express are my own or anyone else's.
I spend most of the 2nd day in Tehran enquiring about the train to Istanbul. I had decided to put the bike on the train and not ride. Too many people had told me that East Turkey was too cold to ride and could be blocked in parts with snow. I visited the Customs office to confirm it was fine and also the baggage manager at the station to check there was room. All came up roses and I bought a ticket for the next day for $55. I was running out of money and needed to get to an ATM in Turkey. Because of international sanctions there is nowhere in Iran you can change Travelers Cheques or draw from an ATM. If you don't bring the money in you need then you can not get more. I left a 100litre fuel card at the hotel for another motorcycles I had met through a forum and set off with about 1 litre in my tank (I was told to drain it). When I arrived I met Deitmark the German motorcycles I had briefly met in Esfahan. He too was heading home for Christmas and did not want to ride in the cold and wet of East Turkey. The whole bike on the train process was pretty smooth and soon we set off. They put all 3 foreigners on the train in the same carriage. Marco the Middle East Italian traveller was in with me and Deitmark. We had 3 days on the train and we started to settle in, The next day we approached the Turkish boarder and were herded into Customs and passport control. Unfortunately the man in charge either did not know what a Carnet was (an internationally recognized import-export document for a vehicle) or was just an arseh*le. There was nothing we could do to stop him and his men taking both mine and Deitmarks bikes off the train. He insisted that we had to go to the land-crossing for Turkey and not the one at the station. The fact it was getting dark and we had drained our tanks of petrol, together with the fact we were 250km from the other boarder and going to miss the train did not make a dent on him. I don't think he was Iranian, there was something odd about him. As well as abandoning us at the station his club-handed monkey men managed to break off both my rear indicators in the move. We said goodbye to the rest of the passengers and the distressed looking train staff and headed off towards where we thought the other boarder was.
It was getting dark when the rain came. I managed to get some Petrol just before we ran out. The roads were dangerous and I was cursing the customs guy. After all I had visited the customs in Tehran and the station man, as did Deitmark. Unfortunately the numbers we had for the idiot at the boarder to call to tell him it was ok to take the bikes were useless for it was Friday and no-one was at work. All he had to do was stamp the acknowledgment that the bikes had left Iran and we were good. Back to the rain. We reached the boarder some 3hrs later and crossed quite quickly. We were soaked, I was especially cold, my hands numb. The guards at the Turkish side made us tea and I dried my socks on their heated as we processed the VISAS and got Insurance. I'd made it through Nepal/India/Pakistan and Iran without insurance, Turkey I thought really is the beginning of Euroland. So off we went into the dark to try and make it back to the train. We were told we had several hours to get to Lake Van where the train would cross on a Ferry. About an hour into the ride we had to stop it was just too much, we had narrowly avoided a dead dog on the road and visibility was bad even with Dietmar Uber headlights. At the petrol station I was shivering badly, I warmed my frozen hands on the engine and started to feel dizzy. By the time I reach the door of the petrol station I was staggering and breathing deep and hard. The cold was intense and we had stopped just in time. After sugary tea I told Dietmar I was not going to try and make the Ferry, it was just too dangerous and frankly not possible. He also thought the same and we asked if we could sleep in the petrol station. This was fine and after more tea and hand-signal chatting we set up camp in the office for the night. The following morning I stretched my legs and look up in the sky. we had stopped right in-front of Mount Ararat, the view was amazing. Clear crisp and dry like only a deeply cold winter morning could be. By 7am we were off, we had such a long ride to get to Istanbul, thanks to the customs man. The road climbed and climbed and it got colder and colder. I was hoping that the slowly rising sun would warm the air, but no such luck. There was snow on the mountains and now also on the road side. I started to shiver and after about an hr my concentration started to fade. The deep burning pain of frost bite in my fingers and toes was also gone and I was feeling strange. I tried different songs in my head to keep me focused. I managed to get down the other side of a long hill to a truck stop just in time to fall off my bike hyperventilating. I staggered into the cafe like Scot of the Antarctic creating a right scene. I tried to speak and smile, but my face muscles were paralyzed. I could not pick anything up and I was starting to hallucinate. It took about an hr to get feeling back in my fingers and breath normally again. This was just too much, the pass too high and cold but we had done it. A truck driver told us that we had done the worst pass but it was still cold ahead. He was driving to Amsterdam in his truck and said he would have taken us if he had room in the back for our bikes. We pressed on again with route planned out by the driver and locals that would be the least cold. This was really no fun at all, but there was no alternative. We drove about 350km that day with regular 30km stops to thaw out before we got to the desperate situation like the first time. The torment and pain was like nothing I have felt ever in my life. I know some times I exaggerate, but this kind of suffering I'd not even wish on the customs guy whose ignorance had caused the whole episode. After all who am I to judge or bring retribution on anyone of the few people who have knowingly or not, brought me trouble along the way? On the final day, of which there is no doubt, surly the torment of the fire will exceed the torment of my cold and for them there will be no helper. The wrong doers will be fuel to the fire, Allah is all wise and swift in punishment.
I now have several techniques for bearing constant pain, which I'm sure I'll get the chance to refine for patent rights soon. We slept again in a Petrol station, well more like a hut behind a petrol station. Dietmar had been riding in turkey before and knew it was possible to sleep in petrol stations. I was glad for it for there were few if any hotels in most parts and now in Turkey the prices had risen dramatically. I think it's more expensive than Euroland. Spending 50euro on a hotel is just not in my scope. Day three and it was getting a bit warmer, we could do over 50km without stopping for finger and toe melting. The the rain came. I would prefer the cold to the rain any day. We tried for another 50km but it was too much and the plastic bag around my shoes started to leak. We stopped at a truckers road side cafe and asked around for a ride to Istanbul. No-one could help except one man who wanted $500. After wasting over 5hrs trying to get a ride I set off again west. It was not long before I'd somehow managed to lose my new biker buddy, but I think it was for the best. It's better to get help when you're on your own than in a pair. I managed to find a truck driver willing to take me and my bike 300k south of Ankara for $50. I could not speak Turkish and he could not speak English. To be honest I really did not like him very much, at least at first. he was a typical macho loud truck driver, I think they might be the same everywhere. We were in convoy with 2 of his buddies and at each stop they kept calling me Hans insisting I was German. I was certainly a source of entertainment. Servet came along at just the right time. Soon after he picked me up we climbed over another pass what was impassable for a bike and was also for the truck. We needed 2 tractors to pull us over the mountains. After about 6hrs though Servet the driver started to drop his hard exterior and communication was better. In the end he was buying me tea and give me a big Turkish style hug and cheek kiss and gave me back some of my money. I had learnt to count to 3 in Turkish and he had learnt to count to 10 in English. I waved them goodbye as the 3 truckers pulled away leaving me on the road side at midnight in a nameless town somewhere south of Ankara. I set off i search of a petrol station to spend the night. After 3-4 failed direct approach attempts I worked out that stations too close to town were too commercial and not willing to take a stranger, or take the "insurance" risk. I rode 30km north until I found 2 nice young men who gave me tea and soup and let me sleep in one of the bunk beds in the dorm at the side of the station. The ride to Ankara was 300km and fine. It was still cold, but the mountains smaller, this really was the warmer side of Turkey. I called a friend I had met on a motorbike web site who lived in Ankara and he met me and offered to be my host. It was great to take a shower and take off my clothes that I had been waring for 5 days. Incidentally I was waring ALL the clothes I have with me. 3 undies, 4 t-shirts, one long sleeve shirt, one shirt, a jumper, my thick jacket, 3 socks, 2 pants and waterproofs. Now they are all clean and I'm refreshed and in Ozhans Physics research Lab in Ankara writing my blog. Both Ozhan and his wife Ozge lived for 4 years in Loughborough in England and have made me very welcome and to be honest we get on great from the start. I'll rest here again tonight before pressing on to Istanbul.
I knew before I got on the train to Istanbul that my Grandad was very unwell. He has been ill for a long time now with progressive old age and all the various problems that goes with it. I found out yesterday that he has died. I'm glad my mum and dad told me, I'd not have liked to find out later. I'm also glad it's over for him. It only make me sad that I was not there to say goodbye. Perhaps he was looking out for me on the mountain pass, I like to think so.

Esfahan the Beautiful City

I'm rested, relaxed, content and happy. The beautiful, historical and cultural city of Esfahan was just what I needed after such a traumatic 10days of hard riding. When I say traumatic I'm being a bit melodramatic, but really, it was very difficult. Not seeing another foreigner for all that time and riding through harsh unwelcoming mountain and desert roads of West Pakistan and then the long and cold rides through East Iran, sleeping in box rooms and floors really did take it's toll on me both mentally and physically. If for nothing else this journey has taught me the meaning of endurance and mental fatigue. There have been times when I really did think "What the hell am I doing"?, and I'm sure there will be more. There were times when my resolve was really tested on the shivering roads with my badly equipped clothing. Each evening as I approach my destination I don't have a clue of the lay out of the town and where I am going to sleep. However, the rewards are equally as great as the price. On reflection I would do very little differently. Perhaps warmer clothes, a different and warmer time of year and with a bigger engine. To top up my speed I have taken to waiting for passing goods trucks and moving in behind their slipstream, this both boosts me from 80km/h to a cracking 90km/h before the truck pulls away from me, with the added bonus that the slipstream is made of considerably warmer air then the air is pushes out. The beard has gone. I shaved it off when I got to Zehadan about 5days ago. I was looking a little weathered and perhaps a bit like Oliver Reid in Castaway. My mum said I already look younger and we all know how important it is to receive kind words from your mum.
Well enough of my moaning, I am now in Esfahan and the rest of this entry will be dedicated to talking about my time here. A city this great really deserves a whole page dedicated to it. It's relaxed, an Oasis. Very modern. Imagine Barcelona or Valencia with ancient and modern Persian architecture. Wide tree lined streets, fountains, good climate, people walking happily and freely around, crossing the street just to say hallo and shake your hand with genuine educated interest. Trendy shops, cafes, young couple courting. Riverside bridges light up at night reflecting on the water as you sip tea in a river side cafe. Tonight will be my 3rd night in a hotel with a mix of Iranian and foreign tourists. As I rode into Esfahan from the hills I could see the lights just coming on in the distance down in the valley down a long boulevard. I parked firestarter in front of the hotel along side 3 other none-Iranian motorbikes and was greeted by a Finish couple who had spend 8 months riding 2 bikes from Cambodia and an Irish fella who was coming overland on a HUGE BMW, heading to India then Australia. It turns out he is Irish Motorcyclist of the Year 2006, awarded for his last trip around south America. He's a wealth of info and we exchanged routes. I was pleased to find that considering he's a bike expert that he's not a bike snob and was very impressed with what I was doing, particularly on such a small bike. He's says most people spend months and months in preparation and planning and don't just take off on a Nepali 135cc heading into the sunset. I think he thinks I'm a bit nuts, but then again he probably is too. We did some sightseeing together and swapped stories and he helped me fix my bike. I said my chain was a bit loose and was squeaking. He looked it over and was quite surprised it was still on the sprockets. I guess if you don't oil your chain after riding 6,000km through the desert and mountains and dirt roads that it will ware out. Oppsseeeeee.
Anyway, today I got a new set from a very good mechanic, fixed it up and replaced my buggered back bearing and my spark plug cap that had also fused and snapped. Now I am all ready to hit the road again tomorrow. After talking to Jo (the Irish fella) and the Finish couple I have decided to slow down a bit and not do Tehran in one day but 2 and stop at some nice place on the way. Also to set off at 11am when it's a bit warmer rather than 7am and shiver for 4hrs. There was talk from another German guy on a bike who had been riding around Africa for 2 years of a train that goes from Tehran to Istanbul. I must admit that after the cold rides here and also with the sure knowledge that it's only gonna get colder I did seriously consider taking the train. However, how could I live with myself if I did that? How can I set off to ride home and take a train? So I will press on over the snowy Turkish mountains. Although I am a bit stupid I would agree I did buy a new warmer outfit. Out goes the Pakistani/Afghan blanket and in comes a new warm jacket and thick pants and woolly jumper. I also got some thick socks and a woolly hat for under my helmet together with some good water proof pants. Add this to the elastic bands and my plastic bags for my shoes and I'm fully ready for anything.
Anyway I heard today that they just introduced Marshal Law in Pakistan, so Jo has that to look forward to.

Exiting Pakistan to Iran

I decided not to spend the next day in Quetta and instead head off at 7am westwards towards my next destination Dalbandeer. As I climbed over the pass and headed down the other side I got a taste of what was to come. If I thought the environment was empty and barren on the way north to Quetta it became much more lifeless and barren on the ride out. It became evident that the people of this region where poorer than poor and quite desperate with it. You could tell by the clothes they had on, or rather the dirty rags that were once clothes. By the looks in their eyes and the prices they charged for food when I stopped there was no hiding the desperation. This was certainly a very neglected region of Pakistan. What would normally cost me 25Rs they were charging about 90Rs, the honesty I had experienced elsewhere in more prosperous areas was replaced with a more "Indian" mentality, motivated I'm sure, by poverty. The honesty and hospitality had been squeezed out by a deeper need for money and food. Although the people were less openly friendly they would warm up after a short while. I heard that many travelers who go this route overland find the 700KM from Iran to Quetta the most difficult and lonely part of their journey. I found that there were about 3-4 foreigners a month would come through these parts, as I could see by the police check-point "sign-in-books" Of course most of these people would wizz through on buses stopping only to sign the police check point books and not interact with the locals. The road to Dalbandeer was pretty cold in parts, making me glad I was wrapped in my Afghan blanket, looking like a crazy motorbike wizard with my scraggly beard. It's true the road was lonely and after about 3hrs of continuous riding I needed a break. My shoulders were full of knots and my knees were hurting. Most of the road was pretty good, but that's the danger of long straight desert roads, BOREDOM sets in first, then followed by the drifting thoughts going around. Although my thoughts are less evil now-a-days, I used to be 75% evil now I am only 53%, so some serous progress has been made. Petrol stations were less and less frequent so I filled by tank when I could. I can go over 400KM on a full tank so not much to worry about there. I passed a herd of wild camels (later I heard they are trained to walk from A-B from Afghanistan to Iran with heroine in their humps, kind of like homing camels), but no people. The road were partly blocked in places by the sand dunes sweeping across and together with the harsh cross winds I had to lean into the wind to keep steady. I learnt very quickly to slow down when a goods truck went by for the back draft was extremely strong, forcing me to slow down before I got swept away. I slept at a town called Dalbandeer. After I checked in the hotel I went for a short walk. I was soon met by a young man who introduced himself as the leader of the BSO which stands for the Baloch Student Organisation, which is one of the many organisations fighting for the independence of the State of Balochistan from Pakistan. Balochistan is the poorest and most unstable state in Pakistan and covers most of the western half of the country. It also spreads into Iran and Afghanistan. I was taken into a cafe and introduced to the freedom fighters and given a quick history of the main men fighting the government and which ones had been assassinated by the Pakistani army. To help me remember the names and faces I was given a key-fob which contained the pictures of the main leaders. I went to venture out of the hotel again around 9pm to eat, but was told by the hotel staff that it was not advisable. Now as my dad will tell you I'm not very good at listening to advice. However, in this particular case I decided to heed their warning and stay behind closed doors. In the morning I set off again on my 5th successive days of riding hoping to make it to the boarder town of Taftan. The road was even more lonely with hardly even a truck passed by. Over the last few days the people had got less and less friendly. There were no more waving children and no returned smiles from old men, so I stopped making the effort. I had heard from a German guy coming the other way on a motorbike that the children throw stones at foreigners, I did not experience this, but then how could they have known he was German? The road, although good in most places was being reclaimed by the desert with large sections either being covered by the sand dunes or collapsing back into the desert. At anyone time on the final day the wind was so strong that there was more than 20 mini-tornados wiping around the surrounding desert at any one time. I had to slow down and stop several times as they crossed over the road. The mountains changed from an Afghan grey to a rocky jet black. I reached the half way point by 11am and thought for a moment that if I made Taftan in good time that I could press on and try and cross the boarder a day early before my VISA expired and begin my Iranian adventure. I did make good time and after filling up on roadside peasant petrol sellers I started my hunt for the customs office and immigrations. It was a hunt, nothing was signed and the different huts I had to visit were not together and practically hidden away. I was certainly ripped off on the currency exchange but what could I do about it? Already the Iranian currency is confusing me. You get about 20,000 Rias for a pound. I changed a hand full of Pakistani notes for about 7 inches of notes. Concealing them on my person is difficult so I had to opt for storing some in my bag. As I entered Iran and was immediately greeted warmly and shook hands with the guard. Within an hr I had completed customs and immigration and was collecting my police escort. To my horror I was expected to take the escort on my bike, on my one seater bike. I tried to explain the semi-retarded but nice police man that there was no room for 2 people. In the end I had to ride over 80km to Zehadan with a series of different police men squeezed behind me pressing their tackle into the small of my back as I sat on the petrol tank. Quite possibly the longest 80km ever. It was getting dark as we approached Zehadan and I finally got to ride on my own without a man squeezed in behind me when the escort got upgraded to a squad car. According to the guide book Zehadan is a frontier town which is practically law-less and riddled with drug smugglers and bandits doing their runs from Afghanistan to the southern ports or Iran and Pakistan. However, what I saw of my first Iranian city was quite the opposite. Wide, organized, clean streets, modern cars and bikes, people dressed very smart in a mix of Iranian and western style. Men with short sleeves and women uncovered (but still warring head scarf's) walking around unaccompanied by men. I was under the impression that women would be full Berka and it to be very poor. I was dropped at a hotel by the final escort and I went inside only to find they wanted $75 a night. A bit of a stretch when my budget was about $4-5. So once the police had left I set off on my own in search of a hotel for the night more in my price range. Luck would have it that I asked for help from some young men who told me to ask in the "english-school" down the steps. Soon I was sat in front of English for Beginners, introducing myself. Then followed the questions from the very excited students. A mixed class of girls and boys and men and women. Iran was looking very modern and very progressive from the short time I had spent here. I was given food and drinks and after the next class I was invited to stay with my new host the English teacher a very hospitable and intelligent man called Davood (David). I was invited into his home, we talked and exchanged stories while his wife Fatama prepared dinner. That night I slept very well, I needed it, I had already decided not to ride the next day but take a break, especially since I had saved a day by pressing onto the Iranian boarder. We talked about places to visit in Iran and where to buy a road map. Apparently to buy petrol I need some government credit card that can only be obtained from my consulate. Otherwise to buy petrol (which they call benzene) off the street sellers will cost a shocking 30p a liter. I heard that your bike will go 10% faster in Iran because of the purity of the petrol. The next day I visited Davoods school again and talked with the next classes and got a chance to just do nothing for a day except for write this blog entry, chat and relax. I spent most of the morning with 2 Iranian girls who to my total surprise were flirting with me. It's just shock after shock for Iran in only one day far, it really is nothing like I thought it would be, then again I'm still unsure what I expected as I find for each new country I visit. I'm told that the president is very popular and a lot of money being spent on the people for education and health. Anyway, we will see what happens I still have to ride several thousand KM across. In the afternoon I plan to visit the University with one of Davood students and have a tour around town. My host has been very hospitable and my experience of Iran so far has been better than great.


It's been a few days since the entry I wrote above. The night before I headed off I visited one of Davoods friends a very nice fella and looking quite well considering he has been married 5 times and with 4 of them still alive. In Iran you can have up to 5 wives. It's not too common in today's modern society but certainly some richer men still do it. His youngest wife he married 5 years ago, she is now 18, you can do the maths. The next morning I headed off with an Iranian road map in hand with the main places translated in English from Persian. I tried to fill up with petrol to discover what I guess I already knew, is that you can not get petrol without a special card. I went to the police for help and they took me to some government office. A few hrs later I was the owner of my own card for 200litres for 30p a litre. Shocking when you consider locals only have to pay 5p a litre. Anyway, now the police knew a foreigner was in town so I could not shake them off, I had to take a series of escorts for 300km to Bam my next destination, so frustrating. Although they did slow me down a lot they do make getting in and out of towns less confusing. However on entering Bam they would not take me to my hotel of choice telling me it was forbidden since a Japanese tourist got kidnapped by bandits and is now presumably over the Pakistani boarder and still missing. They took me to a different hotel and again it was a "posh" one, they wanted $45 a night. I explained I did not have that kind of money and after some negotiation I was allowed a place on the Mosque floor for $10. As I was bedding down for the evening the manger took pity and gave me a key to a 5star room. A HUGE bed, hot shower the works. In the morning I again was not allowed to leave without the police. A shame really for I wanted to see Bam. Bam was totally flattened several years ago by a massive earth quake and there are some important historical attractions. Anyway I pressed on to Sirgen with police following. About half way I encountered the only Iranian I did not like. All the police have been great, very friendly, curious, polite and professional. This one fella made suggestions for money then my camera. When I told him where to go he started pointing his gun at me when the other officers where not around. I could tell from his attitude he was not liked in his own barracks and after he started making homosexual suggestive hand movements and squelching mouth noises, enough was enough. Although we spoke fluently in different languages he understood what I meant and he got a slap from his superior. I'm glad this tosser was not the first person I met when I arrived and I'm glad to say it's an isolated case. Goes to show that even in a good place you can still get idiots. Finally when I was half way to Sirjen I was allowed to leave the police and head off on my own. Iran is a safe place to visit, but for sure the boarder regions with Pakistan are bandit country and I was glad for the escort. Sirgen is not much of a tourist attraction but a good place to stop on my journey to Shiraz. The locals again where very friendly and helpful and I was taken to a hotel. I was tired to be honest and just wanted to send a few emails and sleep. However the owner had other ideas, Sheparding me around like a new pet, showing off his new foreign guest. I had to fight to urge to be rude, but then how can you be when the intentions are so good. In the end my grumpiness faded and I'm glad it did I was taken to an Iranian bong-smoking cafe and then to his family home where I was watered and fed. Turned out to be a nice fella and I was just tired. To top the evening off the "kid" of the family took me for a spin in his car. Rally driving and hand break turning around town at 11pm. Three of us in the front and 6 girls in the back all screaming. It was funny and after I gave my phone number (actually Sarah's, my sister-in-laws mobile) I headed for my room.
The road to Shiraz the next day was about 385km and freezing most of the way, I really do need to buy a warm coat. The Afghan blanket is not really cutting it. But now in Shiraz I will rest for a day I think. This is the cradle of the Persian civilization with the ancient city of Peropolis near by. Alexander the Great raised it to the ground in revenge for one of his Greek cities being burned, I think. Anyway Shiraz is ultra modern, big and slick. Young couples holding hands, no beggars in the whole of Iran, everyone is proud to be Iranian and Muslim and very liberal with it. Not a single sign of the Axis of Evil to be seen.