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.