25th August 2014      40’C       265km
Isfahan – Abyaneh – Kashan

Leaving Isfahan, I stopped at a bookshop and bought a road map of Iran. Prior to reaching Iran, I’d had paper maps to reference, all through the Stans & Mongolia. While the GPS is great, there is nothing like a paper map to be able to orientate oneself and plan.

I headed up to the mud brick village of Abyaneh, where I wandered around for an hour, then had lunch. The usual huge plate of rice, beef mince kebab and a roasted tomato. I’ve eaten this exact meal, so many times in Iran. Often it’s the only thing on offer, besides a greasy hamburger & fries.

Riding up the mountain, of course I now started to feel sleepy, and needed to stop for a rest. The problem was, I was right next to the Iranian uranium enrichment plant, which is surrounded by anti-aircraft guns, and signs seriously stating “No photo!”. It’s a sensitive site, due to the way the US views Iran’s nuclear program. I found an abandoned building that offered some shade, and parked behind it, reclining on the bike for a sleep. I’d barely closed my eyes, when a guy came and tapped me on the shoulder, saying “No photo!!!”. I’m not sure what he thought I was doing, but I’m pretty sure sleeping doesn’t look like taking a photo. He seemed serious, and I tried to show him, I just needed some sleep.

He eventually agreed, but sat down a few metres away and watched me. I woke up 30 minutes later, and he was still there, but he seemed happier now. Maybe he now understood that I only wanted to sleep. I said goodbye and rode on, reaching Kashan in the late afternoon.

I located a fantastic old historic house, made of mud brick and converted into a guest house. The owner offering the roof as a secure parking space for the bike. He showed me how to ride up the lanes to get up onto the roof, where I could look down onto the lovely garden courtyard, where I relaxed and ate dinner in the cool night air.

24th August 2014          34’C        0km by bike
Isfahan

The past month of riding has been hard on both the bike and my body.
I’ve had a few breakdowns, fortunately minor, but they are indicative of the challenges of riding the Pamir Highway, and the roads of the Stans in general.

I’ve dealt with a leaky fork seal, that I was able to temporarily rectify using a couple of business cards to clear the dirt from the seal. The rear pannier frame snapped, and was welded back together in sloppy fashion for $3.
My rear tyre, despite having sufficient tread remaining to make it all the way to Ireland, needs to be replaced, as the sharp rocks of the Tajikistan mountains have sliced into the carcass of the tyre, damaging it’s integrity. It looks pretty bad, and I need to get a new tyre in Turkey as soon as possible, to avoid it disintegrating without warning at high speed.

My body has also taken a beating over the past month, the limited variety of food through the Stans & Iran (almost a solely meat diet) and lack of fresh fruit and vegetables has meant that I’ve lost a bit of weight. Plenty of off-road riding exercise certainly helped also. My jeans no longer fit, and even with a belt they swim on me. When I find some scales, I’ll weigh myself and find out just how much I’ve left behind.

The distances I’ve been covering as I rushed through Turkmenistan on a 4 day visa, and then through Iran with only 10 days, has meant that I’ve been doing 400-500km per day for the last two weeks. Way more than I’d like to be doing, but visas and permits have forced this. I’ll slow down again soon.

With this in mind, I needed a proper non-riding rest day, and there could not be a better place to take a break, than Isfahan.

The magnificent bazaar, the amazingly beautiful mosques and main square filled with friendly, happy people, make a very welcome break from the highway.
And the specialty here, nougat. Sticky, sweet and delicious, its an absolute treat.

Walking through the back lanes of the old mud brick town, I saw many doors to homes, with two door knockers. Each door knocker making a different sound, so that the occupants of the home would know if a woman, or a man was at the door, and therefore ensure that the appropriate gender would go to open the door. Essential to know in a veiled society.

I’ve met so many warm and friendly Iranians here. The most common greeting I hear is always delivered with a big smile, “Welcome to Iran!”
The people are so keen to ensure that foreigners are made welcome and treated with respect. Often, after being welcomed, they would ask, “Where are you from?”. Followed shortly by a question, “Is Iran good? Are we bad?”

So often I heard this question, pleading, like a child who has been told on too many occasions that they are bad, and now isn’t sure if they are truly good or bad… Am I really bad? Everyone tells us we are bad?

Of course it is not true, and the people of Iran are genuinely good. It is sad to see the Iranian faces, confused, “why do people say we are bad?”

There is a huge disconnect between government and the people here. And through some of the guarded conversations I’ve had with people, it is clear that many people feel discontent with the government of Iran.
I met two old friends, one of whom described himself as a retired solider of the last Shah. He had flown aircraft in the Iranian air force, stationed in America for three years before the revolution. Where he learnt English. He introduced his friend, as a solider of Khomeini, and a strong advocate for Khomeinis policies.

They hold completely different political views, diametrically opposed to one another, but good friends. This to me seemed very indicative of the entire political situation in Iran.

I spent the rest of the day relaxing, enjoying the sights of Isfahan and recovering from the hard roads of the past month.

23rd August 2014       36’C       457km
Tehran – Isfahan

Riding in Tehran is absolute madness. So leaving the hotel this morning, to cross the city, was an exercise in focused concentration, not to be wiped out by anyone else on the road.

Traffic lights don’t exist as I know them, they have been replaced with a single flashing red light, in place to warn you that you are about to enter an intersection where anything goes. Weaving inbetween cars, motorbikes, buses & trucks. Sometimes a motorbike on the wrong side of the road, or riding at 60kmh on the footpath. Cars reversing at speed against the flow of traffic. The potential for massive vehicular carnage is huge, but somehow I have not seen a crash yet, despite having some very close calls myself.

After 40 minutes of this madness, I reached the freeway headed south towards the city of Qom. On the freeway, things were marginally less dangerous. Only needing to avoid the curious but friendly drivers who would pass at 130kmh, just a few centimeters away from me, but tooting horn and waving wildly.
Three girls in a old Peugeot even blew kisses at me as they passed.

I arrived in Isfahan at around 2pm, found an excellent hotel with an underground carpark, and nearly crashed riding down the ramp when I ended up skidding sideways. The ramp was made of large shiny tiles. Treacherous.
Parked, I wondered how I was going to ride back up the ramp when I need to leave, especially with the 90′ turn half way up. It will need a good run-up and some wheel spinning, but that worry is for another day.

I spent the afternoon wandering the streets of Isfahan, the amazing old city square, the enormous bazaar and the ancient mosque, proclaimed as the most beautiful in the world. I thought this claim to be overestimated, until I witnessed the sight myself. Fantastically beautiful, perfect dimensions, tiles of intricate Arabic script lining the walls, and the amazing dome. A truly magnificent sight.

In the evening, the huge square came alive. As the sun set, Iranians came out with blankets and picnics, covering the grass and enjoying the warm night air, smoking shisha and relaxing together.