Monthly Archives: July 2015

Iran Pt. 2 – Garden iftars & a special delivery

As I was cycling into Marand, I was a little nervous. Anyone who remembers this story can understand why. All the way from Croatia I had been on a mission which would succeed or fail here. I was entering Akbar’s hometown. Would he find me? And if not – how could I find him?

With another 10 km or so to the actual city, yet another car stopped me by the side of the road.

‘Helloooo! What is your name?’

Inside the car sat a small family of three, with kind faces smiling from ear to ear. One minute of conversation and it was settled, I was about to have my first Iranian homestay. Escorting me the last 10 km of uphill back to their house turned their 10 minute drive into an hour long one. But noone seemed to mind as they all were smiling and waiving to me though the car windows.

Then – of course – he was there.

Sure, this unknown man standing with a bicycle by the side of the road could in theory be anyone. But I instantly knew. That’s Akbar – waiting for me. Some of his 100 of so truck driver scouts had tipped him off, and he knew I was coming. What he didn’t know though, was that I had a delivery for him. Like every other cyclist, he invited me back to his shop, but as I was already taken we made plans to meet up again before I left Marand.

Yey. Mission Akbar was a success! (Well, almost. I still had the coin).

On this trip countless people have showed me absolutely amazing hospitality. But this family – taking an hour to personally escort me instead of just showing their house of my GPS – was a first. By now I’ve learned that this really is how things are done here. Hospitality and kindness is showed to a degree can sometimes drive you crazy, and probably would if it wasn’t for the fact that you know it comes with the best of intentions.

Another typical example of this came just as we’d finally made it to their home. For everyone’s sake, they let me jump straight into the bathroom. Mid shower – I hear a firm knocking on the door.

‘Fika? (my nickname) Fika?! FIKA, OPEN!!’

What’s happening’s going? Is the place on fire?! And what about the dress code? Quickly I wrapped myself in my way to small towel, opened and peeked out the door. Outside is Leila, the mother of the family, yet again with a huge smile on her face.

‘Fika. COLA!’

Before I knew it, she had shoved a class of Cola Cola in my hand and quickly closed the door again. And there I am. Soaked, with tears running down my face because of all the shampoo I have in my eyes – holding a huge glass of coke I have no idea what to do with.

Only in Iran.

The next couple of days were absolutely amazing – probably the best ones I’ve had so far on the trip. I’m not even gonna try to tell the stories from them here, but I will share a few photos.


First night, on our way to the family garden for iftar


Puja. The most charming little guy I’ve probably ever met


Neda. Puja’s awesome big sis.

See the scarf? This is one of the coolest things I know. Whether they want to or not, women in Iran don’t have a choice but to wear the hijab or chador, and conform to the rest of the Islamic dress code. But they are pushing it, slowly but surely moving the boundaries. Showing off the most incredible hair styles, wearing open mantaeus, and refusing to be to anyone’s victim.

There is so much so be said on and around this matter. And meeting girls and women in my own age, listening to their stories and struggles, have made a way bigger inpact on me than I was ready for. More than feeling fortunate and greatful for being born in a country like Sweden, I just feel so incredibly sad and heartbroken about the fact that they’re not.

I’ll write about this after I’ve left Iran. But please. If you haven’t already joined the ActionAid fundraiser – please consider doing it. This is important.


New day. New garden.


Sahar. Strongest girl I’ve met in my entire life.


We spent a long day hanging out in Sahar’s family garden


Some with more energy…


… and some with less

Yet another crazy thing. Someone had just found out that the Samsung phones most Iranians use are being sold tapped. With a small add on to the battery, the authorities keep track on the activity on the people’s phones – all without the owner knowing.

Those with Samsung’s of course checked their own phones, and sure enough. Underneath the battery sticker they found something that for sure wasn’t supposed to be there. Scary.

Evening fell, and more and more people showed up at the garden. In the end we were totally between 40 and 50 people, and soon enough I found out that most of them were there to ‘see the tourist’. Haha.

After iftar (the breaking of the fast during Ramadan) the night turned into a big party. Music blasting from the cars and everyone laughing and having a good time, no matter if we were sharing a language or not. Soon enough the rain was pouring down, but that didn’t stop the dancing and singing one bit.


Finally we came home and fell asleep Persian style. Carpets and blankets all the way!


I really miss these people.

Before leaving Marand I passed by Akbar’s shop to officially deliver his coin of luck, which I had been carrying with me all from Croatia. And man, this dude is cool.


I was Akbar’s cyclist No. 599


Now this is what we call a Trail Angel. Perhaps the biggest one of them all


Akbar decided to ditch the shop for a while and join in for a stretch

So. What do you say?

  • MISSION COMPLETED.

Fredrika

By |July 13th, 2015|Asia, Travel Logs|
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Iran Pt. 1 – A warm welcome

Well hello there!

It’s been a while since last. Writing this, I’m about two thirds into my month long stay in Iran, and I’ve never had more stories to share with you.

Unfortunately though, the really good ones will have to wait until I’m out of the country. And sadly, for the safety of people involved, the most important ones I will probably never be able to share on the internet like this.

Anywhere you go, you will always find both the good, the bad and the ugly. But never before have I experienced this to be as clear as it is here in Iran. These weeks have been emotional for sure, and over and over again I’m thrown back and forth between feelings of absolute euphoria to total hopelessness.

As I’m still within the borders, I’ll stick to the good stuff for now. The rest we’ll catch up on later.

As I’ve been telling people that I’m planning to go to Iran, I’ve generally gotten two responses. First the one coming from people who’ve never been there, usually going something like:

“Oh my God, are you mad?! You’ll be dead within minutes.”

And then the one coming from people who’ve actually travelled the country themselves:

“Oh my God, can I join?! You’ll love it.”

I don’t think I have to tell you which one I’ve decided to listen to. But nevertheless, I’d be lying if I’d say that I’ve been completely immune to the other one. Heading for Iran – I was not as calm as I usually am crossing borders.

My final day in Turkey I spent getting the last stuff ready.


I found myself a personal shopper who helped me pick out my Islamic cycling wardrobe


I tried to find out how to actually use it


And lastly I realised – This. Will. Be. Hot.

As I left Dogubayazit and headed for the border I was equally excited and nervous. Excited to finally get to enter the country which has one of the best reputations in the world among bicycle tourers. And nervous about practical stuff. Would make it across the border alright? Was I wearing my hijab correctly? Would the Iranian Ramadan really be as strict as people kept telling me?


Military vehicles. Always a clear sign you’re getting close to the border

As expected, the people at the border had a bunch of questions for me. Mainly revolving around the fact that I showed up as a solo female. Luckily I came prepared, and knew that a Swiss touring couple had crossed the border just a few hours before me.

‘Of course I’m not travelling alone! I’m just the slower companion in our European cycling trio. Swiss, Swedish… You know. Basically the same thing!’

It all worked like a charm, and I was in.

As I rolled down the hill from the border crossing, and passed the famous line up of trucks, the heat hit me like a wall. I really didn’t need the road signs in Arabic script to tell that I was in a new place. Suddenly everything felt so… rough.

The drivers were even more aggressive than in Turkey. The green and mountainous surroundings was exchanged by a yellow, brown and grey kind of nothingness. Dust, heat, honking trucks and a fierce headwind. What had I come to?

I spent the day trying to get as far as I could from the border. Super concerned about Ramadan, I was hiding away in gas station bathrooms simply to get to drink water. In hindsight, this desperate attempt of doing stuff correctly is so comical to me.


Haha! I’m laughing out loud looking back at my so uncomfortable and insecure self during this first day

As I crawled into my tent at night, I was totally beaten. The headwind and dehydration had surely gotten the best of me and I was so relieved to finally get to take of my scarf and just stuff myself with whatever I had to eat in my panniers.


So this is it? One month. This is gonna be a long one.

The second, and so far every upcoming day in Iran have been completely different from the first one. The wind had calmed, and the famous Iranian hospitality stepped forward in all it’s glory. People stopped me to take photos, give me more fruit, drinks and food than I could carry, and simply to welcome me to their country.

Over and over again they were stopping, getting out of their cars, and coming up to me with a big smile on their faces.

‘Hello Miss! Welcome to Iran. What do you need?’

‘Hellooo! Welcome to my country. How can I help you?’

Stopping at a road side restaurant, asking to fill my water bottles, I was invited to sit down for lunch with the owner who then let me take both a shower and a nap before continuing. Of course refusing to let me pay for it.

Halfway through this second day I had gotten a glimpse of the true face of Iran. The one I had heard so much about, but probably not really had believed actually excisted.

Best of all? It was about to become even better. The next post is coming right up, and in it you’ll read about my time in Marand. Yes, Marand – the city of Akbar.

Did I find him? Of course I did. Or to be exact – he found me. Though what made things a little complicated was that someone else had kind of found me first…

Fredrika

By |July 12th, 2015|Asia, Travel Logs|
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