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