Iran

Iran

Just before we came across the border from Turkey, Lucy put on her headscarf and we prepared ourselves for an oppressive regime. But apart from the endless paper work and a call at the desk of every official to be found, our first impressions were of a relaxed and friendly people with an efficient and reasonably modern system of doing things. Despite having to be covered from head to toe, the women were more open and friendly than those we had met in much of the rest of the Middle East and many more seemed to be in employment or travelling around on their own - in Jordan and Syria women rarely went out without their family, husband or at least one girlfriend.

Filling up with fuel in Iran was one of the most pleasant surprises we've encountered. After taking on 21 litres, the attendant indicated by pointing to the notes in my hand that we should pay R13,000. The expression on Lucy's face confirmed my mental calculation of £1.20 - what a country!

That evening we stopped at a small hotel in Tabriz. The hotel manager told us to bring the bike into the lobby where it could be parked securely. I was a bit dubious about riding into his narrow marble hall until he pointed out the two other large bikes already parked there! This could only mean one thing - finally we had caught up with Dave and George - two other bikers who we had originally planned to meet in Turkey. So we spent the evening swopping stories and discussing our plans.

Dangerous driving!

The following day we set off for Tehran. It was good to be riding in a group. The only downside was the additional attention that more than one bike attracts. Motorcycles make up to 40% of road traffic in Iran and very few are over 125cc. Showing off was important. As we drove out of the city a group of bikes collected around us. People liked to ride along side and we were frequently treated to displays of the most impressive wheelies. On one road a motorcycle overtook us at about 70kmh, the rider stood up, turned round and sat on his bike backwards! But apart from the acrobatics, this frequent entourage became slightly annoying, if not a little dangerous at times, and we were glad when we reached the faster roads.

We've witnessed some dodgy driving on our trip but for sheer danger Iran takes some beating. Drivers found it inconceivable that our BMW not only travels at speed but requires the space on the road usually occupied by a car. We were seen simply as a space to pull into no matter the speed or road conditions. One-way systems are adhered to only by cars, motorcycles may go either way; vehicles entering roundabouts have priority (though if it's busy you simply drive round the opposite way!); but the best is yet to come: motorcycles are not required to stop for red lights - seriously! Now bare in mind that crash hats are an anomaly usually only seen on the heads of visitors, that motorbike riders make up so much of the road traffic and that they are often seen with wife and up to three children clinging on to the back and front - it's not difficult to see how Iran's hideously high levels of road deaths come about.

Distances are great in Iran and although some areas are mountainous, large expanses are dull and make for tedious riding. It took us most of the day to ride from Tabriz to Tehran and a large part of the journey was along motorway. We spent two days in Tehran, which has little to offer the traveller. Big city attitudes rule and we found that Tehranians had little interest in our being there. We used this time to organise ongoing visas and with little regret we moved on.

Esfahan

We took the desert road from Tehran to Esfahan, a small cosmopolitan town known for it's arched bridges, beautiful mosques and one exceptionally large square. The Meidun-e-Eman Khomeini is one of the largest squares in the world - 510m x 164m to be exact. The centre of the square is made up of several neat lawns and a large pool with fountain. Around its edge are two mosques, a palace and the outside wall of the bazaar. It was once used to host polo matches but these days is more of a meeting point for picnicking families and friendly football games.

For a few days we relaxed, wandered round the blue tiled mosques, watched the craftsmen at work in the bazaar - everything from metal sculpturing to fine art and printing - and wandered through the pretty park on the bank of the river exploring the arched bridges along the way. Although of no particular historical interest Esfahan's bridges double up as weirs and many have chai and 'hubba bubba' cafes built into their centres. While the water rushes beneath you, you can sit looking out onto the river, sipping tea and experimenting with all manner of flavoured tobaccos. These cafes are real hives of activity, the town's social meeting points. Most have thick stone walls lined with carpets or printed cloths, others have innumerable trinkets hanging from the ceiling - a chandelier of tiny teapots was a particular favourite of ours! The local people were keen to engage us in conversation. One man even wrote a small poem for us which he translated into English and Dutch - the friends we had met that night came from Holland. Another group were interested to know about our lives at home and told us how unhappy they were with the regime that kept men and women apart and forced strict codes of dress.

Women are expected to dress so that only the face and hands can be seen. Police can, and do, give out official warnings, even to tourists, for not dressing correctly. Local women risk a prison sentence for flouting the rules, although in some of the more relaxed towns you do see women with open-toed sandals and a little bit of neckline. The younger generation of women are most definitely making a statement however, with headscarves so far back they threaten to slide off and make-up in 'open-season'. How the strict Islamic regime will deal with this 'rebellion' remains to be seen.

Despite 'axis of evil' allegations, the Iranians were keen to welcome us to their country - although we did notice that our friend George, who is German, got a slightly warmer welcome than us Brits! With tourism stumbling to get past its embryo stage we were always the centre of much attention. On one occasion we were asked with uncharacteristic cheek, why do foreigners dress so badly? It wasn't until then that we actually noticed that our rag-a-muffin dress style of flip-flops, Jesus boots and T-shirts was very much at odds with the crisply pressed trousers and shirts and shiny shoes sported by the large proportion of Iranian men. And, despite the draconian dress code, the women were always smartly turned out and very conscious of their appearance.

Heading for the border

During our time in Esfahan we, and several other travellers, were trying to decide whether to carrying on into Pakistan or fly over it. A war was brewing between Pakistan and India, and the Foreign Office was warning tourists to stay away. But we were meeting people every day who had travelled across the area and said that things were calm and that travelling was no problem. George and Dave were keen to continue their trip overland and went on without us. We had to wait for visas anyway and decided to use the time to relax and delay our decision.

We had heard of the Manar Jomban, or shaking minarets, and were interested to see a building that was deliberately designed to move (although we could find no official explanation for this design, we were told that it was most likely to allow the building to cope with an earth quake). Having paid what is by Iranian standards a massive entry fee - $5 - we were guided to a small shrine with two minarets about 20 metres high on its fore-most corners. Our guide squeezed through a tiny door at the base, scampered to the top, waved to us through the arched portals and proceeded to heave himself back and forth. In turn the entire minaret started to sway - albeit only a few cms - and in doing so caused its opposite number to do the same - probably one of the silliest tourist attractions we've seen!!

By the time our visas came through the political situation in Pakistan was calming down. Dave and George e-mailed to tell us they had made it safely into India and so we decided to go for it.

We left Esfahan and headed east to a town called Yazd, famous for its old city. The buildings are made of brick and then covered in dried mud and grass in order to keep out the heat. We had lunch in a small restaurant in the bazaar, an airy place with large domed ceilings. After we had eaten the manager took us up onto the roof to show us the mud domes which helped to keep his restaurant cool. By this stage we were in the heart of the desert and it was getting seriously hot! We took a taxi out to see a small shrine we had heard about. Emamzade Sayyed Ja'far has walls lined with small mirrors and makes for a fairly spectacular sight. The mosque in which it is housed was equally impressive with some of the most lovely tiling we had seen in Iran.

Our last stop in Iran was Bam, another mud city but this time dating back to 200AD. Although the old city is no longer inhabited as it was in Yazd, it has an imposing outer wall and a large castle - which in the heat of the day looks more like a sandcastle and turns a deep orange in the evening sun. We spent the night in a relaxed hostel where the manager allowed the women to remove their headscarves once inside the courtyard. In the baking heat, Lucy and the others were glad to take advantage of this freedom.

The following morning we set off as the sun came up - while it was still relatively cool - and headed for the border with Pakistan.

Photographs

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