Hi there,
After bussing along in Iran and sweating like mad in Turkmenistan, I have now arrived to Bukhara, Uzbekistan, pearl along the Silk Road. I (finally) cycled my my 10.000th kilometer (jay!), and have been able to confirm my first puncture (which means I was finally able to conclude my tires are quite normal after all).
As I already told you last time, I flew from Dubai to Shiraz, to meet up with my friend Freek and Abel. High expectations, as Iran was said to be cycling paradise. Unfortunately that turned out to be a little different than we expected, after a wonderful day in miraculously beautiful but very busy Shiraz, ended with a big deception after a fight in a restaurant. This pretty much drew up the rest of our travels in Iran.
Upon arriving in the wonderful relaxing village of Jazd, we decided to quit our cycling expeditions for the time being; Freek and Abel continued on their itinerary, while I relaxed a little, and eventually decided to leave my stuff under the watching eye of great 'papa' Ali of the Silk Road Hotel. With a small pack I continued to Teheran, Esfehan and back again, and after, taking my bike as well into the direction of Masshad.
Iran is a wonderful country; even though the regime acts like a bunch of crazy guys at times, the normal people are about all hospitality and spontaneity (ignoring one or two exceptions) and everyone will welcome you. Even though your first thought might be that of conservatism, reality is entirely different; headscarves halfway over their heads, or at time just loosely waving around, Iranian women won't stop flirting with a western man; quite a contrast to the completely dressed up burqa women, that would rather ignore you as opposed to looking straight into your eyes.
It is quite clear the Iranians are not the deep religious people their government wants them to be, and would much rather live by a bourgondic laisez-faire attitude. So, parties are only celebrated if the is some illegally imported booze available, and behind closed doors the ladies let go of their mantles and dress up like western women would on a night out. However, if the police happens to find out that you, as a foreigner, are dating a local girl, you'll be sure to spend some time in a not so nice Iranian prison, before you get expelled from the country.
During No Ruz, the Iranian new year's holiday, the country is like a madhouse. Everybody is packing and travelling around, as no one is supposed to go working for a week or two. Within this period, some families travel around the whole country (what a hell that must be), but the highlights are Shiraz (with the mausoleum of poet Hafez, the Iranian Shakespeare), the ruins of old Persepolis, and magnificent Esfehan, the most beautiful city in the country.
The prices for spending a night in a hotel double or triple, people are camping on the streets, and geared up with the latest models of digital (video)cameras they are marching through the city. A disaster for foreign tourists, as it get close to impossible to look around freely, without having someone stand in front of your camera, or getting talked to for the God knows how manieth time, for getting your picture taken, or practicing English. If we had asked a dollar every time someone wanted to take our picture, I am pretty sure we would return home being a millionaire. Due to this, Persepolis didn't really come to its right, however, Esfehan, once quiet, was like heaven. Someone once told me that it was impossible to say you have seen Iran, before you have visited Esfehan, a statement I completely agree with.
After several weeks of bus and train, it was finally time to get riding again, once I arrived close to Masshad. Into the mountains and working like mad, owh, how good was that after such a long time of no exercise or riding across the plains. Joyfully sweating up hill, and speeding down again free as a bird, while enjoying the beautiful surroundings. Again camping like I used to do, and cooking my own meals on my brand new stove (again thanks to Freek and Abel for taking that for me).
Then arrival to Ashgabat. Welcome to Sim City! President Niyazov is a nicely crazy weirdo, that happens to like this classical computer game; build your own city. So all of Ashgabad is a kitsch collection of all sorts of structures he favours. The Arch of Neutrality with on top a huge gold-plated and sun-rotating statue of the president himself, perfectly looked after parks, some of which dedicated to the book in which he describes his vision on Turkmen history (and that of course should be known by heart by everyone), and loads and loads of huge white-glass offices and governmental buildings. Who's working there? Nobody; but the look pretty damn fine and isn't that just the most important thing anyway?
If you look further, you will also find the other sight of town; village-like streets, farm-like houses going into recline, a lot of huge trees, chicken walking down the street, and old ladies gossiping in a corner in the shade. This is the average Turkmen, that tries to live out on forty dollars or less a month, and whose house might be demolished any time when mister president has decided upon yet another useless building.
Travelling Turkmenistan is cheap (sixty liters of petrol for a dollar, too bad I am riding my bicycle), but is at times slightly delayed by the many check-point you'll find along the road. People are friendly, and camping is not a problem. Hotels are a different story though, using a pricing system that will overcharge foreigners big time. They expect you to pay more than a local's monthly salary, for a room that doesn't even get close to what you can find in for example Iran for less than a tenth of the price. So I stick to pitching my tent every night and enjoy a green grass-filled country. Who said Turkmenistan was just one big sandy dessert?
After ten days, exactly the duration of my special cyclists transit visum, I ground to Uzbek soil. The Middle East has come to a definite end, my messy Arabic is no longer understood, the scripture changes to a far more legible Russian, pivo and wodka the local drinks, headscarves not to be found anywhere around, and China has all of a sudden gotten into real close reach.
I don't know about my exact itinerary yet, so I'll keep that a surprise to the next newsletter. For now, I hope you will all enjoy this nice and sunny international Day of Labour.
Love,
Eelco
