Friday, October 23, 2009
Thursday, October 22, 2009
Cycling to ASia, week 14
Skardu is in a basin surrounded by 360 degrees panorama of snowy peaks, wide
gorges and The Indus river. Wow! This is way different to hot Punjab in south, in fact is totally different to anything we came across on this trip. The locals looks more like Tibetans or Chinese, the landscape is picturesque and climate chilly. People speaks local dialects, they appear to be more indifferent when they see white faces like us, but never less warm-hearted when we approach them. From this perfect starting spot we decided to cycle to Gilgit and then possibly higher north. After few hours of copping the flow of Indus with lots of adjacent villages, where wild and rough looking loc
als went trough they daily lives, we reached the more dramatic gorges cut by the river into the steep and rocky faces of the mountains. This remained unchanged for the following days ... just sometimes more scenic to previously more dramatic views... road is cutting here trough rocky slopes north of the river, sometimes reaching dreading heights, other times dropping almost to the sandy beaches on the shores. Climbs are interchanged with downhills, beautiful views with sharp and steep faces of the opposite peaks... it's just incredible and we are literally in rapture. We make only few km a day -not only because the road is demanding (even though not as much as we were dr
eading -it always looks more difficult from a bus!), but mostly because we take pictures and videos on every corner! Plus my throat is starting to cause me a trouble.
als went trough they daily lives, we reached the more dramatic gorges cut by the river into the steep and rocky faces of the mountains. This remained unchanged for the following days ... just sometimes more scenic to previously more dramatic views... road is cutting here trough rocky slopes north of the river, sometimes reaching dreading heights, other times dropping almost to the sandy beaches on the shores. Climbs are interchanged with downhills, beautiful views with sharp and steep faces of the opposite peaks... it's just incredible and we are literally in rapture. We make only few km a day -not only because the road is demanding (even though not as much as we were dr
eading -it always looks more difficult from a bus!), but mostly because we take pictures and videos on every corner! Plus my throat is starting to cause me a trouble. The camping places are rare, so we have to be careful not to ride too late into evening and than get stuck on a steep slopes, water supplies are also limited... and the weather can change dramatically in minutes as we experienced yesterday during the lake trip... this is a real expedition, no summer riding around Galanta... But we are lucky, camping on an abandoned government helicopter site is all right.
Just that I'm not all right. I woke up with sever sour throat, headache and running nose, nothing pleasant for biking in chilly air and up and down roads. But the surroundings are so extraordinary that I refuse to take a bus or pick up! I'd rather push the sickness aside and cycle it all. Easier said than done, but eventually I managed! Every climb I sweat like a pig, just to dress rigorously on the top and slide down cutting trough the cold air. Today we will do even less km than yesterday, but surprisingly is not just due to me -Dusan is in heaven and his camera too. (I hope you too -pictures will come soon) We found another superb camping spot -this time close to Indus, with hot spring pouring out of the rocks and magnificent peaks all around us.
Last day to Gilgit is like hell for me. My body is searching
for the last bits of energy left somewhere... I don't even know where... coughing, sneezing and marveling at the sheer beauty around me. We reached the junction with KKH (Karakoram highway) and pushed the pedals to the regional capital of Gilgit.
The town is big and looks wild . We found the "bibles" no 1 hotel Medina and there I went straight to bed... waking up the next day with the worst sickness I can recall in recent past. Well but still the cycling was worth it, now I will rest and get well. In the mean time the lads can explore the surroundings -this will occupy them for a while so nobody minds that I'm stuck here for a while!
Guys planned to go hiking for 3 days, but Dusan woke up with sever sore muscles ofter their one day trip to 700 years old Buddha carvings in a near by rock face. So now we are two lying in the bed. The other two went for the hiking with one day delay... over all Gilgit is something like our base for almost a week... hopefully we recover fully! Back to our strength and lets go tackle the 4700m Khunjerab pass!
Just that I'm not all right. I woke up with sever sour throat, headache and running nose, nothing pleasant for biking in chilly air and up and down roads. But the surroundings are so extraordinary that I refuse to take a bus or pick up! I'd rather push the sickness aside and cycle it all. Easier said than done, but eventually I managed! Every climb I sweat like a pig, just to dress rigorously on the top and slide down cutting trough the cold air. Today we will do even less km than yesterday, but surprisingly is not just due to me -Dusan is in heaven and his camera too. (I hope you too -pictures will come soon) We found another superb camping spot -this time close to Indus, with hot spring pouring out of the rocks and magnificent peaks all around us.Last day to Gilgit is like hell for me. My body is searching
for the last bits of energy left somewhere... I don't even know where... coughing, sneezing and marveling at the sheer beauty around me. We reached the junction with KKH (Karakoram highway) and pushed the pedals to the regional capital of Gilgit.The town is big and looks wild . We found the "bibles" no 1 hotel Medina and there I went straight to bed... waking up the next day with the worst sickness I can recall in recent past. Well but still the cycling was worth it, now I will rest and get well. In the mean time the lads can explore the surroundings -this will occupy them for a while so nobody minds that I'm stuck here for a while!
Guys planned to go hiking for 3 days, but Dusan woke up with sever sore muscles ofter their one day trip to 700 years old Buddha carvings in a near by rock face. So now we are two lying in the bed. The other two went for the hiking with one day delay... over all Gilgit is something like our base for almost a week... hopefully we recover fully! Back to our strength and lets go tackle the 4700m Khunjerab pass!
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
Cycling to Asia, week 13
What followed the next few days was unbelievable... Imagine 5 independent travelers, roaming around Asia for few months, completely free, totally open minded, extremists in a way -well I don't count my self into extremists but others might do - travelling anywhere, doing almost anything and than suddenly the local authorities decides to "protect" them! Yes they do make it safer but they acctually protect us from everything -even the experience of this country! 24/7 baby sitting is way too much for people who were used to be their own time managers. Suddenly there is always a smart guy asking us where we wanna go? What time we would like to go there? They think they give us all the freedom, but hey just the point that we have to think ahead and plan something is so much in contrary to what we have done so far. We spent two nights in Multan -supposedly a safe city -but never before anyone of us felt like a prisoner (well except of me, but that's a different story...). We went sightseeing -but they stole all the fun by constant patrol of our steps, we could go to Internet cafe, but with heavy armed fella next to you all the time... On the third day we run a way by taking a train to Rawalpindi -yes the place where just 3 days ago Elite police ended an overnight drama in a military headquarters, where 40 personnel where kept hostage by Taliban fighters -the dead toll was pretty high (17 people including 9 terrorist) but the media called it a success.
Train journey was an adventure on its own. We stirred some dust on the train station with our oversize bikes, trying to load the panniers together with bikes to the luggage wagon, but failed, so dragging them to the other side of the train, locate our seats, just to find out that they were taken, so politely kicking out the unlucky passengers, all this in hot and humid and jammed wagon. But eventually -as usually- we got what we wanted and managed to sleep for most of the night.
After the Multan police terror, we were fearing the worst in recent-terrorist-attacked Rawalpindi, but suffered a bit of a shock when we found our selves alone and could leave the station without the Kalashnikov guys! Wow! Freedom again! Cycling to Islamabad was short but the longest in Pakistan without escort. There we found a nice Rose & Jasmin garden where we could pitch our tents and go to find out how is it with our Burmese visas...
Now we are just waiting and chillin in the garden, thoroughly planing our Karakorum trip to the north. There are few other cyclists who came from Kirghistan and China, so they have all the valuable information about the must-to-do highway in Pakistan.
Train journey was an adventure on its own. We stirred some dust on the train station with our oversize bikes, trying to load the panniers together with bikes to the luggage wagon, but failed, so dragging them to the other side of the train, locate our seats, just to find out that they were taken, so politely kicking out the unlucky passengers, all this in hot and humid and jammed wagon. But eventually -as usually- we got what we wanted and managed to sleep for most of the night.
After the Multan police terror, we were fearing the worst in recent-terrorist-attacked Rawalpindi, but suffered a bit of a shock when we found our selves alone and could leave the station without the Kalashnikov guys! Wow! Freedom again! Cycling to Islamabad was short but the longest in Pakistan without escort. There we found a nice Rose & Jasmin garden where we could pitch our tents and go to find out how is it with our Burmese visas...
Now we are just waiting and chillin in the garden, thoroughly planing our Karakorum trip to the north. There are few other cyclists who came from Kirghistan and China, so they have all the valuable information about the must-to-do highway in Pakistan.
Islamabad is modern boring city, so we don't linger longer than necessary. Instead we took a bus from Rawalpindi to Skardu -capital of Baltistan in Karakoram eastern point. They told us that it's gonna take 25 hours... so we were expecting a bit of discomfort, but what was really ahead of us nobody would guess even in the worst joke! The bus ride was more like experiencing how a laundry feels in washing machine than actually appreciating the scenic mountains. Bone-shaking, stomach-bouncing and brain-numbing hell on earth ride trough the evening, night, morning and another evening was far beyond our level of acceptance. The last few hours I thought I will just give up, or I do something because my ribs were aching and my head was spinning...
It took us a whole day in fairytale Skardu to recover. We did a small half day trip to a near by lake -no panniers, just joy from riding. Unfortunately I underestimated my physical strength -still pretty much affected by the food poisoning and exhilarating bus ride and next day woke up with sore throat. Ahhhh!!! We are just setting out for our most memorable riding in the worlds highest mountains and as the locals proudly boast on the eight wonder of the world -the Karakoram highway... well sort of it, because the 136 km road that joins Skardu with KKH is not exactly part of the famous road.
Cycling to Asia, Dusan 4
Naposledy som pisal z Quety, odkial sme v ozbrojenom doprovode vyrazili dalej na vychod. Vsetci sme sa tesili na to, ze opat resp. konecne pride poriadna horska cyklistika. Prvy usek bol vskutku nadherny. Slapanie po nespevnenej ceste nehostinnou, no krasnou krajinou, bolo presne to, co sme po dnoch sedenia v autobuse a vyckavania v rusnej Quete potrebovali. Podvecer nas zastihol v zaprasenej dedinke Kach, odkial to bolo do odporucaneho Ziaratu uz daleko. Nas posledny policajny doprovod si kupil kocku hasisu, nasadol na motorku a vratil sa do neznama. Nas cakala noc na akoze policajnej stanici, na ktoru len tak skoro nezabudneme. Na veceru sme si zasli do vyvarovne cez ulicu, kde nam bol v ufulanych tanieroch ponuknuty tradicny dal (strukovinovovy privarok). Vsetci az na usmievaveho holandana Arjana a Janciho sme celu noc nacvicovali lahku gymnastiku - vyskok z postele zakonceny stastlivym dobehom kamkolvek za brany stanice.
Velkorysy pani policajti nam velmi jednoznacne naznacili, ze dalsiu noc uz by sme mali stravit niekde inde. Napriek tomu, ze Janci s Arjanom boli schopny pokracovat na bycikloch, museli sme si "z bezpecnostnych dovodov" do Ziaratu vziat pick-up vsetci pospolu. V horuckach, totalne vystaveny, natisany na korbe drziac sa cohokolvek sme dorazili do horskej dedinky Ziarat, kde nas cakali tri dni vyzdravovania.
Na treti den uz vsetko vyzeralo fajn a teda ze pokracujeme. Po par kilometroch sa mi vsak vratili teploty a po chvili navaly horka zacali striedat triasky - zle nedobre. Dalsia noc na zaprasenej zemi policajnej stanice (noclahy v hoteloch a volny pohyb nam boli nekompromisne zamietnute) len zhorsila moj stav. Slapanie v horuckach uz malo naozaj velmi daleko od nejakeho radostneho putovania. Poslednou bodku v tomto nestatnom useku nasej cesty mal stupidny policajny prikaz. V dedinke Mekhtar sme sa usadili na zemi ako tak na noclah vhodnej restauracie. Nasadil som Paralen a jedine, co mi chybalo k prezitiu noci bol pokoj. Asi po hodine sa prepoteny v spacaku prebudzam na hluk diskusie medzi mojimi companieros a policajtmi, ktory trvali na tom, ze sa musime presunut na ich bohumily stanicu - tak znie prikaz od nadriadenych, ktory si sedia niekde stovky kilometrov daleko. Po dvoch hodinach neprestrelnych argumentoch sme donuteni k presunu. Stanica ako inak spinava a zaprasena.. Nocujem teda aj s na prach alergickym Jancim na korbe policajneho nakladiaku. V najhorsej noci nasej vypravy, v dedinke do ktorej a z ktorej vedu len prasne cesty sa po prvy krat zdavam a na druhy den nasadam na autobus do asi 250 km vzdialeneho Multanu, kde konecne sa odovzdam do ruk doktora.
Doprovod mi robi svajciar David, ktory je na tom len o nieco lepsie ako ja. Zvysok nasej patice sa nepodava a pokracuje na bycikloch.
Pred mestom DG Khan nas z autobusu necakane vytahuju policajti a ze vraj do Multanu uz musime len v doprovode eskorty. Od toho momentu nas uz policajti nespustaju z oci a obaja sa ocitame v "bezpecnom zajati". Do Multanu dorazame v noci. Hladame volny hotel, no vzdy ked policajny nakladiak zastavi priamo pred hlavnym vchodom a vyruti sa z neho banda ozbrojencov doprevadzajuca dve doslova blede tvare, odpoved z recepcie je jasna - "Sme plne obsadeni..". Nejakym zazrakom sa asi na siedmy pokus ubytujeme a rano vyrazam za najvacsim dobrodruzstvom tychto dni - do nemocnice. Nuveritelne rusna nemocnica sa stava este rusnejsou ked sa tam zrazu zjavi beloch v doprovode patice chlapov vyzbrojenych kalasnikovmi. Ked doktorovi, ktory sa so mnou bavi ako s prezidentom vysvetlujem, ze posledny tyzden nevidim ziaden rozdiel medzi tym co zo mna vychadza pri velkej resp. malej potrebe, nasadzuje mi injekcne antibiotika. Postupujeme do miestnosti na to urcenej, kde sa ma sestra pyta taku cudnu vetu: "Want you share your bed?" A teda, ze preco nie. Ja som za kazdu srandu.. Usadzaju ma na postel, kde v ubohej polohe lezi niekto s infuziou v zile. Na posteli oproti stvorica chlapov pacifikuje niekoho v brutalnom zachvate, do toho stale prinasaju a odnasaju ludi na posteli v najzufalejsich stavoch.. Snazim sa neznepokojovat horucou atmosferou, no i tak pocitam kazdu kvapku mediciny, ktora z flasticky nado mnou prudi priamo do mojich zil..
Jedine, co mi tu polhodinu na nemocnicnej posteli premielalo hlavou bolo obrovske stastie, ktore sa ukryva v nasom obvykle dobrom zdravotnom stave. Nuz ale clovek je tvor nespokojny a k stastiu mu vzdy tak trosku nieco chyba. A tak i ja sa tesim na to, kedy to uz bude cele za mnou a zacneme opat slapat do pedalov.
Na druhy den uz doraza, v policajnom aute samozrejme, predcasne z cesty stiahnuty zvysok patice. V pondelok poobede, vsetci dostatocne zotaveny vyrazame do severneho Islamabadu - vlakom. Dva-tri dni vizove formality a vyzvedy o bezpecnostnej situacii na Karakoram Highway. Iste je zatial len to, ze nemaly usek bude v autobuse..
Taky je veru nas Pakistan - viacmenej autobuso - vlakovo - eskortovy.. No stale neuveritelne zaujimavy!
Velkorysy pani policajti nam velmi jednoznacne naznacili, ze dalsiu noc uz by sme mali stravit niekde inde. Napriek tomu, ze Janci s Arjanom boli schopny pokracovat na bycikloch, museli sme si "z bezpecnostnych dovodov" do Ziaratu vziat pick-up vsetci pospolu. V horuckach, totalne vystaveny, natisany na korbe drziac sa cohokolvek sme dorazili do horskej dedinky Ziarat, kde nas cakali tri dni vyzdravovania.
Na treti den uz vsetko vyzeralo fajn a teda ze pokracujeme. Po par kilometroch sa mi vsak vratili teploty a po chvili navaly horka zacali striedat triasky - zle nedobre. Dalsia noc na zaprasenej zemi policajnej stanice (noclahy v hoteloch a volny pohyb nam boli nekompromisne zamietnute) len zhorsila moj stav. Slapanie v horuckach uz malo naozaj velmi daleko od nejakeho radostneho putovania. Poslednou bodku v tomto nestatnom useku nasej cesty mal stupidny policajny prikaz. V dedinke Mekhtar sme sa usadili na zemi ako tak na noclah vhodnej restauracie. Nasadil som Paralen a jedine, co mi chybalo k prezitiu noci bol pokoj. Asi po hodine sa prepoteny v spacaku prebudzam na hluk diskusie medzi mojimi companieros a policajtmi, ktory trvali na tom, ze sa musime presunut na ich bohumily stanicu - tak znie prikaz od nadriadenych, ktory si sedia niekde stovky kilometrov daleko. Po dvoch hodinach neprestrelnych argumentoch sme donuteni k presunu. Stanica ako inak spinava a zaprasena.. Nocujem teda aj s na prach alergickym Jancim na korbe policajneho nakladiaku. V najhorsej noci nasej vypravy, v dedinke do ktorej a z ktorej vedu len prasne cesty sa po prvy krat zdavam a na druhy den nasadam na autobus do asi 250 km vzdialeneho Multanu, kde konecne sa odovzdam do ruk doktora.
Doprovod mi robi svajciar David, ktory je na tom len o nieco lepsie ako ja. Zvysok nasej patice sa nepodava a pokracuje na bycikloch.
Pred mestom DG Khan nas z autobusu necakane vytahuju policajti a ze vraj do Multanu uz musime len v doprovode eskorty. Od toho momentu nas uz policajti nespustaju z oci a obaja sa ocitame v "bezpecnom zajati". Do Multanu dorazame v noci. Hladame volny hotel, no vzdy ked policajny nakladiak zastavi priamo pred hlavnym vchodom a vyruti sa z neho banda ozbrojencov doprevadzajuca dve doslova blede tvare, odpoved z recepcie je jasna - "Sme plne obsadeni..". Nejakym zazrakom sa asi na siedmy pokus ubytujeme a rano vyrazam za najvacsim dobrodruzstvom tychto dni - do nemocnice. Nuveritelne rusna nemocnica sa stava este rusnejsou ked sa tam zrazu zjavi beloch v doprovode patice chlapov vyzbrojenych kalasnikovmi. Ked doktorovi, ktory sa so mnou bavi ako s prezidentom vysvetlujem, ze posledny tyzden nevidim ziaden rozdiel medzi tym co zo mna vychadza pri velkej resp. malej potrebe, nasadzuje mi injekcne antibiotika. Postupujeme do miestnosti na to urcenej, kde sa ma sestra pyta taku cudnu vetu: "Want you share your bed?" A teda, ze preco nie. Ja som za kazdu srandu.. Usadzaju ma na postel, kde v ubohej polohe lezi niekto s infuziou v zile. Na posteli oproti stvorica chlapov pacifikuje niekoho v brutalnom zachvate, do toho stale prinasaju a odnasaju ludi na posteli v najzufalejsich stavoch.. Snazim sa neznepokojovat horucou atmosferou, no i tak pocitam kazdu kvapku mediciny, ktora z flasticky nado mnou prudi priamo do mojich zil..
Jedine, co mi tu polhodinu na nemocnicnej posteli premielalo hlavou bolo obrovske stastie, ktore sa ukryva v nasom obvykle dobrom zdravotnom stave. Nuz ale clovek je tvor nespokojny a k stastiu mu vzdy tak trosku nieco chyba. A tak i ja sa tesim na to, kedy to uz bude cele za mnou a zacneme opat slapat do pedalov.
Na druhy den uz doraza, v policajnom aute samozrejme, predcasne z cesty stiahnuty zvysok patice. V pondelok poobede, vsetci dostatocne zotaveny vyrazame do severneho Islamabadu - vlakom. Dva-tri dni vizove formality a vyzvedy o bezpecnostnej situacii na Karakoram Highway. Iste je zatial len to, ze nemaly usek bude v autobuse..
Taky je veru nas Pakistan - viacmenej autobuso - vlakovo - eskortovy.. No stale neuveritelne zaujimavy!
Sunday, October 11, 2009
Cycling to Asia, week 12
Surprisingly getting the police escort to supervise us trough Baluchistan was smooth and easy. Riding on the famous Pakistan roads is a different story... and having a 24/7 police control is nothing of our interests. We are all very independent and pretty skilled travellers so having a babysitters all day long is quite annoying... but we tried to find advantages in this situation and the breathtaking scenery of wild Pakistan mountains is substituting all the disadvantages of our dear new friends... and there are plenty of them.
Just to get out of Quetta we had 4 different police cars driving with us literally from one major intersection to the other one... Few kilometers out of the city and we are testing our bikes: gravel road and dusty fields. Riding time is slow not just because of truly off road riding but also due to our individual needs. Picture here, pi break there... plus David seems like he caught some bad diarrhea in Quetta. All this caused that our original plan to reach Ziarat (only 90 km) failed and we had to stay over night in a very small village somewhere in the middle. Police gave us shelter on their filthy station, that was nice from them, but the food supplies were limited to one very suspicious tea house serving some food and shops with snacks. We were hoping to hitch a truck and get to Ziarat, but again failed... so OK, lets stay at the police station. In the evening we went to paint the "town" red and went for the dinner. This turned out to be the biggest mistakes of the entire journey...
The next morning more than half of our 5CC i.e. "five cyclists crew" woke up, or better to say finally saw the dawn of the day, into a nightmare. Dusan, Kevin and of course David have had a sleepless night, changing patrol each half an hour or so... Why? Their bowels urged them to do so. When I saw them in the morning I hardly recognized them, they were bleak and weak. Diarrhea completely exhausted them. Since there is no toilet in the police station, I suppose the area around must have changed into a dangerous mind field. Me and Arjan wanted to cycle to Ziarat and meet the sick there, but the police had a different idea about it all and jammed us all into a small pick up truck -five bicycles, 30 pieces of luggage, us five plus police man plus driver and for short while one other passenger -Pakistan no problem!
In Ziarat we were lucky to find a very reasonable refugee hut -the most important facility -the toilet- was right next to our rooms and the garden was nice for chill out. Just before the night came I felt a strong urge to go to The Room and hoops, I got it as well. What followed was hell on earth. Strong bone aches, cool chills interchanged by hot showers of sweat and of course fairly constant intervals of complete dehydration trough the buttocks hole! In the middle of the night the difference between the urine and the excrement was just the smell... So for the next two days we were all out of order. Surprisingly just Arjan survived. Between the rest of us there was quite a difference in timing of the inevitable, but eventually all of us got into the same horrible stage, only one miraculously escaped the evil bacteria that puts even the strong travelers to their knees... or squats...
After 3 days we started to be quite sick of just lying around so we set off. Still not perfectly fit, but eager to cycle. The 90 km from Ziarat to Loralai were spectacular -Junipers forest and rocky terrain resembled Jurassic era, the trees are dating some 2000 years but they are just few meters high. Fortunately it was mostly down hill otherwise we would not make it since our bodies are still very weak -well no wonder! We had completely evacuated our intestines and didn't have enough time to replace the fillings... In Loralai the police told us we have to stay in the police station because is allegedly too dangerous to stay in a hotel. There is nothing we can do about it, but we are convinced that the next night we will just directly go to a hotel... ha! how naive we are, we'll find out soon.
From Loralai we kept on cycling east, but Dusan is getting back to pretty severe stage -it was far too early for him to set off from Ziarat. The rest of us are not overenthusiastic, I still can't eat properly and what's coming out of me doesn't look to healthy either, but generally I'm fine. But Dusan is really having a long lasting nightmare. 6 days of strong diarrhea can be very dangerous. We have to stop in a small town. The gravel road shows that this is again just a pothole place. We checked in a hotel -well sort of a hotel, its just a room next to dirty toilets adjacent to restaurant for truck drivers -the price is funny 30 rupees ( 30 cents), but its really just a emergency shelter. Unfortunately the local police chief is blindly obeying his duty and that's too bad for us. His commander gave him an order that we have to stay at the police station and there is nothing what we can do about it. We have very sick person who is already lying in a bed and needs to rest, but no! we have to move him to a dusty police station on the other side of the town -it took us two hours of arguing and we would have achieved much more if we would have talked to a white wall than to these simple people. So we move the convoy and spend the night on the back of a pick up truck because the room is way too dusty.
We are bit fed up with our police guards, so next morning we ignore them quite significantly. Dusan and David are taking a bus to Multan, Dusan needs to see a doctor, the rest will meet them there in 3 days. So Me, Arjan and Kevin are still heading eastwards quite enthusiastically... not knowing what's ahead of us.
The gravel road didn't end few kilometers after the town as we were assuming, it didn't end after the strenuous climb that followed... no... it changed into the dustiest ride we ever encountered. I had to put on my mouth filter, because each time when a truck passed us we were lost in clouds of dust so thick that couple times I had to stop to avoid falling down from the bike since I couldn't see anything. It was hot, It was dry, It was bumpy and few times we found ourselves in a dust twisters. Eventually it took us almost all day to conquer 40 km of real off road riding. Interesting, but much welcomed was that my wheel survived... during the whole bouncing ride this cheap Iranian back wheel did a very good job, but right after we got on a good asphalt surface, just 2 km before Kingri I got another flat tire -I lost the count by now... This time we wanted to stay in the police station in the town, since we didn't have any energy left to continue, but no, the police are just doing exactly the opposite what we would like to... fortunately this time they saved us from a big hassle and allowed us to stay there.
The next day we planned to cover 150 km all the way to DG Khan so we woke up early and rode constantly... The landscape here is beautiful, probably the greenest since west Turkey so we were really enjoying the ride. Our police "friends" started to be much more sloppy and there were few miles that we drove without any escort. Yes! This is freedom... from Rakni climbing up to a mountain pass in 1800m and than down in definitely the most scenic gorge and valley I have ever seen, totally free... fresh air, loose from the guards and unbelievable views drove us to an edge of sanity, I felt like drunk from all the beauty around me. So when on the other side of the mountains an Elite police escort waited for us we didn't mind. They drove us all the way to Multan, because due to security reasons no foreigner can stay in DG Khan -Pakistan has its nuclear weapon factory there... we didn't mind at least they saved us a full day cycling in humid, hot and flat Punjab. Right at the foot of the mountains the climate changed dramatically. It will take me few days to adjust, but that' fine.
Friday, October 02, 2009
Cycling to Asia, Dusan 3
naposledy som pisal z Esfahanu, kde sme sa dozvedeli, ze asi kus vychodneho Iranu nie je mozne absolvovat na bycikli. Zostavajuce dni sme teda vyuzili na zachadzku do Persepolisu. Podobne miesta sme dosial ignorovali, no tentokrat sa "turisticky highlight" celkom oplatil. Par hodin stravenych v niekdajsej vykladnej skrini Perzie stacilo na to, aby sme dostatocne hlboko precitili pychu i pad niekdajsich mocnych. Z toho, co kedysi posobilo ako vrchol umenia, oddanosti vyssej moci, nedobytnosti, zostali len ruiny. Velmi dobra lekcia toho, kam smerovat vlastny cas a energiu..
Z Persepolisu sme si k severu stopli nakladiak, co sa neobislo bez dalsieho sklamania. Panko sofer sa od nas snazil za svoju velkorisost vymamit asi desatnasobok standardnej sumy.. Bola by to veru smutna spomienka na iransku pohostinnost. Nasledujuce udalosti vsak nastastie napravili nasu mienku o velkodusnosti Perzanov.
Pred prichodom do Yazdu nas trochu prekvapilo asi 50 km puste. Kolesa akoby sa lepili na rozpaleny asfalt tiahnuci sa suchou krajinou niekam do nekonecna, vody malo, sklamani z dalsieho pokusu o okradnutie, defekt.. No nic moc, veru. V tom zrazu pred nami stoji auto a pri nom usmievavy chlapik. Caj, igelitka stavnateho hrozna, usmevy..
Potom ako sme dorazili na okraj pustatiny, dostavam na benzinke dalsi defekt, nezalepitelny. Menim dusu, no postradam odtahovac ventilkov, ktory som si zabudol v Esfahane.. Vsimol si to panko, ktory bez opytania nasada na motorku a po chvili prinasa presne to, co potrebujem. Na nic sa nepyta, len daruje.
Ceresnickou na torte iranskej pohostinnosti toho dna bol nakladiak, ktory nam na znamenie spomalil a dovolil sa zan zahaknut. Zvecerievalo sa a my sme potrebovali prekrocit hory, za ktorymi bola voda. Bez jeho pomoci to bolo bez nadejne. To, co sme vsak doteraz nezazili bolo, ze nas vzdy po kazdom kratkom zjazde (v ktorom sme sa ho vzdy pustili) v horskom terene cakal, aby nas mohol vytiahnut do dalsieho stupaka. Nakoniec v sedle snad tritisic metrov nad morom len zatrubil a zmizol. Akoby sa zrazu vytratila vila, ktorej sme chceli podakovat za to, ze nas previedla cez tmavy les..
Komfortne sme si zjazdili no podhorskej dedinky a v orechovom sade reflektovali posledne celodenne cykloputovanie v Irane. Povestna iranska pohostinnost, budis zachranena!
Na druhy den nam zostalo uz len par prijemnych kilometrov do hlineneho Yazdu, kde sa opat stretavame s irsko-svajciarsko-holandskou trojicou cyklistov putujucich nasim smerom. Podla ich slov nie je mozne k pakistanskym hraniciam byciklovat a tak pekne pospolu nasadame na autobus, ktory na hranici menime za dalsi iduci az do pakistanskej Quety. 1500 km pustou krajinou nas teda vsakovake okolnosti prinutili "blafovat", no nevadi, neprisli sme si tu nic dokazovat.
Sme teda v Quete, kde sme mali na vyber z dvoch moznosti. Budto si vziat vlak/autobus na menej zaujimavy juh, odkial sa da pokracovat na bycikli alebo poziadat o vojensky doprovod na 500 km prechod krasnym horskym terenom. Zda sa, ze sme Allahovi sympaticki - dnes rano nam bolo vyhovene v ziadosti o pridelenie eskorty a tak v sobotu rano opustame tento ostrov relativneho pokoja v nepokojnom Baluchistane, smer vychod.
Opat som to trosku pretiahol, no pre tych, co to vydrzali az potialto este par riadkov o prvych dojmoch z Pakistanu. V prvom rade neuveritelna spina - vsade:) To, co v Europe ukryvame na skladky, lejeme do podzemnej kanalizacie je tu neustale na ociach. Niezeby som to u nas doma nejako postradal, no posobi to akosi prirodzenejsie.. I ten neuveritelny hurhaj je akysi iny nez ten bratislavsky, no objektivnejsi budeme po par tyzdnoch.. Okrem tychto menej prijemnych realii sme vsak nadseni zivotom prekypujucimi ulicami. Obrovska zmena oproti ustrachanemu Iranu. Na kazdom kroku niekto nieco predava, vyraba, opravuje, vari.. Neuveritelne pestry vyber jedal, napojov - vsetko podavane s usmevom a navyse za symbolicke ceny. Celkova atmosfera je fascinujuca. Zasiahlo nas to natolko, ze sme sa rozhodli trochu poupravit povodny plan. Co najrychlejsi prechod Pakistanom menime za zachadzku do kralovstva horskej cyklistiky - Karakoram Highway.. Ale o tom na buduce.
Z Persepolisu sme si k severu stopli nakladiak, co sa neobislo bez dalsieho sklamania. Panko sofer sa od nas snazil za svoju velkorisost vymamit asi desatnasobok standardnej sumy.. Bola by to veru smutna spomienka na iransku pohostinnost. Nasledujuce udalosti vsak nastastie napravili nasu mienku o velkodusnosti Perzanov.
Pred prichodom do Yazdu nas trochu prekvapilo asi 50 km puste. Kolesa akoby sa lepili na rozpaleny asfalt tiahnuci sa suchou krajinou niekam do nekonecna, vody malo, sklamani z dalsieho pokusu o okradnutie, defekt.. No nic moc, veru. V tom zrazu pred nami stoji auto a pri nom usmievavy chlapik. Caj, igelitka stavnateho hrozna, usmevy..
Potom ako sme dorazili na okraj pustatiny, dostavam na benzinke dalsi defekt, nezalepitelny. Menim dusu, no postradam odtahovac ventilkov, ktory som si zabudol v Esfahane.. Vsimol si to panko, ktory bez opytania nasada na motorku a po chvili prinasa presne to, co potrebujem. Na nic sa nepyta, len daruje.
Ceresnickou na torte iranskej pohostinnosti toho dna bol nakladiak, ktory nam na znamenie spomalil a dovolil sa zan zahaknut. Zvecerievalo sa a my sme potrebovali prekrocit hory, za ktorymi bola voda. Bez jeho pomoci to bolo bez nadejne. To, co sme vsak doteraz nezazili bolo, ze nas vzdy po kazdom kratkom zjazde (v ktorom sme sa ho vzdy pustili) v horskom terene cakal, aby nas mohol vytiahnut do dalsieho stupaka. Nakoniec v sedle snad tritisic metrov nad morom len zatrubil a zmizol. Akoby sa zrazu vytratila vila, ktorej sme chceli podakovat za to, ze nas previedla cez tmavy les..
Komfortne sme si zjazdili no podhorskej dedinky a v orechovom sade reflektovali posledne celodenne cykloputovanie v Irane. Povestna iranska pohostinnost, budis zachranena!
Na druhy den nam zostalo uz len par prijemnych kilometrov do hlineneho Yazdu, kde sa opat stretavame s irsko-svajciarsko-holandskou trojicou cyklistov putujucich nasim smerom. Podla ich slov nie je mozne k pakistanskym hraniciam byciklovat a tak pekne pospolu nasadame na autobus, ktory na hranici menime za dalsi iduci az do pakistanskej Quety. 1500 km pustou krajinou nas teda vsakovake okolnosti prinutili "blafovat", no nevadi, neprisli sme si tu nic dokazovat.
Sme teda v Quete, kde sme mali na vyber z dvoch moznosti. Budto si vziat vlak/autobus na menej zaujimavy juh, odkial sa da pokracovat na bycikli alebo poziadat o vojensky doprovod na 500 km prechod krasnym horskym terenom. Zda sa, ze sme Allahovi sympaticki - dnes rano nam bolo vyhovene v ziadosti o pridelenie eskorty a tak v sobotu rano opustame tento ostrov relativneho pokoja v nepokojnom Baluchistane, smer vychod.
Opat som to trosku pretiahol, no pre tych, co to vydrzali az potialto este par riadkov o prvych dojmoch z Pakistanu. V prvom rade neuveritelna spina - vsade:) To, co v Europe ukryvame na skladky, lejeme do podzemnej kanalizacie je tu neustale na ociach. Niezeby som to u nas doma nejako postradal, no posobi to akosi prirodzenejsie.. I ten neuveritelny hurhaj je akysi iny nez ten bratislavsky, no objektivnejsi budeme po par tyzdnoch.. Okrem tychto menej prijemnych realii sme vsak nadseni zivotom prekypujucimi ulicami. Obrovska zmena oproti ustrachanemu Iranu. Na kazdom kroku niekto nieco predava, vyraba, opravuje, vari.. Neuveritelne pestry vyber jedal, napojov - vsetko podavane s usmevom a navyse za symbolicke ceny. Celkova atmosfera je fascinujuca. Zasiahlo nas to natolko, ze sme sa rozhodli trochu poupravit povodny plan. Co najrychlejsi prechod Pakistanom menime za zachadzku do kralovstva horskej cyklistiky - Karakoram Highway.. Ale o tom na buduce.
Thursday, October 01, 2009
Cycling to Asia, week 11
Guns, Drugs and military coups... that's how most of the people perceive Pakistan. What we see in media is always highly concentrated information. It's usually true, it's just that it doesn't represent the everyday life. Even the 7 o'clock news in Slovakia will feed you wit
h car accidence, thefts and political scandals... Our unique opportunity to explore and find out for our selves have just started.
After really relaxing days in Yazd we were ready for some bus overdose. First we took overnight bus to Zahedan. This was quite pleasant, the Iranian transport is very luxurious. The morning in the Border town was still pretty Iranian like even though the people's faces changed quite a bit, the landscape even more. This is pure dead land of rocks and sand. The people live here just from trade I guess. We took a share pick up truck to the border. There we had a brief introduction into Pakistani bureaucracy -just to tune us in for the following month.
This is an ex-British colony and the Britons did leave some fingerprints here -one is their paper work!!!
Than some more busing. Another 14 h over the flat hot desert, the last bit was extra bumpy so this time we didn't sleep so well. First we were wondering why it takes the same time as in Iran, but the distance is almost halved? Well we've forgot to input the Asian factor: praying and police check...
at least each half an hour we stopped for one of those... 5 am in Quetta was a shock but everybody was too tired realize it. The next day we got it in full power. So far we have been moving forward very slowly, step by step, or push by push, but this time we jumped a good 1500km eastwards and the change was more dramatic than anyone of us could imagine. Dirt, chaos, smog and stench. Oh is that really a sour floating down the street? Rubbish, cats and bagging kids! But wow nobody is harassing us as much as the Persian did!
Our plan is to get a permit to cycle from Quetta to Mulat via Ziarat and Mularay... everybody is saying that we'll need an escort so we are not really hoping to be successful, but let's give it a shot. The authorities are very relaxed as well as serious and accurate. Where will you
stay? How many km you can do in a day? Be aware that's a hilly region... but yeah, we will issue the permit and provide you with a police escort and all of this for free!!! WoW and WoW. This is how they treat tourists here? That's nice! We all agreed that in Europe they would just simply say NO, you can't do that, take a bus, full stop.
So now we have two more days to explore Quetta. OK. Let's go shopping... so we all bought the local outfit. It's comfy and the people do give us a bit more slack, we don't shine like freshly arrived tourists anymore. Have a look and give feedback please.
h car accidence, thefts and political scandals... Our unique opportunity to explore and find out for our selves have just started.
After really relaxing days in Yazd we were ready for some bus overdose. First we took overnight bus to Zahedan. This was quite pleasant, the Iranian transport is very luxurious. The morning in the Border town was still pretty Iranian like even though the people's faces changed quite a bit, the landscape even more. This is pure dead land of rocks and sand. The people live here just from trade I guess. We took a share pick up truck to the border. There we had a brief introduction into Pakistani bureaucracy -just to tune us in for the following month.
This is an ex-British colony and the Britons did leave some fingerprints here -one is their paper work!!!Than some more busing. Another 14 h over the flat hot desert, the last bit was extra bumpy so this time we didn't sleep so well. First we were wondering why it takes the same time as in Iran, but the distance is almost halved? Well we've forgot to input the Asian factor: praying and police check...
at least each half an hour we stopped for one of those... 5 am in Quetta was a shock but everybody was too tired realize it. The next day we got it in full power. So far we have been moving forward very slowly, step by step, or push by push, but this time we jumped a good 1500km eastwards and the change was more dramatic than anyone of us could imagine. Dirt, chaos, smog and stench. Oh is that really a sour floating down the street? Rubbish, cats and bagging kids! But wow nobody is harassing us as much as the Persian did!Our plan is to get a permit to cycle from Quetta to Mulat via Ziarat and Mularay... everybody is saying that we'll need an escort so we are not really hoping to be successful, but let's give it a shot. The authorities are very relaxed as well as serious and accurate. Where will you
stay? How many km you can do in a day? Be aware that's a hilly region... but yeah, we will issue the permit and provide you with a police escort and all of this for free!!! WoW and WoW. This is how they treat tourists here? That's nice! We all agreed that in Europe they would just simply say NO, you can't do that, take a bus, full stop.So now we have two more days to explore Quetta. OK. Let's go shopping... so we all bought the local outfit. It's comfy and the people do give us a bit more slack, we don't shine like freshly arrived tourists anymore. Have a look and give feedback please.
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
Cycling to asia, Iran
Hello Mr! What country? Hello Mr. What do you think about Iran?
I don't have to be specifically emphatic to know that everybody who traveled trough Iran have been asked these questions billion times. So what do I think after a month spent mostly by cycling?
Iran is great and it's definitely a travelers paradise... specially the shoe stringers will love it because there is no problem camping anywhere, eating everywhere (except ramadan) and traveling in cheap transport. Bum friendly cities allows you to sleep in park and other advantages. But it's not just fun. You also get a lot of hassle and must be prepared for rip offs. Generally if you don't ask about the price in advance you can expect cosmic numbers! If you do ask don't dream about big discounts by bergaining...
Iranians are very friendly and suffer by over hospitality, so most of the time one can enjoy ones stay. We received plenty of invitations of all of the kinds -from simple tea to few days of accommodation with all the care you could wish for.
We also noticed high level of fear in the locals minds. . They are very curios, many times even suspicious... everything interests them, so if two highly visible creatures, like us on bikes, show up on the street they get more attention than a King! It definitely reaches limits unbearable for almost everybody I would say...
It is a country of strict Islamic regime, but funnily they don't observe Ramadan as seriously as Turks do. We had no problem eating on the streets of Turkish towns, even though the restaurants were closed, but in Tabriz we've been send to a hotel, but we've bought the food on street! Officially there are strict rules for everything but in reality majority of the people neglect them. They do eat, but secretly. They hide! So if the public doesn't see you, it's all right! Isn't that ridiculous? It should be based on the relationship between you and God, not you and public! The women don't wear scarf on privet parties, but when we showed up in short pants we got all the looks and even few comments...
The political situation is even more ridiculous, when cca 3% of the population is manipulating the rest, but officially they have elections -worth nothing... everybody says that the new president is just a very bad joke, nobody voted for him and suddenly here he comes... they call him monkey. But politic sucks so I'm not going to write much about it...
How can I summarize all this? Probably by saying that the Iran has two faces: the official and the real. This schism is quite traumatizing for locals and requires some time for travelers to adjust to. But if you manage you'll have good times.
I don't have to be specifically emphatic to know that everybody who traveled trough Iran have been asked these questions billion times. So what do I think after a month spent mostly by cycling?
Iran is great and it's definitely a travelers paradise... specially the shoe stringers will love it because there is no problem camping anywhere, eating everywhere (except ramadan) and traveling in cheap transport. Bum friendly cities allows you to sleep in park and other advantages. But it's not just fun. You also get a lot of hassle and must be prepared for rip offs. Generally if you don't ask about the price in advance you can expect cosmic numbers! If you do ask don't dream about big discounts by bergaining...
Iranians are very friendly and suffer by over hospitality, so most of the time one can enjoy ones stay. We received plenty of invitations of all of the kinds -from simple tea to few days of accommodation with all the care you could wish for.
We also noticed high level of fear in the locals minds. . They are very curios, many times even suspicious... everything interests them, so if two highly visible creatures, like us on bikes, show up on the street they get more attention than a King! It definitely reaches limits unbearable for almost everybody I would say...
It is a country of strict Islamic regime, but funnily they don't observe Ramadan as seriously as Turks do. We had no problem eating on the streets of Turkish towns, even though the restaurants were closed, but in Tabriz we've been send to a hotel, but we've bought the food on street! Officially there are strict rules for everything but in reality majority of the people neglect them. They do eat, but secretly. They hide! So if the public doesn't see you, it's all right! Isn't that ridiculous? It should be based on the relationship between you and God, not you and public! The women don't wear scarf on privet parties, but when we showed up in short pants we got all the looks and even few comments...
The political situation is even more ridiculous, when cca 3% of the population is manipulating the rest, but officially they have elections -worth nothing... everybody says that the new president is just a very bad joke, nobody voted for him and suddenly here he comes... they call him monkey. But politic sucks so I'm not going to write much about it...
How can I summarize all this? Probably by saying that the Iran has two faces: the official and the real. This schism is quite traumatizing for locals and requires some time for travelers to adjust to. But if you manage you'll have good times.
Sunday, September 27, 2009
Cycling to Asia, week 10
Here we go again! OH how good it is to feel the air in my hair, yes the wheels are turning, the legs are doing their job... we keep on moving east, well this time a bit more southeast. We decided to make a small detour and check out the biggest highlight of Iran: Persepolis. Our 
plan was to cycle down there, see the old Persian city and cycle back up to Yazd, but well we underestimated the Iranian distances (and the map we have... is really crap!). On the second day of cycling from Esfahan we have found out that we're not gonna make it. Because its more than 800km of cycling, plus sightseeing, plus catching the bus to the Pakistan border and all of this just in one week... impossible. So what we gonna do?
It's simple just let the karma work for it self, or let the Iranians do what they are best in: be hospitable. At the end
of the second day, after cycling some good 100km there were these two guys with a truck having a rest on the car park area on the highway. They showed us to stop, as many of them did before... sometimes we do, sometimes we don't... depends on our mood. This time Dusan had a good intuition and we stopped... YEAH all the Farsi questions: "Where are you from?" and "Are you cycling from Slovakia?" and "Where are you going?" and "OH India!!!" as hundred times before, but this time we also told them we go to Persepolis and they eager
ly said that they do as well... so here we go, we have a good 300km hitch in the truck all the way to the sight. Funny part was that after they have found out that our Farsi is really limited just to the basic five questions they wanted to kick us out... but hell no! You said you're gonna take us, so you gonna take us, full stop!
How was Persepolis? Imaginary, original, majestic, monumental, reveling, useful... just imagine how much effort they put to create this original majestic stone city just to find out that nothing last for ever. Even the big
gest or strongest monuments are impermanent... What a trust the locals must have had in the King and it didn't last even two centuries... this is useful thought for everybody I ques...
Cycling back was probably the best cycling in Iran. There were nice towns, mountains, deserts, friendly drivers, stupid drivers, hospitable people and beautiful mountain passes... Since we wanted to see bit of Yazd we cheated a bit again and hitchhiked. This time it was proper hand showing process, just that we had to be really picky, since we could accept just pick ups or
trucks... it worked after a while... why did the driver asked for ridiculous 50$ for a 100km ride we do not know, but well we gave him a fiver and wished him to recover from the stupidity... Generally the hospitality of the locals is incredible, but on the other hand quite a few tried to rip us off... so our feelings are quite mixed. The good ones definitely overwhelm the bad ones, just that the negative memories are more sticky...
Now we are in the mud-wall ancient city of Yazd, just chill in before some crazy 14+14 hours of bus riding all the way to Pakistani Queta... we met here the other cyclists and decided to cross the border together. So now we are 5 europians heading east...
plan was to cycle down there, see the old Persian city and cycle back up to Yazd, but well we underestimated the Iranian distances (and the map we have... is really crap!). On the second day of cycling from Esfahan we have found out that we're not gonna make it. Because its more than 800km of cycling, plus sightseeing, plus catching the bus to the Pakistan border and all of this just in one week... impossible. So what we gonna do?It's simple just let the karma work for it self, or let the Iranians do what they are best in: be hospitable. At the end
of the second day, after cycling some good 100km there were these two guys with a truck having a rest on the car park area on the highway. They showed us to stop, as many of them did before... sometimes we do, sometimes we don't... depends on our mood. This time Dusan had a good intuition and we stopped... YEAH all the Farsi questions: "Where are you from?" and "Are you cycling from Slovakia?" and "Where are you going?" and "OH India!!!" as hundred times before, but this time we also told them we go to Persepolis and they eager
ly said that they do as well... so here we go, we have a good 300km hitch in the truck all the way to the sight. Funny part was that after they have found out that our Farsi is really limited just to the basic five questions they wanted to kick us out... but hell no! You said you're gonna take us, so you gonna take us, full stop!How was Persepolis? Imaginary, original, majestic, monumental, reveling, useful... just imagine how much effort they put to create this original majestic stone city just to find out that nothing last for ever. Even the big
gest or strongest monuments are impermanent... What a trust the locals must have had in the King and it didn't last even two centuries... this is useful thought for everybody I ques...Cycling back was probably the best cycling in Iran. There were nice towns, mountains, deserts, friendly drivers, stupid drivers, hospitable people and beautiful mountain passes... Since we wanted to see bit of Yazd we cheated a bit again and hitchhiked. This time it was proper hand showing process, just that we had to be really picky, since we could accept just pick ups or
trucks... it worked after a while... why did the driver asked for ridiculous 50$ for a 100km ride we do not know, but well we gave him a fiver and wished him to recover from the stupidity... Generally the hospitality of the locals is incredible, but on the other hand quite a few tried to rip us off... so our feelings are quite mixed. The good ones definitely overwhelm the bad ones, just that the negative memories are more sticky...Now we are in the mud-wall ancient city of Yazd, just chill in before some crazy 14+14 hours of bus riding all the way to Pakistani Queta... we met here the other cyclists and decided to cross the border together. So now we are 5 europians heading east...
Saturday, September 26, 2009
Cycling to Asia, Dusan 2
Zdravim vas opat,
pisem z Esfahanu, asi najkrajsieho iranskeho mesta, do ktoreho je to zo Sturova nieco malo cez pat tisic kilometrov. Sme teda asi v polovicke cykloetapy nasej vypravy.
..takto mi raz povedal kamarat: "V Irane to zacne..."
A veru, ze zacalo. Po prechode turecko-iranskej hranicou sme skutocne nadobudli pocit, ze vsetko je akesi ine, dokonca aj klima:) Ludia posobili dost jednoliato - umiernenejsie, veselsie a uprimnejsie ako ich zapadni susednia. Teraz, po troch tyzdnoch sa vsak nasa mienka o Irancoch trochu upravila. Zije tu niekolko narodov, z ktorych sme dosial lepsie spoznali Turkov, Kurdov a Persanov. Napriek niekolkym odlisnostiam maju urcite spolocne crty a to najma stadovitost a strach z vyssej moci. Ale pekne poporiadku.
V meste Tabriz sme mali na vyber z dvoch moznosti ako stravit nas mesiac v Irane. Ak by sme chceli prejst cely Iran na bycikli (asi 2900 km), museli by sme to struhnut priamym, frekventovanym tahom na Teheran - Esfahan - Yazd - Zahedan. Uz pred Tabrizom sme si nastastie skusili, ze valit po presmradenej hlavnej ceste nie je prave to prave orechove a tak sme si vybrali druhu variantu - z Tabrizu na juh cez iransky Kurdistan a pohorie Zagros. Znamenalo to sice, ze si niekde na vychode budeme musiet vziat autobus, aby sme neprekrocili vizovi limit, no bola to vynikajuca volba.
Zatial co v Turecku sa o Kurdistane nemozno ani zmienit, v Irane je to oficialny nazov jednej z provincii. Oboch nas zaujimalo ako sa iransky Kurdi lisia od tureckych. Nasa zvedavost bola natolko silna, ze nam do cesty priviala toho najpovolanejsieho cloveka - Azada, mladeho, neuveritelne energickeho a velmi priatelskeho kurdskeho patriota. Po stretnuti s nim nasledovali tri dni neustalych navstev u jeho znamych a s tym spojene nekonecne debaty o Kurdoch - ich historii a sucasnych problemoch.. Pocas iracko-iranskej vojny sa spolcili s irackymi Kurdmi, co im vlada dosial kruto odplaca. Okrem prenasledovania a vaznenia neposlusnych "poddanych", sustavneho vypalovania lesov (potencialne ukryty pre kurdske gerily) vlada dlhodobo nepodporuje tento region - asi patdesiat percentna nezamestnanost mladych ludi.Azad nas vzal na dvojdnovy (povodne stvorhodinovy) vylet napriec celou provinciou az k hraniciam s Irakom. Z toho, co sme dosial zazili nam nariek vsetkemu Kurdi zostali v pamati ako velmi priatelsky, pohostinny, vcelku uprimni ludia. I potom, co sme opustili Bukan sa nam dostalo este niekolko pozvani a vzdy sme odchadzali s podobnymi dojmami. ..tolko Kurdistan.
V meste Hamedan si na Janciho sadla choroba a tak sme uznali za vhodne, ze on si vezme do Esfahanu autobus a ja tam dojdem za nim na bycikli. Pocas piatich dni som si teda skusil, ake to je v tychto koncinach ist solo. Najskor trosku osamelo, krajina zacala byt zrazu omnoho zaujimavejsia, no clovek sa o to nemal s kym podelit. Za nedlho som sa vsak aklimatizoval a neskor zhodnotil, ze ist sam je sice trochu narocnejsie, no omnoho intenzivnejsie. Okrem ineho som si naplno skusil, ake to je neustale reagovat na prihovarajucich sa ludi. Niezeby mi to nejak zvlast vadilo, ale Janci predsa len komunikativnejsie a dovtedy som odpovede na do nekonecna sa opakujuce: "Helo, how are you? Whants your name? What is your meaning about Iranian people? Are you maried..?" nechaval na neho. Teraz som vsak bol na to sam. Sukromie je tu neznamym pojmom. Je uplne normalne, ze jeme, niekto sa pristavi, bez opytania si prisadne a zacne sa vas vypytovat tie ich super otazky alebo sa nevypytuju nic a mlcky pozoruju - ako jeme, odpocivame.. Ludia nas oslvouju neustale. Dokonca aj ked slapeme, nie je pre nich problem pristavit sa - spomalit auto motorku a klast spominane otazky. Pred Esfahanom som mal pocit, ze mi praskne hlava. Priblizne hodinu sa mi prihovarali najma motorkari. Ignorovat ich bolo bez efektu. Stale si mleli to svoje a opustili ma, az ked som vsetko zodpovedal. Striedali sa pri mne jeden za druhym. Krkolomna jazda nie je ziadna prekazka. Najlepsi si tu, co nevedia po anglicky a stale na vas vytahuju perstinu akoby to bola automatika - si v Irane, tak predsa musis vediet perzsky (farsi).. Je to jeden z mnohych znakov toho, ze tu ludia nie su na cudzincov moc zvyknuti. Je trochu narocne nebyt k nim nevrly. Zrejme si neuvedomuju, ze patria k tuctom dalsim, ktori kladu tie iste otazky.
Napriek tomu, ze bol ramadan (predvcerom konecne skoncil) bola iranska pohostinnost velkolepa. Pocas tych piatich dni, co som bol sam som si nekupil takmer ziadne jedno jedlo a mnohe z darovaneho som este doniesol aj do Esfahanu. I tu vsak musim povedat, ze nic nie je zadarmo. Ludia vas sice pozvu k sebe domov, na obed.. Na strane druhej sa vsak na vas pride pozriet cela rodina vratane bratrancov, ujov, pradedkov zo vsetkych kolien. Vzdy je to tak trochu zazitok, no vsetkeho moc skodi.
Iranci maju tak trochu problem s mobilnym sokom. Neviem, kedy tu prisli telefony s fotakmi, no ma ich uplne kazdy, dokonca aj pastieri. Nejde ani tak o to, ze ich maju ale ze si nas neustale fotia. Teda nielen ti, s ktorymi sa dame do reci - co je vcelku OK - ale i obycajny okoloidujuci, okolojazdiaci. Je uplne normalne, ze slapeme, pristavi sa motorkar, poprosi nas, aby sme zastavili, ze sa chce s nami odfotit... Na fotke to vsak vyzera tak, akoby sa stretli strari priatelia. Zhodnotili sme to tak, ze je to pre nich asi vec prestize - odfotit sa s europanom..
Kulturne zmeny nastastie neprichadzaju az tak prudko, aby sme sa nestihali aklimatizovat. Teraz sa uz necudujem ludom zo zapadu, s ktorymi sme sa stretli v Esfahane. Mnohi z nich zostavaju v lacnom hoteliku niekolko dni az tyzdnov a nie je to kvoli Esfahanu.. Putovanie na bycikli je asi najlepsim sposobom ako sa vyhnut kulturnemu soku.
Este som chcel o politike, ku ktorej sa v rozhovoroch s miestnymi dostaneme vacsinou az pri tych najhlbsich rozhovoroch. No myslim, ze to by bol uz tento email pridlhy..
Vyzera to tak, ze v Irane sa krivka exotickoskosti zacina vyvijat exponencialne - tesime sa na Pakistan..:)
Vas Dusan
pisem z Esfahanu, asi najkrajsieho iranskeho mesta, do ktoreho je to zo Sturova nieco malo cez pat tisic kilometrov. Sme teda asi v polovicke cykloetapy nasej vypravy.
..takto mi raz povedal kamarat: "V Irane to zacne..."
A veru, ze zacalo. Po prechode turecko-iranskej hranicou sme skutocne nadobudli pocit, ze vsetko je akesi ine, dokonca aj klima:) Ludia posobili dost jednoliato - umiernenejsie, veselsie a uprimnejsie ako ich zapadni susednia. Teraz, po troch tyzdnoch sa vsak nasa mienka o Irancoch trochu upravila. Zije tu niekolko narodov, z ktorych sme dosial lepsie spoznali Turkov, Kurdov a Persanov. Napriek niekolkym odlisnostiam maju urcite spolocne crty a to najma stadovitost a strach z vyssej moci. Ale pekne poporiadku.
V meste Tabriz sme mali na vyber z dvoch moznosti ako stravit nas mesiac v Irane. Ak by sme chceli prejst cely Iran na bycikli (asi 2900 km), museli by sme to struhnut priamym, frekventovanym tahom na Teheran - Esfahan - Yazd - Zahedan. Uz pred Tabrizom sme si nastastie skusili, ze valit po presmradenej hlavnej ceste nie je prave to prave orechove a tak sme si vybrali druhu variantu - z Tabrizu na juh cez iransky Kurdistan a pohorie Zagros. Znamenalo to sice, ze si niekde na vychode budeme musiet vziat autobus, aby sme neprekrocili vizovi limit, no bola to vynikajuca volba.
Zatial co v Turecku sa o Kurdistane nemozno ani zmienit, v Irane je to oficialny nazov jednej z provincii. Oboch nas zaujimalo ako sa iransky Kurdi lisia od tureckych. Nasa zvedavost bola natolko silna, ze nam do cesty priviala toho najpovolanejsieho cloveka - Azada, mladeho, neuveritelne energickeho a velmi priatelskeho kurdskeho patriota. Po stretnuti s nim nasledovali tri dni neustalych navstev u jeho znamych a s tym spojene nekonecne debaty o Kurdoch - ich historii a sucasnych problemoch.. Pocas iracko-iranskej vojny sa spolcili s irackymi Kurdmi, co im vlada dosial kruto odplaca. Okrem prenasledovania a vaznenia neposlusnych "poddanych", sustavneho vypalovania lesov (potencialne ukryty pre kurdske gerily) vlada dlhodobo nepodporuje tento region - asi patdesiat percentna nezamestnanost mladych ludi.Azad nas vzal na dvojdnovy (povodne stvorhodinovy) vylet napriec celou provinciou az k hraniciam s Irakom. Z toho, co sme dosial zazili nam nariek vsetkemu Kurdi zostali v pamati ako velmi priatelsky, pohostinny, vcelku uprimni ludia. I potom, co sme opustili Bukan sa nam dostalo este niekolko pozvani a vzdy sme odchadzali s podobnymi dojmami. ..tolko Kurdistan.
V meste Hamedan si na Janciho sadla choroba a tak sme uznali za vhodne, ze on si vezme do Esfahanu autobus a ja tam dojdem za nim na bycikli. Pocas piatich dni som si teda skusil, ake to je v tychto koncinach ist solo. Najskor trosku osamelo, krajina zacala byt zrazu omnoho zaujimavejsia, no clovek sa o to nemal s kym podelit. Za nedlho som sa vsak aklimatizoval a neskor zhodnotil, ze ist sam je sice trochu narocnejsie, no omnoho intenzivnejsie. Okrem ineho som si naplno skusil, ake to je neustale reagovat na prihovarajucich sa ludi. Niezeby mi to nejak zvlast vadilo, ale Janci predsa len komunikativnejsie a dovtedy som odpovede na do nekonecna sa opakujuce: "Helo, how are you? Whants your name? What is your meaning about Iranian people? Are you maried..?" nechaval na neho. Teraz som vsak bol na to sam. Sukromie je tu neznamym pojmom. Je uplne normalne, ze jeme, niekto sa pristavi, bez opytania si prisadne a zacne sa vas vypytovat tie ich super otazky alebo sa nevypytuju nic a mlcky pozoruju - ako jeme, odpocivame.. Ludia nas oslvouju neustale. Dokonca aj ked slapeme, nie je pre nich problem pristavit sa - spomalit auto motorku a klast spominane otazky. Pred Esfahanom som mal pocit, ze mi praskne hlava. Priblizne hodinu sa mi prihovarali najma motorkari. Ignorovat ich bolo bez efektu. Stale si mleli to svoje a opustili ma, az ked som vsetko zodpovedal. Striedali sa pri mne jeden za druhym. Krkolomna jazda nie je ziadna prekazka. Najlepsi si tu, co nevedia po anglicky a stale na vas vytahuju perstinu akoby to bola automatika - si v Irane, tak predsa musis vediet perzsky (farsi).. Je to jeden z mnohych znakov toho, ze tu ludia nie su na cudzincov moc zvyknuti. Je trochu narocne nebyt k nim nevrly. Zrejme si neuvedomuju, ze patria k tuctom dalsim, ktori kladu tie iste otazky.
Napriek tomu, ze bol ramadan (predvcerom konecne skoncil) bola iranska pohostinnost velkolepa. Pocas tych piatich dni, co som bol sam som si nekupil takmer ziadne jedno jedlo a mnohe z darovaneho som este doniesol aj do Esfahanu. I tu vsak musim povedat, ze nic nie je zadarmo. Ludia vas sice pozvu k sebe domov, na obed.. Na strane druhej sa vsak na vas pride pozriet cela rodina vratane bratrancov, ujov, pradedkov zo vsetkych kolien. Vzdy je to tak trochu zazitok, no vsetkeho moc skodi.
Iranci maju tak trochu problem s mobilnym sokom. Neviem, kedy tu prisli telefony s fotakmi, no ma ich uplne kazdy, dokonca aj pastieri. Nejde ani tak o to, ze ich maju ale ze si nas neustale fotia. Teda nielen ti, s ktorymi sa dame do reci - co je vcelku OK - ale i obycajny okoloidujuci, okolojazdiaci. Je uplne normalne, ze slapeme, pristavi sa motorkar, poprosi nas, aby sme zastavili, ze sa chce s nami odfotit... Na fotke to vsak vyzera tak, akoby sa stretli strari priatelia. Zhodnotili sme to tak, ze je to pre nich asi vec prestize - odfotit sa s europanom..
Kulturne zmeny nastastie neprichadzaju az tak prudko, aby sme sa nestihali aklimatizovat. Teraz sa uz necudujem ludom zo zapadu, s ktorymi sme sa stretli v Esfahane. Mnohi z nich zostavaju v lacnom hoteliku niekolko dni az tyzdnov a nie je to kvoli Esfahanu.. Putovanie na bycikli je asi najlepsim sposobom ako sa vyhnut kulturnemu soku.
Este som chcel o politike, ku ktorej sa v rozhovoroch s miestnymi dostaneme vacsinou az pri tych najhlbsich rozhovoroch. No myslim, ze to by bol uz tento email pridlhy..
Vyzera to tak, ze v Irane sa krivka exotickoskosti zacina vyvijat exponencialne - tesime sa na Pakistan..:)
Vas Dusan
Cycling to Asia, week 9 cont.
Esfahan wasn't just chill out in the hostel... even though this was probably the highlight for me. But there were other things as well. Like the Friday anti-Israel demonstration. We can't resist, it might be risky, but lets see it in our own eyes! Every major city in Iran is holding this propaganda backed up by government . The whole Emam square was full of strong and primitive statements like "Down with Isreal" or " Down with England!" making it a big fiasco... Who IS REAL? I tried to have a conversation but the fanatical crowd was strongly narrow minded. Innocent Palestine people are suffering. First I tried to be diplomatic and said I don't have any opinion on this matter
I was told that I'm human I should have one! So I told them that the problem is more complicated and Palestinians are also harming the Israeli. You should have seen the tension I've created! Wow! I'd better backup... as Dusan have said: "one who has an opinion on this issue must have got already lost in it". The square started to fill up and the crowds started to be more load. Boasting all sorts of hatred... We didn't understand much, since it was in Farsi but just looking at it was quite sad. When we were leaving people were still marching into the city with flags and slogans, shouting out loud. Some guys told us that this is just a show, that they don't agree. 
We've found out that there is also an anti-government demonstration as a reply, but this one we've missed.
For the rest of the week we were just sight seeing the Esfahan highlights. Yes the mosques are beautiful and the tea houses spledid, but still it's the people that make the country interesting for us.
I was told that I'm human I should have one! So I told them that the problem is more complicated and Palestinians are also harming the Israeli. You should have seen the tension I've created! Wow! I'd better backup... as Dusan have said: "one who has an opinion on this issue must have got already lost in it". The square started to fill up and the crowds started to be more load. Boasting all sorts of hatred... We didn't understand much, since it was in Farsi but just looking at it was quite sad. When we were leaving people were still marching into the city with flags and slogans, shouting out loud. Some guys told us that this is just a show, that they don't agree. 
We've found out that there is also an anti-government demonstration as a reply, but this one we've missed.For the rest of the week we were just sight seeing the Esfahan highlights. Yes the mosques are beautiful and the tea houses spledid, but still it's the people that make the country interesting for us.
Saturday, September 19, 2009
Cycling to Asia, week 9
Taking bus to Esfahan was a good choice. Not just because my illness involved into a pretty severe one. We do not travel to see sights, neither to chat with other travelers, but after two months one appreciate a bit of European atmosphere. Esfahan turned out to be the number one place in whole Iran for meeting other overlanders, out of whom quite a few use the same travel means as we do...
The overnight bus was alright except that the Amir Kabir hotel was still closed at 5am. Since I didn't know what to do I just roamed around, trying to find a park where I could stretch my bones for a bit. Fortunately nothing looked suitable, so I went back the same street and yes they've just opened... I got my bed and started the healing process... originally I thought I will just lie in the bed, but next day I've found out that there are other three bicycles in the courtyard... this is way to tantalizing to resist... so I hanged around for a bit. First I came across the magic bus people. The name was coined by me, but how would you call 30 people traveling from London to Sydney on a big orange bus with a balcony? It looked more like a house on wheels than a coach and the people resembled the good old hippie days when this road was traveled by the pioneers of backpacking...
Then I met David the Swiss! He is taking his time, that I have to say right a way. He is cycling from Basel to India, roughly as we do but he is on the road since April, so exactly double as long as we are. Well if somebody have the resources and Swiss passport that allows you to get 90 days visa in Turkey or Iran, then why shouldn't he take the opportunity to explore these vibrant countries, right? He is pretty straight forward guy asking good questions... no polite rubbish or shallow talk.
Afterward Arian showed up. This nice fella is cycling his way from Holland to India and also doesn't bother him self much with things like getting stuck in Esfahan for almost two weeks. Yes, I would like to see the man who would leave earlier if he had met a nice local girl who speaks good English and is eager to show you around. It's not difficult to fall in love with these dark-deep-eyed beauties carelessly covered with scarfs that just provokes your imagination.Some women -the traditional one- are covered from head to toes... the head scarf is properly tided and shows just the round face with eagle nose and Persian eyes. 
These are not so sexy, that's true, but than there are these youthful girls rebelling in the Iranian way. Usually wearing more colorful jackets and trousers, not pure black and definitely not the all covering tent-like chador. 
The most revolutionary and typical sign is the headscarf. In their case it's more of a delicate decoration, more like a romantic veil then a covering cloth. Lot of care is given to make sure that enough hair will be visible... no matter that the scarf falls off sometimes... Together with the unique ayes and exotic Persian faces they are just gorges. Covered enough to follow the rules, but not much to protect you from craving and thinking what's beyond? So Arian we all envy you!
Lastly there is one more bike in the courtyard, but we couldn't find the owner. No wonder when he is in Teheran. Kevin had to extend his visas so ended up traveling more by bus then by bike... He is probably the most experienced from us since he already did a south to north America journey. It took him a year and it was just two years ago so it looks like he felt in love with it. This time he is doing the Ireland South-east Asia tour with no definite destination end neither definite route. He mentioned India, China, Burma, Indonesia... all by land, so some miles will be covered while he comes back to Ireland.
Good luck to all of you guys. It's been really nice to relax, chill-out and talk with you. I feel refreshed. Like after coming home for a weekend and then starting the journey again. Just that the half is behind me already... Healthy physically and stronger mentally. There were times when I felt awkward, since all the locals acts as you have just fallen down from the moon and that they have never seen anybody doing something strange like you do... but there are plenty people who did it before us quite a few that are doing it while we are, so maybe we meet again... we all go the same direction... I'm looking forward!!!
Sunday, September 13, 2009
Cycling to Asia, week 8
After leaving Boukan we felt like escaping a prison. No, no we were treated with honor and we felt great, it's just that during the whole trip we were mostly on our own and during the last four days we lost the power to manage our time. We cycled like crazy, reflecting what had just happened to us. Wow! This was awesome.
After half of the day and one invitation for lunch, we met Balal. An cyclist going a decent 80km ride with no equipment, not even water. Originally he went the opposite direction, but because of us he decided to change that. So he went with us. Or we went with him? He invited us for a second lunch in his uncle house in a small village. Afterward we continued to Divandareh, where he invited us to stay in his brother's house. Dusan said he would refuse if he was on his own, but since I can do the talking we can accept this. It was a good 120km in a hilly surroundings. This part of Iran is beautiful but demanding for cyclists, specially after 4 days off! Mohammad, Balals brother was an advanced yogi. The whole family was very nice, but much simpler than the Boukan people. Wow if it goes like this in whole Iran, then we will have a problem... we will run out of time. 30 days visa is not much, when the hospitality of the whole nation extraordinary. But after Boukan experience we are much more careful. Next day we were invited to see the nearby cave, but this time we preferred to keep on moving.
Now we are in Hamedan. Big city with mountainous surrounding. All Iranian cities looks quite bum-friendly. We slept in a city park, together with a 50 or more local families. The same happened in Tabriz, so it looks good for us. But I've caught a flue or something... well it comes from time to time so I accepted it. The best way how to deal with the situation was to take a bus to Esfahan, there I'll wait for Dusan. He will have the opportunity to experience the solo cycling in Iran and I'll have a chance to heal properly.
I got used to cycle and not rely on public transport so much that I found it very frustrating to get the essential information on the bus station. My European mind takes it for granted that the people working there should help you, but the laid back Asians don't thing so. If you don't speak Farsi they don't feel to do any extra effort to find out what you want for them, so just finding out when the bus leaves, how much does it cost and how long does it takes took me a good half and hour -nothing really pleasant with a headache and fever. I dind't mind all the attention and three-question-conversations so far, but for the last few days I started to be sick of it. They appear to be helpful, they pretend to be nice, but it's all just a show. I can't help feeling that they just want to show off -look I can speak to a stranger, look I'm a nice guy... sorry, big sorry to the honest ones... just that today I really needed a help and everybody ignored me... to the extend that while talking to the ticket seller there where three other customers favored in stead of me, jumped in front and got the ticket, while I was trying to find out how to get to Esfahan. So what is this "Welcome to Iran" or "Do you need any help?" about? Do they really mean it, or is it all just fake?
After half of the day and one invitation for lunch, we met Balal. An cyclist going a decent 80km ride with no equipment, not even water. Originally he went the opposite direction, but because of us he decided to change that. So he went with us. Or we went with him? He invited us for a second lunch in his uncle house in a small village. Afterward we continued to Divandareh, where he invited us to stay in his brother's house. Dusan said he would refuse if he was on his own, but since I can do the talking we can accept this. It was a good 120km in a hilly surroundings. This part of Iran is beautiful but demanding for cyclists, specially after 4 days off! Mohammad, Balals brother was an advanced yogi. The whole family was very nice, but much simpler than the Boukan people. Wow if it goes like this in whole Iran, then we will have a problem... we will run out of time. 30 days visa is not much, when the hospitality of the whole nation extraordinary. But after Boukan experience we are much more careful. Next day we were invited to see the nearby cave, but this time we preferred to keep on moving.
Now we are in Hamedan. Big city with mountainous surrounding. All Iranian cities looks quite bum-friendly. We slept in a city park, together with a 50 or more local families. The same happened in Tabriz, so it looks good for us. But I've caught a flue or something... well it comes from time to time so I accepted it. The best way how to deal with the situation was to take a bus to Esfahan, there I'll wait for Dusan. He will have the opportunity to experience the solo cycling in Iran and I'll have a chance to heal properly. I got used to cycle and not rely on public transport so much that I found it very frustrating to get the essential information on the bus station. My European mind takes it for granted that the people working there should help you, but the laid back Asians don't thing so. If you don't speak Farsi they don't feel to do any extra effort to find out what you want for them, so just finding out when the bus leaves, how much does it cost and how long does it takes took me a good half and hour -nothing really pleasant with a headache and fever. I dind't mind all the attention and three-question-conversations so far, but for the last few days I started to be sick of it. They appear to be helpful, they pretend to be nice, but it's all just a show. I can't help feeling that they just want to show off -look I can speak to a stranger, look I'm a nice guy... sorry, big sorry to the honest ones... just that today I really needed a help and everybody ignored me... to the extend that while talking to the ticket seller there where three other customers favored in stead of me, jumped in front and got the ticket, while I was trying to find out how to get to Esfahan. So what is this "Welcome to Iran" or "Do you need any help?" about? Do they really mean it, or is it all just fake?
Saturday, September 12, 2009
Cycling to Asia, week 7
Since the beginning of this journey I feel like an old explorer, like the Aragorn in the Tolkien's stories, just that we don't walk, we ride. Our horses are from steel and our gear is bit more advanced, but we do go to unknown territories , we go east. The morning we left Dogubeyazit for Iran, this feeling appeared again. At the outskirts of the town two big angry evil creatures attacked us. Jaws wide open, teeth looking sharp, barking and running at us. Fear and shock changed us into old warriors. Dusan the brave and Jan the valiant drew their swords and with a combative shout warded off the beasts. Adrenalin run in my blood for the next half an hour!
The border crossing was less romantic. Two hours of bureaucracy and pointless waiting was feasible just because we met three other travelers heading to Iran. The change was noticeable right behind the last gate. Surprisingly even the climate became more pleasant. We definitely left the cold Kurdistan. Everybody is welcoming us. Every single car is greeting us. People shout out of the windows. It's incredible. This is what we needed after the Turkish kids throwing stones at us. We didn't change much money at the border and the time change caused that we missed the banks in Maku. After this beautiful town in a rocky gorge there are just villages so for almost three days we were running on a shoestring budged. Like in the good old days, when we were poor students hitch-hiking trough Europe.
But Iran wasn't just about positive experiences. The lack of privacy is even stronger than in Turkey. People surround us wherever we stop. They are polite, they are nice, but there is no space left between me and Dusan. This is quite tiring. Their English is better, but their understanding is very low.
We also encountered our first technical problems. First my camcorder started to hesitate so some of the best moments couldn't be captured because the picture was shaking. No big deal, but the broken rim on my back wheel was a bit of a surprise.
I mentioned in the part 1 what a trouble I had with wheels, ended up buying the most expensive Mavic wheels day before our departure. After 4000km this "everlasting" super wheel got broken. The rim couldn't last the weight and cracked. For two and half day I went without the back brake and on a shaking wheel, hoping that in Tabriz I'll find a good alternative.
Surprisingly it wasn't bad at all. You can get almost anything for bicycle here. Just that they don't always sell you what you need, e.g. I wanted to buy just the back hub. But the Novatec they had could be sold only as a pair. Why? Nobody knows! So I bought just a simple Shimano. Never mind its working good. If I make it with this wheel all the way to India, then the 150 euro Mavic wheel will be beaten by 30$ Shimano. Isn't it funny.
From Tabriz we headed to Iranian Kurdistan. We decided not to go direction Teheran, even though it might have been easier, because it would be more ordinary. Kurdistan sounds good. The choice was well appreciated after few days. Kurdish people are great and the climate is cycle friendly. Boukan seemed just like any other town, that we have passed. But we were wrong. While buying an Iranian scarf (we don't want to look like American bikers) a bunch of people surrounded us as usual. One old man with a decent German invited us for lunch. He turned up to be very noisy, the whole family was quite crazy.
But there we met Azad, also a character, but much nicer. He invited us to see his family. Well alright, we stop for a short while. But after an hour or so, he offered us to stay for the night. We gladly accepted. Firstly because of our teeth problems (just during the lunch a half of my tooth felt of), secondly this looks much more peaceful family and thirdly Azad's uncle is an English teacher, so we can communicate. But the lack of privacy that I have been talking about didn't disappear. It even increased together with a total lack of time management. We went to see the dentist. He gave me an appointment at 9:30pm!!! Imagine that! Afterwards they dragged us trough the town, we visited Azad's job, then the German grandpa's job, continuing to bazzar. They introduced us to hundred of people and showed us dozen of shops. Yeah! I don't remember feeling more tired on this trip than today. I asked for a rest, but no, first we have to see the towns view point. The time we came back to Azad's home I was knocked. And of course it was just enough to have a dinner and rush to the dentist. Nobody cares that we are 10min late. We are in Iran.
The next day they offered us to go to see the beautiful mountains, but it's 4h drive so we decided not to go. We rather continue our cycling tour. But what about to see the lake, that's just 1 or 2 hours? OK, that sounds good. The plan was to leave Boukan at 3pm, but it was way pas 4 when we left the town. After 2h of driving Azad asked a Shepard how far it is to the lake. The reply was a shocking 2 hours! This is the theory of FSHE (Iranian word for chaos and freedom in one). We are not going back now... the country is beautiful, hills are high but very dry. The road changed into a gravel track, so for the next hour I felt like in Pakistan. Dusan started to feel sick. After 3 hours we had enough, but what shell we do? 15km before the Marivan Dusan left the lunch on the side of the road and we finished off the trip. The time we reached the lake it was already dark.
We went for dinner and met Azad's friend Hamam. He invited us to stay in his family house. This was the highlight of the trip. He lives with his four beautiful sisters and caring mother in a nice house. Pity that just the teacher speaks English but we entertained our selves with tongue twisters and had fun till late night. Very pleasant atmosphere.
The next day we wanted to leave, but we got invited to see the lake... ended up in Hamam's garden... leaving the town after a lunch... This time we decided not to go back the same way. The road was horrible. Instead we went the longer way trough Sanandaj. Good choice, but the time we reached the city it was dark again. Iranians are crazy drivers and Azad is not an exception, so driving another 3-4hours to Boukan could be quite an adventure. Instead we were invited by another Azads friend and we stayed for the night... this could continue for ever!!!
Iranian people are extra hospitable and Azad and his friends are a good example of it. But after four days we had enough. So now you know how a 4 hours round trip to a lake can change into a 4 days journey trough Kurdish families. It was excellent, it was very nice, this is what we wanted to experience in Iran, but we got a slight overdose. We need our privacy, we need our freedom, we want to ride our steel horses and keep on moving east!
N.B. This last part is overlapping with week 8 but for obvious reasons I kept it in this article.
The border crossing was less romantic. Two hours of bureaucracy and pointless waiting was feasible just because we met three other travelers heading to Iran. The change was noticeable right behind the last gate. Surprisingly even the climate became more pleasant. We definitely left the cold Kurdistan. Everybody is welcoming us. Every single car is greeting us. People shout out of the windows. It's incredible. This is what we needed after the Turkish kids throwing stones at us. We didn't change much money at the border and the time change caused that we missed the banks in Maku. After this beautiful town in a rocky gorge there are just villages so for almost three days we were running on a shoestring budged. Like in the good old days, when we were poor students hitch-hiking trough Europe.
But Iran wasn't just about positive experiences. The lack of privacy is even stronger than in Turkey. People surround us wherever we stop. They are polite, they are nice, but there is no space left between me and Dusan. This is quite tiring. Their English is better, but their understanding is very low.
We also encountered our first technical problems. First my camcorder started to hesitate so some of the best moments couldn't be captured because the picture was shaking. No big deal, but the broken rim on my back wheel was a bit of a surprise.
I mentioned in the part 1 what a trouble I had with wheels, ended up buying the most expensive Mavic wheels day before our departure. After 4000km this "everlasting" super wheel got broken. The rim couldn't last the weight and cracked. For two and half day I went without the back brake and on a shaking wheel, hoping that in Tabriz I'll find a good alternative.
Surprisingly it wasn't bad at all. You can get almost anything for bicycle here. Just that they don't always sell you what you need, e.g. I wanted to buy just the back hub. But the Novatec they had could be sold only as a pair. Why? Nobody knows! So I bought just a simple Shimano. Never mind its working good. If I make it with this wheel all the way to India, then the 150 euro Mavic wheel will be beaten by 30$ Shimano. Isn't it funny. From Tabriz we headed to Iranian Kurdistan. We decided not to go direction Teheran, even though it might have been easier, because it would be more ordinary. Kurdistan sounds good. The choice was well appreciated after few days. Kurdish people are great and the climate is cycle friendly. Boukan seemed just like any other town, that we have passed. But we were wrong. While buying an Iranian scarf (we don't want to look like American bikers) a bunch of people surrounded us as usual. One old man with a decent German invited us for lunch. He turned up to be very noisy, the whole family was quite crazy.
But there we met Azad, also a character, but much nicer. He invited us to see his family. Well alright, we stop for a short while. But after an hour or so, he offered us to stay for the night. We gladly accepted. Firstly because of our teeth problems (just during the lunch a half of my tooth felt of), secondly this looks much more peaceful family and thirdly Azad's uncle is an English teacher, so we can communicate. But the lack of privacy that I have been talking about didn't disappear. It even increased together with a total lack of time management. We went to see the dentist. He gave me an appointment at 9:30pm!!! Imagine that! Afterwards they dragged us trough the town, we visited Azad's job, then the German grandpa's job, continuing to bazzar. They introduced us to hundred of people and showed us dozen of shops. Yeah! I don't remember feeling more tired on this trip than today. I asked for a rest, but no, first we have to see the towns view point. The time we came back to Azad's home I was knocked. And of course it was just enough to have a dinner and rush to the dentist. Nobody cares that we are 10min late. We are in Iran. 
The next day they offered us to go to see the beautiful mountains, but it's 4h drive so we decided not to go. We rather continue our cycling tour. But what about to see the lake, that's just 1 or 2 hours? OK, that sounds good. The plan was to leave Boukan at 3pm, but it was way pas 4 when we left the town. After 2h of driving Azad asked a Shepard how far it is to the lake. The reply was a shocking 2 hours! This is the theory of FSHE (Iranian word for chaos and freedom in one). We are not going back now... the country is beautiful, hills are high but very dry. The road changed into a gravel track, so for the next hour I felt like in Pakistan. Dusan started to feel sick. After 3 hours we had enough, but what shell we do? 15km before the Marivan Dusan left the lunch on the side of the road and we finished off the trip. The time we reached the lake it was already dark.
We went for dinner and met Azad's friend Hamam. He invited us to stay in his family house. This was the highlight of the trip. He lives with his four beautiful sisters and caring mother in a nice house. Pity that just the teacher speaks English but we entertained our selves with tongue twisters and had fun till late night. Very pleasant atmosphere.
The next day we wanted to leave, but we got invited to see the lake... ended up in Hamam's garden... leaving the town after a lunch... This time we decided not to go back the same way. The road was horrible. Instead we went the longer way trough Sanandaj. Good choice, but the time we reached the city it was dark again. Iranians are crazy drivers and Azad is not an exception, so driving another 3-4hours to Boukan could be quite an adventure. Instead we were invited by another Azads friend and we stayed for the night... this could continue for ever!!!
Iranian people are extra hospitable and Azad and his friends are a good example of it. But after four days we had enough. So now you know how a 4 hours round trip to a lake can change into a 4 days journey trough Kurdish families. It was excellent, it was very nice, this is what we wanted to experience in Iran, but we got a slight overdose. We need our privacy, we need our freedom, we want to ride our steel horses and keep on moving east!N.B. This last part is overlapping with week 8 but for obvious reasons I kept it in this article.
Saturday, August 29, 2009
Cycling to Asia, week 6
After Erzincan a real east Turkey experience have started. The country is similar, roads are as bad as before... no just kidding... but the people have changed. 
How? They got even more tough. This here is a bit different from the Furkans Turkey in Tekirdag. The cloths are simple, dirty, worn out and a tear or a patch is not uncommon. The faces are rough, wrinkly, adjusted to the ceaseless winds and cold nights. We are averaging 1500m in altitude. Ramadan is taken seriously here. No more çorba or çay during the day. We have warm food only in evenings, sometimes in mornings. But our stove started to give us some trouble. NO! Please not now. Now it is highly appreciated, otherwise we'll have no warm food at all. Locals start to eat after 7pm... We are in the middle of a field or next to a river, camping, at this time.
At the beginning of this week we crawled up to our -so far- highest point on bikes: a pass in 2290m.
But to be honest it was easier than the 900m one in Serbia. We celebrated it appropriately with halva and hazelnuts and here we go! Down hills oh how I love them! Straight 40km to Erzurum. Big city, but probably the most strict when it comes to Ramadan. We couldn't get anything warm so we just took a snack on the sidewalk. You should see the looks! Funny we met Sheila a girl we know from Istanbul. What a coincidence... but there are no coincidences, right!
A good way how to judge how far east we are -except looking at our bike comps - is to get into a town and check the behavior of the locals. When we stop just to refill our water bottles we stir the them a bit. There are always few busybodies around us immediately... Can you imagine what it means to got to the center and buy e.g. milk and bread. In Agri it had started with few stones thrown at us by street kids at the outskirt of the town, then all the men near the bakery surrounded Dusan, while I went inside to get a loaf. Where are you from?, where are you going?, what's your name? Do you like Turkey? All this in Turkish of course. But we've learned a bit so we can answer almost fluently... Then we moved to a grocery store and the whole circus has started again. Just people have changed, questions have remained. We know them by heart. Sometimes we even give answers when there are no questions. People are interested, amused, shocked and always very welcoming. Just the kids! Hello money, hello money is the only English they utter at us. We have seen also some rude gestures and some stones flying by. What should we do? We have tear gas but this is for dogs. Adults are very helpful with this, sometimes. If they see a kid harassing us, they usually send them away...
Last few days were very relaxing. We haven't done more than 85km a day I think. I lost track of the mileage, it's not important anymore.But the main reason for this is my buttocks. It got a bit irritated of the hours just sitting on the saddle. Plus I got a slight diarrhea so the trip started to be literally a pain in the ass... NO NO. It's not bad at all. It's better and better, because me and Dusan got really well together. Our way of traveling and dealing with daily activities is almost identical. Just the body is calling for a break. So it shall have it.
We took a day and half off in Dogubeyazit. Nice camping under majestic palace Ishak pasa saray. Our first hot shower since Istanbul. So we can continue to Iran... yeah!!!
pics will come from Iran... at least I hope since the I've heard that the internet is restricted in there now... cheers.
How? They got even more tough. This here is a bit different from the Furkans Turkey in Tekirdag. The cloths are simple, dirty, worn out and a tear or a patch is not uncommon. The faces are rough, wrinkly, adjusted to the ceaseless winds and cold nights. We are averaging 1500m in altitude. Ramadan is taken seriously here. No more çorba or çay during the day. We have warm food only in evenings, sometimes in mornings. But our stove started to give us some trouble. NO! Please not now. Now it is highly appreciated, otherwise we'll have no warm food at all. Locals start to eat after 7pm... We are in the middle of a field or next to a river, camping, at this time. At the beginning of this week we crawled up to our -so far- highest point on bikes: a pass in 2290m.
But to be honest it was easier than the 900m one in Serbia. We celebrated it appropriately with halva and hazelnuts and here we go! Down hills oh how I love them! Straight 40km to Erzurum. Big city, but probably the most strict when it comes to Ramadan. We couldn't get anything warm so we just took a snack on the sidewalk. You should see the looks! Funny we met Sheila a girl we know from Istanbul. What a coincidence... but there are no coincidences, right!
A good way how to judge how far east we are -except looking at our bike comps - is to get into a town and check the behavior of the locals. When we stop just to refill our water bottles we stir the them a bit. There are always few busybodies around us immediately... Can you imagine what it means to got to the center and buy e.g. milk and bread. In Agri it had started with few stones thrown at us by street kids at the outskirt of the town, then all the men near the bakery surrounded Dusan, while I went inside to get a loaf. Where are you from?, where are you going?, what's your name? Do you like Turkey? All this in Turkish of course. But we've learned a bit so we can answer almost fluently... Then we moved to a grocery store and the whole circus has started again. Just people have changed, questions have remained. We know them by heart. Sometimes we even give answers when there are no questions. People are interested, amused, shocked and always very welcoming. Just the kids! Hello money, hello money is the only English they utter at us. We have seen also some rude gestures and some stones flying by. What should we do? We have tear gas but this is for dogs. Adults are very helpful with this, sometimes. If they see a kid harassing us, they usually send them away...
Last few days were very relaxing. We haven't done more than 85km a day I think. I lost track of the mileage, it's not important anymore.But the main reason for this is my buttocks. It got a bit irritated of the hours just sitting on the saddle. Plus I got a slight diarrhea so the trip started to be literally a pain in the ass... NO NO. It's not bad at all. It's better and better, because me and Dusan got really well together. Our way of traveling and dealing with daily activities is almost identical. Just the body is calling for a break. So it shall have it.
We took a day and half off in Dogubeyazit. Nice camping under majestic palace Ishak pasa saray. Our first hot shower since Istanbul. So we can continue to Iran... yeah!!!
pics will come from Iran... at least I hope since the I've heard that the internet is restricted in there now... cheers.
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