Dasht to Yazd

Iran's geography fascinates. Bestriding the ancient overland trade routes of spice and silk and sitting at the literal crossroads between Europe, Arabia, India, Central Asian and on to China. 

*The Silk Roads

Few modes of travel offer a better means to feel that geography than the humble velocipede  As I poured over maps in my tent on chilly evenings a realisation emerged and was confirmed as I pedaled; following rivers is both less possible and less profitable In Iran than nearly any other country I had traversed.

Nesf-e Jahān

The bus to Esfahan came to a grinding halt 40k outside the city in a long line of traffic. Sick of being cooped up I decided to get proactive after 30 minutes of imperceptible progress and got the driver to let me out. Bike retrieved I headed towards the city via the Kesheh and dry crunchy hills feeling ever so pleased with myself.

Rolling into a new city after dark would usually be my idea of hell but following the arrow straight and well lit Kaveh central boulevard was a doddle. Iranian city navigation can be especially confusing due to what I consider an especially dull and repetitive naming system. Everywhere you look seems to be a Taleqani street bisecting Kabir Road at Khomeini Junction. If your lucky you might get a Hafez or Saadi place but at times it feels like the revolution is still being fought on the streets such is the dominance of a handful of Mullahs on the naming conventions. I was therefore quite relieved to have nothing but 'straight on' to remember as I closed in on my host Abbas's house.

Naturally that would be far too easy and his location indicated on Warmshowers.com (a bicycle tourist hosting website) proved to be a wild fiction. A quick phone call convinced me that finding his actual location would be an all night job. I changed tack and found the cheapest guesthouse I could and in the interest of financial solvency resolved to reduce my stay to two nights.

With a newly ambitious timeline in which to explore Nesf-e Jahān (Half the World) as Esfahan is called I set off before dawn the next morning to get my fill.

Esfahan is Iran's number one destination for foreign and Iranian tourism and its easy to see why. I began with a restful early morning wander through one-end of the still sleepy main bazaar which vomited me out into the Masjed-e Jameh; A mosque in continually used since 771.

Sunlight dappling the distinctive arches it was easy to believe that this was Iran's largest Mosque.

Tehran

It occurs to me that in my haste to write my previous post I didn't really discuss Iran as a country outside how it impacted on my cycling trip. A terribly narcissistic failing for which I beg forgiveness.

I find myself writing this 8000 miles away, two months removed and three countries later so I'll dispense with all pretense of punctuality and instead luxuriate in recalling this beguiling, contradictory country which often inspires so many opinions based on such little understanding.

Iran 1st leg: Tabriz

I spent a couple of days ostensibly riding out the weather in Meghri but really immobilised by the prospect of leaving for the unknown of Iran. In my haste to arrive at the border before my visa window elapsed I had done so with a week to spare and I found it surprisingly difficult to leave.

Despite falling ill I felt very affectionate towards Armenia. Apricot jam, excellent inexpensive brandy and sensational doors were now my status quo. A land of harsh mountains, proud of its Christian heritage but perfectly relaxed about all shops staying open late on Sundays; where an overturned cup of coffee can predict whether you would find love. (I would not apparently, so the system checks out.) Even the overwhelmingly high proportion of white vehicles compared to other colors now seemed perfectly normal.

Assault by mountain.

Before leaving Goris I happened upon this diagram in the hostel guestbook written by a very thoughtful cyclist who had passed through some years earlier.

I very much approved of the clear concise format filled with helpful annotations. What it lacked aesthetically it made up for in clarity. All in all a very useful document especially it's allusion to a deserted monastery at the top of the pass before Kapan.

With the afternoon already wearing on I decided that a 15k freewheel down to the gorge bottom followed by a 10k climb was more than do-able before nightfall and would allow me to sleep at said monastery that night.

Gully! What a gorge-ous couloir, canyon not defile it?

What I may lack in pun quality I try to make up for in exuberant quantity.

Having spent a comfortable pagan night camped amongst the stone sentinels my morning began with another high pass to reach. At 2260m it was only a few hundered short of Selim and constituted a hearty mornings work.

But safe in the knowledge that my destination for the day, Goris, was only 25k beyond I could relax and enjoy the growing majesty of the surrounds.

It hadn't rained here for days but the snow hung on even on the road side making me glad of warm gloves and hat despite the high sun and bitterly lamenting the loss of my buff as the cold wind came down off the peaks.

Ancient Armenia

A deliriously fun descent from Selim was the first order of the day and with Handel's Trumpet Concertio pushing away thoughts of my frozen feet I could concentrate on soaking up the beguilingly hazy views offered up by every twist and turn.

Working my way down the valley I watched as winter fell away replaced by the last of autumns leaves and the beginnings of pretty riverside orchards.