Good luck, bad luck. Who knows?

Hi all,

Some of you may be familiar with an old Chinese proverb called “Good luck, bad luck”. For those that aren’t, here’s a quick cut and paste from google:

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An old Chinese farmer had a mare that broke through the fence and ran away. When his neighbors learned of it, they came to the farmer and said, “What bad luck this is. You don’t have a horse during planting season.” The farmer listened and then replied, “Good luck, bad luck. Who knows?”

A few days later, the mare returned with two stallions. When the neighbors learned of it, they visited the farmer. “You are now a rich man. What good fortune this is,” they said. The farmer listened and again replied, “Good luck, bad luck. Who knows?”

Later that day, the farmer’s only son was thrown from one of the stallions and broke his leg. When the neighbors heard about it, they came to the farmer. “It is planting season and now there is no one to help you,” they said. “This is truly bad luck.” The farmer listened, and once more he said, “Good luck, bad luck. Who knows?”

The very next day, the emperor’s army rode into the town and conscripted the eldest son in every family. Only the farmer’s son with his broken leg remained behind. Soon the neighbors arrived. Tearfully, they said, “Yours is the only son who was not taken from his family and sent to war. What good luck this is…” The farmer once more said “Good luck, bad luck. Who knows?”

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And so, after the angst and anxiety of losing the passport and cash, life on the road has improved significantly. To the point where the above proverb has lent a version to my own situation. But first, a quick catch up on events. It turns out, getting the passport application lodged had it’s own drawn out dramas. My sisters went to the Brisbane Passport office to have my birth certificate “sighted”. Of course, on the phone they were told no appointment necessary. Not trusting this verdict my sister Helen, challenged the operator several times. She was reassured it was the case. And lucky so. Because on arrival the lady at the counter told her she needed an appointment. What’s more is she and others didn’t even know what “sighted” meant! And so after Little Miss Adamant (rightly) persisted, she and Nicole were shown through to someone who was happy to take care of their (my) needs… except that the “system was down”. Are we talking email here? The Federal Government of Australia therefore could not send an urgent email to it’s Iranian Embassy! The assistant hoped it would be up soon, but we had no idea what soon meant.

I returned to the Embassy the next day hoping to lodge the application and have my birth certificate waiting for me. But no. It wasn’t. Neda at the Australian Embassy checked everything for me and took possession of my forms, but I wasn’t allowed to pay. Because I technically wasn’t lodging.

By the third day, I was getting antsy, when it seemed that things were sorted! Neda had received an email from the Brisbane office saying they sighted it… but wait for it… they didn’t attach it! So, just to be clear, this is a normal procedure and yet somehow it seemed beyond the capabilities of the operator. (Ok, ok, we’ve all forgotten to attach documents to emails.) I got Helen to chase the matter back in Australia and Neda sent an urgent high importance reply to the email. Sure enough, come midday, the cherished attachment arrived. Neda rang me to inform me, but of course the embassy was now closed. Furthermore, it would be closed for the next two days! Fortunately, Neda being the legend that she is, said she would make an exception which was a great relief. And so, Thursday I finally lodged my passport application! I turned up to the embassy in my riding gear because I was keen to get out of Tehran again! Neda was simply amazing throughout!

In the meantime, Mo (from San Diego) had hooked me up with his niece (Raha), nephew (Raad) and their friend Ben. The three of them took me out one night to a beautiful restaurant in a garden (formerly a famous Doctor’s residence) and I was able to get a great insight into the life of young people in Iran. (Very similar to ours!) They were all very good English speakers and it made for an entertaining night.

As I mentioned in my previous post, upon arriving back in Tehran, I met Ali on the street and he offered for me to go dirt bike riding with him on the weekend. Whilst in Tehran that week, he also took me to the KTM dealership to get my air filter cleaned. I was pretty pumped about going dirt bike riding and the journey up the Alborz mountains was incredible. Finally, some bends after straight stretches through the desert. Ali wasn’t far behind me and we met at Shemshak (which is a ski resort village) for a coffee and then onto Ali’s beautiful chalet.

I unloaded the luggage and we kitted up and took off to a friend’s place. I met a number of great people, but before the ride could begin, there were some mechanical issues for one of the guys. A spark plug had given up the ghost so it wasn’t to be his day. The rest of us set off along the winding roads to the empty ski fields. I told Ali I was nervous about damaging either me or the bike and he found it amusing, but understood my concern. Of course, once you’re on 690 weapon free of luggage the fears tend to dissipate. We tore up some tracks and took a few off road, rocky paths in between breaks with amazing views. Ali, his friend and motocross champion Amir Ali (yes, I know, another champion) and I went right up to the top where a once beautiful 360 degree view restaurant overlooked the landscape… Now it was rusted and depleted. Neglected after the revolution. Nevertheless, it stood on top of the 3700m peak and it had incredible views. Unfortunately, the day didn’t see all riders ride home. Amir Ali’s girlfriend Sanya copped a massive bruised hand from a fall off her little Kawasaki 85. I told her she should be proud of it and that I was pretty impressed. (I don’t think injuries and bruises are seen in the same light for men and women. It’s the same the world over.)

Having survived unscathed (apart from one little drop of the big bike) we did the winding ride back to the chalet only to discover my headlights were broken! I was pretty filthy when I discovered the expensive LED had vibrated out and smashed. (Seriously, it’s a rally bike! It shouldn’t happen.) Not only that, but the whole lighting system was down. I fortunately had a halogen spare and replaced it, but still no illumination. And so I began the tedious process of checking all the wiring before it dawned on me that when the lights smashed the fuse probably blew. And sure enough that was it. I know Rob would be proud right now and Marcus and Edison amazed… but so was I… proud and amazed that I am slowly becoming a bush mechanic. Of course, I still had an indicator out of action, but no one indicates here anyway, so I wasn’t too worried about that. Plenty of time to sort that out. I was just so relieved to have my lights again!

By the time we cleaned the bikes and had a bite it was 10pm. Ali offered for us to go to a party and despite being (relatively) tired and dehydrated there was no way on God’s green earth I was going to miss out on an Iranian party! After all, with no bars, clubs or pubs, pretty much ALL socialising is done at house parties! There is definitely an emerging cafe scene here, but it is a completely different encounter!

The night did not disappoint and I think by about 5am we’d both fallen asleep on couches at our second party. We managed to get home and finally get to bed and I think I slept the sleep of the dead. In one day I had been to the Australian Embassy, ridden two hours to Shemshak, gone dirt bike riding, met a heap of great people and went to two parties. Not a bad effort.

The rest of the weekend (Friday) was far more relaxed but equally enjoyable as Ali and I hung out with his mate Mani who he’s known since he was a kid. The next day Ali would head back south to Tehran and I would be off north to Chalus on the Caspian Sea. But not before making plans for further catch ups and Ali offering to host me when I return to Tehran for my passport. He’d already suggested I could stay at Shemshak and Tehran the whole time until my passport came. I told him as much as it was an awesome offer I had exploring to do… and that’s what I was here for. He laughed at the prospect of my huge adventure being narrowed down to Shemshak and Tehran and then home to Australia.

Those few days were awesome on so many levels: meeting and spending time with great people (a welcome relief form the isolation of solo travel), learning so much more about Iranians and their lives, having fun on dirt bikes, enjoying the Iranian social life (a rare treat for a foreigner) and being hosted by Ali at his chalet. Therefore, I can honestly say I’m glad I lost my passport because if I hadn’t, I wouldn’t have come back to Tehran and I wouldn’t have met Ali, Amir Ali, Sanya, Mani, Soheil, Sogul, Raha, Raad, Ben and so many others and this has certainly been the highlight of the trip to date.

As the proverb goes: Good luck, bad luck. Who knows?