The jewel in the crown

Sunday the 30th of July would be the day I finally got going on my motorbike. After 10 days in Tehran I was itching for the odyssey to feel real. First stop would be Kashan. A short 250km ride from Tehran. Of course I was pretty nervous about the engine and the heat and despite best endeavours, still only managed to get away mid-morning.

I felt like a king on my 690 making my glorious exit out of the capital and after one wrong turn I was soon on the Persian Gulf highway heading south. The ride was largely uneventful (in a good way). It seems the toll ways don’t count for motorcyclists or tourists or motorcycle tourists or just me… not quite sure. But of course many waves and smiles would become part of the routine. The engine didn’t even look like overheating on the journey although entering cities late afternoon would challenge that… every time.

Kashan was a welcome respite from the craziness of Tehran. Known for it’s historic houses it didn’t disappoint. Hot as hell though. I was only there for a night, but I managed to see three very beautiful historical houses the afternoon I arrived. They are modest and almost missable from outside, but they are like Doctor’s Who’s Tardus. They open into the most dazzling spaces, going down one or two levels underground, but all open and excavated so that it creates a cool environment for its inhabitants. Each one had a feature pond and fountain (or two) and the myriad of rooms that opened onto the central space (or hidden away) were fascinating. My hotel was of a similar (although smaller scale) design and I enjoyed conversing with the young manager and his colleague.

On my way out of Kashan the next morning I witnessed a car accident right in front of me. Nothing too serious but the damage was! It was like one of those slow motion moments. A small bus was driving in front of me and this hatchback just pulled out of a park on the left without looking (pretty much the norm around here), I was fully expecting the bus to swerve and miss it, but the driver’s reaction was about half a second too late… which I found to be most unusual. Normally they are all over that and I’m guessing he (more likely he than she in these parts) must have been looking to the side or in the mirror or something because when he did swerve, it was most violent, but sadly too late. The hatch back got creamed on the side and from where I was watching, it looked pretty cool. Horrible thing to say I know and I did genuinely feel for the bus driver and the hatch driver to a lesser extent, but it looked as if no one was hurt, so I continued my journey. It’s basically high alert all the time in these parts. So far, so good for me, But you can’t take anything for granted… ever.

The next stop was Isfahan (or Esfahan). On the way there, I detoured and visited a quaint historical village called Abyaneh nestled in the mountains some 50kms off the highway (as per a recommendation from the young Hotel manager). I took the liberty (as motorcyclists are wont to do) of detouring and the winding roads up into the small mountains reminded me of what it’s like to not have to drive straight for hundreds of kilometres! Furthermore, Kashan was so hot and here I was only slightly elevated and the temperature dropped maybe 7 degrees! It was so pleasant. For the first time since being on the bike in Iran, the breeze felt cool. Such a welcome relief. I didn’t spend long in the town conscious of keeping on the move, but I savoured the moment and headed back. Seeing some caves, I decided to taste my first piece of off road to explore. Probably a good thing I did as it soon reminded me of how top heavy my luggage was making my bike. What would normally be a jaunt become a wrestle and I was desperate not to drop the bike. I managed to get back to the road safely determined to find a way to reduce one bag from my luggage.

Along the detour I noticed a military installation in the middle of nowhere with some massive guns pointing I’m not sure where. West? Anyway, I pondered whilst riding and on the way back from Abyaneh I passed through a nice town called Natanz. It wasn’t until I flicked through the Lonely Planet guide that night that I was to discover Natanz is home to a significant underground Nuclear enrichment facility. Not only that, but under no circumstances is any of this to be photographed. Ever. The guns started to make sense.

The next stop was Isfahan (or Esfahan). Regarded as the jewel of Iran’s crown, it is simply beautiful. Tree lined streets, an enormous green square with shops around it where locals and tourists gather alike, a river with many bridges that sadly only runs part of the year now, but still leaves a nice open space that is nice to wander along. I made my way also to the Armenian quarter which had been set up hundreds of years ago when the ruler of the day decided to migrate some Armenians into the city for their skills and trades. Seeing Orthodox Christian Churches and Cristian images was quite unusual. The Iranians (like many other countries) have lived in peaceful coexistence for many centuries with a mix (albeit small) of religions and their welcoming nature and gestures are always heartfelt. I bought some Rosary beads to add to my religious collection for the journey which already comprises a St Christopher medallion from Tina and a Santas Chagas (Brazilian Portuguese) from Daniela. Between these and Mum’s prayers I should be able to stay out of a fair amount of trouble… should be.

During my time in Isfahan I made the call to skip Shiraz. I knew I wanted to see Persepolis and the Apadana Hotel was right next to the historic site. I’d lost so much time in Tehran I was conscious of not trying to rush back north to get to Turkmenistan. By going only as far as Persepolis I would save over two hours in travel time and at least a day or two in sightseeing. I’d already cut out a fair chunk of North Western Iran and you just have to roll with it.

So on the Wednesday, I headed off to the Apadana Hotel. As soon as I saw it I fell in love with it. It was like the Grand Budapest Hotel but only on a smaller scale. Recently renovated it had charm, character and class and I couldn’t believe the bargain price! Of course, the icing on the cake was the staff. I think they outnumbered the guests 3:1. The girl at reception, the door man, the barista, the general all duties guy, the restaurant staff, al getting around in beautiful uniforms and big smiles. I didn’t understand why no one was staying here, but it turns out it wasn’t high season. Simply too hot for the locals. Only idiots like me visit in late July/ early August. Another month or two and it would be a different story. Either way, I felt privileged being looked after by such a great group. And so I savoured my surrounds and including the magnificent view before me of Persepolis.

The next day was spent crawling around the Persepolis site. Definitely up there in terms of historical ruins. Staggering how much could be achieved by these ancient civilisations. The huge interlocking block walls, perfect in their geometry, the motifs carved into stone every where you look, the meaning behind each and every creation. It really was a highlight. But don’t do it in the middle of summer.

Later on I took off on the bike to see Naqsh-e-Rasdam the famous tombs cut onto enormous rock walls. Only a few kms away from Persepolis. I then ventured into the local town, Marvdasht, to fuel up and find a small bag (part of my downsizing efforts). The usual debacle ensued of actually finding the right bag along with many questions about the bike and the obligatory photos. Speaking of which, I never get sick of it. How could you? People are just so happy to get a photo next to this bike, it really is a novelty for them and I guess for me.

I pulled up for a water on the way back to the Hotel and was greeted by a shop owner. There the usual photos ensued and he explained to me (I’m pretty sure) that he and/or his son were in the military and they were fighting Daesh (ISIS). I indicated my being impressed and wished him the best.

After a few days out of Tehran and on the bike, the routine of travel was starting to settle in. Things were progressing ok. Was getting to most of the places I was keen to see and the budget was much more satisfactory out of the more expensive capital. I’d identified some nice stops on my long trip north and the first of these would be Yazd.

Heading off at my civilised mid-morning time slot that would yet again see me riding in the heat of the day (after photos with the staff), I felt good and keen to find out about this historic city Yazd. Half way along the 400km journey I stopped for a rest break and encountered a couple of families doing the same. They shared some tea and their young daughter interpreted (quite impressively). They offered me lunch in Yazd and so we travelled in convoy. A slightly slower pace than my usual, but nevertheless, easy enough. My new luggage configuration meant that I had more stuff jammed into my backpack and so I squirmed a bit getting comfortable.

Eventually we reached Yazd and for what seemed an eternity we drove around looking for this lunch venue. Continually monitoring the bike and my own heat levels we pulled into an enormous establishment. Immediately, I realised this was not quite the place to leave a loaded up bike. On top of that I was cooking and so I politely declined lunch explaining that my gear could not be left alone. They had offered to put it in the car but I explained that that would bar an hour long exercise and I could now feel the the urge for a cold refreshing shower at my hotel. I cold see their disappointment and was deeply sorry I couldn’t oblige, but I was so desperate just to get out of the heat and get my gear unloaded.

And so I was off. 15 minutes later I was at the hotel unloading my gear in my room, when the worst possible thing happened. I looked down at my money belt to discover it was unzipped and empty of both passport and all my cash. Completely gone. The sickest feeling entered my stomach and I frantically raced back to the bike in the vain hope of finding items scattered on the road, but it wasn’t to be.

It dawned on me that I must have forgotten to zip up my money belt when leaving the Apadana Hotel and in the squirming on the bike en route, it must have upended and emptied… completely unnoticed. In the middle of the desert with no passport and no cash in a country that doesn’t have western banking. All I could think was “Oh my God, what have I done? You idiot.” followed by “What the hell am I going to do now?”.

It’s then that you really feel alone.