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Adventure/Travel
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A family of six venture off the beaten path of world travel.
When I first mentioned my plans to
cycle through Iran with my brother, sister in law and their three children aged 10,
12 and 13, people were horrified.
"What will you wear"? What about the heat? "There are huge mountains."
What if you meet some terrorists? Even my Farsi teacher in London asked, "couldn't
you find somewhere more beautiful to ride a bike? "
But having been to Iran twice before, I knew differently. The country is beautiful
(especially the mountains), Iranians are some of the friendliest, kindest people
I have ever met and wearing a headscarf is actually quite handy for hiding bad hair
days when showers are few and far between.
An acquaintance who had actually cycled there two years previously told me that the
only "danger" was of overdosing on tea. He was right. In fact it wasn't
only tea. Hardly a car passed without stopping to give us something to eat or drink.
Some had even seen us, driven to the nearest shop and returned with ice cream, ice
for our water, biscuits etc. Nothing was expected in return, people simply wanted
to help travellers and make sure that they had a good experience in their country.
This was made clear during the first five minutes of the trip when a car pulled up
alongside my brother, and without stopping the driver passed a 10,000 rial note (5
USD) through the window saying "hediye" (gift). A few miles further on
a smartly dressed couple stopped and offered us their mobile phone to call our family
in England. The connection didn't work, but it was the thought that counted.
Occasionally we camped, but whenever
we wanted we were accommodated by Iranian families whose greatest pleasure seemed
to come from watching us eat them out of house and home. We stayed in one home for
3 nights, and eventually waddled on our way wondering how we were going to explain
to people that we had cycled 3000 and gained weight. This family even offered to
bring us meals along the road for the next few days - such is the extent of Iranian
hospitality. On such nights we were not only guests of the family, but of all the
neighbours too. Visitors would stream in to meet us and offer their help. Other places
we were accommodated included 2 mosques, a government guest house, and the guest
house of a local water authority. In towns we found cheap hotels or "mosafarkhanes",
cheap guest houses with dormitory style rooms used by locals. We started our cycling
in Bandar e Lenge in southern Iran and followed minor roads generally heading North
West through the cities of Shiraz, Esfahan, Hamedan and Orumiye. Most of the time
we were in, or near to the Zagros mountains, a range stretching from Southern Iran
to the Iran/Iraq Turkish border.
For much of the time in the south we found ourselves sharing the road with the Quasqa'i
nomads who were migrating north with their sheep. In the more remote areas we had
very little trouble with traffic. Even though Iranian driving can be a bit wilder
than we are used to, we were such an unusual sight on the road that the majority
of people slowed down to pass, if not to stop completely. Everyone wanted to know
where we were from, what we thought of Iran and whether they could help. Even those
that didn't stop would shout these questions from their windows and we got quite
proficient at replying in Farsi. Perhaps the most annoying aspect of the traffic
was when lorries sped by in the opposite direction. They left such a strong wind
in their wake that Marion, Helena and I were left looking like startled hedgehogs
as our headscarves blew off!!
We soon perfected the art of making the knots lorry proof. Food in Iran was basic,
but healthy. We ate a lot of kebab, flat bread and white cheese. Treats consisted
of the occasional ice cream or "faruda" a local sweet made from noodles,
sugar, water and lemon juice. Entering NW Iran the land became much greener and there
were suddenly a lot more fruit and vegetables on offer. The discovery of potatoes
again was a huge event for us - suddenly our camp menu possibilities were increased
ten fold! (Up until now rice or spaghetti, tomato puree and tuna had been the standard
dish!)
After 6 weeks in Iran we entered
Turkey by the small border at Serou. For the last few years there have been so few
tourists passing here that the border guards only received 20 foreign visa stickers
a year. We therefore spent about an hour waiting while the border guard hand wrote
all of our entry visas. It was all very sociable, involving a lot of tea, chocolates
and discussion on the differences between Turks, Iranians and the English. The Iranian
guards bade us farewell like old friends, and the Turks welcomed us in similar fashion.
A far cry from the popular image of both countries - particularly it's borders which
most travellers seem to fear.
The riding for the first 3 days from this border post was some of my favourite. We
followed the Esendere river, and the combination of the fast flowing water, green
fields filled with wild flowers, and the snow capped Hakkari mountains on the horizon
was stunning. Due to the recent conflict between the Turkish government and the Kurds
in this area, there were a lot of army check points. Yet again, however, the sight
of a family of 6 pedalling along meant that guns and formalities were immediately
cast aside as we were offered tea, assistance and asked for our views on everything
from Turkish politics to pop music.
We spent a week cycling to Lake Van, and again were treated to incredible hospitality,
often staying in the homes of locals who happily shared whatever they had, however
little. We then followed the southern shore of Lake Van as far as Tatvan on it's
western edge. This was an incredibly beautiful road, with good ascents and descents
and very little traffic.
However, it was a thought provoking ride as we passed many abandoned and burnt out
Kurdish villages. I stopped to ask one old man walking along what had happened here.
He just shrugged his shoulders and told me "everyone' s gone".
From here we took a bus to Malatya
in order to be able to get to Cappadocia to celebrate Joseph's 11th birthday with
a hot air balloon ride over the amazing volcanic landscape there. We booked onto
2 separate buses in order to spread our load of 6 people, 6 bikes and 3 "Bob"
trailers (affectionately known as kitchen bob, water bob and trumpet bob, the latter
carrying Sam's trumpet). However, only one bus arrived and no one batted an eyelid
as we monopolised the baggage compartment.
Cappadocia is a region in central Turkey whose dramatic rock formations have come
about as the result of millions of years of volcanic activity and wind and rain erosion.
With it's natural underground cities, houses and churches carved from the rocks and
numerous small, sandy tracks it is like a giant, natural outdoor playground for adults
and children and so we spent a week here giving ourselves a well earned break.
From Cappadocia we headed south through the Taurus mountains to the Mediterranean,
ending our trip together in the small coastal resort of Kas. We spent a few days
in this charming village, swimming, sea kayaking and relaxing before flying back
to Europe from Dalaman airport.
The journey had taken us about 3 months,
during which time we had travelled approximately 3000km, 2/3 of which was by bike
and the rest an assortment of pick up trucks, vegetable trucks and buses. Our notebooks
were full of the addresses of new friends in Iran and Turkey, and our heads full
of wonderful memories. It will take time to fully understand what we learnt from
this trip but I know that the kindness and generosity of strangers, who opened their
houses to us, touched us all and made us question the way we live in the West. How
many of you would invite a family of 6 cyclists to stay with you? And how many of
your neighbours would come over to welcome your visitors and offer their help too?
***
Caroline Wiiliams is currently setting up a freelance bicycle guide company and
will be offering bike tours for small groups in 2002 . Her unfinished web site will
be www.bicyclejourneys.com She can be contacted at: caroline@bicyclejourneys.com
***
This article first appeared in Oregon Cycling Magazine Fall 2001 and is reprinted
by their generous permission.