I’m happily across the border and excited to see and taste a
new country. I was thinking this is the first of the dangerous ones, well,
apparently so. So far, it's good, the roads appear better than Eastern Turkey,
the landscape is pretty much the same and
apart from several cars and buses, no one has tried to kill me. I'm
heading for Umria just across the border to meet a Facebook friend who has
invited me to stay there. Since I'm well behind schedule, I'm thinking maybe
give it a miss and head towards my mate Jeroen waiting for me in Tehran, so for
the very least I can drop by to say hello and thanks for the offer. As I park
at the side of the road to set my GPS, a white Peugeot 405 draws up in front of
me and out jumps a young handsome, happy guy with a big white smile, its
Hossein, my host in Umria. "Hi there, follow me" he gestures. He’s
been waiting on me. How cool is that!
Courtyard of Hosseins house. |
Fifteen minutes later we arrive at Hossein's place and I'm
unsure the protocol here. The bike is
parked within the walls of the closed
residence but now what. Should I tell them I want to continue to Tabriz now or wait?
However, the family make me feel so welcome; I decide it would be bloody rude
to leave now. When I explain "I have to go tomorrow" I feel this
isn't received so well. "You must stay longer"! they say, "I
can't I must catch up" I stress.
Inside the house, Hossein shows me a room with a small
table, a laptop, some blankets in the corner and a door to a small courtyard.
"You make yourself at home here, please use my internet”, this will do
nicely I think to myself, meanwhile still trying to work out in my head how
early I need to leave to get to Tehran before dark next day.
I’m impressed with a guest book Hossein has put together
with a list other travellers who have entered a page of thanks you’s and how
wonderful it all is. I will do the same. Hossein’s younger sister also asks me
to fill in her guest book which I do gladly.
Hossein’s family are nice people and we sit in the front
room for lunch. They prepare a spread in the middle of the room on a rug. We
all sit on the floor to eat. OK this must be the norm, although I can't sit too
long or my ageing left hip pains me. A bit weird but I can go with it. Then
mother sits in the corner away from the rug, as if she's been told off or is
not allowed to eat with us. I'm trying to work this out but no one else
notices. We have some lunch and afterwards I try to catch up on emails and
other things on Hossein’s laptop. Hossein asks that "he can show my bike to
his friends? I’m ok but he wants to drive it! I never allow anyone to drive my bike;
after all, I need it to get me to Australia and can’t risk any damage. However,
since these people are going out o their way for me and against my better
judgement I relent and after many, "be careful", "are you sure
you're OK with big bike" or words of that nature I hand him the keys after
turning it to face the
Hossein and his 220cc Indian bike |
gate. "Only for an hour" I'm sure he says.
At the same time, the family is locking up. Again I'm
wondering what’s happening. "You come with us to town" or words to
that effect beckons dad. At least I think that’s what he meant.
OK, that’s nice of you, taking me a tour perhaps, still not
sure as I sit in the front seat, I did try to offer this to mother but there’s
none of that here, men sit in the front. Mum sister and Hossein’s little
energetic brother jump in the back. So.. I'm wondering where they will take me.
Five minutes later I find out as we stop at a petrol station, Hossein’s dad,
who’s mentioned money a few times already, mentions it some more. "You buy
benzene" Oh! OK I see, I pay petrol and you take me tour, I understand,
that's fair, so I hand over a wad of notes wondering if it’s enough, he fills
the tank from empty to half full. That should do, meanwhile I'm still distracted
and very anxious about my bike and is Hossein OK with it. The little brother
starts to get on my nerves a bit as the additives in the chocolate chip cookies
I mistakenly gave him start to work.
Dad takes us for a drive through the centre of Umrie, not
really impressing me at all but I smile and
Hossein, Dad & Mum |
appreciate the generosity of the
family bringing me here, then the tour I expected ends promptly and we find
some highways on which the car stops several times at fruit sellers on the side
of the road. I'm still not sure what’s happening but I'm not really caring
about this at all now. I’m more concerned at the safety of my bike. The anxiety
is becoming overpowering and after about 90 minutes hopping from fruit seller
to fruit seller, I'm starting to worry more. I'm trying to ask when we're
heading back, just as we stop at an orchard. What seems like an eternity, and
with hyper-boy now really getting on my nerves, the family buy two large boxes
of apples and lift some grapes from nearby vines. I help carry them to the car
to speed things up and we finally head for home. Ah great! I feel relief
starting to settle as I'm heading back to my bike however the little brother maintains
my stress level as he tries to climb in the front using up the remains of his
sugar overload.
Fifteen minutes later we arrive back at the family home and
I'm stunned to see no bike. "Where is Hossein"? One hour I'm
thinking. Is he close? I ask the dad who tries to call Hossein, I can hear the
beeping from his phone that you get when the phone is out of range or switched
off. He does this calmy several times in silence. He nods negative. I'm far from calm and
starting to get even more annoyed now. I've never loaned my bike to anyone, no
one. Ever! This is my punishment for being stupid. In my head I’m trying to
convince myself all is fine and I’m making a mountain out of a molehill but my inner
voice is telling me I’m a liar.
My place of worryship for several hours. Sitting by the computer waiting. |
Two hours later and I'm now angry, I hide in the bedroom,
trying not to think about it and trying not to let this kind family feel my
stress. I can’t stay here forever so head to the front room in an attempt to
make conversation with dad about family and so on. I show my family pictures
and as always around these parts, they latch onto Suzanna, the blonde with big
boobies picture. He points at picture, touching Zans boobs with his finger, “who
is this”? I’ve already moved it away as if he’s molested my kids and now I need to kill him but discount the thought
very quickly, it was an accident perhaps. This is Suzanna she’s 20. “Hossein
marry your daughter and live in Australia, send me money” he mentions “No
fucking way on earth mate” was my thoughts still trying to forget his finger on
my wee girl, but lightly shrug it off with “We don’t want her to marry until
she wants to, and then hopefully in her 30’s”. I don’t think he understands.
Eventually, after several cups of tea, me tapping on things,
looking at my watch and what seemed forever, Hossein returns well after dark
with the bike appearing intact. I'm jokingly trying to ease my stress with,
"where have you been, my baby" and even hug my bike! All seem to be
jolly but inside, I'm annoyed as hell. That was no hour, “where the hell did
you go”? I'm thinking.
He mentions “I even filled it up for you” but i see the fuel
level is around the same as I had left it, I must be mistaken.”You didn’t have
to do that” I reply, rather perplexed.
Anyway, a few deep breaths and sigh’s I'm now settled that the bike is OK as we head
out for pizza by car. All good, we get some non alcoholic beer and now most of
my stress has gone, either that or the relief has overcome my anxiety and I try
to forget the way I’d felt about all this most of today.
Its late, Hossein drops me at home, goes off to work, night
shift in security somewhere and will return in the morning. I find a bed has
been made on the floor but this has no mattress and I cannot lie directly on a
hard surface so set up my camp bed and sleeping bag making sure the family don’t
see me do it. Next day I'm up putting away my bed before everyone and whilst
visiting the bathroom find bodies sleeping in the front room, I realise all of
a sudden that my bedroom is theirs. Crikey, this family has given up their room
for me, how nice is that? I feel guilty about
any negative thoughts from the night before and try to be quiet as possible,
knowing Hossein, who's been staying at work overnight will be here to take me
to insurance office and to pick up some currency soon.
Hossein arrives on schedule and hands me an Iranian sim card
I’d paid him for the night before but I’m surprised that phone shops were open
this early. I’ve shrugged this off and after waiting for some time and some
tea, he then kindly drives me around town to get insurance and several banks later
we obtain a large wad of local cash.” I’ll cut and fit the sim card later when
I get time” I think, keen to get moving.
Hossein and my baby |
Then as I leave, dad who mentions at least every minute that
they have little money asks me for some. "Fifty dollars" he says.
"I'm jokingly repeat," you want money from me, for what"? "For you staying here" he states
without changing expression. I’m a moment of astonishment I'm thinking, I've
missed something here, maybe someone told me this earlier and I didn't hear I
was being charged. I give him the benefit of the doubt. "OK", I hand
over 50 Euros,” it's all I have, no dollars”. He gives me some change in local
currency which I stupidly don't count, I'm still in shock at this. I'm
thinking, maybe this is normal and I've just learned my first Iranian culture
thing. Welcome, here's the bill mate! I
try to shrug it off, but this eats at me the rest of that morning.
Trying to ignore what has just happened I take some
photographs, bid farewell and I’m on the road. Out of town now, I'm passing
over the causeway of lake Umria stopping for some more photographs and some
video. Lovely place I’m thinking, I'm back on the road and the sick feeling of
having to stump up payment earlier has gone. I’ve also learned another lesson
and I’ve put away the picture of Suzanna deep in my wallet.
Many cars and trucks beep and people wave "Welcome to
Iran!" These people appear genuinely pleased to see a stranger from
another land. I feel a lot better after several “Hello’s” and now I'm back into
it. Perth to Perth - Yes!
Yes, this is the thing, to be on this trip, now I’m finally
in the swing of things fully, no worries, no delays, I’m in it. All I have to
do is stop for petrol and a drink or even eat, the simple life. Forget the
negative thoughts you had earlier and move on.
I’m heading for Tehran and after several hours of happiness
and the simple life have passed I'm curious about just how far I've travelled
since Perth in Scotland. The last time I looked was around 10,400 kms. The
distance button on my GPS now reads 346kms. What the fuck! I double check the
trip meter on my GPS, yes 346. I hit the brakes as if a kid has stepped out in
front of me and pull over to check the bike trip meters, press No. 1 - 610kms,
What?. Press No. 2 - 610kms! What the fuck is going on?
Where are my proud 10,000 + kms I've been savouring as I go?
What is happening here? I didn’t reset these! Why would I? Why would anyone?
Next:
The penny drops, and so does my camera!
I think you were had, Iranian style. But I REALLY can't believe you let Hossein take your bike! Must be something in the water. It surely made for an exciting blog entry!!
ReplyDeleteWhat an experience! You must been to Hosseins place just 4 or 5 days before us and he did pretty much the same with us too. Altough I'm happy to not let him driven my bike!
ReplyDeleteI guess they have to relay on that money from the foreigners passing by very hard!?