29 May-9 June
After our muddy
off-the-road-detour through the Albors mountains we arrive in Babol. Another
big city in the Caspian sea plains. We will stay there 5 days to a.o. extend
our visa in Sari, which is only 35 km to the east.
We are welcomed
in Babol by Ali-Reza, who accepted our Warmshowers Request but actually doesn’t
host us himself. He is in military service at the moment. He does organize our
stay in Babol though and brings us to Mehdi and Maideh from Warmshowers, a
friendly couple, living together with Mehdi’s mother in the north of Babol. Mehdi
and Maideh are convinced bikers and mountaineers, so we have enough to talk
about. When we leave after 2 days Maideh wants to give me her nail polish to express her regret that we leave, but I refuse. It is superkind but I never use nail polish. Just before we leave Mehdi gives me a box and it appears to have two pens. OK, these I can use, so let's keep them.
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| Sharing mountaineering experiences with Mehdi and Moideh. Her niece, a medicine student also joined. |
After two days we are transferred to Ali-Reza’s aunt and uncle: Somayeh
and Mohammed. With them we stay another 3 days. They have a big family and
because it is Ramazan time, there are huge diners organized. Martin’s sister
Paula happens to have her birthday on one of these days, so we ask the family
to sing a song for her, which we broadcast via Whatsapp. Not only they sing,
but they also drum on buckets and Somayeh’s son, Savan, even dances a
traditional dance. All in all the family diners were another special experience
for us, with a lot of laughter, Iranian-English pantomime discussions and of
course numerous selfies and pictures. When we leave also Somayeh wants to give me a present. This time it is a pair of ear rings in a beautiful wooden box, which I accept and still have.
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| Part of the family of Somayeh: In the middle her father, left from him one of his brothers, the father of Ali-Reza and right from him the husband of his daughter Somayeh. |
One of
these days we head for Sari and meet Farzaneh again to support us with the visa
application. In the police office (or any governmental office) ladies have to wear
a chador, not to turn on the hot police men that work in the office. Strangely,
only Farzaneh has to wear the chador, I don’t have to because I am only a
tourist. Farzaneh is furious and questions the procedure. Is she turning up these
police men more than a tourist? The lady responsible for the chadors replies
that when she doesn’t like the rules of the police office she has a choice to
leave. We continue to the actual visa extension offices, Farzaneh wrapped in
her chador (and looking 10 years older suddenly) and we notice that men and women are nicely separated in different
rooms and that the women are covered with black chadors. In the meantime
Farzaneh has gotten rid of her chador, gives it to me and moves from one counter
to the other, trying to seduce the police officers while filling out forms and
writing statements in Farsi. After a couple of hours of extremely slow typing
police officers, computers that don’t
produce numbers when they have to and a paying machine that doesn’t work, we
leave the office with another one month on our visa. Yeah….!!!!!
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| Farzaneh has helped us greatly with visa extension |
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During a site seeing tour in Babol we came across these cute little chicks.
Nice for Eastern, but probably a not-so-nice treatment for the chicks...?
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We return
to Babol where Ali-Reza has organized a bike sight-seeing tour and then we are
ready for our last detour in the Albors mountains. Again 2000+ of climbing to
get into the mountains and away from the crowded plains. But first we have to
bike 90 kms to Noor, a coastal village, frequented by Tehrani during weekends
and vacations. The road to Noor is in one word terrible and we have a whole day
of cars and trucks around us, front wind and rain. In Noor we have to find a
hotel, because no couchsurfers are available. This is due to an upcoming
holiday of an entire week. As a result the hotel prices rise with 40% as well. Although
no-one from couchsurfing is able to host us, we do meet via couchsurfing Fatima,
another Iranian power lady. She invites us to eat something in a beach
restaurant and we have an interesting conversation. She has just finished the
last exam of her Tourist Sciences Study and works as a tour leader for Arabic
tourists. We ask her about the University System in Iran. We noticed that
almost every town has its own university. She confirms that but she also
explains that the level is not always very high. She missed an exam the week
before because she got stuck in a traffic jam from Tehran to Noor. She had to
call her professor that she wouldn’t be able to make the exam. Her professor
replied that this is not a problem at all and he will let her pass her exam
anyway. Which is not what Fatima wanted. She wants to earn her degree, not get
it as a gift and so she told her professor. While we are walking along the
beach she tells us that the week before, she was drinking some water there,
although it was still Ramazan. She got stopped by a man who explained that it
is forbidden to eat and drink in public during Ramazan time. The man also explains
that you have to dig 7 graves as a punishment when you drink in public during
Ramazan. Fatima replies that she would be happy even digging 700 graves if she
could choose who would be buried in them.
Still,
Fatima is a very charming and kind young lady and she treats us with a super
nice asht (some kind of very thick soup), with lots of garlic according to
Mazandaran Province habit and an egg plant dish in a little nice beach
restaurant.
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Eating Asht and drinking tea in a small beach restaurant. The Asht contains a lot of garlic and
is prepared with love. The owner of the restaurant had left is old job in a hotel to dedicate his
life to preparing traditional Iranian dishes of high quality. He is proud that he can now add a
a Swiss-Dutch couple to his collection of foreigners visiting his restaurant
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| Fatima wasn't in the position to host us as she shares a small apartment with other students. But she wanted to meet us and invited us for an asht and tea on the beach. |
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| Sunset in Noor |
The next
day we cycle back into the mountains. Another detour, this time a more serious
attempt to see Damavand and again a good excuse to not ride in the plains. It
is steep, long and heavy and after 1400 m of altitude difference we stop and
camp on an empty parcel of a village full of Tehran holiday houses that are all
surrounded by walls, with glass fragments and barbed wire. So, inviting. The
next day there are still around 1500 m of altitude difference to go until the
2950 m high mountain pass. We start early but we don’t get far because Martin
is suffering from diarrhea. His intention was to stop and rest every 200 m, but
the cramps in his gut force him to stop every 100 m, then 50m and then 20 m. To
stop the hyperactivity of his gut he eats a pill, but it doesn’t help in the first
hour. Martin leaves a track of small brown lashes decorated with white paper. At
the same time a very strong front wind slows us down even more and the steeper
parts of the road now become almost impossible to ride, we can be blown from
our bikes every moment. Like this we are not going to cross the pass today and at
10:30 we decide to take a rest. From that time on Martin doesn’t have to go to
the toilet anymore, so I am wondering whether this is some unconscious
mechanism that expresses is hate against riding steep mountain roads or whether
the pill is working. Anyway, we relax in the shade for a couple of hours and the
wind gets stronger and stronger, so after a while we conclude that we will not
be able to reach the pass anymore, so we better stay where we are, not to get
exposed to even stronger winds at higher altitudes. I go to the house at the
other side of the street to get some water out of the garden tap and a man
steps out of the house. I explain what we are doing and of course, two tourists
riding Iranian mountains, is enough reason to give us a bag full of seeds
(which we can’t eat, because we have never learned how to crack them between
our teeth) and a bag with chocolates, which we very well know what to do with,
that is, I know that, Martin cannot eat them because he has to relieve his gut 😊
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| Plenty of space on a parcel in a mountain village for rich Tehrani |
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| Traditional village in the mountains |
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| In Iran the reptiles are quite a bit larger than in Europe |
In the
evening we get some rain and thunderstorms and the wind gets very strong. The
man of the house at the other side of the streets is concerned we blow away and
invites us to stay in his house, but we trust the strength of our Hilleberg
tent. In the middle of the night Martin wakes me up. He tries to hold the tent
together with every strong wind gusts, which of course is not really possible
when you are inside the inner tent. It
is really scary, the tent moves up and down, gets blown up and compressed, but
it still doesn’t move, as promised by Hilleberg. Martin is very concerned. Then
our neighbor also comes and stresses we should leave the tent. He is quite in a
panic and very afraid that the tent would be torn into pieces. Leaving the tent
though is not a good idea, especially not when it will be blown away. All our
stuff will disappear in the steep gorge next to us. I close the zipper in front
of the face of our neighbor, which is very rude, but with an open tent, the
chance that the wind gets grip on our tent is only increasing. With all these
panicking men around me, I also get concerned and we decide to stay in the tent
but make sure that all our stuff is packed into our 8 cycling bags that will
not blow away so easily. That way we would ‘only’ loose the tent, sleeping bags
and mattresses. The bags we place at the edges of the tents on the bottom sheet
to further decrease the possibility of flying away. And then at 1 am, the wind
stops blowing all at a sudden. Big relief.
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| A windy spot along the road. We were glad we stayed there and didn't cycle up much higher, where winds were even stronger |
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| The storm has even tried to blow away our bikes |
A few hours
later at 5 pm we wake up and pack to leave. As a sign that we are still alive I
bring back the water container that we borrowed from our neighbor and the bag
with seeds to the house. We are really moved by the kindness and concern of the
man who came to rescue us in the middle of the night.
With an early
start we now have a good chance of reaching the pass and we make good progress.
Despite the bad night and thanks to the pills, Martin’s gut has calmed down and
in the course of the morning we are approaching the pass. The wind has already
increased quite a bit and throws me to the left of the street. I have to use
all my power to not get blown off the street.
Then a
miracle happens. While I am fighting my way up, exactly in the middle of the
street a perfectly shaped white triangle appears. With every pedal stroke the
triangle increases in size until I am sure, I am finally witnessing the
existence of Damavand mountain. I am moved and super happy. Finally I have
reached the highest pass I have ever cycled (2968 m) and at the exact same time
I witness Damavand (5615 m).
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| Not a very impressive picture of Damavand with this hazy weather, but I was still impressed by its sudden appearance in the middle of the road |
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| Martin got blown from his bike and manages the last part pushing his bike |
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| Glad to have finally reached the pass |
Initially, the road
down is in bad condition. We bump down and finally reach Baladeh, a small
mountain town that can be easily reached from Tehran and therefore is full of
tourists. In addition, some scary looking procession is ongoing, with everyone dressed
in black, black banniers and depressing music. This must be to memorize the death of the first
or the last Imam (sorry, I forgot), which are the reasons for the one week long
holiday. We quickly leave the town and find a well hidden camping spot along
the river and an irrigation channel (it looks like the Walliser suonen) and in
the shade of a row of poplars. We have a good time there. I jump completely
naked into the Walliser suonen and get my hairs washed. No unexpected visitors
this time.
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| Descent to Baladeh |
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| A horse that had escaped comes in the morning for a visit |
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Unfortunately, after a while the horse starts to destroy our equipment and tries to take our tent
for breakfast, so I need to drag away the horse and attach it to a tree far away from our
equipment
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The next
day we continue into the same valley and have a very moderate climb with some
ups and downs. No fighting against gravity, but a joyful ride with a very
scenic panorama. Today, we will reach another unique milestone and cross the
3000 m line on bike. The last 400 m to the pass (3146 m) are steep but very
well do-able and on the pass we are welcomed by a family with cookies and fresh
dates who are also kind enough to make a picture. There is even still some snow
to make the picture more heroic.
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| Easy ride up through a beautiful valley to the 3150 m high pass |
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| The last bit to the pass is steeper |
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| Martin arrives |
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| And there we are at 3150 m altitude |
Another
pass is waiting for us, but this is for tomorrow. In between the two passes we
find a nice small river and a shady place, where we can relax and bath. The
next day will be thrilling. It is the last day of the Iranian holidays and all
those Tehrani who have moved to the coast via the Chalus road will now drive
back. Exactly on this day we will ride down back to the coast. The road is
anyway not meant to be a quite mountain road, it is a major connection between
Tehran and Chalus, but on holidays it is expected to be hell.
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| Nice and relaxed ride down |
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| Beautiful camping with bathing facilities at the right |
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| Last view on snowy mountains before we start our 2500m+ descent |
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| Martin arrives in cyclist hell |
And it is
and it is not at the same time. The connection road turns out to be a narrow
mountain road, with no shoulder to ride on, so the car drivers have to share
the narrow piece of asphalt with us. Fortunately, the tourists going back to
Tehran are driving in the opposite direction, but it is a continuous row of
slow driving cars, whereas the cars on our lane prefer to drive quickly, which
they can’t because we are in their way. This prompts one of the passengers to
try to push me from the street, leaning out of the window and pushing my rear
paniers to the right. How stupid a car driver can be… At the same time the road is extremely scenic
and we are also enjoying the ride. It is a real schizophrenic experience.
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| Beautiful landscape full of driving Tehrani |
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| Not enough room for one million Tehrani and us |
20 km
before Chalus we turn to the left and leaving the crazy row of cars behind us.
It is better now, but the road leading to a major city in an agricultural area
is also far from quiet. In a small side valley, whose river is being exploited
for trout breeding, we find a shady (and quite moisty) place along the river.
The spot is actually already occupied by two guys who are relaxing and smoking a
water-pipe. We say ‘salaam’ to them and put up the tent. After a while their curiosity
becomes too large and they come to us with some medlars and a lot of questions.
Then we are invited to relax on their carpet and to a freshly prepared lamb
kebab. In the evening they have to leave and leave us a bottle of Sprite. They
also clean the place very well, which surprises me, because previous picnickers
have obviously left their garbage where they dropped it.
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| Two young men from Tehran invite us for a lamb kebab |
On our last
day back to the coast we have a long descend through the cloud forest and ‘l’histoire
se repète’. Again rain. The road also seems to be another road into the
mountains for cheerful Iranians on Fridays. Every 100 m there is a colorfully
decorated kebab selling hut. I am definitely not going to ride this road into
the opposite direction on a Friday. Today it is quite (and rainy).
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| People say we have big bikes. This one is bigger. |
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| And again rain in the cloud forest. The road is illuminated and boarded by kebab huts |
