 |
| Male only it seems. Quite bazaar. |
Our route notes for Iran are blank, except for the name of the next town and hotel. The state doesn’t like any other information being kept / planned. So on the ‘day off’ yesterday Mark and Al had scoped out in person some of today’s route, which we all really appreciated. We look forward to any break in the travelling, so for them to head out in the van and plot us a route takes dedication.
 |
| Any book, so long as it's religious. |
We followed that route this morning, without any drama: out of Tabriz, through the fierce morning rush-hour traffic, and on towards Ardebil about 150 miles away.
 |
| Gotta love the pocket calculator |
It gave us all a chance to reflect on what we'd enjoyed the day before - a fantastic indoor market full of interesting shops and characters. Photos to paint a thousand words. All of the people we met or interacted with were genuinely warm and friendly - even when we weren't buying anything. They seemed pleased to have visitors, rather than seeing as tourists to be ripped off, or foreigners to be ignored or insulted. (I've taken foreign friends to Camden market in London and wish I could say we had the same welcome there.)
 |
| Carpets for sale |
One set of old chaps were in very good humour. After speaking with them for a while and sharing a cup of strong, sweet tea I started to say my farewell. I asked for a photo and they were very pleased - eager to pose. To my amusement, as soon as I pointed the camera they froze in a grim line... nothing like the way they'd been behaving. I suspect this is less to do with awkwardness in front of the camera, or any 'sinfulness', and more to do with whether any officials may get to see the photo.
 |
| Could have been straight out of TV soap EastEnders. |
 |
| These guys were a hoot, right until I said 'Smile!' |
It was a short day. Compared to what we’ve been enjoying the roads were a bit dull – only a few bends to enliven what was also rather featureless landscape. There’s only so much Mark and Al could do with this, but it was better than motorway and at least the need for assertive overtakes kept us pretty switched on.
 |
| Tiffany doesn't let her billowing chadar slow her down. |
Fortunately Rory was showing both restraint and foresight as we descended though a few well-surfaced corners on the dual carriageway. He’d already spotted the police car and registered that it might be hanging around to watch us committing some kind of offence. After a while the officers grew bored and sped off into the distance… where they parked and waited.
We were flagged down, but only so that the officers could look at the bikes and ask some general travelling questions. No offence had been committed, so none was taken either, and we were able to proceed. A ticket avoided.
Through Bilverdi, Yengejeh and Sarnag, over a solid bridge and on to Sarab. The towns we pass through are fairly humdrum affairs, the colourful Arabic calligraphy - decorating any long walls - one of the few characteristic features to my untrained eye. In the mosques and madrassahs the black script would be verses of the Koran or prayers to Allah, say, but on the compound walls it looks like particularly stylish graffiti tags of the kind you see from a railway carriage in the UK.
 |
| Very different to popping down the shops where I live. Seems a bit 'joyless' to me. |
We kept a tight formation as the four of us – Rory, Oliver, Cyman and I – took our turn at entering the labyrinthine city centre of Ardebil. A U-turn, in fact, across 4 lanes of squealing, honking yellow taxis; whilst pedestrians take the opportunity to run out from the roadside like lemmings. Road markings that are merely advisory, it seems, and baton waving traffic cops try to keep the confluence of so many arterial roads moving, happy to help us fight our way through the maelstrom.
All in all we made a good fist of it, and there were amusing stories later of folks who had missed the hotel at the first attempt, and taken 20 minutes or more before circling back around for yet another pass. Our Hotel Sabalan doesn’t present very loudly.
With an afternoon to play with we aim to grab a quick bite to eat – the four of us happy to share a pair of kebabs; half each, if you see what I mean. The waiter didn’t, and despite 10 minutes of careful communication we were presented with a feast: two 15 inch kebabs each, with a piled plate of pilau, yogurt, salad and flat bread. What’s a fella to do?
I finished off the last morsels, and knew that such disregard for a modest intake of carbs would send the sandman my way. I needed a lie down immediately.
 |
| The Sheikh Safi Mausoleum |
The Sheikh Safi Mausoleum was opposite the hotel, and it did cross my mind that there could be a crypt or sunny spot there for 40 winks. Annoyingly, it was filled with a milling throng of 10-year old school girls, who rushed around in a manner that raised the dust, if not the dead. Almost identical in their sky blue hijabs and white headscarves, I felt like David Attenborough trying to walk through a flock of seagulls. We stepped carefully and clicked dutifully around the blue-tiled site, which to be fair was worth a look. With no nook for a nap it wasn’t long before we’d found an ice cream instead, and headed back to the hotel for some R&R. A cold beer is out of the question here, and Sudoku doesn’t really cut it.
 |
| The Sheikh Safi Mausoleum - beautiful mozaiks |
|
No comments:
Post a Comment