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Travels in Turkey, Iran, Pakistan & Northern India

Newsletter 6:  26 September 2002

Location : Ucagiz, Southwestern coast of Turkey (some 130 km southwest of Antalya)

Total ridden kilometres today : 25,350 kms

50 days in India (including Ladakh and Spiti) / 3,500 kms

11 days in Pakistan (return journey) / 1,650 kms

15 days in Iran (return journey)  / 3,590 kms

In these countries borders are the real thing : a massive iron gate, with barbed wire on top, controlled by armed men on either side. I ride behind Iris through the gate, from a sparkling newly built site in Iran, to sheds and tents in Turkey. "Money was finished inTurkey. Next year they will be ready," smirks an Iranian custom officer pointing through the fence.

We park and Iris all of a sudden starts undressing. Then I realize the dress code is indeed over and done with. We solemnly hand over our two long coats (a bit burned from the exhaust at the edges) to an old Turkish tea man. While we're working our way through the red tape, he comes to ask at least four times to be sure he can really have them. We're very VERYsure. Holidays have started.

The route from India to Turkey

From McLeod Ganj we manage to reach Lahore in one day, including the border crossing. As virtually no one crosses, the custom officers sleep until we arrive and continue to sleep afterwards.

Lahore is just as hot as last time, but we gape at Pakistan's Independence Day, one day ahead of the Indian one. After Multan (even hotter) our third crossing of the Suleiman Range is also the worst one : it's almost a struggle for survival, as the road is just as large as a truck, and there are hundreds of them. The shoulders lay some 30 cm below the asphalt and are full of big boulders - no way we can ride there. On some five occasions I open truck doors furiously shouting they have to move to the side. Totally stressed and overheated but in one piece we arrive at the top for a much-needed rest. On the way down, things go smoother as the oncoming trucks creep uphill very slowly. Then it's on to Loralai and Quetta, and from there to Taftan in one long, dusty and hot day through the desert. Escaping from a very annoying car chasing us for some 50 km, we also consume so much fuel, we JUST make it to the border with a tea cup of fuel left in the tanks. Crossing the border is again a painless affair, and by early afternoon we reach a Faulty Towers-like hotel in Zahedan.

Parking Iris's bike we hear a metal-to-metal scraping sound... her rear brake pads are almost gone. Ladakh's dirt roads have consumed them faster then I thought, and I just didn't bring enough spare brake pads. But we're in countries where people are used to get by with the little means they have : relining brake pads for instance is common practice. Not only are they relined for free, but we end up an entire afternoon eating and talking to the family.

The stretch Zahedan to Mashhad, 960 km through the desert along the Afghan border, was planned to be split in half at Birjand, but by early afternoon we're already there. The perfect tarmac road is virtually empty and as the middle part goes over a 1,500 metre high plateau, it's also 10 degrees cooler then we expected (35 instead of 45). So we decide to push on to Mashhad and arrive just before dusk - the longest riding day in (kilometres) of our lives. While I'm trying to find a hotel in this town full of pilgrims, Iris almost gets suffocated by a huge crowd of pushy onlookers - not funny.

Mashhad is Iranian kitsch and religion at its utmost splendour. It's also the cheapest place for Internet and international calls of the journey.

Along the Turkmen border, we ride west, via Shahrud with a visit to beautiful Bastam and Gonbad-e Kavus, and move on to the Caspian Sea. Iranians consider this the prettiest part of their country because of the sea, the mountains alongside, and the lush green everywhere. We get what we expected : a built-up coast line, gray and very dirty, packed with the traffic of Teherani weekenders and holiday makers.

From Chalus to Qazvin, we live one of the worst days on the road (see "Iranian drama"). Another one of the (few !) days we wished we'd be on public transport. The day trip to one of the castles of the Assassins, hidden high and far in the Alborz Mountains, and named after VERY murderous lords reigning the area in the 11th to 12th century, brings us to one of Iran's most beautiful regions. This is motorbiking "pur sang" and it makes the Chalus ride move to oblivion at once.

From Qazvin we head north, to the western part of the Caspian Sea - maybe prettier on this side ?

"Nope !" But in Bandar-e Anzali we do see a very mouthwatering pot of the freshest (probably illegally fished) caviar. As it's not in a tin, we have only two options : eat the 200 grams there and then, or leave it. Unfortunately for me, we choose the second.

On our way to Tabriz, we visit one of the most beautiful and unusual sites in Iran, at Ardabil. The Sheikh Safi-od-Din Mausoleum is a marvelous building of the 15th to 17th century, with two Central-Asian-style towers in turquoise tiles, and a very special museum area covered up to its dome with keyhole shaped "cupboards" about the size of a large vase. In the tombstone hall, along one entire wall, three men are meticulously recreating the famous Ardabil Carpet, knot by knot, for another two years. Tabriz is where we made a rendezvous with our Belgian friends, Luc and Catherine (on two first

generation BMW R 80 G/S's), and with a German biker, Katharina (on a Suzuki DR 350). Internet once more proved to be THE ultimate travel tool - how on earth would we have known each others whereabouts if they were riding through Siberia and Mongolia, then back on the Trans-Siberian and down from Moscow to Turkey heading to India, while Iris and I were making our way through the deserts of Pakistan and Iran ?!

We exchanged stories and info for days, and laughed at each other headscarfs and manteaus.

We leave on the same morning, heading in opposite directions. On our way to the Iranian/Turkish border, we ride a detour to Iran's best preserved Armenian church, in the middle of nowhere, the black-and-white Qare Kelisa. Border crossing is fast except for a language thus communication problem over Turkish vehicle import taxes. That solved, we camp in the shadow of the magnificent Ishak Pasha palace, overlooking the plateau around Dogubayazit and the splendid volcano Ararat, Turkey's highest peak at 5,137m.

Along the Armenian border we continue to the small village of Yusufeli. The next days we visit this region dotted with ruins of Armenian churches. Alas our nights are less appealing : we get eaten alive by bedbugs, literally from head to toe...

Then it's on to Trabzon and a very hearty welcome by a Turkish biker we contacted via Internet (see "The Trabzon Community"). The bikes back at their very best, we ride in two days to Cappadocia for another meeting we looked forward to : my sister and her Italian husband are there on a short holiday.

On a boring and fast stretch shortly before reaching Cappadocia, I spot headlights in the distance, obviously from motorbikes. Motorbikes + headlights means foreign bikers ! We wave frantically, then pull over waiting to see if they stop too. A bike turns around and rides back. It's a Suzuki DR 650 !! The biker jumps off his bike, pulls off his helmet, and shouts : "I can't believe it. You must be Iris and Trui !!!"

Bruno and his wife Christine Lanz (she turned around on her bike too and shows up seconds later) are Germans living 15 km from "our" DR specialist Seifert, so Seifert told them about us as they are on their way to India too. We ride to a teashop and chat happily for an hour or two. One hour earlier or one hour later, and we would've never met, as Iris and I came from a northern turn-off, or we would've reached Cappadocia. Incredible !

In Cappadocia walking, talking, eating and drinking (bad) wine keeps us busy for days. Home is getting really close now.

Here we also decide to skip Greece and take the Cesme (Turkey) to Ancona (Italy) ferry instead. This leaves us more relaxing time in Turkey - more holidays, yesss !

From Cappadocia it's a long ride to Egirdir, but the shortcut we take for the last two hours, along the Beyshehir lake and then right through the mountains, again shows Turkey "has it all".

Even after being so spoilt in northern Pakistan and in Ladakh, we continue to be amazed by the rough hinterland in this country.

On our way south to the Mediterranean, we finally visit Sagalassos, the Greek-Roman site gaining more and more importance as the (Belgian-led) excavations go on. In April the mist there was so thick it was useless to visit; now we have it all to ourselves in a light morning sun - magic !

Then the busses arrive, with Belgians of course. The ruins are also scene to a most bizarre thing: a real aggressive fight between two midsize tortoises. With fierce, loud blows of its shield, the aggressor pushes the other further and further afield, and then stops to pant heavily. We actually h-e-a-r-d a tortoise panting... !

After our detour to Sagalassos we reach the Mediterranean. First we laze around at Olympos. British/German/Belgian/Russian package tour hotels are just 40 km away, but here all is quiet and rural. And it gets even better : at Ucagiz where we more or less coincidentally pass by taking another interesting-looking shortcut, we find the most idyllic of places (have a look at http://www.onurpension.com ) A postcard-like small bay with islands in an azure sea, some small guest houses right on the seafront with piers for passing sailing boats and yachts, good sea food, ruins of ancient Lycian tombs scattered in the hills and a sunken city on the sea bottom, perfect windy sunny weather, very friendly people, and to top it off : a free computer to type this letter...

Pakistan o Pakistan

The evening before we had arrived at the Tourist Motel in Taftan on the Pakistani side of the border with Iran. Today was a border crossing day and a short ride to Zahedan, the first city in Iran. Four business men in bright white shawal kameezes (a wide long shirt and baggy pants of the same colour, worn all over the Subcontinent), travelling in a brad new Pajeero also spent the night in this motel. We had exchanged a few common phrases about what where and when, but nothing more. We were loading the bikes when one of the men came up to me, smiling broadly. He said :

"This is from my father. You can change it into rials," and pushed a 1,000 rupee note plus a visiting card in my hand. I didn't quite get the idea, and so he repeated his phrase. Finally I understood his accompanying father really gave me money. I stammered and turned around to see Iris with an exact same astound expression, for she too received 1,000 rupees. Totally perplexed we walked up the stairs to thank the father. The old men touched Iris's shoulder, then her head as she bowed in deep respect, and then did the same to me. Then another of the four men brought a white cotton shawl to us, "to protect you from the heat." We didn't know how to thank these men,and clumsily ordered tea for all.

1,000 rupees equals some 18 euro or stretching ten times more in a country like Pakistan. But this is not about money, rather about a huge gesture of kindness without wanting anything in return. It is the bright side of Pakistan in a nutshell...

Iranian drama

Chalus at the Caspian Sea to Karadj on the Teheran-Qazvin highway is a stretch of 150 km straight south through the Alborz Mountains. It's a two lane road, it's Friday (= Iranian Sunday), and school starts a week from now. The road climbs up and down, and winds through gorges and over passes. It must be a beautiful area but there's not a second to look. The road is congested with weekend-riders-on-the-way-home and weekend-riders-on-the-way-to-the-seaside. Mingling with the cars, there're the busses, old and new, all struggling to keep a steady pace. Traffic moves in clusters. Iris counts 63 cars behind a bus on one occasion. If we're not riding behind something, I continuously need to wave and flash and horn on-coming cars back in their lanes. They simply have no idea how large or how "fast" we are. These are heart-rending  hours.

Only after 12 o'clock there is an hour or so where all is quiet : 1000 Teheranis picnic along the road. Alas the on and off riding of "the most idyllic picnic spot" is also a perfect sample of traffic inability.

Indicators are hardly used all through Iran, and if they're used it's still very unclear what will happen. It may be the "you can now overtake me"-sign (also commonly used in India and Pakistan), or it may indicate they're turning off but not necessarily in the indicated direction, or (also often) the driver has forgotten it's on. So generally people just slam the brakes (with some luck the brake lights work, or at least one), they have a look if the picnic spot is ideal enough for everyone, then decide it's not and pull up full speed to a next spot...

For the last 20 km we're followed by a big bike, a ZZR Kawasaki, and his friends on a 100cc-something. Followed is actually the wrong word : we're encircled. They pull up beside or between us, then overtake a car cluster in the middle at full speed, and finally stop at the road side to start all over again. Finally I'm so sick of it I ride next to them and shout they should choose "fast or slow", but leave us out of the game. Both guys blink with their eyes, clearly don't understand what the fuss is about, and remain behind us till the end.

The last few kilometres are a four lane highway. All of a sudden there's one huge sign in Farsi only for the left and the right fork. We choose right as we have to go west, but I count at least five cars in reverse gear changing their minds. We arrive in the centre of Karadj, a huge Teherani suburb, and have the greatest of luck : a jeepdriver takes us through town for a few kilometres to the main highway for Qazvin. From here on I know one of the toughest parts of our journey is over.

Shame on you

On one of our longer rides in Iran, we stop for a rest and a tea. A young man comes to talk to us. With our three words of Farsi and a lot of good will on both sides, something of a conversation is possible. A second man of about 40 years old walks up and positions himself behind us with his hands on the back rests of our chairs - a rather un-Iranian thing to do. As often, they ask about "the men" - "they're at work in Belgium" (eum).  "Children ?" - "no, difficult if you're keen on motorbike travels". Then the older man becomes sleazy : he signs/asks if Iris wants to sleep with him. I remember a phrase in Farsi from the guide book, "what a woman can say to a man bothering her", meaning something along the lines of "shame on you". I say it calmly but clearly "khejalat bekesh". The man looks as if he's electrocuted. He backs up immediately and disappears. We don't see him again. Luckily for him, the young man was just getting new teas as I uttered my phrase.

The Trabzon Community

More then a month before getting to Turkey, I thought it would be interesting to meet with Turkish bikers. Have a chat, maybe ride out with them, or just see a bit of Turkish biker's lives. Through our favourite biker's web site, http://www.horizonsunlimited.com , which hosts so-called "communities" from all over the world (groups or individuals ready to help passing-by motorbike travelers), we contacted the Trabzon Community. Trabzon is a medium sized city on the Black Sea coast in north eastern Turkey. We wanted to visit this interesting city anyhow on our way back through Turkey. Almost instantly we received a very kind reply from a certain Altan Kalafat, welcoming us to his town.

But halfway through Iran we realized our front tyres wouldn't hold till home, and Iris's relined brake pads (see "Miracles and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance" below) were not up to the job. So we contacted Altan again asking if he could help us with these matters. He did, and how ! Spare brake pads were DHLed from home to his address, and he managed to order the exact tyres we wanted. All was ready and waiting for us when we got to Trabzon. One afternoon, when we were at the tyre shop and there was a bit of a language problem over "where can we have the tyres fit", Altan was called at his job and showed up only minutes later. He helped us out with a smile, and went back to his work...

On top of that we spent an evening together with Altan, his great wife and two almost-grown-up children, and an entire picnic day at Sumela monastery - the latter on Iris's birthday with the very best lamb chops we ever had and a real cake with a candle to finish off the day. A huge "thank you" to Altan Kalafat !

Though a recent "convert" to biking, Altan is a biker to the core for sure. He told us they founded a biker's cafe last year (open after 19 h and serving tea), and there are about 25 "big bike" riders in the whole of Trabzon, all knowing one another.

From him and his wife, we also learned a bit more about the "religious threat" many of the Turks feel. We did notice the mosque building vigour all over the country, but didn't realize many Turks, especially people from the west i.e. progressive part of the country like Altan and his wife (coming from Izmir) have a nightmare image of an Iran-like country ruled by mullahs. Neither did we know about the rules in the army : people who pray too much, whose wife wears the veil, or who follow ramadan are fired or degraded. Many Turks put lots of hope in their army to keep the country "on the tracks", the ones Ataturk initiated.

Miracles and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance

I know the following will bore most non-bikers, but in this case : just jump to the last line and be done with it. For the others : here are the main items that needed to be looked after - a list of normal maintenance and some extra's, running from Pakistan back to Turkey.

- oil and oil filter change in Lahore, Pakistan

- a 7th (or something) new horn on Iris's bike; mine re-fixed in Quetta, Pakistan

- from the 14 T front sprocket back to the 15 T in Quetta. The change to 14 T for the mountains, together with the carburetor modifications back in Ladakh, were some of the very best decisions we made.

- rear brake pads relined on Iris's bike in Zahedan, Iran; then originals installed in Trabzon, as well as new front pads on my bike

- new front tyres, Metzeler Enduro 3 (ordered from Istanbul, takes 4 to 5 days) installed in Trabzon

- new battery, also installed in Trabzon. A full story in itself : from Leh on, every other day, and only in the morning, Iris's super-special-expensive NASA gel battery (brand Hawker) refused to fire enough power to start. Obviously both batteries were new when we left (mine is an original). After trying and testing a few connections, we swapped batteries to find the cause. And the problem swapped with the battery... So in Trabzon we found a "oto elektrik"

specialist, but trouble now was finding a fitting battery. These Suzuki's use a quite special maintenance free closed battery, and as everything is built so compact, there's not a cm to be found for another size.

But the miracle happened : the battery specialist contacted their Istanbul shop over and over again, and insisted they call all around the city to find this specific battery. Eventually they managed to find one - I assume the only YTX9-BS in the whole of Turkey - they put it aboard an overnight express bus to Trabzon, and someone picked it up at the bus station...

Our battery problem solved !

- shortened the sidestand on my bike; heightened/hardened the (rear) suspension on both bikes - as the spring is getting weaker and weaker. After the rough and fully loaded months we had, this was to be expected from the original rear suspension (front was modified to Wirths before departure); cleaned air filters on both (quite necessary we noticed), and changed oil - all of this in Urgup, Cappadocia.

Bikes in top condition again; tanned girls ready for the last stretches home.

Iris and Trui

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