Joys and mopes and welcome

My rejoicing along the flat soon waned and somewhere on the Tehran road I got really bored. No-longer delighted by straight progress instead all seemed tedious; the scale - the days along the same trajectory - dulled me right down into myself such that I was no more in Iran than England. I mean lost in daydream and nostalgia, miles away from the road riding on autopilot barely noticing even when I stopped to eat. Like a depression and almost resenting a little the constant Iranian intrusions of goodwill welcome which felt only to pique my loneliness. But mister where are your friends and your girlfriend asked one soup seller and right then I couldn't have answered in any language. Evenings I camped with tinned stew and wrote uninspired emails on impossible 3G. As moods will, it lifted. Hindsight blames the headwind which after some days one morning swung around enough to just about clip me forwards. Simple times indeed when subtle pressure differentials affect ones mood entire; suddenly everything although the same is fine and pleasant. Distant mountains take a splendid aspect and the low Winter sun pleases me playing patterns with intersecting poplar rows and furrows. Above each town flocking pigeons turn at the beck of fanciers crouched on rooftops below. An email arrives about my Uzbek visa and each mile feels connected to all those before which flash occasionally in vivid recollection as I think smilingly about the next bits, and the ones after. I shout along to the mp3s that yesterday I'd've skipped and enjoy the intrusions again and the tea, wave for the honks and smile for the Facebook phone-photos (shouldn’t that be banned here?) all the while wondering at joys and mopes so arbitrary. That night I bought extra water and heated it by the fire to wash. I've still the last of some posh vegan face cream given me in Hamburg (gives an idea of my ablutive frequency) and made a happy preening ritual for my wind-sunburn before writing my sister something more inspired.

One feels the Iranians a little understimulated. I can’t write about why. I get daily texts from the friends I made in Tabriz: they miss me, have I made camp ok? Am I warm enough? Likewise I'm besieged by texts and calls from wellwishers in Tehran and its satellite cities, my number doing all sorts of rounds. Yesterday morning in my tent I was actually woken up by the phone ringing and panicked a second thinking I was late for work. Rather than look for a place to stay I have to choose between offers which're here and there a bit desperate like pick me pick me. Trying to leave Zanjan at dusk in my habitual evening hurry Massoud shouted a bold gambit - you have a good bike - mine is better! I stopped for that, more interesting than the usual hello, and was taken back to meet all the family. I couldn't sleep in the cot he made up for the heat; Iranians keep very warm homes and my Farsi doesn't stretch to explaining how accustomed I've become to the cold. The sociability almost becomes more tiring than the solitude and sometimes I have to dig deep for chat and smiles. I'm just outskirt Tehran having accepted an invitation to stay suburban with a fireman's brother. But I’m a day late to his place because Kalhor and Afshin of the Kurdish mountain-biking welcome contingent tracked me down in Karaj just after a gas-happy motorist tried to drive over my back wheel. A little shaken my thanks but I'm expected resolve faltered and so last night another too-warm evening being stuffed fruits and chai before dinner with all the family… I got the wheel trued this morning; ate oranges in lieu of paying.

My Uzbek visa should be ready around the 21st so I've to kill time around Tehran until then. The Tajik one should be quicker and I can't even ask for the Turkmen pass until I've got my onwards Uzbek one. The whole central Asian visa thing seems a puzzle designed by air-ticket salesmen; overland is tricky. I've plenty of time once I extend the Iranian one, though. And plenty of places to stay! I’m hoping to make it far South through Esfahan and Shiraz and then right back up North again through Yazd, desert and Mashaad, to leave early March. Big place mind.

Tabriz

Nasrin & Payam

blue mosque, Tabriz

Miyaneh

truing

Kurd Kalhor