On the morning of September 28, I was traveling with my bike from Armenia in the Islamic Republic of Iran. By one or another horror story from the Internet the other travelers from, photo shots and the enormous military presence at the border crossing, I was curious to see what will happen with me. But the procedure was relaxing boring. Two to three questions that prove that I really I am and I was in there. Wanted to look into the pockets no. Had I just taken 20 times liter vodka that would have made good money.
After only 30km me brought Perry and Ellen with her a truck caravan, leaving the Hitch Cycling story in Iran begin. The bike unceremoniously stretched forward to the Rammbügel and went off the wild ride. In a theoretical fall down, had 10 tons of the bike terminated, but this event did not materialize, fortunately. When we stopped a little pit stop, I had to ask myself why I actually rumgurke here by bike, eventually cost the liter diesel 3000 Rial (= less than 0.08 €).
Arrived in Tabriz I was part of a serious night 3-on-3, studded with Iranian top-flight players and promptly followed by the first invitation to the basketball home. As I followed his car, I suddenly talked to two girls from another car out. We stopped all side by side, exchanged numbers and one evening later, we had a date with most indulgent dinner, wine, liquor and dancing. All highly illegal (see blog # 14). It took me days to find out if these sexual attraction emanated from me or my bike. The answer there was only when I went from Tabriz towards Tehran. There held a trucker named Lahim on, beckoned to me and asked where it goes. Tehran! Bike pure and off you go. Initially friendly and courteous, he would later massaging my leg, eventually cycling was so exhausting. Iranian hospitality? I was not quite sure ... When he then asked if he could not see my penis, I said no and he then approached with his hand to touch him, I was sure that it was here first, not about Iranian hospitality acts and secondly that the sexual attraction emanates from me, not from my bicycle. Haha! With a powerful defensive attack in the style of Tiger Paw, I could block out his hand and he understood (more or less) that he had caught the wrong. Disembarking did not come for me yet in question, after all, I was so skipping 600km, in which it (probably) would have been little to see, and when he was half a shirt, I also had to worry about anything because I him in an emergency with my Shaolin Kung Fu had struck down. Later we even had dinner together, romantically. When we arrived at night in one of the dirtiest places in Teheran, he wanted money. Had I asked him for this ride, the paid anyway his company? I believe it chops! Although he spoke virtually no English, but we had a proper debate. He went on to show me that he will not let me out without coal. In the tenth of a nanosecond in which I thought about calling the police, I realized that I not even know the number. It was night by 4 clock, I was in a 15-million-city, I had ere no plan where I am and where I'm going, so I sat back relaxed. This relaxation did not like him, so he stopped again and threatened to call the police. Own! With brüskem ductus I said: "Please do it! You know what you get for homosexuality in Iran. " At that moment he opened his door and helped me unload the bike before he said goodbye friendly ... strange! No, I have nothing against homosexuality, only against anti-social people and sexual harassment (except of handsome women), but because I knew that in Iran homosexual acts can be punished even with death, played me this bill at this moment in the cards ,
After a few kilometers cycling, I found in the street a FreeWiFi a hotel and was able to chat while a homeless man sleeping next to me. Neda, a travel acquaintance from Tbilisi, Georgia, who grew up in Tehran, Iran, was now back home in Sacramento, United States and was therefore online. A few hours later I was at her daddy and could sleep at last. In the next few days Neda's friends took care of me, told me "DorDor" (see blog # 14) and showed me the city. Azadi Tower, Milad Tower, Golestan Palace undundund. Most impressive, however, I found the painting at the former US Embassy. A rather bizarre place, especially since there was recently first overtures between Iran and the United States. What here in 1979 went off, one can read here or take a look even better in the movie Argo (2012).
On the last night before I was leaving Tehran, I got out of nowhere within two minutes 38.5 ° fever. No, I would also believe no one who would want to tell me something. The sisters Jooan and Rojin in which I was now under come päppelten me up again and after three days it could go at last.