Goodbye Armenia

Having passed the last mountain I would see of Armenia, all that remained was a last night of camping and then rolling downhill to the river Aras that separates Armenia from Iran. Along the way I had the incredible foresight, bless my forgetful brain, of getting some extra food and fuel for the alcohol stove while I came by the village Meghri. I've heard one can get methylated spirits in Iran, but I have no idea of difficult or easy that is.

The morning started with rain lightly tapping on my tent fabric. That rain would continue throughout the entire day. With a cloudy sky I arrived at the border crossing to Iran, and much to my delight it was incredibly easy to go across. The relative ease of crossing the border, according to reports I receive through various touring-cyclist-specific whatsapp groups, seems to vary greatly. For me it was only unpacking all my stuff from the bike twice, to pass it through an x-ray machine, and packing it up again (not only that, but as I loathe the fastening system on my rear bags, pretending that they were stuck to the bike even convinced them that I could just unpack them. This was a great personal victory for me). Once on the Armenian side, once on the Iranian side.

I managed to exchange some Armenian drams for the first stacks of Iranian money at a decent exchange rate. Afterwards all that remained was the regular routine of loading up on drinking water and heading into a new country.

To Tabriz

I somehow managed to convince myself that I had passed the last mountain for a little while, having taking the three big passes in Armenia, but I had another one awaiting me on my way to Tabriz. Well, I could've taken the busy roads again and go around it, but that wouldn't be a whole lot of fun. And so after leaving the border behind I started the gentle climb. I would ascend through a valley where the lowest parts betrayed that a big river should have been flowing through it, but it was dry now. The clouds were low in the sky, the rain still tapping on the hood of my rainjacket, and everything in the distance was obscured by the combination of both of them. With a lot of the traffic gone, it gave the terrain an eerie atmosphere. Bare mountains, no flora except for small beige grasses and shrubs, and large electricity towers carrying their wires in a procession and fading into the distance.

I've had quite a few picks of good wildcamping spots, but the urge to continue onwards instead of turning in for the night would inevitably bring me out of the rocky valley and into hilly agricultural lands. Not the easiest place to camp as the fields are hard to traverse (and might upset a farmer), and the hills aren't high enough to prevent curious eyes from landing on your tent. It is a fact of cycling life that, more often than not, you'll see a plethora of wildcampingspots in the middle of the day, none when you need them, and a perfect one within one kilometer after waking up. I saw some rocky hills in the distance inviting me to lay down inbetween, out of sight, but another little peanutbutter-mud-escapade prevented me from getting there. After the ordeal my wheels were still turning, but my boots looked like brown Balenciagas. A bit annoyed I turned around and headed in a different direction, and was awarded with an unfinished concrete building wherein I could pitch my tent out of sight.

I quickly found myself in another valley for the last leg of the ascent. The Iranian mountains have been impressively different from those I've seen so far. There is such a variety of different kinds of rocks here, constituting all of the different shapes that the towering terrain assumes. Some rock types are hard, brittle and porous, creating mountains that seem to be carrying massive boulders on top. Other rock is formed in hard sheets, seemingly jutting out of the soil, exposing large flat surfaces. Yet another is very brittle and soft, leaving something that appears from the distance to be mounds of sand (I'm constantly reminded of how little I know about flora, fauna and geology. If only I could call these formations by their proper name). And all of it shows itself in brown, beige, copper, red, grey, and even rock with a greenish hue. This second valley I'm cycling through is wide, enough room for a big river, but only a small one carries water downstream. The grey leafless trees betray that this place must transform into a little green oasis in spring. I would love to be able to see it, but am glad I see this side of the place as well.

As I progress through the day I am enthusiastically supported by Iranians honking in their cars. The traffic is light on these roads, and some people make the effort to talk with me for a bit. Sadly my vocabulary is limited to "hello", "goodbye", and "thank you" once again. But I assume they're asking me where I am from and what I am doing. So I point to myself saying "Holland", and point ahead and say "Tabriz". Then I wave and am on my way again.

At some point I realise it is getting late, nearly 14:30. And I still have a thousand meters to climb to get to the top of the mountain. I might have been able to make it before it would get dark. But some people have passed me, stopped their car, and told me that it was snowing heavily on top of the mountain. They told me to turn back as they held their hands 30 centimeters apart and indicated there was that much snow.

For me, at lower altitudes, it was simply still raining. A continuation of ever yesterday's weather. But it was a light rain and the clouds were relatively clear. I arrived at the conclusion that the warnings of giant heaps of snow were perhaps a bit exaggerated, but nevertheless did decide to not traverse the mountain and to make it a short day. I argued that with a bit of bad luck there would be ice at the top of the mountain, and then I might have to walk, which would take quite a bit of time. And with that slow walk I would end up camping in the dark, in the cold, or both.

As I went to a suitable campsite, them being in short supply, I realised too late I was rolling over my favourite kind of mud again. Fenders full, wheels blocked. I wondered if I'd ever learn my lesson, but decided that solving the problem would be an issue for the next day. And with that day's morning frost that wasn't too hard of a problem. One sharp rock as a chisel, a blunt one as a hammer, and the frozen mud came right off as I was hammering the inside of my fenders after taking out the wheels. I had awoken to clear blue skies, a nice gift after the past rainy days. And bonus points for mother nature as the soil was still a bit frozen, preventing another fender-cleaning session after I packed up and made my way over the mud back to the road.

The last push to Tabriz remained. I really enjoyed the past two days. After the truck-filled roads in Armenia (which were of my own choosing, there were calmer roads, but they traversed high peaks which I deemed dangerous in the winter) the calm roads here were like a breath of fresh air. The nights were silent and calm as well. Along those calm roads I traversed that last mountain standing between me and Tabriz. It did indeed snow the day before, and ice made the final 200 meters of ascent a bit more difficult, but it was nowhere near as bad as was indicated to me the day before.

As I traversed the peak I was stopped by people multiple times. Some to ask me if I wanted a lift, others to enthusiastically ask me where I was from, and one of them offered me a banana and an orange. Quite a properly timed gift, as I had miscalculated the amount of days needed to get to Tabriz, and I was running low on food.

The peak was stunning. All around me snow and ice clung to the slopes. I could see the mountains that lie to the south of Tabriz, shrouded by a layer of mist or somekind of atmospheric effect, in the distance. Two people were attaching chains to their cars' wheels for the upcoming descent. Luckily for me they were just being careful, as the northern side of the mountain had the sun shining on it the entire morning, and it didn't take a whole lot of descending before the roads were clear of ice again. I did make a personal note that this traversal, although not dangerous, was on the verge of becoming really difficult to cycle. I would be best off not planning any other mountain traversals soon.

I had about 30 kilometers remaining over calmer hillier landscapes that gently sloped down to the highway that would take me to Tabriz. I had a little break halfway, nearly filling my fenders with mud again (carrying the bike off the ground back to the asphalt saying "nope, nope, nope, nope", my boots a giant mess again after just having cleaned them with snow), when I got an answer to a longstanding question: is the mud just a problem for bicycles, or for cars as well? As I sat there, eating my given banana, a car came racing down a muddy hill and dug itself a nice hole with two freely spinning front tires. I helped push it out of that first one, but it quickly dug itself a new ditch a couple of meters away. I was politely thanked as the occupants decided it was time for a different approach and got out their car jack. After standing around for a minute I realised they didn't need any help anymore, and I went on my way.

And so I continued onwards. Along the way traffic steadily increased until it came back in a thundering roar at the highway. Somewhat strange for a foreigner to see it was mostly filled with white cars (most of which Peugeots) and blue Zamyad pick-up trucks. I did have a small emergency lane to myself, but it also served as an extra lane in which a driver can quickly pass other cars as well. I'll keep it short by saying it was chaotic, and not the most pleasant of cycling. Especially not when I had to traverse a lane or three in order to make a turn, but I made it to Tabriz safely, and within an hour.

I was hoping for a nice hostel, I had marked some places on an offline map, but the ones I arrived at were closed or simply not there. And so I ventured off to the one hotel I had marked as well. That evening I had a nice shower, went out for some calorie-rich food, and slept rather well.

Luckily I got into contact with another traveler (speaking Dutch!) through one of the great big travelers' whatsappgroups I've been added too. We agreed to meet up, together with some locals he had met, and had a great time together. We visited the bazaar of Tabriz, looked out over the massive city after taking a ride to the mountains in the south, and had dinner back in the city again. It was great to be able to talk to people again in languages I'm fluent in. The other day of rest was spent by my lonesome arranging a SIM card, exchanging some more money, and visiting some parks and mosques.

Leaving Tabriz was less of a hassle then getting in. The sidewalks and countryside were covered by a light sprinkling of snow from the last night's snowfall. On my way out a busdriver wanted to give me his lunch while driving in his bus on Tabriz' busy roads. I gestured to him that I thought the maneuver to retrieve his gift was a bit precarious, so I continued cycling. He would have none of that and caught up with me later, passing along his lunch to passengers and opening up the main bus doors so that I could receive his gift.

The generosity in Iran didn't end there. I was advised to take the "old roads" out of the city, where traffic is a bit lighter, and on my way to my first night's sleep I was offered help by a Canadian man and a Mullah. They simply asked me if I needed anything at all. And as I made my way further east, longing for the road that would take me away from the main arteries, I would be offered help and gifts many times more.

The man owning the hardwareshop next to a bakery I was visiting invited me in for tea, another person offered me food while I was cleaning my chain (this one I declined), some truck drivers stopped at the top of a pass to hand me a bag full of oranges, bananas and pomegranates. A little bit later I would be invited for dinner and a good night's rest next to a heater, which I gladly accepted.

It was a gift to be welcomed into a family's home and to experience life in a smaller village. The generosity was nearly overwhelming. Along with friends and siblings of the host that invited me we talked about our respective lives, a bit strained as it was done through google translate, and continued the conversation in my would-be bedroom while drinking tea and smoking hookah. The next morning I would enjoy a breakfast in the same pleasant company, eating our bread with spreads made on their farm. The host would make a quick lap around the courtyard on my bicycle, after which I assumed the helm again.

I am slowly making my way down south, heading towards Isfahan and the warmer temperatures. The landscape changed from mountainous near Tabriz, to a patchwork of fields draped over small hills, to giant fields over a more undulating landscape, and finally an impressive arrangement of sandy mountains. The fractal nature of their spurs and their multicoloured stone assumes its most impressive form as the sun is setting. The red light in sharp contrast with dark black shadows, accentuating the many subdivisions the ridges seem to make before they reach the ground.

I look forward to more of this landscape as I make my way to Isfahan, passing close to the cities of Hamedan and Arak. Perhaps I can make a stop there to celebrate christmas with other tourists. Then again, my timing is not the best considering my speed and the distances I have to cross, so perhaps I might not be able to. The real goal is to see if I can get to Isfahan before the new year, it would be nice to celebrate that with some other people!