I’m now writing from Iran where we are 3 and a half hours ahead of the UK and 621 years, 2 months and 22 days behind. According to the Persian calendar we crossed the border on the 5th of May 1392, which feels appropriate given that we don’t have access to Facebook.
The last week has been pretty damn slow, mostly drive days, in which the most exciting thing I found was a chocolate bar called Touristy. My expression may indicate my desperation to find something worth writing about.
Our only free day this week was in Doggy Biscuit (actually Dogubeyazit, but who wants to bother remembering that?), the crappyist little border town in Eastern Turkey , full of fashions from the Eighties and men from the Stone Age. Our mission here was to find any clothing suitable for crossing the border to Iran, where we have to be covered (loosely) from head to foot. Surprisingly difficult in a town that close to Iran, but apparently everyone in Doggy Biscuit wants to wear western clothing, albeit Western clothing from about 30 years ago.
Seriously. Not much hope for anything stylish here.
I managed to score a pair of unbelievably baggy trousers (which have already caused me to fall over – twice), but the reasonably loose black tunics went very quickly, leaving the rest of us with a few which may have just about fit a 6 year old. Looming in the dusty corner of a shop mocking us however were our last desperate hopes – the comically hideous, enormous flowery granny curtains which had probably not shifted in decades. Dear God. It may have been my only option, but on the plus side, 6 of us had to buy them, so at least we will look ridiculous in unison. No, I do not have a photo. I am sure other people do and one will eventually show up on Facebook, but until I cut it down to at least knee length and remove the shoulder pads (yes, seriously, shoulder pads) I refuse to document this on my own camera.
Iran has been uneventful so far, apart from the old man who decided that when an enormous and pretty damn obvious truck is indicating and has in fact already started to turn left, that’s a perfect time to overtake them. Didn’t go too well for him.
All the guys jumped out to show off how manly they were by trying to push it out, and it seemed like the entire population of the local village drove by to
help out have a laugh, but among the 2 families, motorbikes and cows, there was a guy with a 4×4 and a rope to rescue the situation.
Mmm, now that’s a vehicle worth saving
I for one am very grateful to that man for driving into a ditch as we were pulling off into a bush camp at the time. We were given the choice of whether we wanted to bush camp anyway or drive on to our next stop and potentially not get there til 11.30. Since we weren’t sure at that point whether the Iranians were going to try and blame us for the accident there was a unanimous cry of DRIVE ON from the truck. No camping. Score.
Masouleh tomorrow, and hopefully something more interesting than rusty cars and amusing biscuits to take photos of!