Travel Tips

It was a 17km ride from the train station near Esfahan along a manic three-lane highway to the Amir Kabir hotel. Wheeling ourbikes through the lobby and into the central courtyard we were brought up sharp by the sight of four touring bicycles before us. And now there were six! Never before have I seen so many touring bikes in one place outside of Europe.

"More bicycles!" came a squeel as Annette bounded into the courtyard. Along with her friend Edith, 'The Girls' (Hol.) had cycled from Amsterdam and were on their way to Kathmandu along the freezing Central Asia route.

Later we met Aidan (Ir.), a techno-cyclist and great lover of music on an ambitious round-the-world journey and then Sabastian (Swiss), the fastest thing on two motorless wheels, also on his way to Kathmandu the chilly way. Molly (Aus.) bussing it around Iran, became the posses enthusiastic groupie.

Suddenly I was surrounded by experts who collectively could answer almost every question I had concerning touring bikes - and there were alot - and I learnt more fromthem than I could ever had taught myself.

Esfahan was very beautiful in a slightly staid sort of way, lacking the rustic atmosphere of some old cities.

Imam Khomeini square, oneof the largest squares in the ... I cant even bring myself to say it anymore ... was a pretty picture of fountains and lawns surrounded by over-prices souvanir shops, the peaceeful surroundings only broken by the clatter of horse shoe on cobble as tourist were led in carriages on a short amble. Though these were mostly Iranian tourist, of course.

At the southern end the Imam Mosque rightly earned the title of one of the most beautiful in Iran. Intricate, dazzling blue tile work, yet secretly I harboured the thought that it was stilljust another mosque. Perhaps I was becoming mosqued-out.

At the northern end, the bazaar led off through brick-roof passageways, mostly selling the usual tourist rubbish and house wares.

There was an ancient palace and tranquil gardens, now decorated with a light sprinkle of sparkling snow.

The Zayandeh River that flowed through the southern part of the city was spanned by five ancient and truelywonderful bridges. We walked the river banks and enjoyed the tea houses there.

I had thought that being further south we might have seen a rise in temperature by a degreeor two. As it was, it snowed on and off for three days. We had no choice but to buy more clothing. By the time we came to leave we both had Iranian made hiking boots and I had a North Face Gortex jacket and windstopper fleece, North Fake gloves and liners and thick socks. Juliet equipped herself similarly and although nights would still be a problem with our thin sleeping bags, we would survive. Though Hagar was begining to wheeze under the weight as he climbed toward 60kg.

The claim that in Iran women wouldnt receive any hasstle is, in fact, slightly misconceived. Whilst making a run to the toilet at 2am in the Amir Kabir Juliet was grouped by an unknown Iranian man. In Zanjan I snapped at the hotel manager for contstantly walking into our room unannounced, obviouslylooking for some pants to sniff and in Tabriz Ana was grouped on a city bus by some guy in spite of the enforced seggregation. Its rarely a serious threat, but it does exist.