so far so nepal

24 Oct Karaj

I left Hossain’s with the smile. I stayed there to long and got lazy. The time has come to continue. 10 days have past since I came to Iran and I haven’t seen much more than rainy Astara. Well, and Tabriz, but it wasn’t anything special. I left very early. It wasn’t far to recommended by Hossain place. I had to ride towards Rasht, than to Fuman and from there only 30 km. Because it was raining all the time in Astara, I didn’t have a chance to see the Caspian Sea. 180 km to Rasht was on narrow road along seaside, going through many villages with car repair workshops. Sometimes I have a feeling that beside garages and shops with coca-cola, there is nothing else here. Considering Iranian driving style, it is not surprising, tinsmiths and car painters are everywhere.

Big blue sign informed that to Rasht Ishould go straight and to Gulam Beach turn left. Last time I heard the word “beach” was in Antalya. So I turned, 5 min later I reached huge beach stretching for miles. It was cloudy and breezy, I parked very close to the water. Fishermen were unwinding fishnets and families were picnicking on blankets.

I haven’t even got off the bike yet, when blankets emptied… Iranian question set was different form Turkish. Iranians ask ….

1. Where are you from?
2. How many cylinders in the bike?
3. Whats the capacity of the tank, how many litres?
4. Where do you work?
5. Whats your education?
6. How you’re doing?
7. What do you think about Iran and Iranians.

When they exhaust their English knowledge they start from the beginning, for fun?!. Few photos with my camera and dozens with theirs. Policeman in Paykan (Iranian made car) joined the party as well. As usually, “passport please”. They wrote down my name in some book, using car bonnet as a table.

In Fuman I got lost, nothing new. Signposts in farsi are unreadable to me. At last somebody showed me the right way. I drove until the end of the road, and reached small green valley, where surrounded by mountains small village of Masulleh, was ascending on one of the slope as vine. Roofs of lower levels served as floors of higher ones. No pavements, you walk on the roofs of your neighbours until you reach your house.

Elderly men met on the street offered me sleepover. The house was big, the room I was offered was carpeted, there was no beds. It was big enough for 10 men. I took cameras and sleeping bag with me, which was enough. I forgot to take a towel so I had to use a bed sheet instead. In the middle of the room was a gas heater. I was sweating, but apparently it was to cold for them. From the window I could admire surrounding mountains. I took my cameras and tripod and walked down the village to finally climb the hill facing my window. Mud everywhere, when I reached the place with great view on the village, I was covered with mud up to the knees. The view was amazing, village was not big. According to Surus (guy I met on the street, possibly the only one that speaks languages) 850 people live there. Most of them live from tourism, others have small family businesses, shops, bazaars, bakeries. It was after 5pm, still not dark enough for night shots. I felt it would look fabulous illuminated by street lamps, and I wasn’t wrong. Mist descending from the mountains swallowed house after house. By then, sun disappeared behind the mountains. I’m not sure I was able to capture magic of that place on photos. You have to see it. I haven’t regret any minute I’ve spent there. I came back to the bottom of the village in complete darkness. Next, dinner with Surus and a walk on the village roofs. Followed by tea in a tiny and the best café so far, with burning rubbish bins in front... Mist has completely covered whole village, couldn’t see more than 20 m ahead. Few more drags on apple tobacco shisha pipe and……