Cycling the Gauntlet: The Caspian Sea - Iran, May 2001

Rosal writes…

The journey down to the Caspian Sea from the mountains of North West Iran is nothing less than spectacular. After an arduous climb against a headwind in the hot and dusty afternoon, our last challenge is a 500 metre tunnel - a black hole of traffic and black noxious fumes that funnels us out to the Caspian side of the Alborz mountain range. Cloaked in a swirling mist, the temperature drops sharply and we're suddenly surrounded by densely forested hills and a sweeping descent of 1500 metres.

Swathes of picnickers gather by the roadside - Samovars on the boil, pots of food that smell delicious, fathers sleeping, children playing and mothers keeping a wary eye over the entire scene. As we swoop down the curling switchbacks alpine forest makes way for thick jungle as we cycle parallel with the border of Azerbaijan.

By the time we reach the 'city' of Astara, the generous road we had been cycling has narrowed and bottlenecked with holiday traffic. The hills, crowded with jungle, spill down to the sea. A small margin between mountain and water intensely cultivated with lush rice paddies surprisingly reminiscent of South East Asia.

The road snakes around the Caspian shore and since the tandem doesn't allow for sharp handling, we're often forced onto the verge by speeding trucks, reckless taxis and over eager well-wishers. Despite the alluring colour of the water and searing heat, we only venture out to the beaches twice. Somehow, swimming with all my clothes on in a segregated area doesn't seem so much fun. However, I'm soon reassured by our friend Ali, a fisheries student, when he glibly mentions Òrecorded radioactivityÓ at the dinner table one evening. Happily, we were eating chicken at the time!

Jaded by incessant traffic we put aside the tandem for a few days and catch a bus to Esfahan, a city of magnificent blue-tiled Mosques set in a classic Persian desert-scape. And besides, it's my birthday. We spend the most part of a morning selecting a Kilim as my present. We choose a simple Baluchi Nomad rug, woven from camel hair and plainly embroidered with a cross in the middle representing friendship between the tribes.

It's been nice to escape to the 'relative' obscurity of being a tourist without the beacon-like effect of the tandem. But the pace just isn't the same and the saddle is calling.

Back on course, the Caspian coast only gets busier as we move east. We pass huge estates marked by grand entrance gates and citrus orchards. Most are based on imposing Spanish style villas and copies of Chinese mansions with curved Oriental eaves. Perhaps as a release from the drab colours of clothing, beach house roofs are painted bright orange, lime green, violet, pink and red. A temporary Technicolor distraction from the traffic.

In stark contrast to the locals, Tehrani brat-packers roar by in shiny 4WDs and Peugeots, stereos pumping. Stopping for our staple kebab at lunch, we're amazed to hear Eminem rapping his blasphemes with volume from a car filled with Iranian boys out to have some fun.

Iran has been a country of extremes: from barren desert to lush jungle, Chador clad women to Eminem, mud homes to Caspian mansions, fundamentalist Islamic sects to hard vodka drinking, Venga Boy videos and soft porn Internet downloads, Iran has it all. But what I wouldn't give for a pair of thongs, shorts, a T-shirt and a quiet country road! Onward to Turkmenistan!

Highlights: Invitations to Iranian homes Home cooked Iranian food, Jungled mountains and Classic deserts Esfahan - relaxed city, Mosques and great Bazaar, relentless hospitality.

Lowlights: Restaurant food Traffic and pollution Discomfort of wearing the veil Police checks.