Magical cities
"Isfahan is half the world" people have said about the city
in the middle of the vast Iranian emptiness, right on the old overland
route to Pakistan, India and Nepal. Isfahan was the ultimate goal of this
journey from the start. Plans to travel the Middle East had started to
grow years ago and resulted in me standing in Turkey without an Iranian
visa due to lack of time. That time I flew on to Pakistan, this time I
took my time and was successful. Isfahan to me is one of the cities with
a magical ring to them, like Odessa and Lhasa.
Apart from Iran, my trip led me to Syria and Jordan, with Aqaba at the
far end. This city lies on the tiny piece of Red Sea Jordan shares with
Israel, Saudi Arabia and even Egypt. The area is stacked with remnants
of the past of several cultures and religions. The two main regions I
explored were Persia and Arabia, both Muslim, but far from comparable.
The tremendous hospitality, the diversity of peoples and the breathtaking
views through which I rode overwhelmed me.
Preparation
The route leading me to and through the Middle East was quickly decided
upon. I had been in contact with several knowledgeable travellers and
I had done ample research on the Internet. I had wanted to visit Lebanon
as well, but decided against it due to lack of time. Isfahan and Aqaba
were to be my destinations. I had heard other travellers speak of up to
a year of preparation but I couldn't spare more than two months. Arranging
the visa, the 'carnet de passage' needed for the bike and necessary insurance
was difficult as my regular job as a consultant required most of my time.
I did a lot of bedtime reading on the countries and gathered as much information
on potential technical problems I could expect. I did not know anything
about the insides of my bike and relied on tips German bikers had put
on the Internet. I decided to mount a crash-bar to the sides of my motorcycle
and to attach two spare fuel canisters of five litres each to it. Later,
I was to be thankful for this decision several times.
It was hard for me to imagine the circumstances I could end up
in and to prepare for them. How was I to know that there would
be several stretches of over four hundred kilometres without taking
fuel? Neither did I think I would have a busted rear tire in a
country without motorcycles. The cultures of the Middle East were
more of an open book to me. I knew that dressing properly is crucial,
that the left hand should be used with caution and even that rejecting
a cup of tea is just not done, even if it is your fiftieth. One
of the things I should have done and definitely will do a next
time is to get some practical technical experience first and to
mount new tires.
Departure from Amsterdam
Several people had told me not to take access luggage. I had
thought that as I wasn't wearing a backpack, I could indulge in
some luxuries. I decide to follow the advice and packed only what
I couldn't do without. The side cases I had bought second hand
were not used as everything fitted in the top case and canoe type
bag. The spare parts and tools were fitted to the side of the
saddle and the total of my luggage did not exceed 27 kilos. I
had never driven my motorcycle with luggage and it felt awfully
wobbly and unstable, but I was used to it within a day. Of all
the organisation hassle, the Iranian visa was to be the biggest
hurdle; I had my final meeting with the consul the day I wanted
to leave. This was six weeks after I applied. Around noon I was
given the visa and I left. After saying goodbye to friends, family
and city, I drove through wet Holland and all 'to do lists' just
vanished from my head leaving piece of mind after stressful weeks
of preparation during a full-time job.
Rumania - Regular countryside
traffic.
In the Greek mountains
The trip didn't really start until I reached Igoumenitsa by ferry.
The long drive through Germany and Italy was without much excitement
as I saw these countries only as transit to where it would start.
I had decided to take the ferry from Ancona after having spent
a night in a picturesque Italian villa for a youth hostel. On
the boat I had met a German motorcycle traveller on his way to
his girlfriend in the north of Greece and we exchanged stories
on the rear deck.
Greece took me by surprise by being mountainous, cold and rainy.
I even skidded on some frozen mountain pass, without real damage
fortunately apart from my bruised confidence. Only after passing
the mountains I drove into the warmth I had expected. I landed
past Thessaloniki near the birth town of Aristotle and camped
on an abandoned campsite. The next day I met a Greek on a Honda
Africa Twin (the bigger version of my Transalp) and he invited
me to join him and his family for lunch, which I accepted. I ended
up in the middle of a festive reunion and I listened in awe to
the loud and almost hostile discussions, but was reassured that
it was all in good harmony. I was even invited to watch the very
lengthy engagement video of the eldest son. They thought I was
utterly crazy to attempt a solitary trip through the Middle East,
but waved me off wishing me the best of luck.
As I drove on and crossed the Turkish border I felt a long way
from home. As I watched the surroundings change I felt, more than
I did on other travels that I had left familiar areas. I had been
travelling for a week and already my sense of time had changed
from thinking in hours to thinking in days. The feeling of entering
new regions would only increase when reaching Persia and Arabia.
Mysterious Anatolia
I decided to spend some time in Turkey. I had been there before
and had acknowledged the variety and beauty of this country. I
travelled past Istanbul and Ankara to Aksarai, a small town where
I intended to meet a friend who worked there. The city borders
with Cappadocia, one of the main sights in Turkey, a region full
of underground cities, rock houses and churches and the strange
formations of soft stone resembling fairy chimneys.
On route just before Aksarai I had the first of several near-crashes.
I was driving on a very bad road and my attention was diverted
from the oncoming traffic. A car passed from behind a truck coming
at me and was coming right at me fast. As the driver spotted me
he steered back behind the truck but (probably seeing that I was
a motorbike) changed his mind and drove right at me once more.
To avoid full collision or a crash in the soft verge I swerved
to the edge of the road just missing the Mercedes at terrifying
speed. It took a long while before I stopped swearing and for
my heart to stop pounding. I would recognise this situation dozens
of times, but I would never again be unprepared.
As my Turkish friend was working I roamed the surroundings of
Aksarai extensively. I had a haircut and was reminded that Western
haircuts are a bore compared to the hours of pampering and cups
of tea. After a few days of good dinners, late night pubs, a disco
in Konya and again people declaring me crazy overt my trip I drove
further east. I had successfully convinced my friend and two colleagues
to join me to watch a sunset in Eastern Turkey.
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Vincent
Schuller
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