Don't cha wish your girlfriend was hot like me?
Don't cha wish your girlfriend was raw like me?
Don't cha? Don't cha?

The semi naked Pussycat Dolls teased and taunted me from the widescreen Satellite TV...I stood and readjusted my smoking jacket, tapped out my pipe and looked out onto the streets. It seemed a long time since I'd kissed my (by now ex) girlfriend Celia, goodbye in Southern Turkey. Cue wistful look through window.

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(TIP. Open up the full cartoon page and read the text - it makes more sense!)

Outside, the women of Teheran went about their business covered from head to foot. Where did the men of Teheran meet the opposite sex? I never did find out. I did, however, spend the next few days bathing in the hospitality of my friends - who led me tirelessly through the bazaars, mosques and museums of Teheran.

"Think of Teheran as the LA of the Middle East, rather than an exotic crossroads steeped in Persian splendour..." states the Lonely Planet. It was true. This city is vast. But there is nothing quite like a personal local guide to help you reach the parts other guide(books) cannot reach....

But neither the sights of the city nor the Pussy Cat Dolls could hold me back and I loaded my bike up and set off North across the spectacular Alborz mountains to the Caspian Sea - a destination long dreamed about.

Oh, how I longed to bathe in its crystal clear waters after a long hot day in the saddle. It was not to be.....

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Iran. How would a British biker be received? I was feeling apprehensive.

For the first time on the trip I felt a little uneasy - maybe I should have taken those GB stickers off...relationships between Britain and Iran were tense due to Nuclear issues. I made a note to avoid the topic - stick to talking about the weather...

My destination that night was Tabriz a distance of around 350kms of dust and highway. I was expecting this. It was the 'Dusty Highway' after all....

It was smooth and wide enough but the driving had taken on an urgency... You MUST overtake the car in front NO MATTER WHAT - and it doesn't matter how you do it. And all the cars seemed to be 1970s Hillman Hunters. How did that happen? These cars were at their most dangerous around dusk. I rode into Tabriz - around dusk.....

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The Iranian border. What the hell was I doing here? Now would have been a good point to turn around. It had been a great trip so far...Eastern Europe. The sweeping plains of Hungary...The misty mountains of Transylvania.. The Black Sea coast and Istanbul...The bizarre landscapes of Cappadocia and the wide open spaces of Kurdestan. A great trip. Why go further? I thought as I rolled up to the barriers. This was where the adventure really began....

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What? Still in Turkey. Fear not dear reader - reports from the 'Axis of Evil' soon. Want to get the latest update? Email me at simongoeseast@yahoo.co.uk and get on the mailing list.

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Cappadocia. Is there a landscape like this anywhere else on the planet? I doubt it.

I spent a few days based here at the all too comfortable Paradise Pension. Had the name lured me in? Yes. De-luxe rooms...lounging areas... and roof terrace restaurant. Leave that tent rolled up, my boy, and enjoy the company of fellow travelers. I did just that.

I spent the hours of daylight walking around the surrounding area - open mouthed. Photogenic? With a capital P. Especially 'Love Valley' with it's Phallic rock formations. See it at sunrise. I didn't. It was on one of these hikes that the weather deteriorated and, looking for shelter, I stumbled across a museum. The UFO museum. The UFO museum? Yes.

Dug into the hillside this place is a 'must see'. Crammed with pretty convincing newspaper reports about sightings and abductions in central Turkey. Fascinating reading albeit it a little claustrophobic. Especially when the lights cut out and you're left with the neon glow of alien figures around you.
'Is a power cut! No problem' assured the curator. I breathed a sigh of relief but suggested that he built it in everyday - it added to the experience.

Cappadocia. 'The end of the backpacker circuit' stated the Lonely Planet. 'Only real men beyond this point' I thought, slightly nervously as I headed eastwards. Darkness had already fallen at the town where I'd hoped to find some accommodation, close to the Syrian border.. Nothing there. It was clear that 'wild camping' was my only option. 'Avoid being seen when you turn off the road to camp,' I'd read. The road was busy..the countryside alight with fires - cut throats and wild dogs everywhere, no doubt...What the hell was I going to do...?

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Gumbet. Didn't sound inviting but Gumbet had a campsite. On the beach. It also had a main street full of signs advertising Fish and Chips, Roast Beef and Yorkshire pudding, and Satellite Football. I'd talked my way back into Turkey at Bodrum (Green card wasn't green enough, remember?) and ridden along the coast looking for a campsite, ideally close to the beach. Well, the beach was only a beer can's throw away so I unpacked my tent. Enough traveling for one day..an early night perhaps.

I climbed into my sleeping bag hoping to be lulled to sleep by the sound of the waves on the shingle beach.I would have been if it hadn't been howled out by campsite dogs...who were barking at the guitar playing backpackers...who were trying to be heard above the thumping bass from the nearby 'Club Gumbet'.

'...I can't get no sleep...' sang Faithless. Appropriate. The bass faded at around 4.00a.m. Peace at last. The call to prayer began at 4.30a.m....

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