Bikes & Cultures: Turkey - Georgia - Armenia - Iran (2025)
2 April - 31 May 2025
From Istanbul to Teheran
along the Black Sea coast
and the Caucasus
Linking Turkey and Iran on two wheels has always been a dream for long-distance cyclists.
In 2024, after a three-month ride, I arrived in Istanbul from Granada. It was a great adventure. For the following spring season I wanted a change of landscape, maybe going back to the north of Africa. My plan was to cycle the Mediterranean coast of Algeria and Tunisia in springtime. I applied to the Algerian visa at the consulate in Alicante but it was a waste of time and money. The frustrating process lasted six weeks and it never happened. They considered that a lonely traveler on bicycle could be a danger for the national security (not a joke!).
Finally, the choice was the eastward route from Istanbul to reach Tehran before the summer heat. My original plan was to ride through the Turkish highlands directly to Iran. But weather was so bad that I had to go down to the Black Sea coast, and then to Georgia, Armenia and finally to Iran.
I had to take many buses because of the heavy rain, snowstorms and dangerous motorways. Also, when I arrived in Iran the heat and lack of time were factors that motivated us (me and Alhamra, the bike) to take some of the various types of buses in this region.
As usual, the best part of the trip has been the encounters. Friends made on the way, short chats with vendors, fellow travellers, hosts. I like so much meeting these people from diverse origins, languages, cultures, religions. We cross our paths during a lunch break or at a hotel reception, maybe a short exchange of words at a museum, or a simple smile. The instant stays forever in our hearts. I wish to remember all these magic moments and reflect at least a few of them through these lines.
This is an abridged version of the journey. I left my notes in a hotel room in Iran. I hope to add more information if I ever get them back.
Istanbul
31 March – 2 April 2025
My flight from Malaga arrived in the evening at Sabiha Gökçen airport. It is not easy to find a taxi with the bike in the big box, but finally a driver accepts to take me with a promise of a generous baksheesh. I arrive at Ata’s place in Kartal, a neighbourhood of Istanbul not too far from the airport. Ata is my host here. He offers me a comfortable bed in his nice apartment, and I stay two nights because of the adverse weather.
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| Ata trying my bike |
Istanbul – Izmit
2-4 April
82 km
A rainy day. I cycle between showers. I start early from Ata’s place and manage to get down to the sea and out of Istanbul with the help of Mapy, a Czech application that suggests reasonable routes for cyclists (which are not included in Google Maps for many countries). I ride on the motorway with medium traffic, then on side roads, always flat. I have a sandwich break at a nice seaside park after Hereke and arrive early to my new host’s place. Ege comes from work and we share dinner. Like Ata, he is a nice young Turkish guy with an active urban and professional life. I also stay two nights here due to the rain, and I take the advantage to visit the wonderful Yeni Cuma Cami, a sixteenth-century mosque. I tried for the first time the delicious sahlep, a beverage made with the roots of a local orchic, and usually flavoured with cinnamon.
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| Modern architecture on the road to Izmit |
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| Maghrib prayer at Yeni Cuma mosque |
Izmit – Düzce
5 April
110 km
The weather improves today, just a bit cloudy and cold. I start after a good breakfast with cheese, tomato, olives and a hardboiled egg with great coffee (thank you Ege!). It is a long way through flat secondary roads, beautiful rural landscapes, and sometimes on the D100 motorway. Suddenly, I am on deep mud on a section under construction. Luckily, it is not too long, and I can reach Düzce and a hire decent hotel room.
Düzce – Bolu
6 April
56 km
First sunny day! I start early after a hearty breakfast including çorba (soup), made of yoghurt, spinach, and chicken kidneys. I enjoyed the journey very much even if it is a hard ascent. The road climbs approximately 800 m through a tranquil forest with beautiful views of the valley. A few houses on the way up and then I join the motorway that goes into Bolu. It is a beautiful city with interesting monuments, mosques and hammams. I stay in a rather expensive hotel (35 euro) since there are no other rooms available.
In the evening it starts raining again. Furkan, who I met through Couchsurfing, shows me around and we go together to drink something at a lively place full of young people (I am certainly the grandpa here!). There are very few veiled women, much less than in downtown Kartal, Istanbul. When I go back to the hotel a light snow starts falling.
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| Furkan showing me around downtown Bolu |
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| Nice restaurant at the renovated Upper Stone Inn, a former caravanserai |
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| Modern mosque in Bolu |
Bolu – Safranbolu/Karabük
7-9 April
147 km (by bus)
Snow, rain, more snow. No way to cycle today. I take the bus at Bolu’s bus station (after a spirited bargaining session at the ticket office and, later, also with the driver). At a mountain pass the driver stops for a while until the rain becomes lighter. We arrive in beautiful Safranbolu (literally, the city of saffron, since it was for centuries a trading and growing centre for spices). The old town includes a number of amazing Ottoman houses, along with mosques, cemeteries, hammams, fountains and caravanserais. I stay in a cheap hostel run by an aged couple and visit the city and the interesting Saffron Museum.
The day after, I cycle to neighbouring Karabük, where Ahmet receives me in his apartment. He is a social worker and is employed by the state to work with children and aged people. It is very cold outside. I stay two nights with Ahmet.
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| Safranbolu (from Greek, saffron polis), a jewel of Ottoman architecture |
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| A Pasha at the Saffron Museum |
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| Sunset at old town Safranbolu |
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| Fatma shaping peruhi dumplings |
Karabük – Amasya
10 April
369 km (by bus)
On the bus again. Heavy snowstorms on the road. We arrived late at Amasya. I cycle through the dark streets covered with snow. Irfan, my host here, welcomes me with a hot coffee at his place. He is a marine engineer officer and spends much of the year at sea. When he is at home, he manages this well-known coffee shop in the city. He shows me my room, at an empty apartment. Amasya is another beautiful historic city, with its characteristic historic houses on the Yesilirmak River and the tombs of Pontus kings carved into the cliffs. I enjoy this place very much, even if the weather is still rather poor. On Friday, I go to the jumuah at the beautiful Mehmet Pasha Cami, Amasya’s largest mosque built in 1486. It is completely crowded and the men make room for me near a column. After the praying, tea and cookies are served outside. It is cold and raining, and someone invites me to more tea in a hall at the madrasa. It is nice to speak with the person in charge of the library. He speaks English and tells me about the history of this mosque, built by a deputy of Bayezid II when he was governor of Amasya. In 1492, when the Spanish kings expelled the Jewish and Muslim populations from Granada and the rest of Spain, Bayezid II sent the Ottoman navy to evacuate them safely to Ottoman lands. He ridiculed Ferdinand and Isabella in expelling a class of people so useful to their subjects. “You venture to call Ferdinand a wise ruler,” he said to his courtiers, “he who has impoverished his own country and enriched mine!”
Heavy snow on the way back to Irfan’s coffee shop.
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| Mehmet Pasha Mosque |
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| Wonderful kebab on lavash bread with ayran yoghurt-based beverage |
Amasya - Samsun
12 April
113 km (by bus)
I start early from Amasya, cycling along the motorway during 10 km up to the bus station. When I arrive, a man gesticulates and shouts to a bus that is leaving: my bus. For some reason it is departing earlier. The driver comes back to the station and takes me with the bicycle (the customary cash arrangement is duly paid). The journey takes almost three hours in spite of the short distance. It is snowing and the visibility is limited. I realise that I took the key of Irfan’s apartment with me. I will have to send it from Samsun back to him.
Once in Samsun, it takes me a while to find my next host’s address. It is a relatively big city on the north coast of the Black Sea (1.5 million population), known as the place where the Turkish War of Independence started in 1919, which signalled the collapse of the Ottoman Empire. Mustafa welcomes me at his apartment. He is a young civil servant working at a government office near here. He is with the blues because his close friend just passed away. The day after he prepares a menemen (or shakshouka in Arabic, a breakfast dish with tomatoes, eggs and green peppers). After that, we cycle on the coastal bike lanes up to his place near Atakum beach. We chat and play music with Virginia, from Equatorial Guinea, and Muharrem, a local musician who plays saz and sings on the style of ancient ashik musicians of the south Caucasus. On the way back, I have a flat tyre (the only one during the whole trip). My friend Çetin of Kesan recommends a bike shop in Atakum, so on Monday I go back pushing the bike. Alhamra is duly repaired, and I come back to Mustafa’s place. We go to the mosque and have dinner together. It seems that the weather is improving, and tomorrow I will be able to continue cycling towards Georgia.
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| Mustafa riding towards Atakum |
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| Ataturk initiated the War of Independence from this Tobacco Pier in Samsun |
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| Freshly baked bread ready to sell |
Samsun – Ünye
15 April
88 km
Very windy day, thankfully tailwind. The roads are not as flat as I thought, and I arrived very tired after a 1219 m ascent to avoid the tunnels on the motorway. Ünye is a nice town on the Black Sea coast. I find a cheap room at the beach hostel, and I sleep lulled by the concert of wild sea waves. After the long siesta, I have cig köfte (spicy meatballs with bulgur) in a small restaurant. On the TV they are showing the snowstorms in Kars, that was on my original itinerary. It was finally a good idea to change my plans and travel on the seaside route instead.
Ünye – Ordu
16 April
74 km
Finally cycling under the sun! It’s a beautiful day and I ride on the motorway. Traffic is heavier, with more trucks from Turkey, Georgia, Ukrania, and many other countries. In Ordu, I find a nice and cheap room at a modern hotel that is completely empty.
Ordu – Tirebolu
17 April
86 km
Cloudy and cold again. It looks like it is going to rain but it doesn’t. Flat road, all the time on the motorway. The tunnels are terrifying: very narrow, dark and extremely noisy. I have the front and rear lamps on, plus a third one that I instal on the back of my helmet. I am also wearing the safety yellow jacket, so I become more visible for the drivers. At a coffee shop, the employee tells me in broken English that last year a Norse cyclist died in one of these tunnels. He was run over by a truck. Not a piece of information that makes one relaxed...
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| Riding into a one of the crazy tunnels |
Tirebolu – Trabzon
18 April
88 km
Nuri is my host in Trabzon. He lives in the mountains, 14 km up from the city centre. After the noisy motorway, it is a pleasure to climb the steep ascent of seven kilometres up to his place. He has a beautiful house with plantations and many flowers. His sister Nurhayat lives on the upper floor. There is another guest, Zari from Iran. Nuri cooks extremely well. He used to live in northern Germany, working in fish distribution networks. He is now retired and travels often. We have a great dinner, and I go to sleep early.
When I wake up there is sun, green mountains and blue skies. It is an amazing view. We work in the garden with Nuri and Nurhayat. It is warm now.
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| The Black Sea is rather rough at this time of the year |
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| Nuri, generous host and cook extraordinaire |
Trabzon – Batumi (Georgia)
20 April
206 km (by bus)
Early in the morning, I go down to Trabzon through thick fog. I find the bus station with some difficulty. There are many more dark tunnels on the way to Georgia, and some of them are six to ten-kilometre long. I don’t want to risk myself, so I take the bus to Sarpi, on the Turkish-Georgian border. It is raining now. After the passport control I ride to downtown Batumi.
The following is one of the greatest encounters in my trip. Vadim and Natasha will host me in their apartment. Their friend Anna is with them, and they give me a very warm welcome at their place. This is my family far from home.
They are young Russians who escaped the war risks at home. They are information technology specialists working on the digital nomad market. Anna, Russian and Armenian, is living in Yerevan and is now visiting her friends here. I feel so good with them. In the evening, they invite me to dinner: khachapuri, khinkali, badrijani, and other delicious local dishes.
I visit Batumi, the second Georgian city, on the Black Sea coast. The architecture of the new buildings at the seafront boulevard is outstanding. I like the Alphabet Tower, that includes the 33 letters of the Georgian alphabet with the design of a DNA double helix. The ensemble of buildings in this area is harmonious and colourful. I also visit the amazing botanical gardens, a wonderful place near the city. We play music with Vadim (he writes songs and has a beautiful voice), Natasha and Anna. It is a great evening.
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| Khinkali stuffed dumplings |
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| Adjarian khachapuri |
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| Vadim, songwriter and great host |
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| Modern architecture at Batumi |
Batumi – Samtredia
22 April
113 km
After a touching farewell, I start my first cycling day in Georgia. The roads are narrow, and drivers speed up too close to the bike. I will have to be careful here. I ride 30 km northwards along the seacoast until Kobuleti, then through the green mountains of the Lesser Caucasus. Weather is fair, even if sometimes cloudy and windy. The road is not too loaded and the hilly landscape is very green. Sometimes people encourage me with a gamarjoba! (hello!) and a big smile.
At Ozurgeti, I cross the Bzhuzhi River and continue up to Nigoiti and finally Samtredia. It is quite a different landscape than in Turkey, both physically and culturally. Instead of mosques, there are many old Ortodox churches and some monasteries. Apart from Georgian, Russian language and culture are present everywhere. There are clear traces from the Soviet period, such as the old trucks that I see on the roads and certain residential buildings. It is not a particularly wealthy country, and agriculture seems to be essential for many people. Samtredia is a transportation hub in Georgia, with railway connections to many other cities and neighbouring countries. I find a small hostel, quiet and inexpensive. In the shower, there is a sign attributed to Epictetus: “You are not your body and hairstyle, but your capacity for choosing well. If your choices are beautiful, so too will you be.” Did the Stoic philosopher work in an advertising agency?
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| The Lesser Caucasus |
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| Old farm houses |
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| Rioni river, on the border of Imereti and Samegrelo-Zemo Svaneti provinces |
Samtredia – Zestaponi
23 April
74 km
I start on a beautiful secondary road to avoid the motorway and its tunnels. I ride on agricultural fields, with poor houses and derelict monuments. In Zestaponi I had to pay an expensive hotel room.
Zestaponi – Khashuri
24 April
73 km
Today is a grey day, rather cold, and looks like it is going to rain anytime. I buy a new phone card and start cycling on a nice road along the railroad tracks and the Chkherimela River. It is quiet here, too quiet, with no traffic at all. After 25 km, off Kharagauli, I understand why: the nice pavement becomes a muddy dirt road and there are works and heavy machinery. I have to push the bike because of the mud and dirty snow. It starts raining. When they see me struggling on the road, the workers (most of them Russian and Azerbaijani) laugh outloud. “What are you doing here?” They ask my age, where I am from, why I am travelling alone. They offer tea and cookies. Finally, a small bus loaded with workers gives me a lift. The driver says that it is too dangerous to drive here. There are many rock and earth landslides on the road. We arrive at Surami and then I cycle the final kilometres up to Khashuri. It is not the nicest of towns. First thing is to give Alhamra a good shower at the carwash, then I find a small hotel and clean myself. It is one of the best showers in my life.
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| Muddy road to Surami |
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| A lift with Azerbaijani road workers |
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| Alhamra taking a nice bath |
Khashuri – Gori
25 April
51 km
I leave Khashuri cycling on quiet rural roads bordered by farms and plantations. At about 30 km, in Kareli, heavy rain stops me under a derelict bridge. I go to the city centre and take a small bus to Gori, where we arrive after crossing Kura River. Gori is the birthplace of Joseph Stalin, the Soviet Union leader in 1922-1953. The atmosphere in the town is rarified by divisions and conflicting views. History weights heavily in Gori, where Russian culture and politics are still present in many ways. I stay at Guli’s guest house. She is a former teacher of Russian language and thinks that everything was better during the Soviet period. “The independence was a big mistake. We are part of Russia, Georgia belongs to the motherland”. During the Russo-Georgian War of 2008, the city was attacked by Russian war planes and occupied by the army. South Ossetian militias were accused of looting, arson and kidnapping (Guli says it is not true).
I visit the Stalin Museum, a metaphor for the conflicting politics in this city and in many parts of Georgia. It includes Stalin’s birth house and his personal railway carriage installed in the garden. The museum is in a palace of the 1950s that glorifies Stalin in six halls with plenty of artifacts, gifts, paintings and photos. Contrastingly, a small revisionist section installed in 2008 in the basement portrays Stalin as dictator, repressor, and genocide. I also visited the War Museum, with a small pro-Russian exhibition.
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| Nice views on the way to Gori |
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| Joseph Stalin's birthhouse in Gori |
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Gori – Tbilisi
26 April
88 km
The road towards Tbilisi presents more traffic than the previous days. I need to be careful with the trucks and buses. In Mtskheta, the Kura River becomes larger, and the narrow road gives place to a three-lane motorway. I approach the urbanised areas near the capital city. After some hours, I find a nice guest house run by the Gogoli family: Asmati and her daughter Ekaterina with her husband. It is a quiet place in a convenient location and has a comfortable bedroom with shared bathroom and kitchenette.
I take the bicycle to a bikeshop. There are many small things to be done, including a funny noise in the rear wheel sounding like birds chirping. I visit the city, its monuments, churches, museums. It’s very pleasant to walk around the old town near Liberty Square. I go to the Juma Mosque, with a very different architecture than the Turkish mosques. It is located near the Zion Orthodox Cathedral, the Great Synagogue, and the Zoroastrian Temple (however, I don't think this should be taken as an indicator of religious tolerance in the country). I also apply for the Iranian visa online, which is duly granted a few days later.
Until now I spent a total amount of 568 euros from the beginning of the journey in Istanbul, excluding the air ticket (average 20 per day).
On Tuesday, 29 April, Estelle arrives from Spain. Minutes after her plane took off in Madrid, there was a massive power outage in Spain and Portugal. Thanks God nothing happened, and her flights arrived safe at Iran.
We rented a car and spent a fabulous week together in Georgia. We celebrated our birthdays. I never expected to be 70 years old, so happy, so lucky, so blessed! We go to Borjomi’s sulphur pools and enjoyed very much the forest. Then we visited amazing Mestia and Ushguli in Svaneti, right on the Greater Caucasus, about 10 km from the Georgian-Russian border. Finally, we drove to Vardzia monastery carved into the mountain, Ninotsminda, Tsalka and back to Tbilisi. Estelle went back home on 6 May with a layover in Istanbul.
Now I pick up Alhamra from the bike shop (new chain, adjustments) and go to negotiate a bus ticket to Ninotsminda at the bus station.
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| The view from our room at Gogoli's guest house |
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| Not everybody in Tbilisi loves Russia |
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| Tbilisi, city of trees |
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| Zion Ortodox cathedral |
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| The Little Synagogue of Tbilisi |
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| Mestia, in Svaneti |
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| Magic Ushguli |
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| Vardzia Cave Monastery, Gogasheni |
Tbilisi – Ninotsminda
7 May
170 km (by bus)
In the bus again (called marshrutka in many former Soviet countries), this time to avoid the ascent to the Georgian highlands that otherwise would take me three precious days. Weather is better now, while the heat is arriving in Iran. I need to hurry. It took time and imagination to accommodate Alhamra in the bus rear boot, but we are now on the way. We arrive at Ninotsminda in the evening. It is rather cold up here. I find a nice room and have dinner at the restaurant nearby. Almost everybody in Ninotsminda is Armenian, and that’s the language they use. The server also speaks Russian but no Georgian. She tells me that they don’t have a problem with being Georgian citizens, but they are afraid of the Russians.
Ninotsminda – Gyumri (Armenia)
8 May
77 km
Wonderful highlands cycling! Firstly on the narrow road up to the border crossing, then on the Armenian side on better highways through beautiful landscape. I meet with Yuri and Laura, cyclists from the Netherlands. We share information and experiences. Once in Gyumri, I stay at Gagik’s house. He is an IT developer, very dynamic and generous. I like this city, with its clean streets, dry weather, and a large historic centre where Gagik shows me the surviving buildings of the 1988 earthquake. While we walk and have a tea in the park, Charles Aznavour's vibrato tenor voice can be heard singing Pour toi Arménie on the public loudspeakers. Aznavour’s Armenian parents emigrated to France from Akhaltsikhe, now in Georgia, near the border. His deep connection with Armenian culture and society led him to support the humanitarian efforts during the earthquake and to fight for recognition of the Armenian Genocide. We see many soldiers in the streets. Gagik tells me that in Gyumri there is a large Russian military base that gives life (and not a few problems) to the city.
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| On the road near the Georgian-Armenian border |
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| Yuri and Laura, fellow bike travellers from the Netherlands |
Gyumri – Talin
9 May
65 km
Wonderful day. Sunny, not too warm. I start on dirt roads with potholes, then on a nice rural road with no traffic at all. In Maralik, I take the motorway, all new, with a wide shoulder and light traffic up to Talin. I stay in a quiet guest house where I’m the only guest.
Talin – Yerevan
10 May
85 km
6.30 A.M. I am on the road, after a cold breakfast in the room. It is easy to get off the city, then through beautiful secondary roads with no traffic. Breath-taking views of the Armenian sacred mountains, Aragats and Ararat (the later now in Turkey). Then I take a new motorway that is still in construction and closed to the traffic. During 45 km I ride alone on smooth paved road. A real beauty! From Ashtarak, another highway, narrow and loaded. Already in Yerevan outskirts, I pass beside a hyperbolic statue representing Jesus. I stay at Ashot guest house, a nice place with a beautiful garden. It is run by a Russian family: Eduard, Sona and their father. The Iranian embassy, where I need to validate my visa the following day, is at a walking distance.
Yerevan is a nice city, spread out over hilly terrain, with magnificent views of Mount Ararat and other mountains in Turkey and Armenia. Regional conflicts with powerful neighbours, as well as the historic hardships suffered by the Armenian people, have shaped the city. I visit the Genocide Museum, opened in 1995 as part of the efforts to research and to make known the mass murders and forced Islamization of around one million Armenians in the Ottoman Empire during World War I. During the guided tour, I notice that the museum staff and most visitors are extremely careful in their comments (except a couple of grande gueule French-speaking tourists who challenge the guide asking more and more details about the killings).
I meet again Yuri and Laura, the Dutch cyclists, and eat a pizza together. I also meet with Anna, who I firstly met with in Batumi. We spend an evening walking around the city, and we have dinner at a special place where they serve the zhingyalov hats, flatbread stuffed with 16 types of herbs (sour, herbal and neutral). Anna also presents me with a new pair of cycling gloves as my birthday present (I lost one of the old gloves on the way to Yerevan).
I am seriously running out of time. The next section in Armenia is hard, with seven high mountain passes. I decide to make it short by taking a bus to the Iranian border.
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| New and empty motorway just for me! |
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| Sacred Mount Ararat, viewed from Yerevan |
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| With my friend Anna at Yerevan Cascade |
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| Mount Aragats |
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| Jesus oversized sculpture |
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| Zhingyalov hats herb-stuffed flatbread |
Yerevan – Agarak
13 May
382 km (by bus)
The “Elite” bus departs sharply at 11 A.M. (no probs with the bike this time). A couple of hours later, after a drivers’ break, the bus doesn’t start again. Transfer to another bus, complete mess with the baggage. I'm seating crushed against the bus door with Alhamra on my lap like a baby. One hour later we make a new transfer to yet another bus. Most passengers are Iranian, very gentle and formal, two of them singing traditional songs at the back seat (they ask me twice if they bother me). Arrived at night in Agarak. I can finally find the “hotel”: it is a ship container converted into apartment. It’s raining when I go to bed.
I stay here three days, waiting for the good weather and eating hundreds of cherries. The landowner, Henrik, has a small farm with plenty of fruit trees, grapevines, and a vegetable garden. He distills vodka with different flavours. He doesn’t understand why I don’t drink alcohol. He tells me (translating with the phone) that they live in a very special place. He comes from a miner family and peace has always been fragile here. The Armenian village of Agarak is on the corridor between Azerbaijan and its Nakhchivan exclave, right in front of Iran, and at about 170 km from Turkey. These countries are constantly on actual or potential conflict (the last serious episode of the Nagorno-Karabakh conflict has been in 2023). Furthermore, Russia and the United States have interests and military bases in this region. Cheerfully, Henrik says this is a dangerous place, but it is also full of opportunities (less than three months later, on 8 August, a peace agreement between Azerbaijan and Armenia was brokered by the U.S. It includes a 43-kilometre corridor, the “Trump Route”, uniting Azerbaijan to Nakhchivan and enclosing Agarak, which will be managed by U.S. American contractors. This gives the U.S. a strong strategic presence in the region to balance the interests of Iran and Russia).
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| Ideal resting place in Agarak |
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| Sweet sujukh delikatessen |
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| My diet of cherries and cherries and more cherries |
Agarak – Jolfa (Iran)
16 May
66 km
I enter Iran through the Norduz border control (it is the only one open between Armenia and Iran). Undoubtedly owing to the early hour, the employees are not too strict and only have a quick look at the passport and visa papers. The bicycle attracts more attention than the cyclist. The route in Iran runs along Aras River, with Armenia on the other side during a few kilometres and then the Azerbaijani Nakhchivan exclave. It is a brilliant day, warm and sunny. The road becomes a modern motorway, and the traffic is rather light. At the entrance to Jolfa, families in their Friday finery spread their picnics under the trees. Children play and some of them smile when they see the foreign cyclist passing by. There is a joyful atmosphere.
A police officer suggests the Tourist Hotel but I prefer a place for locals. Finally, I do not choose the best lodging in town but it is well located and cheap (five euro per night). I change money and buy a new phone card. I can only change a few toman but they are a solid bulk in my pocket. Credit or debit cards from European banks don’t work in Iran due to international sanctions, so I have to get used to carrying considerable wads of bills with me. One toman is equivalent to 10 (new) or 10,000 (old) rial. In everyday business, toman is used more often than the rial. As I write this, one euro is worth 112,000 toman, or “112” (understandably, people avoid using thousands). So, my five-euro hotel per night fare is 560, that is, 560,000 toman, that is, 5,600,000 new rial, that is, 5,600,000,000 old rial. Yes: it is a real nightmare, but my Argentine hyperinflationnary heritage is of great help to make calculations. Also, knowing how to read the numbers in Arabic helps a lot (the Persian language, or Farsi, is written using a script very similar to Arabic, both for letters and numbers).
In the afternoon, I visit the Saint Stepanos ninth-century monastery near Jolfa. The setting is stunning, with the mountains of Nakhchivan and the River Aras as background. I learn that there are about 300,000 Christians in Iran, most of them ethnically Armenian. They are protected by the government and some of them occupy important positions. In the evening, I try the national Iranian dish, chelow kabab. I also buy long trousers to cover my legs when cycling (a protection against the sun, and also to adapt to local customs).
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| River Aras from the Iranian side |
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| Saint Stepanos monastery |
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| In Iran, after the border crossing |
Jolfa – Marand
17 May
76 km
In the morning, I start to climb southwards on the busy motorway and under strong sunlight. It is warmer than I expected, and I need to consume large quantities of water. It is exhausting. When I arrive in busy Marand, two hotel receptionists tell me that foreigners are not allowed to stay in other place than the Tourist Hotel, which is located further on and upwards from the city. The Tourist Hotel is a pretentious building with large halls and red carpeted staircases, but my room is nice and I have a splendid lunch at the restaurant. I am dead tired today.
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| Great roads in Iran |
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| Chelow kabab, rice and grilled meat, the Iranian national dish with a good old Coke. What a feast! |
Marand – Tabriz
18 May
77 km
I waste precious time at 6 A.M. because the receptionist insists on checking the minibar. He sends someone else to the bedroom, who sends someone else, who sends someone else, and it takes ages for them to call back the reception employee, of course with the expected news that nothing was taken from the minibar.
I’m now pedaling uphill on the motorway towards Yam. Heavier traffic, warmer weather, the sun stronger than ever. Then I ride on flatter road through uninteresting landscapes with many manufacturing plants and ugly buildings. Riding on the motorway is tiring. I need to be careful with the many trucks and buses. It is a noisy environment. Iranian cities, at least in this region, seem to be more interesting for cyclists than the roads between them.
Tabriz is a big city. It is the capital of East Azerbaijan province. With 1.8 million population, it is the sixth most-populous Iranian city, and it is famous for the weaving style of its acclaimed rugs and carpets. On arrival, I can hear thunderous fighter jets, so I suppose there is some kind of military facility here (some weeks later, I read that Israeli warplanes razed to the ground an air base in Tabriz). Most people in this region speak Azerbaijani as their mother tongue, and Persian as second language.
I get into the tiresome traffic of the city streets and slowly arrive at my host’s place. I am overwhelmed by Aydin’s generous welcome. After a great shower and litres of tea, we go out together to visit the beautiful El Goli Park. We have more tea and talk for hours. Aydin is a skilled young entrepreneur. He manages a mushroom farm in Marand and is also building a petrol station with a partner. He makes wine, he makes chocolate (delicious…). He is very energetic and dynamic and is well versed in Iranian literature and culture.
I visit the Grand Bazaar of Tabriz, which is impressive, with so many people trading food, furniture, bicycles, and of course, carpets. I also have a good look at the Blue Mosque and at another mosque inside the bazaar. In the evening, we go with Aydin and a friend to see the views of the city from a hill. There is a beautiful mosque on the top.
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| With members of a junior football team near Soufiyan |
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| In Tabriz Grand Bazaar: plenty of amazing carpets, furniture, spices, tea, and many other goods |
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| With host and friend Aydin |
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| Aydin's father Rahim offered me this beautiful flower |
Tabriz – Zanjan
20 May
296 km (by bus)
I say goodbye to Aydin and cycle up to the bus station to take a bus to Zanjan. It is very hot today. The bus leaves me outside the city, and I ride on an access road to the centre, and then to my next host, Behnam. He lives in a nice house with his wife Maryam and their young son Barzam. They are a very nice family, and they give me a royal reception. Behnam works in imports at Aras free trade zone in Jolfa. There is an outage: some say it is normal at midday. It lasts a few hours. The rumour is that young members of the country elite need additional electricity for their crypto business. Sounds a bit like conspiracy theory – who knows.
Behnam shows me around. We visit the bazaar and the city centre, and then we go uphill to see the views. He is a thoughtful and intelligent man. He would like to give a better life to his family, like many here. I understand them. Sometimes, they may feel like surrounded by four high walls: Silence to the north, Darkness to the east, Dry Wind on the west. And to the south, Hatred and Fear.
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| Behnam and his son Barzam |
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| Rose petals at the bazaar |
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| During 45 years, Haji Hassan waited to render this bicycle it to its owner. |
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| Zanjan from the adjacent hill |
Zanjan – Tehran
22 May
327 km (by bus)
Thanks to Behnam, I pay a fair bus ticket price from Zanjan to Tehran. He negotiates in the office and with the driver. I say goodbye to him and sit together with Jaume, from Barcelona, who is traveling with a jeep, which stayed broken in Zanjan. After four hours we arrive at Azadi Bus Station in Tehran. Then we take a taxi (with Alhamra on the roof), and I get down at Heritage hostel in Baharestan neighbourhood.
Tehran is a universe in itself. It seems that the 14 million persons living in the metropolitan area are all the time in the street. Traffic is hellish. Cycling is dangerous, almost impossible. Crossing streets is a serious challenge, no matter if the light is green. I visit the National Museum and meet with Fatemeh and Ali, a friendly young couple from Hamedan and we become friends. Big mosques like Sepahsalar are closed to the public. Most young people with whom I talk about religion are not particularly religious. Shia Islam presents a few differences with Sunni, especially on the historical interpretation of Islam history, and cultural and ritual customs. But I don’t find big differences on important matters. We go to have dinner with Rodrigo, from Mexico, who is in the same hostel and just broke with his Iranian girlfriend.
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| Tehran, such a great city with so much traffic and so many conflicts! |
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| Fertility goddess at the National Museum |
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| Argentina Square |
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| With friends Fatemeh and Ali |
Isfahan, Shiraz and back to Tehran
24-28 May
Thanks to the efficient work of Aram, I have the privilege of visiting Isfahan and Shiraz, beautiful cities in the centre of the country. Aram is a young travel agent well connected with foreign overland travellers in Iran. I meet her in Isfahan, we have lunch together, and she shows me around the city, including the magnificent Naqsh-e Jahan square, bordered with the Shah Mosque, the Sheikh Moftollah Mosque and madrasas, the Ali Qapu Palace, and the Grand Bazaar. Religion, education, government, and trade were the four pillars of Safavid society in the 16th-18th centuries.
In Shiraz, I am blessed with a visit to Persepolis, the capital of the Achaemenid Empire and a centre of Persian identity. Here, the Persian New Year Nowruz was, and is still, celebrated. In the City of Poets, I also go to the amazing Shah-e Cheragh holy shrine, a Twelver Shiite mausoleum from the 12th century. The shrine includes a mosque, a museum and, especially, the tomb of Sayyid Ahmad (the son of Musa Al-Kazim, a descendant of the Prophet Muhammad and the seventh imam in Twelver Shia Islam). The shrine is impressive, with an amazing use of light, featuring Ayeneh-kari decorations with finely cut mirrors that reflect a myriad of colours in every direction. More than anything, the atmosphere of piety and devotion is overwhelming.
I meet Amirhossein, a guide for the foreign visitors to the shrine, who shows me the breath-taking praying halls and rooms. He is a young English language teacher in Shiraz and he also speaks French. We speak about religion and society, and he tells me about the mass shooting in October 2022, when three attackers from Islamic State killed at least 15 people including children. The attackers have been described by the media as being takfiri (a Muslim who accuses another Muslim of being an apostate). I think about a phone message I received from a Spanish Muslim acquaintance in Granada, warning me about the Shia customs and beliefs, and saying that “they are not really Muslims”. It is sad to see these divisions among the people of the same religion.
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| Shah Mosque in Isfahan, known as the Imam Mosque |
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| Famous stamped and hand-painted mantelpieces (qalamkari) at Isfahan bazaar |
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| Naqsh-e Jahan square |
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| With Aram in Isfahan |
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| The most beautiful ATM I have ever seen |
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| We had an interest discussion with Mullah Mohammed |
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| From India, chess traveled to Persia, and from here to the Arabic world |
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| Currency exchange entrepreneurs at the sarafi |
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| Khajoo Bridge with its evening singers and musicians |
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| Representation of a lion (springtime) devouring a bull (winter) in Persepolis |
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| Another style of chelow kabab |
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| At the Holy Shrine of Shah-e Cheragh |
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| With Amirhosein, the official shrine guide |
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| A landmark in Tehran, which has been the scene of many historic protests |
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| With my friend Armin at Tehran botanical gardens |
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| With Darya at her shop (most delicious melon juice) |
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| Abgoosht mutton stew at Dizi Sara restaurant, invited by Fatemeh and Ali |
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| Ibn Babaway cemetery of Tehran |
Tehran – Málaga
29 May
Back in Tehran, I meet Armin, a specialist in apiculture who also drives a taxi in the crazy traffic of that big city. We go to the amazing National Botanical Garden and walk around the beautiful and neatly arranged alleys, ponds and sections with plants and trees from all continents. Armin becomes a good friend, and we share a very nice time that day. I also have lunch with Ali and Fatemeh, who invite me to try the delicious abgoosht (or dizi) stew with mutton and chickpeas.
Alhamra was professionally packed by a bike shop employee in Tehran. When I go with Armin to the airport to take my flight, the airline employees refuse to accept my big box. It takes a lot of time and arguing, and finally I board the plane at last minute without knowing if the bike is in the plane. Long layover in Istanbul. When we land in Spain, the bike is not there but, to my relief, it arrives ten days later.
I am back to the safe individualism of the Western world, where everyday life seems so far from the problems affecting millions of other humans. The Israeli attack to Iran starts more or less at that time. People run away from bombing and destruction. Hatred and fear darken the stars of so many beautiful eyes.
Total days: 51 (cycling days: 18)
Total distance: 3383 km (net cycling distance: 1414 km)
Average distance per cycling day: 78.55 km
Countries: 4
Languages: 6
Currencies: 4
Key equipment
Bicycle: Corratec Allroad Travel I, 28x2.00 (a.k.a., "Alhamra", the Red One)
Phone: Huawei Y5 2019 ("Mr Hu"), with Mapy as GPS
Tent: Forclaz MT900 1 person (not used at all)
Saddle bags: Ortlieb Front Gravel Pack
Backloader Saddlebag: Topeak
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