Back in Europe...

Simon writes:

Back in Europe people are not as friendly (with some prominent exceptions described below), everything is frikkin expensive and the weather is generally miserable. But you can´t argue with clean trains, drinkable tap water and spaghetti bolognaise. Our progress from Istanbul to Switzerland (where we are currently enjoying the hospitality of the lovely Juhani and Karolina) has been swift.

For the record, and after repeated nagging from the penguins, here`s how we got here (Zurich) from there (Istanbul):

Train from Istanbul to Sofia, Bulgaria, where the penguins got addicted to gambling and Noelle got into the Easter spirit;


train from Sofia to Frankfurt via Belgrade train station, Serbia, where we avoided the attentions of bandits, donated drinks and pastries to a penniless young Aussie traveller with a bad cold and gave in to the penguins´ demands for yet another photo op;

train from Frankfurt to Dusseldorf, where we met the sublimely cute Maisie and the rest of Noelle´s cousin´s delightful family before they set off on their Easter hols.


Speaking of Easter, we´ll be back in the UK on April 9th, I´ll get to wear a different pair of trousers and you´ll all be spared my pathetic drivel on this blog for ever more. Hurray!

Istanbul

Simon writes:

In order to survive a Turkish bus journey be sure to first arm yourself with:
a) A pair of teflon-coated testicles to withstand the searing heat of the engine, which is pumped directly into the groinal area if you happen to be sitting in a window seat near the back.
b) An ability to enjoy (or at least endure) the worst film ever made. Dubbed. In Turkish.
c) Flipping great wadges of cash. Coming from Iran, the cost of coach travel and the (admittedly pretty good) food at the rest stops was a bit of a shock.

Don´t say you haven´t been warned. I learned the hard way.

So we´re in Istanbul eating and boozing mostly. Most of the pictures I´ve taken here so far are rubbish so this little collection is from Cappadocia (crazy rock formations, underground cities, caves/churches carved out of the rocks etc):





Seeing as it appears this computer is refreshingly fast at uploading them, here are a few pics from Istanbul, including one of this paragon of cultural sensitivity visiting one of Islam´s holiest sites. The logo was even less subtle on the front, but I didn´t have the balls to photograph it (see above):

Tehran to Turkey

Noelle writes:

After braving the streets of Tehran (apparently traffic is the most dangerous thing to foreigners in Iran), we took an overnight bus to the Turkish border where we were met with a snow storm.

We are now in Goreme, Cappadocia (thanks for the suggestion Belinda) where we will relax with some hiking for a few days before heading onto Istanbul.

This is basically the Tehran equivalent to the 401 in Toronto or M25 in London. Although there are supposed to be 4 lanes of traffic the Tehranians have decided to take it upon themselves to create 5 instead. We saw a few accidents but not nearly as many as you would think.



The road from the Turkish border crossing.



The view from our hotel room in Goreme.

The prettier side to Esfahan

Noelle writes:

Although Simon is right that there is evidence of nose jobs all over Esfahan there is also a much prettier side to the city. Here are a few pics from some of the most beautiful mosques in the world.










Esfahan is also home to some very cool bazaars.




And bridges.





We also had lovely walk along the river bank where we met this family from Shiraz who asked us to join them for some tea. Tea turned into three hours of hand gesture communication and a shared picnic lunch with them.

Rhinoplastic fantastic!

Simon writes:

Reading about the horrors of the economic slowdown from afar, I'm half expecting to return to the UK to find hordes of hollow-eyed people shuffling about trying to sell their own urine in exchange for wheelbarrows full of worthless cash.

I'm sure it's not that bad, but even if it was you'd hardly know it in Iran. Here the streets are crammed with people buying designer labels, mobile phones, stupid haircuts and, most astonishingly, nose jobs. Yup, ancient Persia has transformed itself into the rhinoplasty capital of the world. A sculpted schnozz is apparently cheaper and better here than anywhere else. The evidence, in the form of tell-tale facial bandages, is everywhere. Maybe this is what's keeping the economy afloat.

The penguins wanted the "procedures" of course, but as a foreigner it's impossible to get money out anywhere in Iran so we've been having to spend our cash carefully. I've so far been unable to upload a pic of me taking matters into my own hands. Prepare yourselves...

Success!



So we're in Tehran (a dump if ever there was one!) trying to sort out transport to Turkey. With any luck we should be back in Europe within about a week.

Esfahan

Simon writes:

We're now in Esfahan (Iran) fighting off carpet salesmen and enjoying the bazaars, the cleanliness, the pretty architecture and the food. After three days in Yazd and one here, we're well rested, well-fed and well-watered. Lovely. Here are some pics:




A few days back it was all so different. The Quetta (Pakistan) to Yazd (Iran) section of our voyage confirms us as full-option travelling legends: a quite staggering amount of Iranian police-induced ballache sandwiched between two consecutive night buses PLUS a cheeky bit of runny poo thrown in to spice things up a bit.

If somebody in Pakistan tells you that the bus you're buying a ticket for is an "AC" bus, this is a lie. The air conditioning on Pakistan buses NEVER works and the music system ALWAYS does. From the very start this gives the washed out traveller two major irritants: blaring music all night (drivers are no respecters of anybody's wish to sleep) and, if you're travelling on unpaved roads, a never-ending mouthful of grit. Then there's the chain smoking of course. There's likely to be loads of pointless flashing lights as well.

Still, the Disco Bus from Quetta (as it shall henceforth be known) was a pretty trippy trip if you know what I mean. Pakistani trucks are cool - brightly lit reflective beacons crawling across the desert at night like huge phosphorescent bugs. At a pit stop for "lunch" at 11pm there was a coach with reclining seats and cup holders stuffed with live sheep. Odd.


Back on the Disco Bus, the driver decided to turn the volume up. This driver was a complete lunatic of course. On the parts of the road that were narrowly paved his tactic of playing chicken with the oncoming lorries to get them off the road added to the torment of my mangled bowels.

Six hours in Taftan ("hell on earth" according to the guidebook) waiting for the Iranian border to open wasn't much fun either. We spent a further six hours on the Iranian side waiting for our police escort. This included being shouted at by an immigration official when I asked him why only I was being finger-printed - "Ask your government! Ask your government!" Sheesh! Calm down, mate.

Here's a wee factoid for you: 85% of all the opiates in Europe plus the occasional knackered Westerner comes through Iran across the Afghanistan/Pakistan border. Drug dealers nab Westerners when they want compensation for a big bust apparently. For this reason we had to have an escort. After about three hours he turned up: an unarmed wee man in a green uniform who insisted we take an overpriced taxi to the nearest town. Ivo, a highly strung Czech fella who'd come from Quetta in the same bus as us, was having none of it. We convinced them to let us go in a minibus for half the price. Ten minutes out into the desert the bus stopped and we, plus some random punter, were told to get off. We began trudging up the road after our passports, the wee man and the random fella. A taxi pulled up and we all got in, including the random punter. Hmm. I sensed foul play, but we didn't really have a choice.

Four hours, two police stations, three police cars and countless clueless police/army officers later we were finally left alone at Zahedan bus station (only an hour's drive from the border) to continue our journey - another night bus, this time mercifully quiet and squeaky clean. The whole day was all very bewildering. Poor Ivo was livid - "We are guests in your country (pronounced as in "bounty") and this is how you treat us etc etc". I thought I was going to have to physically restrain him at one point. To be fair, the coppers were all very nice and presumably had no idea what we'd been through. One of them even spoke very good German, so he and I chatted away for a bit.

Ciao for now!

Oh, by the way, the beard's gone. I have of course got some comedy shaving pics but I'll be damned if I put them up here!

PS: Here are the penguins in Pakistan:

Quetta

For all those concerned, we left Lahore before the attacks and are now in Quetta. The plan is to head to the border on the overnight bus tomorrow.

Lahore, Part Deux

Simon writes:

In response to a pointed email from a fella known to me (and selected others) as Monty about our blog thinning out somewhat, here follows a long-winded account of our experiences of the past few days. Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, I give you the best tourist destination in the world: Lahore, Pakistan. Fact.

Although a depressingly large part of our popular "culture" endeavours to suggest that everybody should aspire to become famous (I'm thinking of vacuous travesties like Big Brother, Pop Idol etc), very few people are able to feel like a genuine celebrity, still less to feel truly important and justifiably valued by complete strangers. As a foreigner in Pakistan, things are different. The hospitality and kindness of the Pakistani people is truly humbling.

The other night we were taken to a music festival courtesy of the hostel we're staying at. The place was already packed out when we arrived - hundreds of people sitting cross-legged on mats in front of a huge platform occupied by VIPs garlanded with flowers. We were ushered to the front to hastily vacated sofas, given free mineral water, soft-drinks and food and treated to the most amazing evening of Pakistani culture.

There were fiery Imams giving sermons on how to be a good Muslim and then breaking into song, an extraordinary little child that sang Sufi tunes and worked the crowd like somebody ten times his age and the opportunity for us to crowd surf (we politely declined) to the sounds of a singer/rapper accompanied by a human beat box. The whole atmosphere was sweetened by rosewater sprayed over our heads at regular intervals. Later one of Pakistan's most celebrated Sufi bands showed up to wild applause, jostling crowds and TV cameras. Eat your heart our Simon Cowell.

The whole evening was hosted by this splendid individual:

With tears in his eyes he made a welcoming speech (later translated) for us about how, no matter where we came from and no matter what religion we were, we are all brothers and sisters, we all bleed red and we are all part of one humanity.

Apart from being genuinely touching, this speech made us feel slightly less tense about the random cross-eyed bloke with a machine gun who was guarding one of the VIPs very near to us and who seemed to see no issue with jostling and pushing the crowds with one arm while holding his loaded weapon in the other (well, this is Pakistan after all!). I do have a photo of him but damn it if this sodding machine won't upload it!

Almost every night we've been in Lahore there's been a cultural treat for us to enjoy (I'm aware that this phrase sounds proper sucky but I couldn't think of anything else). There have been concerts on the roof terrace in our hostel and a wild Sufi drumming night with sweat-drenched dancers working themselves into a trance. I have video evidence.

All the while, we've always felt welcome and never felt threatened. A wander round the old city was accompanied by phrases like "Hi foreigners, hi!", "We love your people!" and "You are our guests here." This last one came from a steward at the cricket ground who let us in for free to see the first day of the test match between Pakistan and Sri Lanka yesterday. There we met "Uncle Cricket", Pakistan's most famous cricket fan who showed us his international photo album and (of course) gave us some of his food. I also had the opportunity to explain the rules of the game to an agreeable American guy from Idaho called Chad. Again, I have pictures but no way of uploading them (the ones I have managed to upload were done yesterday).

In short, people: go to Lahore! Do it!

There is but one caveat to all the legendariness (and no, I don't care that this is not a real word) that is Pakistan: the possibility of the surprisingly sudden onset of a virulent and downright explosive stomach complaint that turns one's body from a blushing grape of joy into a shriveled raisin of despair in just a few short hours. Alas, such an eventuality has come to pass. I'm convalescing...

Next up it's Quetta, Balochistan and Iran (we have the visa and the safety assurances).

More pictures: