So we're really on the road again.
But after a few thrilling kilometers - we feel reborn - the excitement fades and gives way to worry lines.
Back to Tabriz
The boss warned us that the engine might jerk a bit at the beginning, but this jerking certainly doesn't create a good impression. We are not jolted too hard, but gently, which would still mean an unbearable condition for the next kilometers.
So we turn back, the boss receives us with little euphoria, but he grudgingly crawls under the car again, probably wishing us to hell. But his competence does not disappoint us, after a few minutes he gives green light and we say goodbye again, hopefully for the last time.
Through a strange cruel land
Since we are traveling with a new engine, so to speak, it must first be driven in. So we chug along at a leisurely 60 km per hour across this new unknown land.
Not that it's fundamentally different from the desert-like areas of eastern Turkey, no, it looks the same and yet different.
It's the same scorched hills and fields, in all possible shades of yellow and brown, sometimes a few skinny sheep and camels gnawing with relish on withered grasses.
And yet the strange impression emerges that this region is not conspiring against us as in eastern Turkey, there is no hostility, no rejection.
Which is strange, though. Because again and again we pass wrecked cars in all stages of destruction, we dodge the carcasses of run-over dogs, a dead donkey lies in the ditch. A mangled flock of sheep run over. The responsible truck lies smashed in the ditch.
Nobody cares.
A slaughterhouse.
Why do we feel at ease anyway? Is it relief at the end of the Tabriz adventure? Or do we simply feel that we are neither welcome nor unwelcome? That the country doesn't care whether we are here or not?
Strange thoughts.
A village on the horizon
The oil boom doesn't seem to have reached the poorer regions yet.
The few villages, sometimes right next to the road, others far away on the horizon, crouch beneath the merciless sun. Shadowy figures are leaning in front of the poor mud houses, motionless, apathetic. Women wash their clothes by the brook, they do not look up.
But the sky is wide and blue and does not care about the pitiful life on earth.
We drive through a hostile area, sometimes for many kilometers there is nothing but sand and stones and rocks, reddish and brown and yellow and gray, glowing in the heat.
And then there is this all-encompassing silence, only interrupted by the sound of the engine. Sometimes we stop, turn off the engine, listen, and we think to hear a murmur. The murmur of the desert. It is not a sound, it is its absence.
Many years later, in Ladakh, I will remember this murmur, but then it's the murmur of the mountains on the Baby Trek.
Air conditioning would be nice, the idea of a cool breeze blowing through the closed car a dream. Therefore, you think of open windows, but that's not a good idea. The air outside is glowing, no one wants to stick a hairdryer right in their face on the highest level.
Anyway, with each day we are becoming more resistant to the vicious temperatures, good practice for what awaits us in the East.
Stop in Zanjan
About halfway to Tehran, we reach, quite exhausted and tired from the long slow-speed drive, Zanjan.
Nothing special one might think, but a quote from Wikipedia shows otherwise:
In the last days of the regime of Mohammad Reza Pahlavi Zanjan bazaar traders suspended operations for 45 days in protest at the lack of promised reforms.
Once again we realize that small, supposedly unimportant things can have big consequences.
But who would have thought in the fall of 1974 that the Shah's regime would collapse like a rickety house of cards in just over four years? That a fundamentalist Ayatollah named Ruhollah Khomeini would on the ruins of the previous empire found a state of God, existing up to this day under the name Islamic State of God?
Historical developments are unpredictable, inexplicable and sometimes quite crazy.
In any case, the city of Zandjan remains without any noteworthy memories on the way to the east.
Or at least a little bit: while shopping, we meet a young Iranian named Reza. How could it be otherwise - he is interested in everything coming from the West.
And that immediately raises the question of what became of his dreams after the revolution.
Broken dreams.
Tehran monster
After three weeks we have finally reached our first important destination on the way to India - Tehran.
The approximately 300 kilometers to the capital are a pleasant drive, the last 40 kilometers even on a real highway.
Anyone who now thinks of an orderly road with fencing and central strips and - very importantly - the restriction to vehicles, is very much mistaken.
Of course, the difference to the terrible Tahir and similar impositions is significant, and of course we enjoy driving on smooth flat surfaces, without holes, without ditches.
But that's all there is to it, because what's crowding the highway is anything but comparable to European roads.
Everything with wheels or legs frolics happily on the street, i.e. pedestrians, cyclists, children, dogs and other animals.
The hundreds of trucks, always in a hurry, always stressed, try to avoid the moving obstacles with more or less success. Which, oddly enough, actually works.
There is no distinction between allowed and forbidden, it seems that people are enjoying the dead straight road and want to try how it feels. In any case, their faces are cheerful, it looks like carnival.
A haze over the city
The vicinity of the capital is evident from afar in the shape of a huge cloud of dust and haze.
The city counts already many millions of inhabitants (today estimated 20 million!), and although it is actually located in the middle of a desert, the number is increasing.
Here is some information about the city (today):
Almost 8,7 million people live in the administrative city area (according to the 2016 census). The population of the metropolitan region is estimated at around 20 million inhabitants; however, official statistics from 2011 only show 15,2 million people. As an industrial and commercial city with universities, colleges, libraries and museums, Tehran is an important economic, scientific and cultural center and an important transport hub in the country. (Wikipedia)
Welcoming by a monster
On the outskirts of the city - visible from afar - the Shah ordered the construction of another monument to his divine splendor - the so-called Freedom Tower (Persian Azadi), built by the famous architect Hossein Amanat.
Well, as we all know, there is no accounting for taste, but in our humble opinion, it is a pompous, clumsy, tasteless monstrosity that very accurately manifests the character and mind of the revered god-emperor.
We drive past it carelessly before we get sucked up by the traffic.
Traffic hell
The traffic in Istanbul, the previous high point of automotive presumption, is clearly surpassed, Tehran 100 points.
It is of no use that we have been warned repeatedly. Now concentration is required, cars on the right, trucks on the left, pedestrians in heroic attempts to get across the road, just ahead of the bumper. Nobody is interested in the fact that the traffic light is green for them.
The more powerful wins, and these are in no case the road users on legs.
The city is immense, a monster with many legs, a behemoth threatening to swallow us.
And so, with growing despair, we get stuck several times. Thus, we find ourselves somewhere in an unknown place in the middle of the city, moving neither forward nor backward, daily business in Tehran. Although people should be used to it, there is nothing of a relaxed oriental serenity to be seen, on the contrary. There is honking, hooting, cursing, shouting, and damning.
Without results.
What adds to the story is the fact that we search in vain for any indication of the campsite. I specify that at that time neither Google Maps nor navigation devices nor any other tools existed. Just maps and a lot of luck.
This topic will often be at the center of a variety of orientation problems.
The campsite
Well, sometimes even a blind hen finds a grain of corn, and that's exactly how we end up. In retrospect, it is difficult to say how we finally managed to find the campground, which is located quite far outside the city.
Apparently it seems to be the central meeting place for all India- or at least Afghanistan travelers. A motley bunch of hash-crazy hippies who you hardly trust to find their way to the nearest toilet, let alone India. But as we'll find out later, everyone somehow succeeds, even those who are anywhere, but definitely not in our world.
The exact opposite are elder Scout-like gentlemen trying hard to look just as cool as the many decades younger travelers to India. One would not be surprised if they shouted "Be prepared" during the morning muster.
Every cliché is confirmed, every advantageous, every derogatory one.
Nobody cares. Slowly, a kind of virtual family seems to be forming. All with the same goal, all with the same reservations, fears.
But the nice thing is – we are right in the middle, part of the family.
Not a city for connoisseurs
What can a broken water pump mean?
In a country like Iran, a city like Tehran, a campsite like ours - a lot. It's not just a silly mishap, it's a full-blown disaster.
Imagine a water emergency
We in the wealthy west are used to getting everything we want. Energy, food, gas - and water. [I almost dare not mention it, but today, in 2022, decades later, the story looks a little different, but of that another time.]
Anyway, experiencing a real, noticeable water shortage is not at the top of the bucket list. It's quite a horrible, bad smelling experience.
Everyone is crying out for water.
But the toilets are clogged, the taps drip at best, no shower, no brushing of teeth, no water to boil. The manager, who is responsible for repairing the damage as quickly as possible, is usually very cool and easy-going, has little desire to take on the problem. And so he remains what he always was, a pompous wretch.
And we, we have to learn a kind of oriental serenity by relaxedly surrendering to misery.
Wrong expectations
Anyone who thinks of a city like Tehran imagines something oriental, bazaars, Moscheen, dreamy courtyards, exotic people, veiled, with turbans and long lairy clotheswhile she is relaxed and serious about it Muezzin listen.
Not even close.
We have already been taught better with the memorable arrival and now know that this city is anything but a dreamy oriental capital. After we survived yesterday's failure of the water pump to some extent, albeit with a somewhat strong smell, it's finally time to explore the city.
Public transport and other calamities
In order not to unnecessarily wreck our car, which is finally in good condition again, we use what is known as public transport. So-called because they do not correspond to our term at all. They are simply bizarre vehicles that you rarely see.
Outside the city, it is still fairly possible to catch a bus or shared cab, but only until the first interchange.
That's where the first stage to hell begins.
The turmoil is indescribable. Imagine hundreds of people, angry sweating men with black beards, shy women with and without veils, with children by the hand and babies on their breasts, all shouting at once, shouting their respective destinations at the approaching taxis, some successfully , most without.
The traffic is a hell of thousands of vehicles, the air is stuffy with the smoke of the exhaust fumes, engines roar, police officers whistle, horns honk ... You have to experience it and see it to believe it.
The old has to go
The closer you get to the city center, the more western and prosperous the city looks. Boulevards get wider, buildings taller, more concrete buildings, more windows, more huge skyscrapers, you think you are in Manhattan.
This city seems to attract money and wealth like a magnet. Tremendous riches have swept over this country, but above all this city, like an avalanche in no time at all, turning everything upside down.
Nothing is like it was just a few years ago.
But as always, everything has its downside. What we have been frowned upon for a long time - inhuman concrete blocks, polluted air, traffic breakdowns, traffic jams and stress - is celebrating an enjoyable resurrection here. The old has to go to make way for the new.
The old bazaar streets and alleys with their dreamy grocers' stores have disappeared, had to give way. In their place there are now huge buildings with the usual suspects - banks, insurance companies, fashion chains, law firms.
You think you've landed in a fairy tale land, a fairy tale where the evil wizard is invisible, pulling his strings in the background. Where you don't notice that a triage is happening here, where wealth is being redistributed.
A lot to a few, few to a lot.
It's hot and depressing
The environment influences body and mind. You tire quickly, you just want to get away, somewhere where you can breathe.
On top of that, this day generally doesn't treat us well.
The Afghan consulate is closed, we don't find any letters at the post office (have they forgotten us already?), and last but not least we are having the biggest problems to find something similar to a restaurant in this monster city.
A restaurant? What for?
Anyway, in the afternoon the bottle is empty, as they say, and we head home. Or rather, we want to make our way home. But all the effort to find a suitable means of transport in the desired direction fails. No taxi, no bus, no anything to take us to the campsite.
Can you imagine Tehran City losing positive feedback every hour? So we set off on foot, no problem, it's only well over 30 degrees hot, the air is still, the sun is burning.
Nevertheless, at the big square, where we had to change buses for the first time in the morning, we indeed find a cab.
Matching song for the matching year: Roxy Music - Out of the Blue
And here the trip continues ...
