26th September 2013 Dogubayazit, Turkey to Zanjan, Iran
I got up at 6.00am. Too early for breakfast…... I negotiated the improvised plywood ramp, down the hotels steps in reverse. I spent my last Turkish Lira on petrol to be sure that I would reach the border.
In 30 minutes I was at a very quiet crossing, In the shadow of Mount Ararat.
The Turkish side of the border consisted of 3 phases, a Vehicle registration check, a police exit stamp and a customs check. At this time of morning, there were no money changers about, this was a great blessing. I moved on quickly to a pair of formidable rolling steel barriers. Turkey open their gate to let me exit, Iran took a little longer to open theirs. Once into the Iranian compound a Policeman took a brief look at my passport and then escorted me deep into the office complex. There were many Iranian and Turkish migrant workers within the complex, a lot of shouting and discord. I was lead to the office of a senior Police officer, who I have to say was a joker. I then fingerprinted myself…. twice!! The ink pad was poorly stocked with ink and I’m not sure the fingerprints will ever be of much use. The Police stamped my entry visa (either failing to notice or were indifferent to the spelling of my surname) I then exited into the customs hall. I walked through, then did a U turn to retrieve my bike. At this point Iranian "helpers" attempted to step in and guide me through the remaining processes. I held them at arms length. Most of the Iranian customs officers were informally dressed and it was difficult to identify them (or distinguish them from helpers) None the less my carnet was scribbled on in Farsi on a number of occaisions and stamped once on the back of the page!!?? The customs officers didn’t check the chassis or engine numbers of my bike? All of which defeats the purpose of a Carnet. At this point the helpers again milled around. They offered to escort me to the final barrier. I gathered, by their body language that was the critical element of their work….. they became more insistent, more determined and it was clear this was where they would get their reward. I simply got on my bike and rode away. 2km away, down a hill are a couple of other offices. Police double check everything and then you enter Iran proper.
I changed some money at maybe 20% less than the street rate (I was given 40000IR / £). I purchased petrol at 7000IR per litre…. Do the math! ;-)
I then set out into Iran. I made a few wrong turns and decided to install an Iranian map into my GPS. This entailed getting my laptop out on the side of some dusty road and fiddling around with data cards…. Must have looked very strange / suspicious to passing locals.
Iran is vast and is less developed than Turkey. Petrol stations are fewer and farther between. The landscape from Bazargan toward my destination Zanjan was beautifull. Much of Iran is desert of one kind or another, todays route was mountainous desert, mountains of every pastel shade. Pinks, greens, blues……
I passed several overland cyclists.
On arrival in Zanjan, I headed directly for the cities best hotel. The quoted me $100 or £80. The rate card at the counter was for 1,350,000IR. I couldn’t be bothered explaining that £80 was a rip off given that the street rate would have meant the room should cost £30….. I headed into the city to find a money changer. Good fortune intervened and the first local I asked for help was Amir. Amir took me to the "Sarafi" money changers and I got a great rate for my UK£ (1£=47800IR) For other travellers the word "Sarafi" will unlock a good deal. The exchange rate for the Iranian Real fluctuates wildy. To check current rates google Sarafi + Iran.
Amir and I went for a coffee and chatted about life in Iran. We spent a few enjoyable hours together and then I returned to my Hotel and paid in my newly exchanged Rials. Zanjan Grand 1,350,00IRR / £28
Zanjan Mileometer 19373 ( Miles ridden)
I got up at 6.00am. Too early for breakfast…... I negotiated the improvised plywood ramp, down the hotels steps in reverse. I spent my last Turkish Lira on petrol to be sure that I would reach the border.
In 30 minutes I was at a very quiet crossing, In the shadow of Mount Ararat.
The Turkish side of the border consisted of 3 phases, a Vehicle registration check, a police exit stamp and a customs check. At this time of morning, there were no money changers about, this was a great blessing. I moved on quickly to a pair of formidable rolling steel barriers. Turkey open their gate to let me exit, Iran took a little longer to open theirs. Once into the Iranian compound a Policeman took a brief look at my passport and then escorted me deep into the office complex. There were many Iranian and Turkish migrant workers within the complex, a lot of shouting and discord. I was lead to the office of a senior Police officer, who I have to say was a joker. I then fingerprinted myself…. twice!! The ink pad was poorly stocked with ink and I’m not sure the fingerprints will ever be of much use. The Police stamped my entry visa (either failing to notice or were indifferent to the spelling of my surname) I then exited into the customs hall. I walked through, then did a U turn to retrieve my bike. At this point Iranian "helpers" attempted to step in and guide me through the remaining processes. I held them at arms length. Most of the Iranian customs officers were informally dressed and it was difficult to identify them (or distinguish them from helpers) None the less my carnet was scribbled on in Farsi on a number of occaisions and stamped once on the back of the page!!?? The customs officers didn’t check the chassis or engine numbers of my bike? All of which defeats the purpose of a Carnet. At this point the helpers again milled around. They offered to escort me to the final barrier. I gathered, by their body language that was the critical element of their work….. they became more insistent, more determined and it was clear this was where they would get their reward. I simply got on my bike and rode away. 2km away, down a hill are a couple of other offices. Police double check everything and then you enter Iran proper.
I changed some money at maybe 20% less than the street rate (I was given 40000IR / £). I purchased petrol at 7000IR per litre…. Do the math! ;-)
I then set out into Iran. I made a few wrong turns and decided to install an Iranian map into my GPS. This entailed getting my laptop out on the side of some dusty road and fiddling around with data cards…. Must have looked very strange / suspicious to passing locals.
Iran is vast and is less developed than Turkey. Petrol stations are fewer and farther between. The landscape from Bazargan toward my destination Zanjan was beautifull. Much of Iran is desert of one kind or another, todays route was mountainous desert, mountains of every pastel shade. Pinks, greens, blues……
I passed several overland cyclists.
On arrival in Zanjan, I headed directly for the cities best hotel. The quoted me $100 or £80. The rate card at the counter was for 1,350,000IR. I couldn’t be bothered explaining that £80 was a rip off given that the street rate would have meant the room should cost £30….. I headed into the city to find a money changer. Good fortune intervened and the first local I asked for help was Amir. Amir took me to the "Sarafi" money changers and I got a great rate for my UK£ (1£=47800IR) For other travellers the word "Sarafi" will unlock a good deal. The exchange rate for the Iranian Real fluctuates wildy. To check current rates google Sarafi + Iran.
Amir and I went for a coffee and chatted about life in Iran. We spent a few enjoyable hours together and then I returned to my Hotel and paid in my newly exchanged Rials. Zanjan Grand 1,350,00IRR / £28
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| Zanjan Grand |
Zanjan Mileometer 19373 ( Miles ridden)
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