Travelling with a Folding Bicycle

Monthly Archives: March 2018

ISTANBUL and BACK

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What happens when a long dreamed, awaited and imagined journey … becomes reality?
First of all, you try to live it to the fullest – and for as long as you can – collecting experiences, places and meetings, which one day will become your memories of the Silk Road. A baggage of indelible – and incredible – memories, which you would never think you could be able to create.
Then you leave your bicycle somewhere.
Because even if you want to believe that by now everything is all over … you actually know that nothing will ever end.

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8 December, Istanbul ◀ Day 437 🇬🇪 – 🇹🇷 ▶
Turkey’s first welcome, with a chaotic and tedious border crossing in the middle of pushes, crying children and a heavy storm, was not absolutely the best.
Probably it wanted to make me pay somehow my decision to cut it all – at this stage – with a long bus ride from Batumi, with no stop whatsoever in between.

But then Istanbul’s greeting arrived.
With these colors and shapes, just after yesterday’s post about sea and seagulls on a gray Georgian coast.
So I still have to understand how to recover from the amazement for such a sudden change.
And such a beauty.

[ 8 December 2017 ] Istanbul (Turkey). 5 pm.

9 December, Istanbul ◀ Day 438 🇹🇷 ▶

 

13 December, Istanbul ◀ Day 442 🇹🇷 ▶
I wanted to write a single post about Istanbul.
I wanted to do it tomorrow, on my last day in Turkey before going back home.
Every evening, though – whether I’m walking on the European side of the city or whether I’m on a boat or directly on the Asian side, where my hostel is located – Istanbul gives me something like this.
While the seagulls sing.
And me with them.

[ 13 December 2017 ] Istanbul (Turkey). 5,30 pm.

14 December, Istanbul ◀ Day 443 🇹🇷 ▶
It is no coincidence that Istanbul is the final stage of this part of the journey.
I’ve never told anyone, but Istanbul has always been there.

When, more than two years ago, I decided that it was time to leave for a while, nobody knows that the first idea I dreamed upon was to reach Istanbul by bicycle.
Not a folding one, nor on a hybrid trip; I really wanted to pedal all the way.
The reason why I chose Istanbul is unknown to me. It sounded distant and exotic, and that was enough for me to elect it as the destination of those hypothetical few sabbatical months.

But then my idea changed.
The idea of travelling with a folding bicycle arrived and I went for a more “feasible” – and never regretted – route to the Cyclades.
I actually touched Istanbul, just before flying to Santorini, working with a friend on a cruise group.
I remember very little of that day, and the city was given too little tome to leave something unforgettable.
But I also remember that, after the ship left the harbour and I was staring at the bay unfolding in front of me, I was not able to distinguish the end of the byzantine metropolis. Istanbul was everywhere. Immeasurable. It only disappeared after more than an hour; only when the earth, now imperceptible, matched with water.

At that moment I promised myself I would have come back one day.
I never thought, however, that I would undertake such a long route to do it: Europe, Russia, Mongolia, China, Southeast Asia, China again, Central Asia, Iran and then the Caucasus, in almost 15 months of travel, have been an incredible viaticum which I could simply never imagine before.
And so tomorrow, after a whole week in Istanbul, I will leave the place that was supposed to be the goal of my first hypothetical journey.

The idea is to come back again. In spring, with warmer climate, so to close the whole circle with a new slow way by land.
But ideas, as already happened, may change; I can’t know what will happen in the coming weeks and the next months, just as I can’t be totally certain that I will manage to complete the whole thing as I have planned to do. The bicycle, if nothing else, will stay here to remind me of the commitment.

Although one thing is certain: my bicycle is not the only thing I am leaving here, this time.
A part of my heart will remain firmly bundled up In Istanbul too.
And no way I’ll try to steal it away from here.
Ever.

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15 December, Istanbul ◀ Day 444 🇹🇷 ▶
Honestly, it seems strange that nobody really thought about it, buuuuuut … what if it all was another joke?
Then don’t tell me I didn’t say anything 😂😚

[ 15 December 2017 ] Istanbul (Turkey). Sabiha Gökcen Airport. 10 am.

BACK HOME
So no, it was not another joke.
Got to be Santa Claus for someone new, this year.
And I cannot wait.

[ 17 December 2017 ] Rho (Italy). 12 am.

GEORGIA: Caucasian chronicles (Part 2 – 26 November / 7 December)

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If – after China, Central Asia and Iran – Armenia had suddenly cleared the table, Georgia was about to overturn it completely.
The charms of Tbilisi, the history of Uplistsikhe and Gori, the magical views of Mtskheta and the snowy peaks of Kazbegi; few – cold – days, yet one of the purest and most enduring gems of my entire journey.
And then a race to the shores of the Black Sea, before the last, long ride to the borders of Europe.

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26 November, Armenia – Georgia border ◀ Day 425 🇦🇲 – 🇬🇪 ▶
History, culture, traditions, food, mountains, lakes, monasteries, people: ten days in Armenia left me breathless.
In all senses.
For the cold especially.
Caucasian frost started seriously to show its teeth.
Someone told me that Georgia, with its slightly mild temperatures and famous wine, is able to offer more various choices. And warm ones.
So here is the thirty-first frontier of this journey.
With woolen socks wrapped around my crumpled trousers and the look of a beaver at the Oktoberfest, I think I could have started better with it.
But if it must come to wine, then I can say I’m more than ready!

[ 26 November 2017 ] Armenian – Georgian border. 5 pm.

28 November, Tbilisi ◀ Day 427 🇬🇪 ▶
A few hours of sunshine, damp cold, gloomy sky, rain and then a funny influence. Georgia hasn’t greeted me that well so far.
But Tbilisi, for the very little I could see … what a lovely surprise.

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29 November, Gori ◀ Day 428 🇬🇪 ▶
Who knew that a few miles away from Tbilisi there is an ancient cave town that boasts more than 3,000 years and the birthplace (as well as museum) of one of the most important and controversial figures of human history?
Uplistsikhe and Gori, these are the names.
Well, I did not.
I always read very little, about a country, before entering it.
Also to be even more surprised, if possible.
As is certainly the case with Georgia and the entire Caucasus itself.

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30 November, Mtskheta ◀ Day 429 🇬🇪 ▶
With the sun – especially after three days of clouds, cold and gray – everything is more beautiful.
Then imagine a place that is already wonderful by itself …

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1 December, Kazbegi ◀ Day 430 🇬🇪 ▶
Then it happens that yesterday, seized by an indomitable bitterness, I felt the urgent need to mix the cards.
To go for a big change – even for a few days – towards other landscapes, other climates, other atmospheres.
So, in coincidence with the arrival of the last month of the year, I left the bicycle and a bag in Tbilisi and bought a low-cost transfer for a country which I never thought I would touch during this trip (even if I got really close to it in a couple of circumstances).
A country whose 5-letters-name starts with a consonant and … ends with a consonant.
Which one may it be?
A clue could be this photo, where I’m sitting right in front of one of the highest peaks of the continent I am in.

Or maybe I’m just kidding.
And this is still an incredible piece of Georgia.

[ 1 December 2017 ] Stepandsminda (Georgia). Kazbegi Peak. 3 pm.

2 December, Kazbegi ◀ Day 431 🇬🇪 ▶  VIDEO

 

3 December, Kazbegi ◀ Day 432 🇬🇪 ▶
For Georgia is a small country, without history, charm, energy and places of any kind of interest.

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4 and 5 Dicembre, Tbilisi ◀ Days 433 and 434 🇬🇪 ▶
“Which one would you like to be? And for what reason?”
It always started like this.
A simple game – or amusing pastime – my father used to carry on for hours, when we were walking in the mountains, with me and my sisters (and sometimes even mum, cousins, uncles, friends …)

“Which animal would you like to be?”
“Which plant?”
“Which bird?”
“Which flower?”
“Which historical figure?”
“Which city?”

The possibilities were many, the variables were infinite. Sometimes we had to start from a single letter, sometimes instead we were totally free to pick up an answer.
The nice thing, however, usually was not the answer itself. The reason was the most interesting part of the game, and sometimes even the most funny.
A game that could truly go on for ages – “Come on daddy, another question! The last one!”- and which certainly would allow our parents (and ourselves) to investigate, over the time, about our characters, our inclinations, our personalities.

I don’t know why this thing came into my mind today.
Perhaps because, after having been here for more than a week and therefore after having made it the capital where I voluntarily stayed longer throughout this journey, to the question “Which capital would you like to be?” I know for sure that today I would clearly give a very straight answer: “Tbilisi!”

And the reason?
Easy.
Because wherever you go and wherever you look at it, at any time during the day and with any possible weather condition (though I can only imagine its magic on a spring day), Tbilisi gives always the same unreal feeling.
Of being in a painting.

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6 December, Batumi ◀ Day 435 🇬🇪 ▶   VIDEO


7 December, Batumi ◀ Day 436 🇬🇪 ▶
Staring at the sea after a long time, always brings very special feelings.
Like the waves break on the shore and the water fights with the land in an endless battle with no winners, so the heart shivers, emotions are untied and imagination, feeding itself on wind and salt, becomes a seagull.
The last time I was in Koh Tao, in a warm and colorful Thai March.
Today it is in the Batumi bay, on an cold December day when snow has reached the mountains of western Georgia and I have finally understood why it’s called Black Sea.
My eyes open wide and my sight flies far.
To the left, or South-West, following a bland coast that slowly fades into indefinite gray.
There where is a new country – soon to be entirely crossed in an endless bus-ride – and where one of the largest and most sensational cities in the world already started singing to my ears.
Istanbul.

[ 7 December 2017 ] Batumi (Georgia). Facing the Black Sea. 3 pm.
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ARMENIA: Caucasian chronicles (Part 1 – 16/25 November)

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One month in Iran had plowed deeply in me; I wanted to stay there much longer, but the Caucasian winter was already preparing its grip. Armenia and Georgia – I confess – were two big question marks for me. Knowing nothing at all about them, the shock was immediate.
Ancient Persia was only a few kilometers away; however, already in Meghri, the change was impressive.
So Armenia presented itself like that, subverting everything.
A secret land, tender but sharp, proud and never tame, with a long, incredible and controversial history, where nature and monasteries recall everywhere tales and wounds which are still alive. A rough and difficult corner of the world, dug between boundaries of all kinds.
Nevertheless … of a boundless beauty.

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16 November, towards Meghri ◀ Day 415 🇮🇷 – 🇦🇲 ▶
“But you’re such a fake!” – a friend told me yesterday. “You almost never pedal! You’re the worst cycle-traveller I’ve ever met!”, he added laughing, mocking me a bit.

But actually it’s true.
In the first part of this long journey I travelled many more miles on my bicycle than what I’ve done during this “second round”.
But there was also much more to do – and to cross – between China, Central Asia and Iran – and so I chose to spend more time in the cities, using the bike as my private taxi to discover a bit more about those countries I really wanted to explore since a very long time (but losing also something from that truest adventure which is made of simple cycling, remote villages, campsites and endless roads).
Or maybe, with all this going, I just got lazy

Anyway, every time I choose to ride my bicycle … is always a really embarrassing show.
And with today, Armenia 🚲

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17 November, Meghri ◀ Day 416 🇦🇲 ▶
So last night I made it to Meghri, Armenia. Instead of leaving immediately to Yerevan, the capital, I decided to stop here for a day. Iran is only 5 kilometres from here, but yet I needed a brief break to get confident with the incredible change. From mountains to colours, from cars to fruits, from rivers to trees, from homes to faces … everything here is so hugely different from where I come from. And I have to confess I really don’t know anything about this country. But if the start is like this, then Armenia will not take long to conquer me deeply.

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18 November, towards Yerevan ◀ Day 417 🇦🇲 ▶
“NE PONIMAYU!”, I had learned to say in Russia, over a year ago, whenever someone tried to talk with me, believing I was Russian.
I thought I would have never used it again, but I found myself saying it several times between Kyrgyzstan, Kazakhstan, Uzbekistan and even, even if for a few hours, in Turkmenistan.
“NE PONIMAYU!”

Once I set foot in Iran I thought I could start forgetting it, as with the other few Russian words I’ve learned during the last months.
But then, again, in Armenia.
“NE PONIMAYU!”
In Georgia it will probably be the same, for so vast is the part of the world where Cyrillic alphabet and Great Mother’s influence are – or have been – an integral part of everyday life.

“NE PONIMAYU!” – (НЕ ПОНИМАЮ in Cyrillic) such an easy and funny expression to remember – simply means “I DON’T UNDERSTAND!”.
But what is that I really do not understand?
Russian only?
Or the reason I find myself here now, still on the road, after choosing to spend almost two years of my life just travelling?
My beard changed, the wrinkles under my eyes changed, and yet my own eyes have in fact been constantly changing, throughout this time, feeding themselves with continuous experiences.
But me, with my being, my soul, my spirit (call it however you want) … have I really changed?

I often ask myself.
Every day, to be honest.
The answer, moreover, I have not found yet.
Or maybe, as I am more inclined to believe, I always had it with me.
And one day, sooner or later, the entire painting will be clear to me.

I hope so, at least.
Because in the meantime, being still an absolute beginner myself – or maybe because I do not really know what else I could do – I keep going.
And repeating it, even when it’s not needed.
“NE PONIMAYU!”

[ 18 November 2017 ] Road to Yerevan (Armenia). 3 pm.

20 November, Yerevan ◀ Day 419 🇦🇲 ▶
Founded by the kingdom of Urartu in 782 BC, place of ​​great importance for caravan routes on the Silk Road, Erevan (or Yerevan) has lived a number of countless lives. Capital of the first officially Christian state in 300 AD, it was for centuries disputed between Persia and Ottoman Empire and then in the early ‘800 occupied by the Russian Empire, which formally no longer left it. After the Bolshevik Revolution was proclaimed the capital of the Armenian Soviet Socialist Republic and, following the collapse of the Union in 1991, became the capital of the newly-born Armenian republic. In short, a city which boasts a colossal story (as perhaps no other in the world), subjected to domination and influence of all kinds.

Yerevan, today, is simply a place where you can not understand anything (at least me); maybe because it stands on a past that is too impressive to be understood, or maybe because it lives on a present which still is impossible to decode. Poor, proud and full of rivalry. A present that is still struggling to find its own way … but whose potential, as well as its forms of expression, is really infinite.

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21 November, Yerevan ◀ Day 420 🇦🇲 ▶
Stories of ancient monasteries, of candles in the dark, of Roman temples, of rotten taxis, of free animals and stunning villages, of impetuous rivers, of endless skies and even more endless mountains.
These are the most authentic Armenian stories.
And the more spectacular ones.

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22 November, Yerevan ◀ Day 421 🇦🇲 ▶
Sometimes it is difficult to talk about some places.
Or impossible, so deafening and devastating is silence they are able to generate only with their simple presence.
Witnesses to imperishable memory of stories of atrocious inhumanity – more often almost unknown nowadays – and whose mere thought calls only for shame, prayers, and the desire to be wind.

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23 November, Sevan ◀ Day 422 🇦🇲 ▶
“In Armenia? By the end of November?”, they asked me.
“But it’s freaking cold!”, they told me.
“You will end up frozen, there in the mountains!”, they prophesied.
They were not that wrong, after all.
But how monstrously beautiful is it?!

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23 November, around Dilijan ◀ Day 423 🇦🇲 ▶
Haghartsin & Goshavank.
They could easily be two Tom Bombadil’s snack friends.
But they are two more simple, though imperious, treasures of Armenia.

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IRAN: in Wonderland. The real one. (16 October – 16 November)

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The flight from Turkmenistan was not planned, but happened in record time.
Two months in Central Asian countries had given me so much, but Iran’s call was now out of control.
Thirty-three days, a birthday, a stolen phone, nights in trains and in deserts, minarets, teas, bazaars, spices and non-alcoholic beers; and then traditions, cultures, religions, citadels, gardens, parks, landscapes, flavors and stories of a land with a million-year history.
But most of all, the warm hospitality and the smiles of a unique … and simply unforgettable people.

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17 and 18 October, Mashhad ◀ Days 385 – 386 🇮🇷 ▶
After the discomfort experienced in less than 24 hours in Turkmenistan, Iran started with a boom.
And what a boom guys!

I was told about the wonderful hospitality of the Iranian people, but I never expected such a level.
Just walk on the street asking for direction and a guy on a scooter will pick you up; ask someone where you can find a place to eat and you will escorted and offered a dinner; visit a holy place and you’ll receive a private two-hours-tour by some English speaking volunteer professors.
Iranians, to make it short, are so far absolutely incredible.

And then Mashhad, the city where I arrived immediately after the border.
The holy city of Mashhad: the second most populous city in the country (8 million) and a pilgrimage destination for millions of Muslims every year, with the tomb of Imam Reza (the eighth in succession to the Prophet) and the gigantic complex of sacred Mosques and Squares all around it.
Impressive, nothing else to say.
For how it is conceived, but above all for the sensations and feelings it raises.

I admit it, I’m not a great believer, but I can’t even say that I’m completely disconnected from religion. Which one, however, I do not know.
I say I’m Christian to myself, but only because I was born in Italy. If I was born in Delhi, or in Tokyo, or in Lhasa, or actually in Mashhad, it wouldn’t probably be the same thing.

“So tell me now, do you really believe in Imam Reza?”, asked me today Hamid, a nice young boy on a pilgrimage from Isfahan whom I spent the afternoon with, among minarets, golden domes, thousands of people gathered in prayer and tales of miracles of the Holy Man.
“I do not know, Hamid. Really.”, I answered him, almost apologizing. “I believe there are good men and bad men. I believe he was definitely a very good man, who has given joy and hope to many people and still does it, but I can’t assure I believe in miracles or that you’ll find redemption if you bind yourself to his tomb. I like to believe it, let’s just say that. For the rest, I cut myself off and try to live at my best the time I am allowed to. Other things, I do not know. I guess I wouldn’t be able to understand them either.”
A puzzled smile came over his face shortly before we hugged in fraternal greetings, wishing each other good luck.

The question, however, still lies above me.
After spending two days in a place where religion is deeply lived in every single part of body and mind, I feel amazed, confused, and frustrated.
Like in front of a painting whereof importance I can’t get, or a game whereof rules I can’t understand, or a wonderful movie, but spoken in an incomprehensible language and without subtitles unscripted.
Can I really believe in Imam Reza?
Can I really believe in his miracles?
Or to those of Jesus?
Or that there is a Heaven?

I like to believe it, let’s just say that.
I mean, I would probably be very disappointed if I’ll find out that there is no other life after this, or a reincarnation, or whatever. As if I had to leave the film at the end of the first half, just before the beginning of the second one.
Maybe it will be like that, maybe not.
Sometimes I wonder about the questions I will ask myself when the time comes.

“Come on, really that was all?”
“Ah, no, there is a light! What is going to happen now? ”
“What am I turning into?”
“No no, I am still myself! Then will there be a way to hear again grandpa’s stories up there? Or to drink a beer with my friends? Or to play with my nephews? ”
“And what would be my age? How will my mother and my father see me? Like the man I’m now or like the newborn baby they cried onto many years ago? ”
“But above all … why am I still thinking?”

If I start it then I’ll never stop, that’s why I prefer to cut myself out.
It would be nice to see him up there, though, one day, the Imam Reza.
Along with all the others, and at the beginning of the second part.
Hoping only that, at some point during the projection, some kind of voice-over will come out to explain the whole story.
And, most of all, to tell the ending.

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19 October, towards Kerman ◀ Day 387 🇮🇷 ▶
I will never stop loving travelling by train. Especially when I’m in a new country, where at the beginning I don’t understand anything, I wave between uncertain directions, wander for a little in the middle of fascinating stations and then I find the track, the train, the wagon, the right berth, put my the bicycle over my head and a brand new world opens in front of me.
20 hours run fastly if you have a place to lay down, traveling companions who become friends and offer you food, a good book, a big desire to sleep and maybe even some incredible Persian sunsets.

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20 October, Kerman ◀ Day 388 🇮🇷 ▶
I must admit: still I didn’t understand anything.
I’ve been in Iran for 4 days now, but I really understood just a little, or maybe nothing.
After Mashhad’s deep religiosity, a long train journey and half a day in Kerman, I can only say that the variety of this country is incredible, embarrassing, at times overwhelming.
Is not an easy country at all, and there is too much to do, too much to see, too much to live; today, for a moment, I was almost taken down.
So I tried not to think too much, not to study the possibilities and let it flow as it will come in the next few days.
Then, after riding my bicycle through the secrets of Kerman, after passing roads, parks and bazaars, a man named Hossein took me by the hand.
“Where are you from?”
“Italy”
The questions stopped there.
“Come here, my friend. Sit down. Please help yourself with what we got and stay here with us as long as you like. This is my family. Now, even yours. ”
The evening lights then wrapped the day.
And, thanks to Mr. Hossein, tomorrow is not so scary anymore.

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21 October, around Kerman ◀ Day 389 🇮🇷 ▶
You are in Iran. You came from the northeast border. You have 30 days and an immense country – in terms of extensions, history and possibilities – to visit. After two days in the holy city of Mashhad, you decide to move on. You open the maps and choose a random city in the south. A 20-hours-train journey takes you there.

So you arrive in Kerman. You know very little about Iran, almost nothing about southern Iran and absolutely nothing about Kerman. It looks pretty and you decide to stay there for two days, ignoring completely what to do. You immediately clash with the natural difficulties of the region and the exorbitant cost of guided tours. You spend the first day in the streets, parks and bazaars, letting to the Iranians you the best memories.

Then the second day comes, and the options with it:

1) Spend it like the first one;

2) Try cycling to the mountains around Kerman, and make sure that the Dasht-e Lut desert really reaches the 70° you have been told (NASA measurements assure it to be the hottest place on Earth);

3) Look for some local transport and get to one of the towns around Kerman, where you’ll get randomly lost for a while;

4) Enter a hotel to change a few dollars, find that it is a meeting point for several travellers (the first day you didn’t even meet one) and 2 of them with the same questions you have, come across a silent, thoughtful and gentle (as well as absurdly cheap) taxi driver and so start a journey towards sumptuous gardens, epic citadels, colourful sandy mountains, asphalted tongues surrounded by deserts, rocky dunes with magical shapes and crazy sunsets that turn you into nothing, before the stars of an obscure night remind you that a new, incredible chapter of your Iranian book has just come to an end.

Which of the 4 options do you think I had?
The pictures are many, I know. But, believe me, even three times the number wouldn’t be enough.
All this, in a simple day in Kerman. Iran.

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23 October, Yazd ◀ Day 391 🇮🇷 ▶
Then you get to Yazd.
And from the hostel terrace you see this…

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24 October, Yazd ◀ Day 392 🇮🇷 ▶
Some few more images from a Persian jewel called Yazd.
And the last ones, being 33.

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26 October, Mehriz ◀ Day 394 🇮🇷 ▶
After spending my birthday in Yazd’s enchantment, today I chose to open my 34 by pedaling on my bicycle.
Towards the south. Towards a town named Mehriz.
About fifty sandy kilometers to meet with Ali, who had offered me hospitality when I was still in Mashhad (power of the internet).
Iranian hospitality has once again proved incredible; as if I had been reunited with an old friend, waiting to re-embrace me after years of military exile.
It’s simply impossible not to love this country.

PS: I do not usually wear purple-glittering sandals. I was just welcomed at Ali’s house and his wife gave me the first available pair of slippers not to let me stay barefoot. Things go straight in Iran.

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27 October, Mehriz ◀ Day 395 🇮🇷 ▶
What happens when you’re in Iran, it’s Friday, and you wake up in a cyclist’s home?
It happens that the alarm rings at 6 o’clock, you take one of your guest’s mountain bikes, wait for a bunch of friends, pedal towards some Persian mountains, sweat for more than two hours under a cruel sun and then reach someone’s house where some other friends already have lit a fire, stretched the carpets and boiled the tea.
Then somebody starts cooking, somebody pulls out baskets of fruit, bread, cheese, sugar and candy, somebody prepares the shisha and somebody starts singing or dancing, recalled by the beat of the hands of the whole group.
Easy. No frills and no troubles.
Just the simple desire to be together and have fun, sharing those little things you can share anytime you can.
Because Friday in Iran – as in all Islamic countries – is like ours Sunday, and I have no doubt anymore that this is the most generous and smiling country I have ever met in my entire life.

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28 October, Kashan ◀ Day 396 🇮🇷 ▶
Faces from Iran. (No, it’s not really a nice country)

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29 October, Kashan ◀ Day 397 🇮🇷 ▶
Here Kashan, Iran.
Nothing new to tell.
Over and out.
😱😍

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31 October, Kashan ◀ Day 399 🇮🇷 ▶
Sorry if I didn’t write yesterday.
I went a bit too far, and at the end the night surprised me.
I was looking for the end of Iran, but I couldn’t find it. Instead, just a never ending beauty.

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1 November, Isfahan ◀ Day 400 🇮🇷 ▶
If Samarkand meant happiness and satisfaction, Isfahan goes astonishment and magnificence.
Today, All Saints’ Day 2017, I set foot (and wheels) in what is perhaps the most representative site of all Iran. No doubts, one of the most incredible I’ve ever met on my way.
And tomorrow … 400 🌏

[ 1 November 2017 ] Isfahan (Iran). Imam Khomeini Square. 4 pm.

2 November, Isfahan ◀ Day 401 🇮🇷 ▶
I had imagined I would celebrate it in a different way, the day number 401 of my journey. Instead, a stupid and fatal lack of attention and a mighty Iranian thief wanted otherwise.
Yes, because after being with me in Greece and a good part of the world, after getting lost and found in Serbia and Mongolia, after surviving two water accidents in Vietnam and Thailand, my trusted little smartphone, last night, decided to separate its road from mine.
Spending the whole day in solving all of those problems related to a phone theft, especially when you are in a foreign country, was not exactly what I wanted.
But that’s it.
Iran gives, Iran takes away.
And then gives back again.
This is in fact a picture with the person who, asking for nothing in return, has been accompanying and helping me throughout the day to overcome some very hard troubles I wouldn’t have been able to face alone, and allowed me to keep intact the image of a country which – once again – left me speechless.
For a phone can be lost, found or bought again… but a real, genuine friendship remains a very rare gift to meet in life.
So thank you, Mohsen.
And thank you, once again, Iran.

[ 2 November 2017 ] Isfahan (Iran). 4 pm.

3 November, Isfahan ◀ Day 402 🇮🇷 ▶
For Iranians do not really know what it’s like spending their free day outdoors and in simple harmony.
And even less what the meaning of picnic is.

PS: I just wanted to read a book in the park today, but then …

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4 November, Isfahan ◀ Day 403 🇮🇷 ▶
Three days in Isfahan doing virtually nothing.
The first one, wandering around with a Spanish friend met at the hostel, postponing it all afterwards (and then getting phone-robbed in the evening). The second one, solving the problems coming from the theft. The third one, fattening amidst picnics and invitations from Iranian families.

Days are running fast and those left on my visa are no longer many, so today I chose to move to the south. To Shiraz, another major city in the country.
A little sad actually, for having enjoyed too little of Isfahan’s gems.
But with the clear intention of coming back, one day not too far away in time.

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5 November, Shiraz ◀ Day 404 🇮🇷 ▶
“How beautiful Shiraz is, not a place in the world is equal!” wrote Hafez, Persian poet and mystic, centuries ago.
I can not say otherwise, though one day is still too little to reconfirm her beauty.
Certainly in Shiraz there is something that in the other Iranian cities so far I didn’t find, which actually I really missed since the days in Almaty, Kazakhstan.
Something that has allowed me to practice my favorite city hobby: a simple mountain, which I was able to climb easily to admire the city from above, enjoy a beer (oh, no, sorry, I’m in Iran), waiting for the lights to go out and a new, surprising, curtains fall.

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6 November, Shiraz ◀ Day 405 🇮🇷 ▶
So maybe Hafez was right …

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7 November, Shiraz ◀ Day 406 🇮🇷 ▶
“Vieri, do you know where you are going to be in November?”
“No idea, uncle! it’s in four months! Why?”
“Well, me and auntie are joining a tour to Iran and we thought it would be nice to meet you there … what do you say?”
“Then I say I’ll be in Iran!”

One of the toughest parts of solo traveling is to stay away from the people you love.
For me it is certainly the most difficult one, and the reason why I am going – although very slowly – back home.
But this is also how a simple embrace becomes an unforgettable surprise, and one of the most beautiful travel memories of this long and bizarre wandering around the world.

 

8 November, Shiraz (Persepolis)◀ Day 407 🇮🇷 ▶
Setting off to discover the palaces of Darius, Artaxerxes, Cirus the Great, and the treasures of the capital of the Persian Empire – one of the richest and most impressive empires ever seen on earth – given to the flames by Alexander the Great during his fierce conquest of the world … and instead ending up finding your own uncle 😎😍

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9 November, Shiraz ◀ Day 408 🇮🇷 ▶
First to the East, then to the West and finally to the South.
Three weeks in Iran starting from Mashhad and getting to Shiraz.
Now is time to leave this other Persian gem and begin the road to the North.
Towards Tehran, then the Caucasus.
And winter ❄

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11 November, Tehran ◀ Day 410 🇮🇷 ▶
Tehran, for those – like me – not great fans of metropolises and urban environment in general, could easily seem like the beginning of the Apocalypse.
Yet, I do not know how, there is something fascinating about it. To find out what is that about will not be easy, but I’ll give it a try.
At least for one day 😅

[ 10 November 2017 ] Tehran (Iran). Baam Tehran. 5,30 pm

12 November, Tehran ◀ Day 411 🇮🇷 ▶
Tehran is chaos, Tehran is gray, Tehran is gas, Tehran is smog, Tehran is traffic, Tehran is whistles, Tehran is noises, Tehran is a hundred-head monster where 15 million individuals live a hectic life and build a never-ending puzzle which twists and turns continually.
Tehran, briefly, is not a beautiful place.
For me, at least.
But … but there is magic somehow.
And a very special type of magic indeed.

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13 November, Tehran ◀ Day 412 🇮🇷 ▶
Three days in Tehran and living them in a small warm family, surrounded by that kind of care and sweetness only a mother, a friend and a sister could give.
This is for me the true magic of Tehran, and of the whole of Iran.
The real one.

[ 13 November 2017 ] Tehran (Iran).

14 November, Tabriz ◀ Day 413 🇮🇷 ▶
30 days in Iran today, and here I came to what probably will be for me the last stop – this time, at least – in this amazing country.
Tabriz, Northwest of Iran.
A city not far from the Caucasus mountains, from the borders with Turkey, Armenia and Azerbaijan as well as the Kurdistan region, wounded hardly two days ago by a disastrous earthquake.
A city outside the most classic tours of Iran; perhaps because it is far distant from its most famous sisters (located in the Center – South of the country), or perhaps because it is incredibly – and unforgivably – underestimated.

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15 November, Tabriz (Kandovan) ◀ Day 414 🇮🇷 ▶
It couldn’t end but like this, with Iran.
After giving me continuous surprises, during 30 days, with mosques in Mashhad, deserts of Kerman, silent streets and amazing views in Yazd, friends in Mehriz, uniqueness in Kashan, squares and bridges in Isfahan, colours, antiquities and family hugs in Shiraz, secrets and sweetness in Tehran, and with bazaars and delicacies in Tabriz … today, during my very last day in this special land, Iran won me completely.
Like crystallized, in front of a place whose existence is difficult even to imagine. And whose beauty really left me speechless.

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