Globe Gallivanting- motorbiking across the world

The counter official in the Pakistan embassy suggested we apply for a 30 day visa, so we could look around at his beautiful country.  We agreed, heartily, thereby eschewing all advice the British government offered on their travel websites.  If he was that keen for us to see his country, despite the fact that 3 weeks previously a Frenchman had been kidnapped on our exact route, who were we to know better?  And Pakistan sounded an amazing destination, once you got passed the whole Taliban and Baluchi Independence Party situation…  We applied for a 30 day visa, and left the office on a high.  We had prepared ourselves for a lengthy and difficult interview.  We had even written out our route and drawn a little map. We returned to pick up our Pakistani visa a few days later! While we waited for the visa we went to see the sights.  We photographed the ‘Down with USA’ paintings on the walls of the ‘US Den of Espionage’- the new name for the old US...

We rode into Tehran.  The atmosphere on the way in seemed charged, but not necessarily negative. There were families in cars, waving at us, and kids on scooters wooping.  The traffic was completely insane.  One of our exits had been blocked off with barricades.  We got very lost, and ended up in the centre of town.  The atmosphere got stronger, it felt like the air was buzzing.  Then we saw why- the main square was entirely filled with army and policemen of various different types, in varying uniforms, but all with alarmingly large weapons. There were huge black armoured trucks filled with militia-men dressed from head to toe in black, with enormous black beards, black turbans, holding gigantic black machine guns. They would have done a Finnish death metal band proud. I didn’t look them in the eyes, but Adam said later they were glowering at us.   We saw ‘Voluntary Militia’- civvies dressed up for the occasion in fluro-vests with POLICE written across...

The trip to Tehran the following day was long and dusty.   The landscape comprised mostly of desertlike nothingness, punctuated occasionally by mud hut villages, all universely beige and flat-rooved.  The general colour theme to Iran was ‘Neutrals’, as though a mid-90s interior decorator had gone overboard.   We saw a hut with ‘Down with Israel’ painted fairly unambiguously across its walls. We got flagged down by the police, and deemed it best to stop.  They were stern and unsmiling, and checked our passports formally.  They asked us where we were going, in a manner that suggested we were unlikely to make it there unimpeded. We beamed graciously and remained unworried.  We asked them where the nearest tea shop was.  The second-in-command accidentally offered us some of their tea from a handy flask.  We thought it an excellent plan, ignored the system of ‘tar’of’ conveniently, and parked up the bike.  There stood we, drinking...

We rode off on our way to Tehran, where we would need to stop and sort out visas for Pakistan and India, having been refused them so graciously in Ankara.   The roads were boring, in excellent condition, and fast.  We stopped a couple of times to eat.  We managed to get bread, of an unpleasant cardboard texture and, nothing if not consistent, taste.  On the second occasion we were a little more adventurous and attempted to use our Farsi phrases. We tried the Farsi for ‘I am a vegetarian.’  The waiter said ‘No.’.  We tried again.  He shook his head.   This was a little confusing.  We opted for more bread.  By my second day in Iran I had lost a fair bit of weight and my trousers wouldn’t stay up.     Meals there run as follows: Breakfast: Flat unleavened bread with carrot jam or spreadable ‘cheese’. Lunch: Kebab. Dinner: Kebab. Little did we know at the point that bread would become our favourite dish… We...