seen, experienced and told by Gwenael...

One day in spring, I email Mike and Yvoine to ask them if a snail like me could come and join them somewhere in summertime. The answer is yes. They would be in Iran!

And so, after having set up my bike properly, and not listened too much to people who told me that cycling as a woman, in Iran, in summertime, was simply impossible, here I was, meeting them in Iran. I found them in great form in Shiraz. I came with another 4-legged surprise: Laure and Herve. The 5 of us visited Shiraz together for a few days, all happy to catch up. There, we discovered mosques, mythical Persepolis, Hafez' gardens and other tea houses.

We got on our bikes direction Hamedan, via Isfahan. Laure and Herve got on a bus. We said good-bye, the bus was too fast for us. I just integrated into Yvoine and Mike's fine tuned team. So fine tuned in fact, that they hardly noticed (almost hardly!) that I was slowing them down. Carrying 2 to 3 times as much weight on their bikes as me, Yvoine would ride in front to protect me from the wind, and Mike would stay behind to make sure the pace was right and that everything else was OK. As well as give me all the advice one would expect from a professional coach. At last, I was able to get answers to all my curious questions about their trip, whether practical or technical. There is nothing to say, they really are professionals!

On the road, we would stop regularly to either admire the scenery or get some energy into us by eating biscuits or all sorts of nuts. We would only have one "true" meal everyday (kebabs in all shapes and forms) when passing through a village. In the evening, we would camp not so far from the road, sometimes in beautiful spots, sometimes not so nice, depending on how much rubbish there was around... In the big cities, Yvoine and Mike would go looking for espresso coffee. Of course, they like the coffee but also, the cafes are usually the funkiest, most modern places... they know the tricks!

Yvoine and Mike told me before I came: "you will see, when you travel on a pushbike, the relationship with people is quite different". Indeed, it is quite hard not to stop all the time, with the locals giving us peaches, apples, plums, wanting to share a few words or simply wanting to observe us. Once, we even got invited into a family whose father was a teacher of english (before the revolution) and arabic. They were very nice people who offered Yvoine and Mike a Persian carpet the mother had made (2 months worth of work!). What Mike and Yvoine appreciated the most with these people, is that they actually asked them how many sisters they had. Because in Pakistan, women are not talked about, they do not exist.
Yvoine soon became an expert in farsi. The usual introduction sounded like: "dochare savari kardan Singapour-France, bischt hezar km, Mike shohar, na batche, Gwen dust" (we are cycling from Singapore to France, 20000km, Mike is my husband, we do not have any children, Gwen is a friend). The fact that they do not have kids is a subject of surprise to most Iranis. And, looking at their faces, we can tell whether they really understand what Yvoine and Mike are up to. For many of them, I think, this trip is too surreal to comprehend. But for the ones who understand, then we can see their eyes fill with surprise, admiration and questions... Mike and Yvoine can now pull their world map out! Once, Mike even got interviewed by Isfahan's TV channel, what a star!

But there are also the young guys on motorbikes. In Iran, roughly 30% of them are unemployed. The young, who have only known Iran under the islamic rule (since 1980), have nothing else to do than spend their whole time riding their motorbikes (60 litres of diesel for 1 euro). We were real entertainment for them! Sometimes, they would just ask us a few standard questions. But once, they followed us for more than an hour, more than 15 of them, trying to get to us from all sides. We tried everything, from shouting at them, to other Iranis asking them to stop, but still, we found it extremely hard to get rid of them. We managed to hide so we could set up camp, but we heard the motorbikes look for us until very late that night. One can feel these young men are very easy to influence, and one wonders what that holds for the future.

The ride through the arid mountains was awesome. I understand that I enjoyed pretty good conditions: only 40 degree temperatures, climbs of about 1000 vertical meters, on sealed roads, with close to no wind, and without being sick! Along the rivers, there would sometimes be bright green rice paddies. One day, we even managed with yvoine to find a small spot on the river, out of sight, to go for a swim in the water that had been tempting us for ages. How good!

Isfahan's was breathtaking with its deep green and blue mosaic mosques, its arched bridges, its gardens and parcs where Iranis have picnics. Those beautiful pieces of art, so peaceful and majestic, are in total contrast with fanaticism and the image that we have of the country. The english teachers take their students to touristy places so that they get an opportunity to speak with foreigners. This way, Mike got to explain his trip to kids who were very interested at the Chehel Sotun palace. It's so great to see! The armenian quarters in Isfahan had again a totally different atmosphere. The headscarves there were very colourful and barely covering the heads. The make up was very obvious and we even saw Irani women on pushbikes! Once, a taxi driver explained to us at length, in farsi, all what he thought was negative about the islamic regime (before the revolution, he was a teacher).

We also saw the muslim police (women in black dresses and coats, men in white shirts) in action to remind us we cannot know which direction this country is going to take! The women would pull their headscarves over their head when getting close to them but would usually pull them back down 50 meters further. Otherwise, outside the big centers, the women most often wore big long black coats, quite oppressive. Paradoxically though, we also saw some breastfeeding on the street! On the road, the police was everywhere. I learnt to ride passed them, with a big smile and a big wave, as they were asking us to stop. I could hear Mike behind me say "don't stop, keep going!" because he was tired of stopping for no reason. Most of the time, the police only wants to have a chat.

From Isfahan, we headed to Hamedan. I reached my first 1000 km (it's all relative!). I left Mike and Yvoine with tears in my eyes. I went back to Teheran on a bus, that ran out of fuel on the way to add to the fun of it.

Travelling on bikes, one wonders how one would ever travel any other way and how one could possibly stop travelling. What is nice is to hear Yvoine and Mike constantly talk about their next trips, on pushbikes, on horseback or on motorbikes, with or without children, in the corners of the world they haven't got to yet.