Fuzz & Phil Run Away travel blog

Goreme Village, Cappudocia. Magical.

Valley exploring, Goreme

We don't need no water

Now that's a Fire !!!

Dogubayazit. Charming.

Behind the Veil

Fuzz obeys the Law

A gaggle of Iranians


Right! Phil again, you lucky lucky bunch. A few photo's attached, some from Cappadocia, and some from Iran.

The journey from lovely Cappadocia was pretty unpleasant what with unwashed Aberzaijanian migrant workers, screeching Bollywood drivel, and a room temperature closing in on an unpleasant 30 degrees. The bouquet of the Great Unwashed mingled with the pukish hint of cheesy orange tartrazine chips into a truly unique aroma which I really wish I could share with you. We arrived at the far eastern border town of Dogubayazit (see photo). This town made the bus trip seem almost fragrant and beautiful. The decision, for once, was unanimous. Get the hell out of Dog City. The border is about 35km from this place ... I am sure the border guards woulda put it even further away if international boundaries were up to them. In fact, I suspect the next Iranian war may be a border dispute in this region where Iran actually hands back its own land in order to distance itself from Dog Shitty. But I digress.

Minibus depots are always a bit chaotic on these journeys. We struck gold however with a mad Kurdish chap who had just attended a wedding in Dog-gone-awful and offered us a lift back to the border. It really does worry me that someone could possibly live in so crappy a place that Dog Town seems like a romantic place to get hitched. (The Kurdish guy was gorgeous yes siree ... if all men came that good looking. Fuzz). Anyways, this chap, and the 10 car wedding party took us on a mad wedding celebration drag race back to the border. The cars took up all 4 lanes of the 2 lane highway, racing, weaving, dodging, ducking and diving, and only moving back into their lane when a 10-wheeler was approaching. Great fun and really, who needs the high gloss, high cost of Disneyworld when you got a Kurdish taxi driver high on wedding day euphoria. Clearly, the chap is still single himself.

We got to the border in record time. He even dirt-tracked past the 3km long line of HGV's awaiting customs clearance. We arrived at the border in a puff of Turkish dust, agreed with the driver that Kurdish fellows really are the greatest, and then trudged off on foot.

The Turkish exit was hampered only by the fact that it happened to be chai time (tea time) which seemed to go on a while, and no ways were they going to interrupt their break for the 2 foreigners who happen to cross that border every day. The border gates between Turkey and Iran must make for the tiniest demilitarised area in world politics. Their two electronic gates are literally 1/2 metre apart. So the game is that the Turkish chap opens his gate a tad, you squeeze between the two gates, and the Turkish guy then slams his gate shut behind you. You are now rammed in between the two gates, in freezing weather, and have to wait for the Iranian guards to open their gate. Well, of course, there is a 30 minute time zone difference once you enter Iran which means those guards were now on their chai break. We stood for an age in that Lilliputian no-man's-land, whilst glaring sternly down on us from huge billboards were the two Khomeini's (past and present) in that classic turbaned, bearded pose. I felt dirty and couldn't work out why. Perhaps its a deliberate ploy of the Iranians, to enforce the fact that you are now entering the Land of the Mullah, head of the Council of Guardians, where vice has no home and virtue is the air you breathe.

After a suitable period of this silent treatment, the guards deigned to admit us, which then went really smoothly and friendly. So far so good. We had made it into the Islamic Republic of Iran. If the gorgeous Iranian tourist lady is anything to go by, this could be fun. If the glaring Mullahs are anything to go by, this could end up with Philly 12 inch losing his head in an horrific Sharia law incident. Watch this space.



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