020 CYCLE TOURING IRAN

 

Photo By Ernest Markwood

IRAN
888 Km – 19 Day
10 June – 1 July 2008

MAP

Photos

10 June – Astara, Azerbaijan – Jokandan, Iran – 82 km

Time to don the burka and head to the border. The border crossing between Azerbaijan and Iran was no less hectic than others, and the no-mans-land a tad of an obstacle course. A misunderstanding regarding whether the bicycles needed documents made a long wait until being cleared. Once in Iran, it came as a shock to learn ATMs or banks didn’t accept foreign bank cards. If only I knew this, I could’ve drawn money in Azerbaijan.

Adding to the dilemma, I still had to spend my last money on a headscarf and long sleeve shirt. The law in Iran states women must cover their hair, arms, and legs. Even though I knew the rules and chose to visit, it didn’t make being in a male chauvinist society any easier. I’m saying this as these rules weren’t made by women but by men. I couldn’t believe I chose to cycle through another Islamic country. In Iran, these restrictions felt worse than in other countries, as religion was enforced by law.

Furthermore, whenever speaking to people, they would entirely discount me and only talk to Ernest.

The landscape was amazingly lush and green, and one could hardly believe this was Iran as the path led past bright green rice paddies. The coast along the Caspian Sea was dirty but still a beautiful place to stop and have a break.

 

11 June - Jokandan – Hashtpar - 90 km

The days cycling was predominantly along the Caspian coast, well known for its abundance of anchovy Kilka. Sadly, the lake experienced a significant fish stock collapse due to widespread overfishing. More surprising were the rice paddies, not something I ever associated with Iran.

In one of the towns, a kind Iranian bought us cake and bread. Then, as a newspaper reporter, he interviewed us (or rather Ernest). Later, he showed us the way to a beach to pitch a tent. Unfortunately, the beach was in front of a promenade. Our spot thus came with a constant procession of spectators. Due to the sweltering heat, people were generally out after sunset. This resulted in me being unable to remove the headscarf or long sleeve shirt. I couldn’t even wash as inside the tent, it was sweltering.

 

12 June - Hashtpar – Rudsar – 125 km

It dawned while women, in full burkas, walked or jogged along the beach, an unusual sight, and I thought they must be dying of the heat in those outfits. But, undeterred by the staring eyes, Ernest proceeded to fry himself eggs for breakfast; which drew even more spectators.

We must’ve lost our way as the plan was to cycle along the coast but found ourselves on an inland road. Eventually, the route spat us out at the beach. There, I saw a woman driver who stopped and gave us fruit.

A soccer field made a good enough place to pitch the tents by evening. Albeit the spot was between the coast and the road, one couldn’t swim. Moreover, I was uncomfortable and increasingly fed up with the headscarf, long pants and long sleeve shirt. I felt hot, sticky, and my head itched.

 

13 June - Rudsar – Chalus – 109 km

The route from Rudsar to Chalus was a lovely ride along the Caspian Sea, and a slight tailwind made easy cycling. Halfway through the day, an invitation to a teahouse serving tea and mint-flavoured yoghurt made me immensely uncomfortable. There were no women at the teahouse, and I was treated with total disregard and had a strong desire to bolt for the door. Maybe the invite was meant only for Ernest.

The route to Tehran veered away from the coast. The temperature immediately became milder following route 59, leading over the Alborz mountains. Camping places change from country to country; in Iran, one can pitch a tent almost anywhere. A popular spot was at a mosque, and we followed suit. By late evening quite a few tents were scattered about—the primary reason being the availability of water, toilets, and shade.

 

14 June - Chalus – Roadside camp - 70 km

As anticipated, the road started climbing up the central Alborz mountain range, home to Mount Damavand, the highest mountain in Iran. A steady climb led up the pass as the road snaked higher and higher. Chalus Road, or route 59 as it’s officially known, was considered one of Iran’s most scenic drives. I’m sure more so from the comfort of a car, and I was exhausted when we camped at 2700 meters.

 

15 June- Roadside camp – Karaj - 92 km

From our roadside camp, a short climb led to the top. Once over the high point, the descended sported spectacular vistas and a view over the Karaj dam. En route to Karaj, I was surprised to see a road sign pointing to a Nuclear Research facility, especially in the wake of claims that Iran was producing nuclear weapons. Subsequent investigations proved no sign of such weapons were found. If you want to kick the cat, I guess you’ll always find a reason.

 

16-25 - June - Karaj – Tehran – 55 km

Iran’s climate is diverse and has 11 of the world’s 13 environments. Ranging from arid semi-arid to subtropical. Still, we found ourselves in Iran during summer and the weather thus scorching and the air dry. So, not surprisingly, we cycled the short distance into Tehran in blazing heat and what a busy and large city. Eventually, we located the Mashhad Hotel, a favourite amongst foreigners where the rules were slightly relaxed once inside. But, lo-and-behold, wouldn’t we bump into Martin, whom we met on the ferry from Sudan to Egypt and who we last saw in Cairo?

I was desperate to try and get money as Ernest looked unwilling to make an effort. Due to the American boycott, no American-owned card could be used, and most cards were thus useless. Thinking my sister could send us money, I contacted her and made the necessary arrangements.

We further had to organise visas to Central Asia. On contacting the Uzbek consulate, we discovered that the LOI to Uzbekistan was sent to Baku instead of Tehran. To redirect, it would take an additional 5-7 days. In the meantime, my sister, Amanda, had a battle of her own sending money to Iran. What a performance! We waited and waited, but no LOI or money arrived. In the meantime, we applied for a Pakistani visa, which took equally long. Still, if the Uzbek visa didn’t materialise, one could cycle via Pakistan to India.

Nearly all at the Mashhad Hotel were in the same boat. Everyone was waiting for something as there wasn’t any other reason to stay in Tehran other than getting visas. Therefore, the Mashhad was a place where one met wonderfully fascinating people. Some of them I’m still in contact with to this day.

The weather was scorching, and one could do little more than stay indoors.

A thick grey/yellow haze hung over the city so much that one couldn’t even see the surrounding mountains. I was convinced it was the reason for my constant headache, or maybe it was due to the stress regarding our finances. However, Ernest was unperturbed; perhaps he had something up his sleeve.

What a strange country Iran was. No satellite TV or even ADSL was allowed during our visit, and the internet was still dial-up. Alcohol was forbidden, but I understood it was readily available if you knew the right people. On the other hand, Iranian people were extremely accommodating and welcoming. Walking around town came with continuous offers to help find a bus, taxi or metro.

Following a week of waiting, I received word from Amanda, stating the money sent had been refunded. Unfortunately, the bank transfer system was American based, and all transfers were blocked. I then realised America had taken over the world without anyone noticing. Our situation instantly became desperate. By then, we’d already reverted to eating bread (Nuun) and water and hadn’t paid the hotel in five days.

Ernest uncovered a travel agent who could maybe arrange money and walked me to his office. Explaining our problem, the kind man proceeded to give me 300US dollars. At first, he said it was a gift, but after insisting on his bank details, he provided an account in Dubai. All this happened without him looking at me and solely speaking to Ernest. Even though I was the one who had to arrange the money transfers. Of course, this behaviour irritated me, but I was desperate. I was equally astonished that Ernest never attempted to get money. I then surmised he had cash but was unwilling to share it.

I immediately arranged for my sister to transfer the money into our saviour’s account in Dubai. Then, with money in my pocket, I could at least pay for our hotel and our Pakistani visas. Phew, what a relief. Still, it would be a tight squeeze to get both of us to the border, 1500 km further south. By this time, barely enough time remained on our visas to make it to the border.

 

26 June - Tehran – Qom Rest area – 124 km

A full ten days were spent in Tehran before all was sorted out. We biked out of Teran in stifling heat and straight into a headwind. Maybe cycling through Iran to Pakistan at the height of summer wasn’t such a smart move. The heat was at its worst between 14h00 – 18h00. One couldn’t drink enough to keep hydrated, and drinking warm water in the sweltering heat made me feel even more nauseous. Nevertheless, we managed 124 km before camping at a rest area with a petrol station and restaurants.

 

27 June - Rest area – Kashan Petrol station – 113 km

We woke at sunrise and departed soon afterwards. Still, our early start made little difference, as the heat soon became unbearable. I drank as much as possible, but like the previous day, it made me nauseous. I felt weak from an upset stomach but battled on, still against a headwind. The going was dreadfully slow, and Ernest, single-minded as he was, had no intentions of waiting. He had his mind set on reaching the border without using public transport, which he would do. No one would stop him, especially not a puking cycling partner. By then, I was depleted of all energy and dehydrated as not even the water could stay down.

 

28 June – Kashan Petrol station - Kerman – 28 km & bus

I still felt unwell, weak and nauseous by the time we got underway. With little money remaining, we merely ate a tin of beans the night before, not something that would put a spring in anyone’s step. I realised Ernest had no intentions of waiting. He must’ve had money of his own hidden away as soon afterwards; he continued on his own.

I barely had any money left and considered it better to take a bus and get out of Iran. I waited forever, but eventually, a bus arrived to go quite close to the Pakistan border. The bus drivers were accommodating and only charged me 8000 Toman (less than 10$). I met Fariba, a lovely lady living in Kerman. She invited me to stay with them for the night. The bus reached Kerman at around 1h00, and I accepted her kind offer. A mesmerising experience followed, watching Iranians live behind their homes’ high walls. I slept on the sofa. Fariba and her husband, Mehran, slept outside in the courtyard.

 

29 June - Kerman – Zahedan (By bus)

We only emerged at 9h00, had breakfast consisting of bread (Nuun), cheese, nuts and halva. Fariba escorted me to the bus station, where I caught a bus to Zahedan. On the bus, I met a lovely student, Nargess, on her way home after the term’s closing. I know I’m harping on about the heat, but it was unbearable. From Bam, the road crossed the desert, and little water appeared along the way. The scenery and structures resembled Sudan to such an extent one could easily imagine being there. Once again, the bus arrived in Zahedan at around 24h00 and Nargess invited me to stay with her family. The family lived in a luxurious double-storey air-con home behind high walls. Communicating was tricky, to put it mildly, as they didn’t speak English and me, no Farsi.

 

30 June - Zahedan

Observing a typical Iranian family was captivating. The family only surfaced between 10 and 12h00, and I didn’t quite know what to do with myself. Nearly all people in Iran slept during the day and did their shopping and business at night. This routine was the best as the heat was unrelenting during the day. They fed me until bursting with rice, noodles and fruit.

 

31 June - Zahedan

In the morning, the family insisted on me staying one more day. The time was spent doing laundry and sorting out panniers for the trip further south. Again, I was fed all kinds of interesting and unknown dishes. It was indeed fascinating to observe Iranian life at such close quarters. The father was undoubtedly the boss and the most important person in the household. All family members hurried nervously to serve him, merely relaxing once he had departed, after which the relaxed mood became tangible. I felt increasingly uncomfortable seeing women in such a degraded role as they very much served the function of slaves. I guess it isn’t all unusual, as even in Western culture, many women cook and clean for their husbands without pay, purely for board and lodging.

 

1 July – Zahedan, Iran - Pakistan border

I insisted on leaving for Pakistan. My hosts, nevertheless, advised against cycling to the border due to “dangerous activities”, as they called it. They had already ordered and paid for a taxi by the time I was ready. I couldn’t get them to accept my money, and in the end, I gave up, took the cab, loaded a massive bag of food and headed to the border. The drive to the border was through a barren moon-scape area, and I couldn’t wait to get out of the country. Iran will never be on the top of my list of favourite countries, most likely due to my anti-authoritarian attitude. Once across the border, I’d an intense desire to chuck them a browneye. I should’ve done it!

016 CYCLE TOURING SYRIA (2)

16 SYRIA
548 Km – 9 Days
11 March – 20 March 2008

MAP

 PHOTOS

E-BOOK

11-13 March - Syrian border - Damascus – 115 kilometres

After mountainous Jordan, the lack of hills in Syria made for delightful cycling. The day turned out pleasant and sported views of green fields and distant snow-capped mountains. Finally, the weather was in our favour, and we rolled into Damascus at around 4 o’clock where two full days were spent.

Founded in the 3^rd millennium B.C., Damascus is one of the oldest cities in the Middle East and was an important cultural and commercial centre at the crossroads between Africa and Asia. Damascus’s old town is considered among the oldest continually inhabited cities globally and, therefore, a UNESCO World Heritage Site. I was in Damascus barely six months earlier and was thus super keen to show Ernest around this remarkable city. Unfortunately, he was disinterested in sightseeing and only visited the historic walled city and markets. As a result, I spent most of my time exploring the city’s remarkable and ancient sights and attractions.

Luckily, the Umayyah Mosque, known as the Great Mosque of Damascus, said to be one of the oldest and largest mosques in the world, was explored with my sister a few months prior. The fascinating part of the mosque was that it was constructed following the Muslim conquest of Damascus in 634 CE. The mosque was further built upon a Christian basilica dedicated to John the Baptist, honoured by both Christians and Muslims as a prophet. Legend has it the building contains the head of John the Baptist, which I considered pretty bizarre.

 

14 March - Damascus – Roadside restaurant - 74 kilometres

The tailwind we enjoyed departing Damascus soon became a howling crosswind, to such an extent I got blown off the bike, and landed in a ditch next to the road. After the third such incident, I shouted abuse at Ernest who seemed not to notice. Mercifully, a shelter was discovered at a nearby roadside restaurant. The owner offered us floor space above the restaurant to spend the night.

 

15-16 March – Roadside restaurant - Homs – 95 kilometres

By morning, calm conditions made for comfortable cycling to Homs, 95 kilometres away. At a roadside breakfast stop, a kind Samaritan invited us to a meal that became a feast of hummus, olives, cheese and various pastries. Afterwards, we set off with full stomachs, and I don’t know what Ernest was on, but he rode straight into a stationary minivan! And that in full daylight! Nothing was broken except his ego and the van’s taillight.

The Al Naser Hotel in Homs was easily the crummiest but the cheapest in town. The toilets were filthy, and one had to pay extra for the strange paraffin-heated shower.

The following day, a minivan took us to Krak Des Chevaliers, which I visited with Amanda only a short time before. The complex consists of an imposing Crusader castle and UNESCO World Heritage Site. The castle was initially built for the Emir of Aleppo in 1031 CE. In its hay day, it housed some 2,000 people including infantry, crossbow specialists and mercenaries. However, the actual number of brother knights was as few as 60, according to records dating to 1255 CE. Today, it remains one of the finest medieval castles anywhere. A few hours were spent marvelling at this magnificent structure.

 

17 March - Homs - Hama – 47 kilometres

From Homs to Hama was barely 45 kilometres, leaving plenty of time to explore the historic norias (wooden water wheels or “wheels of pots” in Arabic). Evidence of these ornate water wheels dates back to the 5^th century CE. They were initially constructed along the Orontes River to move water through aqueducts. Unfortunately, the old citadel was less impressive and was no more than a picnic area but had a good city view.

 

18-19 March - Hama - Aleppo – 144 kilometres

I didn’t expect to go all the way from Hama to Aleppo in one day. Still, Ernest had a bee in his bonnet and we pushed on, reaching Aleppo, the largest city in Syria, long past sunset. Fortunately, this was my third visit to Aleppo and I knew where to go.

Following a leisurely start and breakfast, we visited the world-famous souqs of Aleppo.

Aleppo had been at the crossroads of several trade routes since the second millennium BC. Thus, the old walled city has been declared a UNESCO World Heritage Site. The Citadel of Aleppo, situated right in the centre of town, had grand views over old Aleppo, and dates to the 10^th century BC.

Equally impressive were the souqs of AleppoThe Al-Madina Souq was situated within the ancient walled city. Its long and narrow alleys formed the largest covered market globally. The market stretched approximately 13 kilometres. Aside from trading, the souq accommodated traders and their goods in khans or caravanserais. Unfortunately, this arrangement made it a congested area where one had to push and shove your way along the narrow walkways and stalls.

 

20 March – Aleppo, Syria – Reyhanli, Turkey – 74 kilometres

By morning we resumed our ride to the Syrian-Turkish border, wondering if visas were issued upon arrival. A few months earlier, coming from Bulgaria, it wasn’t possible and I had to apply beforehand. This time, however, rumours suggested procedures had changed. Thank goodness, this was indeed the case, and without any delay, we received a 30-day Turkish stay. What a relief! So delighted were we, we parked off in the nearby border town of Reyhanli. 

015 CYCLE TOURING JORDAN (2)

Photo By Ernest Markwood

15 JORDAN (2)
624 Km – 18 Days
21 February – 10 March 2008

MAP

PHOTOS

E-BOOK

 

21-22 February – Nuweiba, Egypt – Aqaba, Jordan - 28 km

From Nuweiba, Egypt one could cycle via Israel and Lebanon to Turkey, or take the ferry to Jordan and cycle via Syria. As it was difficult or near impossible to get into Syria with an Israeli stamp in the passport, the uncomplicated ferry to Jordan was a no-brainer. The ferry departed after five instead of three p.m., resulting in us arriving in Jordan after dark and leaving an hour’s cycling at night until reaching the city centre.

After a good night’s sleep, the next day was spent exploring our new country and Aqaba while strolling along the beach where Jordanians swam fully clothed. However, two surprises awaited: firstly, things were rather expensive as the Jordanian dinar was strong and, secondly, it became clear Jordan was another mountainous country.

Aqaba’s old town, where we bunked down, offered an exciting dose of ancient Arabia centred around a souq. These markets were fascinating and allowed a peep into the Jordanian lifestyle. Cafés were packed by men in kaffiyehs, smoking shisha pipes and sipping the local brew. I imagined a camel as a more appropriate means of transport than a bicycle. The market offered the best food in Aqaba including delicious hummus. Unused to the currency, I bought one JD’s falafel and received two full bags, enough for supper, breakfast and lunch!

 

23 February - Aqaba - Ras an-Naqb – 88 km

Ernest and I followed the King’s Highway, an ancient north-south trade route since prehistoric times, connecting Africa to Mesopotamia. This ancient route ran from Egypt via the Sinai desert to Aqaba and further north to Damascus.

As romantic as it may sound, the area was mountainous and the hills made it exhausting riding. Nevertheless, we pushed on until reaching Ras An-Naqib where we pitched the tents next to the road at more than 1,600m above sea level. I realised it wasn’t my imagination - it was an uphill trek.

 

24–26 February – Ras an-Naqb – Wadi Musa – 44 km

The next morning was an easy 44 kilometres to Wadi Musa. The Valentine Hotel, sporting pink walls, red curtains and a mirror above the bed, lured us in and became home for the next few days.

We parked off at Wadi Musa to explore the ancient city of Petra (known as the Rose City due to the colour of the sandstone cliffs). Although my second visit in a short time, Petra was no less impressive.

Petra is a remarkable place, and I failed to see how it couldn’t impress even the most seasoned traveller. Dating to 300 BC, it was the capital of the Nabatean Kingdom. However, the most impressive part of the visit was the entrance. Following a narrow canyon walk, it suddenly and quite unexpectedly opened, revealing a genuinely astonishing sight, the 45-metre-high temple with an ornate, Greek-style façade. Today a UNESCO World Heritage Site, Petra is considered one of the world’s most famous archaeological sites.

In its heyday, Petra was a major crossroad between Arabia (for incense), China (for silk) and India (for spices). While exploring Petra, one could easily be transported to the time of caravans and could just as easily imagine the chaos of trade and bargaining that undoubtedly took place in those years. Most ingenious was their clever water system and how rain- and floodwaters were channelled into cisterns and reservoirs. Being a desert area, none of this would’ve been possible without these channels and diversion dams that controlled and conserved the seasonal rains.

While returning from our walk to the high place of sacrifice, a sudden downpour and hailstorm made us seek shelter in a tomb. I thought taking refuge in an ancient tomb was quite a cool thing to do. Unfortunately, the rain continued all night and, with freezing weather setting in, we stayed an extra day.

 

27 February - Petra – At Tafilah – 91 km

The route out of Petra climbed steeply from Wadi Musa and continued uphill almost the entire day. Still following the barren, mountainous King’s Highway, we soon encountered the warned about stone-throwing children and I was mentally transported back to Ethiopia. The wintery weather brought snow and Ernest had to throw a few snowballs. On reaching the junction at At-Tafilah, the King’s Highway continued north and the At-Tafilah Highway turned down to the Dead Sea in the Jordan Valley.

Following discussing our options, the Dead Sea, which we believed had a milder climate, won. Already late, the tents were pitched at a viewpoint on the outskirts of At-Tafilah. The spot was a remarkable place to overnight as it was blessed with a terrific view of the surrounding barren mountains and the Dead Sea in the distance.

 

28 February - At Tafilah – Dead Sea - 112 km

In the morning, we raced downhill at breakneck speed, from 1,000 AMSL to the Dead Sea at 400m below sea level, the lowest place on earth. Before pitching the tents, we first had the obligatory swim, or instead float, in this unique lake’s saline waters.

Being under the impression that our chosen spot was well-hidden, was clearly incorrect. The many stray dogs soon discovered us. They barked continuously but were also quite aggressive, to such an extent that we feared they could rip the tents apart. However, chasing them only drew more attention to our illegal camp, rather than frightening them.

 

29 February-7 March – Read Sea -Suwayma – Amman – 174 km

The road climbed steeply out of the Dead Sea valley to Amman, located on a plateau at 1,000 metres above sea level, a slow process on a bicycle. In the process, we met Peter and Jill who recognised the South African sticker on Ernest’s bags and stopped to inquire about our trip. They promptly invited us to a braai, and we spent the following evening at their home, enjoying a great meal and plenty of red wine before being dropped off at our abode.

Two days were spent searching for a new rim but to no avail. There wasn’t a great deal one could do but order a new one. Thanks to my sister Amanda, Leon, and Jaco at Cycle Maintenance Centre in Cape Town, the parts were packed and sent to Jordan.

Ordering the spares made kicking back in a room until the parcel arrived easy. The best part of any accommodation was it usually had a bathroom. I considered this heaven. The freezing weather resulted in us biking and sleeping much in the same outfit, and you can thus understand my delight.

I should’ve used the time to do something regarding my appearance, as I was shrivelled up like an old prune. Instead, we did the tourist thing and visited Madaba and Mt Nebo, where Moses reportedly saw the promised land and then died at the age of 120. The world is clearly going backwards as the life expectancy in Jordan, at the time of our visit, was only 74. The place was a tad disappointing, and nowhere to place your feet and say, “Beam me up, Scotty”.

 

8-9 March – Amman

At last, the package arrived. Receiving a parcel is always exciting and it was eagerly opened. Not merely did it contain bike spares but my thoughtful sister included droëwors, cup-a-soup, pasta sauce, jelly babies and a buff for Ernest in SA colours. Thanks, Amanda!

Off to the bike shop, and although their technology was limited, the shop was accommodating and friendly. The following day, the bikes were as good as new.

 

10 March - Amman - Syrian border – 88 km

All smiles, we continued our journey towards Syria. The bikes ran well and the weather was good, making pedalling to the Jordanian-Syrian border effortless. We were slightly apprehensive, not knowing what to expect and whether obtaining a visa at the border was even possible. We were thus ecstatic to learn the process had changed and had become more effortless.

I did essential shopping (face cream and mask) at the duty-free shop. Then keen to use it, I found a room on the Syrian side of the border to relax until exploring Syria in the morning. That also brought to an end our rather short visit to Jordan. 

010 CYCLE TOURING SYRIA (1)

 

SYRIA (1)

570 Kilometers – 23 Days

22 September – 14 October 2007

MAP

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22-23 September – Atakia, Turkey – Aleppo, Syria – 110 kilometres

Leaving Atakia, Turkey, I nervously approached the Syrian border, wondering if visas were issued on arrival. However, what could only have been the visa gods must have been looking after me, as I met four motorbike riders travelling overland to South Africa. They introduced me to Ahmed, a tour guide, who was helping them obtain Syrian visas. Ahmed was incredibly accommodating and helped me complete the forms and then disappeared. Three hours later, I had my visa and was en route to Aleppo, Syria. Sometimes I couldn’t believe my luck, and I knew I was tremendously fortunate to meet the motorbike riders as well as Ahmed.

My first thought cycling into Syria was, “What have I let myself into?” Syria was entirely different. It had a different culture, language, landscape, food and housing. Not only was it a conservative Muslim and desert country, but one of the oldest inhabited regions in the world. Archaeological finds indicate human habitation dates back 700,000 years.

Little happened during the day, apart from cotton fields and typical Syrian communities consisting of a mosque, a market, and a few modest courtyard homes. Traditionally, these homes appear unimpressive from the outside but could be quite lavish on the inside. The houses further offered total privacy as well as a communal family area, often fitted with a water feature or even a pool. I was so impressed by this type of architecture that I swore that if I had the opportunity to build a home, it would be a courtyard-style home.

Biking into Aleppo, one of the oldest cities in Syria, was at 18h00, thus in peak hour traffic. By then, I was quite aware that traffic rules weren’t the same in all countries, but the horrendous traffic in Syria made no sense whatsoever. I had no idea Aleppo was such a large city. As it was Ramadan, thousands of hungry people were on their way home. Being a woman on a bicycle, I felt I was at the bottom of the food chain. As if that wasn’t enough, it started bucketing down and the entire road flooded in seconds. While trying to stay out of harm’s way, I rode through a puddle and my front wheel got stuck in a drain cover. I nearly destroyed a part of my anatomy, which I believed could still come in handy later!

Miraculously, I made my way to the city centre where a reasonably priced abode was uncovered. The aptly named Hotel Tourist was centrally located and clean. Achmad, from the hotel, was immensely helpful and offered to walk me around town.

The following day was spent in Aleppo exploring the citadel, market and museum. Upon returning, I needed a GPS to find the way along the numerous narrow, identical-looking alleys. By evening, Achmad offered to show me more of the town. It turned out an interesting meander ending at a typical Syrian eatery. What a friendly bunch the Syrians are.

 

24 September - Aleppo – Idlib – 66 kilometres

Upon departing, Achmad presented me with a watch. I had no idea what to make of this generous gift, but I thanked him and cycled out of Aleppo. That was just weird! My first full day of cycling was between Aleppo and Idlib, about 60 kilometres straight into a strong headwind.

In Idlib, I enquired about accommodation and, in the process, met Ahmad. He invited me to stay with him and his wife. I was given an entire apartment and was invited to supper. Also present were his brother and sister-in-law. It was a pleasant experience; they did not merely sit on a mat but used no utensils and ate solely with their fingers. Even though Ramadan, Somod (Ahmad’s wife) went to great lengths to create various delicious dishes. It was a lovely evening, albeit Ahmad the sole member who spoke English. Still, we communicated and enjoyed each other’s company. They showed me how to sit correctly when eating and laughed jovially at me, struggling to eat using only my fingers. Afterwards, I returned to my room well-fed and grateful for such a unique opportunity.

 

25 September - Idlib – Latakia – 130 kilometres

From Idlib to Latakia was a hundred and thirty kilometres. The going was slow as the road led over a mountain range and was coupled with a headwind. However, the people I encountered were immensely accommodating. Still, asking for directions remained tricky as only a few could read an English map. That said, for the best part, Syrians observed me, mouths agape. Their astonishment was primarily due to me being an unaccompanied woman… on a bicycle. Still, virtually all were keen to communicate. In the process, I was offered more food and drink than anyone could consume.

Towards the end of the day, it took cycling through hectic traffic and into a stiff breeze before reaching the historic port city of Latakia.

 

26 September – Latakia

Syria’s traffic was astounding. There appeared no rules and, if any, I hadn’t caught onto it. The driving seemed aggressive and the constant hooting deafening. Everyone seemingly did their own thing, surprisingly without any accidents - quite astonishing really. Syria was home to the three-wheel pickups. These vehicles carted anything, from people to building rubble. It was pretty easy to keep up or even overtake them, usually to the children’s great delight.

Latakia warranted a day of investigating as the site had been inhabited since the 2^nd millennium BC. Still, the city was only founded in the 4^th century BC under the Seleucid Empire’s rule. Eventually, Pompey saw the Seleucids as too troublesome and made Syria a Roman Province. Latakia was subsequently ruled by the Romans, the Ummayads and the Abbasids, all between the 8^th–10^th centuries of the Christian era. One would think it was enough for any city, but it wasn’t for Latakia. Following World War 1, Latakia was assigned to the French, and only reintegrated into Syria in 1944. Phew!

Strangely, not much remained of its troublesome past except a Triumphal Arch and the ruins of the Temple of Bacchus.

 

27 September - Latakia – Tartus - 85 kilometres

I emerged to brilliant weather and was eager to get underway. The ride was pleasant as it ran next to the ocean until reaching Tartus, situated further south along the Mediterranean coast.

I came out in lumps and bumps, all terribly itchy, and instead of getting better, it seemed to worsen. Irritated, hot and tired, I booked into an overpriced chalet only to discover the place infested with creepy crawlies. It was a day I felt incredibly sorry for myself. Albeit next to the coast, the coastline was filthy and littered with all kinds of rubbish. I thought better of it to swim, not purely because of the garbage but because I was afraid of offending the conservative Syrian Muslims.

 

28 September – Tartus

The following morning, I woke with a swollen eye and even more itchy bites – not something I considered possible. In no mood to explore, I still looked around the historical centre inside the Crusader-era Templar fortress walls, but few old buildings remained. Still, the city was home to a smattering of interesting sites. Unfortunately, the surprisingly few tourists made me stick out like a sore thumb and in no mood to be stared at, I scurried back to my room.

 

29 September - Tartus – Homs – 110 kilometres

My route continued to Holms via a busy highway where my arrival was reasonably early, thanks to a good tailwind.

Still, I could make no head or tail of the traffic. Despite the red lights, no one stopped, and traffic police were required to help regulate the madness.

Later, I took a taxi to a recommended restaurant. The evening turned out rather bizarre as the taxi driver stayed and joined me for the meal. He spoke no English, which made the evening somewhat uncomfortable. I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to buy my taxi driver a meal. Whatever the culture, it would’ve been far more comfortable eating on my own.

 

30 September – Homs

As little of Homes was seen the previous day, it justified an additional day. I walked the ancient markets, ate overly sweet pastries, and drank tiny cups of strong coffee. It was sweltering hot and I wondered how the women managed being completely covered in black. The men, at least, looked marginally better off in their long white robes.

The city was a jumble of noise and colour. Hooting seemed part of driving and the numerous mosques called people to prayer ever so often.

 

1 October - Homs – Damascus – 80 kilometres

The scenery abruptly changed as the route swung inland from Homs to Damascus. The only thing visible was a vast desert. Gone were the olive trees, pomegranates and figs and nothing but barren land surrounded me. A ferocious wind picked up and visibility was down to a few metres of a grey/yellow haze. I battled onward but knew I wouldn’t get far in such unforgiving conditions. I had my head down to try and keep the sand from my eyes and scarcely saw the van parked alongside the road. A sweet French couple stopped to offer me a ride to Damascus. I succumbed to temptation as this was too good an offer to decline and jumped in. In no time at all, we were in Damascus.

They parked their van in the backyard of St Paul’s convent, and I pitched my tent in the convent’s herb garden (hopefully I didn’t flatten the parsley).

 

2-6 October – Damascus

Departing the convent was early as the gardener started watering the garden. After waving goodbye to my saviours, the way into the city centre was in life-threatening traffic. The inexpensive abode uncovered needed cleaning before settling in to wait for my sister Amanda’s arrival, coming to Syria on holiday.

The plan was to use public transport to travel to Syria and Jordan. With a shock, I discovered my passport was practically full. On inquiring, I learned it wasn’t possible to order a new one in Syria, Jordan or adjacent Lebanon. Another lesson learned. I stared myself blind at the expiry date and never considered the number of remaining pages. This left me little choice but to return to South Africa, order a new one and hopefully be on my way a.s.a.p. A costly lesson, indeed.

 

7 October - Damascus

Amanda arrived in the afternoon and, almost immediately, the two of us set out to the old part of town sporting narrow, cobbled pedestrian lanes. Being the oldest continuously inhabited city globally, Damascus was steeped in history, and ancient markets and beautiful mosques abounded. The markets were fascinating and the traffic horrendous. Crossing a street could solely be achieved as part of a human wall.

 

8 October - Maalula

Following breakfast, a taxi took us to the Shrine of Saida Zeinab, ten kilometres from Damascus and rumoured to contain the grave of Muhammad’s granddaughter. Once done, a minibus took us to historical Maalula, roughly 56 kilometres from Damascus, where houses clung precariously to the cliffside. Maalula was one of the only places where Aramaic was still spoken, a language Jesus Christ presumably spoke.

It didn’t take long to get used to Syria’s lifestyle, where nothing opened until ten. Breakfast was usually served until midday. Shops closed between four and six and remained open until late, which suited my dear sister’s lifestyle. It was thus late before finally turning in.

 

9-10 October – Damascus - Aleppo

An early morning bus took us to Aleppo, where historical records indicate the area has been occupied since 5,000 BC. I was excited to show Amanda the covered souqs in the old walled part of the city (a UNESCO World Heritage Site). It’s said to be the largest covered market in the world. Hundreds of long narrow alleys run approximately thirteen kilometres; all jam-packed with people and goods. With its warren of stalls, the Al-Madina Souq formed the city’s beating heart. Here one could find anything – from spices and traditional sweets to textiles, carpets, and the famous Aleppo soap made from olive oil. To the citizens of Aleppo, the souqs weren’t simply places of commerce but also places of social gatherings to smoke, drink tea and gossip.

We sauntered around the old citadel dating to the 3^rd millennium BC. The Citadel of Aleppo, right in the centre of town, sported grand vistas over old Aleppo, dating to the 10^th century BC.

 

11 October - Aleppo - Hama

When not travelling by bicycle, getting around was much faster and we moved on to Hama. Once there, no time was wasted grabbing a taxi to the Krak des Chevaliers castle. The castle is the best-preserved medieval castle globally, first occupied by Kurdish troops in the 11^th century. After snatching a few pics, we returned to Hama.

In Hama, enough time remained to view the world famous and oldest surviving water wheels (norias), dating to the medieval Islamic period. There remained six of them along the Orontes River and, amazingly, were still in working condition.

 

12-14 October - Hama – Palmyra

By morning, we were ready to roll and boarded a bus to the oasis town of Palmyra, an ancient city founded in the 3^rd millennium BC. Famous as the place where Queen Zenobia ruled and for the ruins of the “Pink City”, once one of the most important cultural centres of the ancient world. In those days, Palmyra was a wealthy caravan oasis due to its prominent location on the trade route between Persia, India and China. One of its principal features was a colonnaded street measuring 1,100 metres in length. On our visit, Palmyra’s ruins still rose out of the Syrian desert. It revealed the remains of roads and the temple of Ba’el, considered one of the most significant religious buildings of the 1^st century AD.

Palmyra was where we befriended a chap who invited us to visit his family living in the desert. The trip involved a camel ride to a Bedouin camp. We hurriedly packed our belongings and soon rocked across the vast desert by camel. The trip took the best part of the day and we reached camp in the afternoon with sore backsides. Although interesting, the situation was slightly uncomfortable as no one understood one another. Amanda and I were unsure of what was expected of us. We foolishly smiled at them and them at us. We were clearly the topic of conversation, if understood correctly, as we received an offer of a few camels. Hahaha. It couldn’t have been many as we were way past the age of receiving any reasonable offers!

By evening, we accompanied the family to a waterhole to give the camels water. On returning, a sand-bearing wind (or Khamsin) raised a wall of dust, quickly engulfing the entire region, and darkening the sky. One could see it moving in from a long way off, and by the time it reached us, visibility was reduced to only a few hundred metres.

At camp, I was surprised at how insulated the tent was. Inside, the tents were beautifully decorated with woven carpets on the walls and the floor. Amanda and I sat with the men in the main tent. At the same time, the women (complete with traditional facial tattoos) lived and cooked in separate smaller tents. This arrangement made me feel awfully uncomfortable. Once done, the food was brought in on large trays. Traditionally, the men eat first, and the women what is leftover (another awkward moment). We were served rice topped with a chicken thigh. Being a vegetarian, I didn’t want to offend and thus closed my eyes and quickly consumed the chicken thigh, hardly chewing the meat. To my hosts, this action translated as hunger and, to my horror, I was promptly given a second portion!

The next morning, the camels returned us to Palmyra. A truly unforgettable experience!

Barely enough time remained to do a small amount of shopping before resuming our bus journey to Amman, Jordan, another ancient country with a long and fascinating history.