Corn Flakes for breakfast, the first time for a long time – better than its Indian counterpart, tho’ decidedly ropey in comparison with its English. Sorry to begin the day with an account of such trivia – I’ll try to do better. Afterwards, we ran into some other English travellers, just out of Iran + heading in the opposite direction. One of them told us about some other English travellers in a combi-van, soon heading back to England, + wanting to carry passengers thro’ Iran. Because Iran does not accept carnets, guarantees that one will not sell a vehicle within the country. The requirement is that one must take an Iranian guide all the way thro’ the country. This is expensive enough, 5000 riyahls, coming west to east; returning, it is 13,000. What makes it worse is that it must be legally accountable money, ie not black market. Except that everyone going on to the country is allowed to take 2000 (or so we were told – I’d never heard of that before. This money could – + would, of course – be black market, so that the more people they take, up to a point, the cheaper the guide becomes. It would amount, in fact, to a free trip for us. It sounded too good an opportunity to miss, so we went with the traveller from our hotel out to the place where they were staying – our companion was trying to get in touch with someone else.
They were parked at a hotel on the outskirts of town, which was quite clearly the overlanders’ centre. There was a Top Deck tour bus, 4 or 5 Mercedes vans – all waiting for the border to open so that they could be driven to Nepal + sold – + one blue VW combi, which various companies from Worthing had advertised on. The blokes, Alan + Colin – were friendly, + obviously quite keen for us to join them. The snag was that they weren’t exactly sure when they would be going. They had already gone to the border once + used up their visa, only getting as far as customs mind, when they had struggled for 3 days, trying to persuade the Iranians to let them thro’, + then trying, unsuccessfully, to have money sent there. It hadn’t been possible, however, + they had had to return to Quetta, send for money, + apply for a new visa. The money had now arrived, + there was no real problem with the visa, except they were waiting for the letter from the British embassy in Karachi. This was expected any day, so they asked us to call back on Saturday, when they would be able to give is a definite departure date. We’d anticipated leaving tomorrow, but it sounded good enough to be worth hanging around an extra couple of days. Not really because of the financial side, but because it would just make everything so easy. The money saved on travelling thro’ Iran would soon be eaten up with hotel + food costs here, but the peace of mind, no worrying about hotels, transport arrangements, possibly until Istanbul… of incalculable value.
Walked back, calling in at a couple of banks, neither of which would accept American Express, so were forced out again, not having a rupee to our name. We were able to change some money at a place just before they closed at 1, + then having a self-congratulatory cup of tea in a café, were assailed by panic – the green bag, with camera inside, was missing. I rushed out + back to the bank, then the Tourist Office, where we’d also dropped in, but it was in neither place. The man in the Tourist Office assured us, in fact, that I’d not had it on when I left. Which was odd, for when we returned to the hotel room, there it was, where it had been sitting all along, on the bed. We felt relieved + rather silly, but it had completely ruined our cup of tea.
At dusk or thereabouts, we called in to see the Kiwi – Terence, his name is. And spent most of the evening in his remarkably pleasant little room, chatting of this + that. He’s an interesting bloke, making his way as a photo-journalist. He is much travelled, but has an opinion to give on what he has seen, which is more than can be said of most travellers. We enjoyed chatting with him.
And like we say, the whole notion of being carried through Iran, without having to worry about how, was worth an awful lot. The idea of negotiating our way through a new, and potentially very hostile, country, with a new language new culture, new problems, was something we wanted to avoid if we could.
Our usual panic when we thought we had lost something, which assailed us on a regular basis. Not that that has changed all that much in the intervening years – car keys, wallet, phone, all seem to take on a life of their own, and however much I tell myself to take care of where I put things… but the relief and joy when they reappear!
