East Azarbaijan, or north-west Iran

The prospect of crossing the Armenian-Iranian border was something over which we’d spent many weeks fretting. Tenny had been nervous about the idea of cycling in Iran – her home country – ever since we’d first entertained the possibility many months ago. For me, Iran was the most obvious and…

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New People, Places and Alphabets

On the second day in Iran we were taken hostage. By an incredibly friendly family of Azeri-Iranians. (Got you!) We were taking a roadside breather through a dramatic red stone gorge from the Armenian-Iranian border crossing to the town of Jolfa, when I noticed that one of the ubiquitous Peugeot…

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