After a deeply memorable few weeks on the road, I find myself once again in a capital city – this time, it’s Tehran.
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 enticing successor to Armenia, rather than backtracking through Georgia or Turkey, and it was where Tenny’s family still lived, which threw up the idea of a surprise visit. With that in mind, we decided to head in the direction of Iran and cycle for as long as we felt comfortable, before making the remaining distance to Tehran by hitch-hiking or using public transport.
On the second day in Iran we were taken hostage.
At lunchtime today I skipped merrily forth from the steel-fenced compound housing the Iranian Embassy here in Yerevan. After pausing briefly in the middle of the road in order to frolic, I galavanted with glee and chortled with mirth as I biked my jolly way home, carrying in my sweaty palm a passport containing a visa to visit Iran.
I’m going to Iran… after all the waiting, red tape, payments and delays, it’s finally going to happen!