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June 14, 2008 - Hoy llegué llegué a Paris a las nueve y media de la tarde. El viaje se acabo. Los últimos ochocientos kilómetros de Milan a Paris fueron los mas raros. Contento por volver y triste por llegar.
Final del camino, 114600kms en el marcador y 43000 kms recorridos en trece fantásticos meses pasando por doce países. Ningún problema con la moto ni de salud ni de seguridad. Solo me he encontrado con gente maravillosa en el camino.

Estoy en la torre Eiffel y la verdad es que no se si estoy contento o quiero llorar. Un poco de los dos.
El mejor año de mi vida, y un viaje que será, sin duda, el mejor que haga nunca.

January 14, 2008 - Goa
Goa has been for years a byword for beaches, good fish, parties, raves, nudism under the full moon and loads of drugs.
It is a paradise the hippies discovered at the end of the sixties, when they arrived and found miles of deserted, fine-sand beaches, palm trees, people even more relaxed than in the rest of India, and above all, cheap and good quality hashish which could be smoked without being bothered.
The truth is that Goa nowadays is not what it was. Most of its beaches are full of tourists, and any beach in Thailand, Brazil, or The Caribbean is much better. The water in Corsica or Ibiza is bluer and more transparent, and nudism has been forbidden for years. You can count the raves on the fingers of one hand, the use of drugs is prosecuted as in any other country, and actually, as far as I’m concerned fish tastes much better in Galicia.
Why is it still such a popular place, then? In my opinion, Goa is appreciated by someone who has been travelling across India for several months, which in a lot of cases, it could be a nightmare.
After being in dreadful buses which take more than 12 hours to do 200 kilometres, waiting endlessly for trains that never arrive, breathing the polluted air of its cities, hearing the deafening noise of the horns of cars, motors and buses; after having heard two thousand times: “ have a look to my shop” in Rajasthan, after having argued with half of India’s rickshaw drivers to discuss the price because you know beforehand you’re going to end up paying double. After having suffered all of this, and more; when somebody arrives in Goa, they think they are in paradise, or at least the nearest thing to it in India.
In my case, it happened after 10.000 km of India’s roads and three months averting lorries, cows, cycles and every other artefact you find on these roads.

October 24, 2007 - Manali to Mandi

October 13, 2007 - Manali - İndia

October 12, 2007 - Sarchu - Leh to Manali

October 11, 2007 - Pang (5000m)- Ladakh - India

October 10, 2007 - Khardung La - 5620m - Leh - İndia

October 4, 2007 - Waiting for translation check the spanish site version

September 1, 2007 - Islamabad to Mansera - Karakoran Highway - Pakistan

August 31, 2007 - Islamabad - Pakistan

August 30, 2007 - Islamabad - Pakistan

August 29, 2007 - Lahore - Pakistan

August 28, 2007 - Lahore to Islamabad

August 27, 2007 - Road Quetta to Sukkur - Baluchistan - Pakistan

August 26, 2007 - Quetta - Baluchistan - Pakistan

August 25, 2007 - Quetta - Baluchistan - Pakistan

August 24, 2007 - Quetta - Baluchistan - Pakistan

August 23, 2007 - Quetta - Baluchistan - Pakistan

August 22, 2007 - Quetta - Baluchistan - Pakistan

August 21, 2007 - Road Taftan to Quetta - Baluchistan - Pakistan

August 20, 2007 - Taftan - frontera Pakistan

August 19, 2007 - Bam - İran

August 18, 2007 - Kerman - Iran

Waiting for translation check the spanish site version

August 17, 2007 - Neyriz - Iran

Waiting for translation check the spanish site version

August 16, 2007 - Shiraz - Iran

August 15, 2007 - Shiraz - Iran

Waiting for translation check the spanish site version

August 14, 2007 - Persepolis (Shiraz) - Iran

August 13, 2007 - Esfahan Iran

August 12, 2007 - Esfahan Iran

August 11, 2007 - Esfahan Iran

August 10, 2007 - Esfahan - Iran

August 9, 2007 - Esfahan - Iran

August 8, 2007 - Esfahan - Iran

August 7, 2007 - Abyaneh - Iran

August 6, 2007 - Teheran to Kashan - Iran

Waiting for translation check the spanish site version

August 5, 2007 - Teheran


Iran, the country of Mollahs, of women covered with shadors and veils, of Islamic law, atomic bomb and “terrorism”. If you tell somebody you are going to Iran, he’ll look at you with astonish and surprised eyes. What nobody or only a few will tell you or know is that it is one of the most welcoming countries. In my case it’s definitely been the most welcoming ever. Every single day there is someone who treats me to dinner, invites me over the night or the weekend, or just for a tea or a coffee. If you are looking for something or need anything, they can spend hours with you until you find what you are looking for. They are all kindness. I sometimes wish I could be by myself for a couple of hours…Countless stops on the road to buy water or drink some chai as a treatment from the shop owner, petrol stations where people give you 20 litres as a present in a country where petrol is rationed, taxis you don’t have to pay for, barbers who shave you for free, mechanics who spend an hour double-checking the motorbike and who only want you to drink some chai with them. They will never tell you about that face of the “axe of evil” on the Western media. I think of that Parisian petrol station which forces me to leave my mobile phone and come back because I’m 50 cents short on my payment, or that bar in Montmartre where I have spent 80 € a week for the last five years and where I’ve never been invited; or my BMW dealer for the last six years (Daniel Motor) who tells me to pay first at the cashier (ten metres far from me) before I can take the spares. And I remember most of all the legendary kindness of Parisian waiters…Undoubtedly, Iran follows the tradition, spread all over the Arab world, of welcoming the foreigner. Subesh told me “we give everything to the foreigner, but among us there is no mercy”. In addition, Iranians know about their bad reputation in the Western world and maybe to show the contrary, their kindness is sometimes excessive. Whatever the reasons, I’ve never been to any other country where the tourist is better treated. All this doesn’t prevent me from seeing the State and the system imposed on the population to be aberrant. Nobody I have talked to is happy with the government or the draconian laws imposed by the religious power. Everybody accepts the situation because there is no other solution. The older people remember the Sha’s period as a paradise. “There was music and partying, drinking was allowed, there were jobs and many tourists. The money from the oil was taken by the foreigners, all right, but nowadays it is taken by the ruling Iranian families, the mullahs live as kings and there is petrol rationing.” It is funny to see that what is most talked about, particularly by men is that in the Sha’s period there was “free sex”. They often ask whether we have “free sex” in Europe and whether there is any problem in having sexual intercourse without being married. It can be seen that a fair amount of happiness has to do with it…Everybody says that the weight of religion is overwhelming. Around 10 per cent, I’ve been told, agrees with Islamic rules, the rest of the people are forced to bear them. It is a remarkable fact that almost nobody has a beard, which is another wrong idea about the country. If the beard is a religious symbol, there are few religious people on the streets.
I get to the hotel doors at eleven p.m. I see somebody with a beard and a helmet on top of a Harley Davison. He is looking desperately at a list on the motorbike tank. Man, and American on a motorbike in Iran!
Are you going to Pakistan?, I ask him.
Do you know of a hotel for tonight?
This one is all right, and they a have a parking lot for the motorbike.
It’s full, there are no vacancies.
I am staying at a double room. If you want, we can shave it. I’m leaving tomorrow.
Tell me where to leave my motorbike. Donato is not American. He is Italian, from Milan. He has ridden half the world on his motorbike. We spend the night talking about travels. He’s going to India, as well. He plans to make the same journey as me, more or less. Up to the Chinese border on the Karakoram Highway and then in Ladakh from Shri Nagar to Leh, returning through Manali. He hasn’t got a visa to Pakistan and he is required a letter of introduction from the Italian embassy. I don’t want to bring bad luck, but I tell him he won’t get it. In the morning I pass Donato at the hotel. As I had predicted, the Italian Embassy hasn’t given him a letter of introduction. So, it’s your own country which prevents you from obtaining your visa: amazing! Citizens shouldn’t be told where to go. You know, embassies are crowded with diplomats earning a fortune, besides they don’t pay any taxes in the country which they represent nor in the country they are commissioned to. In general, when you have a problem and go to see them, they tell you they are not Mother Teresa…Finally Donato decides trying at the Pakistani consulate in Zahesdan, three hundred kilometres from the border. I’m leaving for Esfahan. We arrange to e-mail each other in case we can cross the border together and travel together in Pakistan.

August 4, 2007 - Teheran
I’m meeting a girl friend from Merdarh for lunch. She’s wearing a Fuchsia veil, tight trousers and a long white dress. Very modern for Iranian standards. We go to the restaurant by motorbike and she gets nervous several times and tells me to speed up when we pass by the police cars. She explains to me that she has been arrested for dressing up incorrectly as she was showing some hair. Since then she is allergic to police. Me too.
Bank holiday in Iran: I’m going to visit the National Museum of Islamic Art. I’m not lucky; it’s being restored so it’s closed. Not much in the pre-Islamic section. Iranians don’t have bars but there are coffee houses or tea rooms. There you can have something to eat, have some chai, smoke water pipes or hookahs. In general, they are very nice and relaxing, and it’s the only thing you can get apart from fast food. There’s nobody in the centre of Teheran around ten p.m. There’s absolutely nothing after that time. No people and nowhere to go. If you are lucky you can find some fast food place with dubious looking kebabs. It’s like a ghost city. The only places where you can see someone are the parks. Iranians love parks, for want of public places. They are full of fountains and lawn to go picnicing. It’s one of the few shelters for couples who can’t go to hotels or express themselves in public. Jamshidiye Park, on the hillside of the Alborz Mountains, north of Teheran, is the biggest and most beautiful. At night you can see the lights of Teheran. It’s full of paths and fountains.

August 3, 2007 - Teheran
The BMW dealer has phoned me to tell me the address of someone who has the synchronizer for the carburetor. I’m looking for some documents when I realize that I have left the motorbike customs passage in Ramsar, 400 km from Teheran. It’s the third time I’ve left something behind during my journey. In the end, there’s no synchronizer.
I contact the restaurant in Ramsar where I left the documents. I’ve hot two options: I can go and get them, which means a two-day journey, or they send them to me on the mail. I choose to have them sent to me to a hotel in Derman, where the documents arrived ten days later…In the afternoon I go to the motorbikes neighbourhood, looking for a pair of tires. Nobody has tires for my motorbike. Motorbikes over 200 cc are forbidden here. You need a special permit and a lot of money to bribe the police. In fact, it’s very convenient for the population, given the way the kids ride the 125 cc motorbikes. Eventually I find the tires after more than three hours from shop to shop.At each shop, I’m surrounded by a flock of curious people who want to see my motorbike. It’s worth seeing. From the Capadocia, it’s always the same questions: “How much was it? How many cylinders? Haven’t you got any problems with petrol rationing?” Every time I get back to it, all the switches are changed, the gears have been moved and the starter is on. However, travelling on a motorbike is a great way to meet people and a good way to start a conversation. In a country where a motorbike is only a means of city transportation, seeing a crazy man like me causes their respect and admiration. Even if they don’t know that deep down it’s only a matter of time and willingness. After the technical questions, it’s time for the personal ones. “Why do you travel all by yourself? Aren’t you married? Do you think Iranians are terrorists? Are you a Christian?” The first questions are easy to answer, however when I tell them that I’m not a Christian but an atheist, it gets more difficult. A conversation about religious topics, considering that I don’s speak Farsi correctly and their English isn’t good, can become a nightmare. The easiest way out is telling them I’m a Christian. I leave “Roman Apostolic” for the Roman Pope.
At night I go to Merdarh, the Iranian from yesterday’s party. He warns me against sending the documents on the mail. He calls the restaurant and arranges everything for them to send the papers on a bus. The papers will be in Teheran tomorrow. Finally!I meet a friend of his who speaks Spanish and some Irish people who are staying at his place. We have dinner at a kebah fast food place. We eat the kebahs sitting at a nearby park.

August 2, 2007 - Teheran
I can finally find a road map of the country in English. Next to the hotel there is the famous Naderi café, a perfect place to see the city’s atmosphere. Tasty expresso coffee with cakes. It’s a gathering place for people ranging from young couples to 70-year-old retired men. The first thing to do is visit the BMW dealer, who helps me find a pair of tires for my motorbike, even if they haven’t had a motorbike service for some years now. They give me four telephone numbers to contact people in case I have any trouble on my way to the border with Pakistan. The manager calls a motorbike rider who is well in his sixties and who has a BMW Boxer bought in Germany twenty years ago. He gives me some advice but in the end nobody has synchronizer for the carburetors. The next place where I’ll be able to buy it will be Thailand…I had planned on staying in Teheran for two days. Just to buy a pair of tires and see what little interesting it has. But I contacted through a travel forum with two sisters and a student who proposed to go out and talk about Iran and the relationship of young people with the state.I decided to stay for a few more days. We had a coffee at a very modern coffee house in the south of Teheran. After a few coffees they took me to a friend’s house. A private party as they call it in Iran. As soon as I got to Mohamed’s house, another world appeared before my eyes. There was some music. Girls took off their shadors and veils. There they were in tight jeans, high heels, T-shirts and tops, showing their cleavages. Like in Madrid or Paris. As they arrived, they gave two kisses as a welcome. We even danced salsa. Do you want a drink? With just a phone call, alcohol at home, no problem.Heineken 2.5€. They explain to me that everything is possible in Iran in the private sphere. The way you behave in public is totally different from the way you behave in private. Which means that everything is a compulsory façade to avoid problems with the religious power. Everybody likes partying… Everybody I talked to is fed up with Islamic rules. “The only thing to do is being discreet in public and set free at home.” The girls at the party tell me that when someone kills someone by accident, the victim’s blood is valued in about 50,000 €. If the victim is a woman it’s half the amount of a man’s. Which means that if it was a Christian woman, it was almost nothing.

August 1, 2007 - Road to Teheran fron Caspian Sea

I follow the coast road by the Caspian Sea. A great disappointment, because as it often happens the beaches are really dirty and the water doesn’t make swimming appealing. I confirm that Iran is not a beach country. It seems that everybody knew but me…I leave the coast and take the only road which leads to Teheran. From Challus to Daraj (60 km from Teheran) there are 300 km and more than five hours of riding pleasure. The road surrounds the Albort Mounts and is packed with traffic. Sometimes one rides at 40 km per hour. The landscape is precious, with ochre mountains and a hundred different nuances in the stratus folds. These are barren arid mountains, like those of Ladakh. Before getting to Karaj, the mountains reach a damp with emerald waters, which make the landscape even more magical. I stop to fix a little problem with the motorbike back light. It is fixed in ten minutes, after the owner of the shop invites me to cake, chai and asks me whether my team is Real Madrid or Barcelona. I get to Teheran at night. It reminds me of Delhi: pollution, concrete, full of cars and of little interest from the point of view of architecture. I’ll see tomorrow.

July 31, 2007 - Ramsar - Caspian Sea

I leave the Masule Mountains towards the coast of the Caspian Sea. I sleep at a hotel which a family had shown me. When they are asked, they don’t hesitate to turn round and take me to the door in their car. They fare me well with a “welcome to Iran”.
At night I have dinner at a restaurant and an Iranian family invites me to sit with them. The father is about 80 years old and is a motorbike fan. He tells me that in the Sha period, he wandered all through Europe by car. He still has two Harleys which he rides from time to time in his village, where the police allows him to. His son in law works in a nuclear plant. He quickly adds that it is for household usage and refrigeration. They explain to me how Iran has changed and how they feel totally tied up and controlled by the system. At the same time they resign themselves because they know there’s nothing to do … The father feels nostalgic about the Sha period. They invite me to go with them to the mountains north of Teheran over the weekend. If I have time, I’ll call them.

July 30, 2007 - Masule - Iran

I leave the Masule Mountains towards the coast of the Caspian Sea. I sleep at a hotel which a family had shown me. When they are asked, they don’t hesitate to turn round and take me to the door in their car. They fare me well with a “welcome to Iran”.
At night I have dinner at a restaurant and an Iranian family invites me to sit with them. The father is about 80 years old and is a motorbike fan. He tells me that in the Sha period, he wandered all through Europe by car. He still has two Harleys which he rides from time to time in his village, where the police allows him to. His son in law works in a nuclear plant. He quickly adds that it is for household usage and refrigeration. They explain to me how Iran has changed and how they feel totally tied up and controlled by the system. At the same time they resign themselves because they know there’s nothing to do … The father feels nostalgic about the Sha period. They invite me to go with them to the mountains north of Teheran over the weekend. If I have time, I’ll call them.

July 29, 2007 - Masule - Iran


Relaxing day at the small village. I go for a walk in the mountains next to Masule. In the apartment I’ve rented there are no chairs or table or a bed to sleep. In the Iranian Style, there is a large Persian carpet which covers all the living room floor. I sleep on a mattress as thin as smoking paper. After midnight, the TV broadcasts programs in French and English. They are something to be seen. They talk for hours about the wonders which Jomeini- bless be his name and may he be in God’s glory – did for his country and about the great exegete he was. A great expert of the Koran, which he interpreted form a totally new point of view. Yes, right. Then they go on with the history of Islam, or talk about some new prophet or again about the Ayatola Jomeini. Like that until three in the morning. This is the international version; in Farsi, it goes on from eight in the morning until midnight.see.

July 28, 2007 - Masule - Iran
For the first time for two months, the sky is cloudy when I go out in the morning. After the first mountain pass, the sun is out again. I have to go through Ghazuin again in order to go to Masule. Excellent road, although I cannot say so about the way Iranians drive. They drive fast, badly and they are completely crazy. They give me some frights… Masule is a small mountain village at a thousand metres of altitude on the Slopes of the Alborz Mountains, over the Caspian Sea. Unlike most of the Iranian mountain villages, Masule is surrounded by much green vegetation. The houses are made of brick covered by adobe and painted in ochre yellow. The roofs of the lower houses serve as flat roof to those who are above. Many people from Teheran come here over the weekend in order to escape from the heat. You can notice them straight away. Women wear coloured foulards, they show more hair, high-heel shoes, they wear make-up and are a lot more vain than the local women, who wear a shador strictly. Spiritual police must be less severe in the great cities than in the provinces…I meet Subesh. He’s a village boy who speaks perfect English and gives me a hand to find a room. We go out to dinner and he quickly tells me that he is sick of his life in Iran, and that he dreams of going to Europe or Australia to look for a job. I tell him to get ready for the worst… he tells me how difficult it is to have a relationship with a girl and about the total control on everything you do. Family, spiritual police, and everyone around you in general.
He tells me that most of the people can’t stand the Islamic rules and regulations or even the president, but there’s nothing you can do… Man, this is not a partying

July 27, 2007 - Allamut - Iran

In the morning Robert arrives in the house. He is an Englishman who studies Farsi at the University of Esfaham. He writes and he’s been travelling around the world for three years. China, Inidia, Pakistan and now Iran. We ride my bike on the premises, exploring the area. Anywhere we stop people look at us as if we were aliens. People are amazed that there are tourists in their villages, especially on a motorbike. However everything is easier with Robert, who speaks Farsi. We have dinner on the house flat roof. Nice conversation about religion and our impressions on Iran. We exchange information about Turkey, Pakistan and Iran. He’s going westbound and I’m going east. Robert is staying, he’s going hiking for two more days and I’m leaving in the morning for Masule.

July 26, 2007 - Allamut - Iran
Alamut is a village on the summit of the Alborz Mountains. A good road full of curves, with two mountain passes: a real pleasure on a motorbike. I get to the small village of Gale from where you can leave to visit the Gazor Khan Castle. We are five people to see it. An ancient fortress of a sect who used to recruit prospective members by giving them hashish and then leading them to the fort where they were seduced by women. There is little left from the fort, though.The view from up there is spectacular.
At the petrol stations I tell them about the petrol without rationing for tourists, but nobody seems to know about it. Well, there’s no problem: I pretend not to know and there is always a taxi or a lorry driver (here’s no limit for them) who lets me use his card to fill my tank. Most of the times, they won’t accept my money. They answer: “You are my guest, Mister! Welcome to Iran!”.
I sleep at the house of an Iranian family who don’t stop calling me “mister!”

July 25, 2007 - Ghazvin - Iran
I make a mistake, as my map is in Farsi and so I take the motorway. As I missed the road, I get further from the Castle of Takht e Soliman. In Tazjan I see that I have to make 500 km if I want to get there. I leave it for next time. The free motorway is in good condition. I get to Ghazvin. It’s a small nice city with the mausoleum of Emamzade Ye Hussein. The façade is full of mirrors and tiles. I go to the bazaar. It’s almost as big as the one in Tabriz. There’s not a single tourist in town. The motorbike keeps on attracting curious people. It’s a full adventure to cross streets and avenues. There are no traffic lights and everybody tries to cross over by avoiding the cars as best as they can. They speak very little English and they laugh heartily when they see that I don’t speak any Farsi, because they think I’m Iranian…I read on the newspaper that since Sunday the government allows tourists to buy petrol without the famous rationing card and at 50 euro cents per litre with a credit card. It’s a relief because I only had 40 litres left and more than 2000 km to go. Let’s see how they put it into effect.

July 24, 2007 - Tabriz - Iran

In the morning we go to Kandovan. It’s a troglodyte village 50 km away. You pay for the tickets when you get there on the road. We get into a subterranean city but the access to the underground levels is blocked by water and mud. There’s no point of comparison with the subterranean cities of Capadocia. In the village we have some chai in the restaurants by the river bank. There are many excursions of groups of women and Shao calls their attention. They even take pictures of ourselves, it’s not easy to see a Japanese in Iran…Kandovan is Iran’s Capadocia. It’s a lot smaller and less spectacular but the difference is that there’s still people living in the houses. And of course, there’s no tourist. In the evening, an overexcited cop shouts at me and asks for my passport. He thinks I’m Iranian, and I’m translated that motorbikes over 200 cc aren’t allowed. Yes son, I know but I’m a foreigner. When he sees my papers he calms down.

July 23, 2007 - Tabriz - Iran

It’s late when I leave. The road is in good condition if you compare it with the ones Eastern Turkey. There’s little traffic, arid mountains and the desert on both sides of the road. As I’m arriving in the city, a car forces me to stop. They are policemen dressed as civilians. There’s a military on the back seat. I am submitted to interrogation and then they fare me well with a “Welcome to Iran”. I wouldn’t like to find them on an alley. I get to the hotel and they invite me to enter the motorbike into the lobby. I walk around the bazaar where Marco Polo was. It’s huge, with thousands of different things. It’s a thousand times better than the touristy shit of the Great Bazaar and the Bazaar of species in Istanbul. It’s a strange feeling to see all the women in black, dressed with shadors. It’s hard take a glimpse of their faces.I meet Shao, a Japanese who tells me everything about the country. There are no beers anywhere and the food is kebab and rice, rice and kebab. We arrange to meet the following day to visit a small Capadocia 50 km away from Tabriz.

July 22, 2007 - Maku -Iran


The road is full of police and army controls with tanks and machine-guns. Careful not to see a control and pass it … In general, after two inutes, they let me go after saying all the Real Madrid player’s names…
When you pass the last Turkish city before the Iranian border you can see Mount Ararat. It’s supposed to be the boat where Noah’s Arc ran aground. You know, the one thanks who the earth was populated with species, as the Bible tells… The summit has everlasting snow but it’s cloudy today and you can hardly see it. As a farewell to Turkish ground, I have to deal with a road full of holes. It’s rather a colander, not a road. In the Turkish border there’s a queue of lorries which is longer than 5 km. It takes an hour for the policeman at the customs to find the motorbike entrance record on the computer. It’s hard for them to understand that I’m Spanish, but my motorbike is French, that I have entered the country with my ID card and I’m showing my passport to leave it. And on top of it, the guy at customs can’t write on the computer…
The gate opens. I’m in Iran. It’s the “Axe of Evil” as Bush the wise man would call it.
It’s a fast passport control. The tourist office clerk turns up immediately to ask me a few questions: what the purpose of my visit is, where I am going to, personal information, if I know anybody in Iran, etc. Wow! A present from the Ministry of tourism. He gives me an Iran road map. In Farsi... Thanks, man. At least, he takes care of myself and helps me out with the passage paper work. It’s all solved in half an hour. Without him, it would have been more than an hour. I can recognise Asian bureaucracy and it gives me a pain in the arse to remember the old times in India. I’m out now. Oh no! There’s another small gate and my receipt hasn’t been stamped. Back to the office. Look, you haven’t stamped the entrance paper. Are you Spanish? What about the Real Madrid?
I get to Maku, 30 km away. I’m a bit lost, looking for a hotel. A car stops and someone asks me in English: What are you looking for? A hotel. Follow me. He takes me to the precise hotel I was looking for. He shakes my hand and gets into his car. Welcome to Iran, he tells me. This guy has driven at least five km to take me to the hotel.At night I discover, as I had read the previous week, the latest petrol rationing law all over the country. It seems that the government is getting ready for the imminent sanctions Uncle Tom is planning for the country. Petrol embargo is about to fall on Iran in a few months. There’s a hundred litre limitation per car a month.Something doesn’t fit: a 3000 km country and a valid visa for a month. I don’t know how I’m going to cross the country. The card costs €40 for a hundred litres of petrol. Then you pay 3 euro cents for a litre at the petrol station. At the end you get a litre for about 45 euro cents. Not bad… but only a month ago it cost 10 euro cents! I read a few months ago that a fatua was proclaimed forbidding the barbers to shave people’s beards. I’m going to verify. I mimic to tell him I want to shave. Sit down. Well-shaved in 20 minutes. I love getting shaved in these lands. How much is it? Nothing, he answers. How much for the shave. Nothing, present. I insist. Impossible, no way. He gestures that coming from so far, and on a motorbike…
It’s clear that I’m deep into the “Axe of Evil”…

July 21, 2007 - Van - Bike maıntenace 10000 kms

July 20, 2007 - Van

July 18, 2007 - I met Eimere a Turkish biker in a BMW GS

June 30, 2007 - I’m still at the camping site http://fullmooncamp.com/ . Reading, resting and swimming in the natural pool.

June 29, 2007 - I get to Kabac, a wonderful place on the coast, 15 km from Fethiye. Going down to the beach costs me falling down twice with the motorbike engine off and more than forty minutes on first and second gears. I can’t find any place I like at the camping sites by the beach and I climb up the mountain side. I settle at a site with wooden houses, a great view of the beach and the mountains around.

Pool of spring water and some sofas to read and not to do anything. I came to stay for a day and I left ten days later.

May 9, 2007 - Départ de Paris

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