Day 18: The Day of the Friendly Fire

Thursday 4th August

It was time to leave Tehran on our whistle-stop tour of Iran and head towards Aliabad, about 450 km away. Mohammed elected to ride in our car for this leg of the journey so we attempted to give him an education on the music and culture of England. In hindsight, Dizzee Rascal probably wasn’t the best pop icon to showcase our country’s talent as he swiftly fell asleep. We did find out some interesting trivia about Iran though. The Iranian flag says “Allahu Akbar” 22 times on it, and Iran is sometimes referred to as the nose job capital of the world because many wealthy women pursue the western flat nose. This came as a relief to us as we’d initially thought the numerous bandaged women roaming the streets just couldn’t stand the smell of us.  

Whilst waiting at a junction we experienced our first crash of the trip. Will from team Two and a Half Men decided he’d floor it into the back of Marigold, denting the rear bumper. All three of us immediately jumped out the car and like Billy Bowden raising the crooked finger; we slowly extended our arms locked in the familiar X shape and danced around their car in what has become an established strike issuing ritual. Despite Marigold’s now slightly angular posterior, there was no serious damage and we ploughed on.

Back on the roads were we constantly bombarded with beaming smiles, exuberant waving and gifts of bread from cars passing us on the dual carriageways. Iranians really are the friendliest people I’ve ever met. They loved to test their English out on us which although we reciprocated willingly, the conversations tended to follow a very similar pattern:

“Hello”

“Where are you from?”

“England”

“Ahhh, David Beckham?!”

“Welcome to Iran”

****End of conversation****

This loop was repeated at least a hundred times a day but we didn’t mind, they were just so pleased to see us and we were so happy to be there. Mohammed the guide wasn’t in such a jovial mood however as he had a bout of diarrhoea meaning we had to frequently stop for squatty breaks. Rather him than me, I couldn’t breathe in most of the lavatory facilities he relieved himself in.

Around midday we stopped for lunch at a roadside café and enjoyed a traditional bread, potato and lamb “worker’s” dish. The only seating arrangement large enough for a party of 8 was sitting on a large rug on an upstairs veranda. Not since assembly at primary school have I successfully sat cross-legged on the floor and felt comfortable. But as the son of a yoga teacher I persevered until it proved to be too painful and I joined the lanky ones in a cumbersome slouch. Sorry mum, I’ve failed you. The food was delicious though and we all agreed it was the best meal we’d had in Iran so far.

Once back on the road, everyone descended into a food induced comatose state leaving Rich, the driver, to prop open his eye lids with cocktail sticks. Sensing tiredness at the wheel Mohammed, who had just awoken from his slumber in the back of the car, clamped his hand around Rich’s neck unannounced and proceeded to give him a soothing massage. It would've been divine had he not rubbed my sun burnt skin, but there's no denying it was a bonding moment. 

Posted by: Rich 

Day 17: The Day of Marigold's Transformation

Wednesday 3rd August

Waiting for us in the foyer of the hotel in Tehran was our new best friend and tour guide Mohammed. He took us on a tour of the city stopping at the Golestan Palace and Grand Bazar. Once inside the Palace, the interior walls were plastered with intricate mirror mosaics and paintings. It was quite the sight but we weren’t allowed to take many photos so you’ll just have to believe us.

The Golestan Palace, Tehran

Inside the Diamond Hall of the Golestan Palace, Tehran

We were also on the search for some loose fitting linen trousers to replace our crotch chafing skinny jeans and chinos. Amazingly these proved to be elusive. Upon reaching the “please god let there be a shoe section so I can sit down” stage most men encounter when out shopping, we finally sourced a few pairs. Even Mohammed joined in the fun deciding to go for a white double linen combo. 

Already stunned by how friendly and approachable the Iranians were, it was about to step up a notch when we met Habib, a man who’s generosity knew no bounds. We started asking door to door for local mechanics who might be able to fit a sump guard, raise the suspension and re-attach the exhaust that Georgia had kindly snapped off for us. Luckily we stumbled across Habib, a local tyre salesman, who studies English at the University of Tehran. He called in the local pit stop crew who then set about fabricating a sump guard, welding it to the front and fitting new shocks to the rear wheels. He then negotiated with them to finish it by the end of the day for a price of $200, a steal given the work we needed. 

Much interest swirled around our car at the garage as many of them had never even seen a Nissan Micra. Selfies, signatures and complementary cups of tea and slices of pizza were flying about as more and more interested Iranians wandered over. Once the big dog mechanic turned up we knew we were in good hands just from looking at the size of them. He had the definition of spanner hands. Covered in engine oil and looking like a black hole, he offered his equally oversized arm to us as we met. What proceeded was the most surreal handshake I’ve ever performed as we sheepishly shook his forearm whilst grinning at each other. 

When we returned to the garage later in the evening, Marigold’s transformation was complete. All dolled up in her new engine underwear, stiletto suspension and a new purring voice she was ready to hit the town again. Mohammed then took us to meet up with some of his homies and we continued on out of the city centre for a meal overlooking the mountains. Keen to show off their English speaking skills, Mohammed’s friends were delighted to dine with 8 strapping young British bachelors.   

Britain's best ambassadors in Iran

Posted by: Rich

Day 16: The Day with the Saipa Sabas

Tuesday 2nd August

This felt like our first proper day in Iran after waiting for ages at the border the previous day. A few things struck us on the drive to Tehran. First was the choice of cars. Iranians either own a Peugeot Pars or a Saipa Saba, that’s pretty much it. Two bang average cars, only in white and with what looks like their laundry hanging out the window to dry. 

Our guide informed us that a brand new Saipa Saba costs 5,000 euros so people buy them, burn as much petrol and clutch as possible and then buy a new one. We must’ve seen at least 10,000 of them, all of which were full of friendly Iranians who were so happy to see us. “Welcome to Iran” every other car would say whilst some offered packets of cigarettes, fruit and fire lighting bracelets. One man even offered team Thunderbirds an assortment of CDs including the BeeGees, greatest love songs and his own mixtape of Arabic rap. 

Next was the currency. It’s silly monopoly money. The exchange rate is approximately 1 GBP to 40,000 Rial so to be a billionaire in Iran you need £25,000. If rub-a-dub-dub clubbed together all our funds we’d be -5.2 million rial overdrawn, so we’re not far off.

We’d seen some erratic driving so far on this trip but nothing in comparison to what we saw in Tehran. Cars were speeding around roundabouts the wrong way because they fancied it, reversing into oncoming traffic and 12 vehicles were sardined into 7 lanes; and that was just the cars. Motorbikes popping wheelies would try their best to throw themselves under your bumper. But as we soon realised, this was part of the ebb and flow of life in Tehran. Alf and Rich were having a whale of a time shaking hands and making friends. Caleb however, who was driving, had rivers of sweat running down his face as he tried his best to preserve Marigold’s immaculate paintwork.

Azadi Tower, Freedom Square

We briefly stopped at Freedom Square famous for the Azadi Tower before arriving at the next hotel. Fortunately for us, we were staying in Tehran’s car district. Along the main street there was a shop for every imaginable part in any car. Tyres, exhausts, springs, oil, bumpers and badges could be bought along with many more. There was even a shop selling only gear stick knobs. I was half expecting Tim Westwood to pop out at any moment on the Iranian Special of Pimp My Ride ready to transform Marigold into a sick new whip.

Posted by: Rich

Day 15: The Day with the Dyslexia

Monday 1st August

Unzipping the tent at the border we arose to the wonderful sight of pointy mountain ridges all around us. Streams of rally cars then started to filter through into the compound and line up ready for the guided tour to depart. Amongst our convoy there was an air of optimism given that we were at the very front of the queue. We soon realised this was to make no difference, as we waited 6 hours for the border big dog, Hossein, to sort out our carnet de passage.

The Iran border

 Incredibly, team HighlyUnlikely, the three-wheeler we had only seen at the launch, rolled into line to great applause. He then proceeded to drop anchor in absence of a handbrake and tell us all about his battle through adversity so far. Having to rebuild his transmission from scratch in Turkey, driving 14-hour days and encountering a thunderstorm without a roof were quite impressive anecdotes. He can’t even straddle potholes. That’s the spirit of the rally. 

The spirit of the rally

Meanwhile Alf was making up country names - apparently we’d just arrived from Almenia. This almost rivalled his attempt to pronounce “Teşekkürler” meaning thank you in Turkish back in Istanbul. Instead he said “testicular” whilst smiling at the shopkeeper leaving him utterly baffled. Dyslexia 2, Alf 0.

During a quick fill up at the gas station we realised that petrol is 25p per litre. A litre bottle of water in Iran is 75p, and for the 50p you pay to hold your breath and piss in a hole in the floor. They literally have more oil than they know what to do with. Once in Tabriz we caught a taxi (again about 50p) to a restaurant where a group of other rally teams had congregated. We were treated to an evening meal from the Irun2Iran agency followed by some traditional dancing. Hoping to see a colourful display from the many Iranian women floating about, we were surprised to watch a one of the male guides strut around the room in his work clothes. Needless to say he really went for it pulling off some elegant fleckerls (yes I watch Strictly) and demi pliés all whilst maintaining perfect posture and a pearly white smile.

Posted by: Rich