Bandar Abbass, Iran. 15th January 2025.

Events were moving forward pretty quickly now and I was expecting to leave Iran fairly soon. I was still riding along the coast but when I got to the top end of the Persian Gulf I would turn west and towards Iraq. There were still a few places to visit and some distance to be ridden.

After leaving the city I turned off the main road and went to look at Latidan Bridge, via a 5km dirt road. A historical structure, used to cross a river that no longer flows. It’s in surprisingly good condition, considering it’s 400 years old, thanks to its stone construction. It sits on an old trade route but was built for military purposes – fighting the Portuguese. It’s 1500 metres long and is reckoned to be the longest in Iran. Once its military purpose was achieved it was used as a trade route.
I walked alongside it a bit and took photos, and also climbed up onto the top. The surface was of small stones, like cobbles. Over 233 arches were revealed when the mud that covered it was washed away in a flood. It was well worth the ride out.

Back on the main Route 96. After a while Google offered me an alternative to save 7 minutes. Sometimes I wonder, “Is it worth it?” But it was a good road in that it took me away from the coastal towns and across more desert. A nicer road too. So yes, it was worth doing.
I stopped for fuel and got it for free! The first time that had happened. So did the bike behind me. The slight downside is that the pump wasn’t turning so I don’t know exactly how much fuel I took. A small price to pay for a saving of 28p! I need to thank the policeman on the motorbike infront of us for enabling this, even though he didn’t know it had happened. The pump jockey just left it running after filling his bike up, while he filled us up.

I fancied going to look at Kish Island, not far off the coast. There was an old fort there and some guesthouses. But I had a feeling that the ferry was passenger only, and I was right. I could have left my bike at the terminal I suppose, but I pushed on instead.
I had already located a home stay in a nearby village. But would it exist? They don’t always. But with the help of a local I found it.
It was just a small place, with basic facilities. And I’m not sure how geared up they were for a visitor. But the wife cooked me some delicious fish with rice, almost too much to eat. The husband was friendly too, and they made me feel very welcome.
Breakfast was some very thin pancakes, covered with egg and cheese. Then another one covered in honey. Then the husband told me their tragic tale.

One of his older daughters was involved in a car crash and was in a coma in ICU for 6 months. (Almost certainly no seat belt, although I didn’t ask.) He had to sell his house in Bandar Abbas to pay for her treatment. I think he already had the home stay as a business but had to move into it.
A tragic tale and almost certainly avoidable. Naturally, I made no comment, but very few people in Iran wear seatbelts or crash helmets.
I’d marked on the map some places to see on the coast. I set off towards the first one, which was a marina. Once out of the village the road soon turned to dirt and I had about 15kms of it to enjoy before it rejoined the main road. The marina turned out to be a fishing harbour. There were people on the beach but the fishing boats were more interesting, being busy preparing to set sail.
I took a walk along the harbour wall and bumped into a Spanish guy with his Iranian friend. The Iranian spoke good English and he explained to me that the boats were about to set of for a 150km journey out to sea where they’d spend 6 or 7 days fishing. They would leave harbour when the moon was half full.

I watched one boat as they loaded up with ice, an essential requirement. Another one was having diesel pumped on board, another essential requirement.
I took photos, including having a try at some arty ones. The design of the boats lent themselves to it, especially the way they were moored in rows. They’d sailed down from Baluchistan and the busy activity around them made a nice contrast to all the leisure activity going on on the beach.

I found an ATM then moved along the coast to the next beach I’d marked. The riding was good although the road was quite busy.
I pulled off into the car park then walked onto the beach. I spotted a café for coffee. I chatted to some young guys who were sitting at the table I used.
There where some interesting rock formations there, including some long layers of rock on the beach itself. Unusual, in my experience. The cliffs behind had been eroded into jagged shapes.
At the water’s edge were two huge lumps of rock which I thought may have been carved into sitting animals. But because the tide was in I couldn’t see the front of them.

As I was getting back on the bike a young woman came and talked to me. We took selfies. Also a family who’d just arrived. A chat but no photos with them.

The next beach I’d marked was actually a cliff top but with pretty rock formations and a good view. All three places were interesting in their own way, especially the harbour.
Finally I rode along to the town of Parsiyan and refueled before trying to find the hotel that Erfan had marked on the map for me. One of the local kids helped me find it.
The owner knew Erfan but unfortunately he was full up. He told me it’s the first holiday of the year so people were out and about. He rang up a couple of places and found me somewhere to stay. I had to sleep on a mattress on the floor but the bathroom was new and had decent facilities. The shower was hot and good.
They didn’t have a restaurant but told me where I could find one nearby. I was walking across to one when a guy who I’d seen at the hotel came up on his bike and gave me a lift to a better place. Chicken kebab was the order of the day and it was very nice indeed.
He came back for me and we stopped at a coffee place he’d mentioned. He came in with me and I treated him to coffee and cake. It was a huge piece of chocolate cake but I managed it, of course!
Breakfast was chaotic but got eaten eventually. The guy who I’d thought was the owner wasn’t around. Another guy there couldn’t take my money because there wasn’t a card terminal. So the rather clever answer was for him to go with me to an ATM and transfer the money from my card into his account. It’s quite a common thing here and answers the inability to draw out large amounts of cash from ATMs.
I joined a couple of Iraq WhatsApp groups, looking to glean information. The visa fee mentioned varied between $70 and $170, depending on the writer’s experience. My friend Michael, from Denmark, was in the group. He gave me lots of information, including that a visa for Federal Iraq was good for Kurdish Iraq too, but not necessarily the other way round. A useful thing to know, although I was planning to enter Federal Iraq anyway.
He also told me that bikes weren’t allowed to draw fuel from petrol pumps. Now that’s definitely one of those “Are you kidding me?” situations. Quickly followed by “So what am I supposed to do then?”
The answer to the first question is that a motorcycle was once filling up at a pump when it caught fire. Disaster ensued. Hence the ban.
And as for the second question, you have to carry a jerry can which will be filled up for you at the pump to take back to your bike, parked outside. Hmm. I carry a spare can so I supposed I’d be able to manage. But it doesn’t sound any safer to me.
There was a place I wanted to see that was quite a long way away called the Salt Dome. More salty rocks in interesting formations. But because I left late there wasn’t enough time to get there.
So I headed on to my next overnight stop of Bushehr. I was still fairly near to the coast As I rode along I found I was passing huge numbers of gas flares, spread all around. Lots of small electricity pylons too, and a lot of electricity generating infrastructure. Large pipes were criss-crossing the horizon. It was clear I was close to a gas exporting facility or similar. I sneaked a couple of photos but didn’t want to be too obvious, even though there was nobody around, as far as I could tell. It’s not always a good idea to be camera happy in Iran.

As I neared Beshehr disaster struck in the form of a stupid young idiot. I came to a cross roads and had to slow down because of the road humps that are always there. As I accelerated through the junction a young guy on a bike came tearing out of the turning on my right, straight across my path. I had no time to do anything and I T boned him. Down we both went.
I tried to get up but couldn’t quite make it. A guy helped me up and I immediately went into full cursing mode, calling the idiot rider all the names under the sun. He didn’t seem to be badly injured. He’s really lucky not to have got, as far as I could tell, any head injuries. He had no helmet. The RH side of my head cracked the road quite hard.
The guys who’d stopped asked if I wanted an ambulance. “Did my head hurt”, they asked? I said “No, because I wear a helmet, unlike every other rider here”. I was cursing Iranian drivers in general. Did I want the police, they asked? Definitely not, although one seemed to have arrived anyway. They spoke to him and he drove off.
Because the engine stalled the battery went flat so I had to get the bike to the side of the road and jump start it. I thanked the guys who’d stopped and then rode on. The bike suffered a dislodged spotlight, with the wires torn out. The brake lever moved down a little bit too and the wheel went slightly out of alignment.
Apart from the broken spotlight, the pannier took a knock on the heavy duty plastic corner piece at the bottom. The seam on the side had also split slightly. I straightened out the bars against a high curb. I would sort out the lever in the morning. I rode away unhurt and pleased the idiot rider didn’t seem to be badly injured. But I hoped he’d at least suffered some scrapes and bruises, thinking it might teach him a lesson. And I was feeling vengeful.
I found a hotel in Beshehr, very much in the commercial area. Not a bad place so I booked in for two nights. I found a takeaway for a burger, then bought a coffee and cake, to bring back to the hotel. But when I tried to pick the cup off the floor while sitting on the bed, the cup gave way and the coffee went everywhere. Bugger!
The TV didn’t work. A guy came in to look at it and said the satellite box wasn’t working. I went out bought another coffee.
What a day!
I wandered the streets next morning and eventually found something uninspiring to eat. I took the spotlight off the bike and walked down to a phone repair shop I’d spotted earlier. He couldn’t help but sent me to another shop nearby.
The problem was that I needed to take the spotlight apart to repair the wiring. But the torx screws that hold the front on have little pegs in the centre of the screw head, so a special tool is needed. The guy in the shop didn’t have one but he messed about with an ordinary screwdriver and damaged the head of a couple of the screws a bit.
I wandered around some likely looking shops and eventually found one that sold the kind of torx drives I needed.
Back at base I successfully removed one screw. Two others were too messed up for the tool to go in them. The third was just too tight and the tool was slipping. So the spotlight, the wiring and the tool went into the bottom of the pannier until I could find a solution.
A few maintenance jobs came next. Then I walked down to see the Dehdashti Edifice.

It’s a former house, four stories high with an inner courtyard. It’s a bit of an art centre, including a music room. There was a guy sitting in there playing a traditional stringed instrument. He did tell me the name but I forget it now.
I sat down to listen to him but then Irish Michael rang. I’d messaged him saying I wanted to talk. I asked him what he thought of Raaz and he said she’s a headstrong woman and has had a bit of trouble with the hospital authorities for making a VIP of some sort pay for treatment. She also got involved in the protests about hijabs when that was going on.
I explained to Michael what had happened with me and her and he was a bit puzzled but not overly surprised. He said he’d message her in a few days, just to say hello, and ask her if she met me. Just to see what she says.
He’s till in Australia, where he lives, and will go to the Philippines in a couple of weeks. In the spring he’s going back to Ireland and will then take his BMW to Scotland and northern Europe. That will take him until the autumn. After that he’s not sure. So it was very good to catch up with him.

I wandered around the area of the edifice and could see it was an older part of the city. I was intrigued to find lots of wall art, mostly with an African tribal theme. Very interesting but puzzling as to why it was there.
I looked up some bike shops on Google, thinking to see if any of them could replace or repair the spotlight. I was heading toward some of them when I realised that I really needed to have the old spotlight with me. There wasn’t enough time for doing that so I gave up on it. It wasn’t stopping me going anywhere, after all.

After hunting down some breakfast I left town to go to Abadan, which was about 35kms from the border. It was a straightforward ride along mostly straight roads. Going north seemed to have brought the temperature down a bit, so warmer clothes were needed.
I stopped for fuel and coffee and noticed that my fuel consumption had been going up a bit. I was wondering if Iran’s dusty air had clogged up the air filter. I wasn’t far off a service so I didn’t worry about it too much.

I found a hotel, a little way out of the town centre. A big place, with the buildings spread out a bit. The old boy on the gate showed me where to park so that my bike would be in view of his little office. Very thoughtful of him.
There were a few annoying things. No wi-fi in the rooms. I went to the restaurant and ordered food but they said I had to have it in my room. There wasn’t a towel. But it had got heaters so all was not lost. It was very close to the Shat Al Arab waterway, with Iraq just across the border.
I looked into getting an eVisa for Iraq but it didn’t seem very easy. So I planned to do it at the border. Then my data ran out, so end of research.
In the morning I spoke to the young lady on reception and asked her if she knew of a place where I could get data. As I hoped she would, she sorted it out for me by putting my SIM in her phone and buying data. 3GB for 3 days validity cost a whole 50p. Sorted.
I needed to go into town to sort out changing Rial into Iraqi Dinar. First job was to find an ATM. I drew out some cash and got a statement. I had 138 million rial in there.
I went to an exchange place who were very unhelpful. Another one said they can’t take money off my card but pointed to the Melli bank across the road and suggested I get the cash. Melli was the bank that had issued the card to Erfan.
I went in there wondering how the hell I was going to achieve this. Eventually I found a spare deposit/withdrawal form sitting on the counter and filled it in. It was in English as well as Farsi. Then I took it to a free window and asked the guy about getting cash. He passed me over to the guy next to him who proved to be the most helpful bank employee I’ve ever come across.
He took the form, and my card, to a colleague, who sent him to another colleague. Then he went over to what I presume was a cash desk. Then I had to sign the form on the front and the back. More and more people got involved. At one point a guy was carrying bundles of cash, possibly for me. But in the end it was pointless because the signature on the account details wasn’t mine. It was Erfans.
But all was not lost. The guy had told me they could let me draw out 100 million by another means and he knew I wanted to get dinars. So he came across the road to the exchange shop with me and copied their bank account details.
Then we went back to the ATM in the bank and transferred 100 million to their account. Then he came back to the shop with me to manage the transaction. So I then I had a load of dinar, but still 38 million on the card. What a wonderfully helpful guy he was. But I needed to get more!
For reasons I don’t understand my SIM wouldn’t get internet. I couldn’t believe I’d used up 3GB already. I didn’t even know where my bike was! Fortunately I could remember the way back OK as it was close to the first exchange shop I’d tried.
All the other shops were now closed so I headed back to the hotel and got some lunch at the café. I messaged Erfan about the possibility of sending money from my Iranian card back to my UK card. He said it could be done but suggested that I pay money into the exchange shop’s account from my card. Duh!! That’s exactly what we did earlier. I would have a go at that next day.
My last day in Iran was very trying, but ultimately successful. I left the hotel about 11 and headed into town. Two of the exchange shops weren’t interested in allowing me to transfer money to them. What are they there for then, was my question. So I went back to the place opposite the bank.
They were happy to help but didn’t have Dinars. I was happy to have USD. For some weird reason I thought I only had 13 million on the card, so that’s what I transferred.
Luckily I went back to the ATM, curious to see what was left on the card. I still had 25 million! Then I remembered that last night I’d worked out the figure of 38 million.
I transferred that amount then managed to lose the transaction slip, needed by the xchange shop as evidence of the transfer. I thought I’d put it in the bin. An English speaking guy helped me root through the slips and translated the amounts, but no joy. Then he noticed it on the floor. Phew!
Back over to the exchange shop for more dollars. 38 million got me around $64. It doesn’t seem like much for all those Rial and the effort involved.

Finally I was on the road to the border. When I got there the fun began. I wandered around a bit and finally found the customs building. A security guy reckoned they’re closed for lunchtime prayers for two hours. He shared his lunch with me. After half an hour I wandered down to the building to find it open and functioning. I took the bike down there and went to see them. I had to wait around a bit but the guy saw me and told me to go to immigration first, to get an exit stamp.
I went over there and then got the ‘special treatment’. This involved being invited into an office and given the third degree by a security guy on my time in Iran. Who I’d met, where I’d been, had I stayed at anybody’s home etc. He even demanded my kids names and what jobs they did! Unfortunately he also asked me my Iranian phone number and where I’d got the SIM from.
So now Erfan was dragged into it as being the person who got my SIM for me. I had to give them his phone number and he took the details of the WhatsApp group. But I didn’t reveal Erfan’s surname.
I should have told him it was Hameed, in Esfehan, that got that number for me but that would have presented a huge time gap between me entering Iran and being in Esfehan. I needed to tell Erfan about it and to hope it won’t make his life awkward. When I did he was relaxed about it all.
The whole experience left me feeling very down and thoroughly hacked off at Iranian officials.
I went back to customs where I finally got my carnet stamped. Then I headed for the exit but was sent back because I needed copies of the custom stamp. The guy had actually done them for me but had let me walk away without them. I finally escaped!
So what about getting into Iraq?
Much better but very time consuming. I made my way into their compound, to a small hut with some customs guys in it, all dressed in military uniform. One of them took charge of me and took me to an immigration officer.
He was very quick and efficient. He asked me to pay by card and gave me 60 days, single entry. Cost was $78. So none of this $170 malarky, although someone else in the WhatsApp group did have to pay that amount that day.
Once that was done the same customs guy took me down to the customs office. A huge amount of waiting about here. I don’t know why. Eventually the guy took me across the compound, called into various offices, and finally got the signatures he needed, from his superior officers. Then he stamped my carnet and took $30 cash from me for customs fees and one month insurance.
The final task was to go back to immigration because I had to get two stamps in my passport relating to the bike. I went back to the original helpful guy but he wasn’t being helpful anymore and sent me to the normal immigration.
This was very busy but I collared a guy from behind the counter and told him what I needed. He wanted to see the bike so I brought it down and he had a look at the chassis number. Then he got another guy to stamp me up. And finally ….. I was in Iraq.

But what of Iran? It’s a fabulous country, with great people, who have been, and are, being seriously let down by their government and the stupidly ideological way in which they run the country. The potential for Iran is huge, but will only be realised when the idiocracy in charge is replaced by sensible people. The tide is clearly turning, albeit very slowly. Young people have had enough of their government, so future hope can only lie with them. They’re turning away from the religion that, in their eyes, holds them back
Iran has oil, industry and ambition. But it’s misdirected, and its intellectual and natural resources are being completely wasted. In a better world, a civilisation as ancient as theirs would be the leading power in the region. Instead it’s being ground down on the wheel of theological dumbfuckery. And I don’t apologise for using such a word. My heart goes out to the Iranian people and I yearn, alongside them, for better days.