The Story Continues ... 10.000 m Overhead

We are wowed to see our article featured in AirAsia's inflight magazine Travel3Sixty. With more than 16 million passengers carried in 2010 AirAsia is Asia's largest no-frills airline and pioneered low-cost travel in Asia. Craig had the chance to meet AirAsia's CEO and staff at a venue in KL. Enjoy reading:

Double Page in AirAsia's Travel3Sixty Inflight Magazine. 

Thumbing Asia from West to East

Saya Mat Salleh tapi Anak Malaysia. Ever since my exchange year in Shah Alam, Malaysia I can't wait to return to my second home: Reunite with my Malaysian (host) family, indulge some streetside Nasi Lemak and marvel at countless serendipities: From jaw-dropping scuba diving in Terengganu to colorful Deepavali celebrations in Kota Kinabalu AirAsia made a lot possible.

But this time I don't simply want to board an aircraft. I'm curious about 9500 kilometers land that seperate Germany from Malaysia. I want to go overland by thumbing up rides with people along the Silk Road. My brother joins me staging the next level of traveling:

We hitch-hike through Asia from West to East to meet people, see places and go beyond frontiers.

Our backpacks weigh a mere six kilograms each as we hit the road in Cologne, Germany. I'm nervous for the first time: Am I gonna make it on time? University starts in six weeks time but hitch-hiking is not predictable at all. Neither is our route predictable: What if we're not granted entry at a border… What if we get ill… Let's not think about it.

If you're hitch-hiking you have to be optimist.

In bustling Istanbul, Turkey we CouchSurf with a student of engineering. CouchSurfing is a cool way to explore a place from a different perspective other than the one offered by Lonely Planet. Instead of the must-sees Furkan shows us his favorite places and gives us insights into local secrets. We share the fun with friends all over the city from dusk till dawn.

Hitch-hiking in Turkey works really well. We meet people from all walks of life: Ferhat builds aquarium tunnels like the one in the Kuala Lumpur Convention Center (KLCC) or on Sentosa Island in Singapore. The ride is swift and comfortable - quite the contrary to our worst experience two days later...

No lights. Only the moon crescent high above us adumbrates the horizon. No sound. The desert swallows every little noise instantly. A Turkish truck driver has just dropped us in the middle of nowhere. My brother comments our situation with a grim sense of humor:

„We wanted adventure... Here you are!“

With my heart in my mouth I notice our water bottle is empty. 30 minutes of desperate thoughts later a truck comes closer. We vigorously wave our hands. The huge vehicle comes to a halt and a young driver smiles at us. Relieved we jump in.

20 kilometers further we reach our destination: The hillside village of Mardin. We don't know where to stay. A group of men invite us to have a Chai tea. They're so excited about our story that they arrange a hostel room for free. It‘s amazing how hospitable the people are – both in Turkey and in the next country Iran.

Fresh from my letter box.

The Urmia Lake is so salty that we float on the water surface. With these zero-g-forces my book doesn't get wet. The next day we venture into Teheran - a sprawling megalopolis of 20 million. The historic old town boasts a fascinating bazaar. We stroll along the carpet shops and enjoy the fragrance of oriental herbs in the next alley. The architecture is mind-blowing. Incomparable arcades and shimmering domes with fine mosaics of turquoise and yellow tiles. This poetry flows from its visual appearance into the verses of traditional songs that our host Razor sings in the truck leaving Teheran.

The sun is burning our skin. Hitch-hiking in the hottest desert on earth is something really nerve-wracking. As we look into the clear sky we see the vapor trail of an aircraft. For a moment we imagine the comfort of an air-conditioned AirAsia Airbus. Luckily it takes us less than a minute to get a lift with an old truck from World War Two. Some kilometers further down a tyre bursts.

Within days we swap dry desert for lush rainforest in India. Palm trees drift by and the head wind sweeps my hair as I smile at the dumbstruck farmer next to me. The beat of the engine makes any conversation impossible.

It's a lifetime dream: We're hitching a tractor.

At 5 mph we come closer and closer to the world famous Taj Mahal. Between masses of tourists we stand in awe.

On the fringe of seaside Surat Thani a Thai police man means me to get into the police car. After a short ride he points at the beach: "You can put up your hammock here. Good night!" With a freshly plucked coconut in my hands I enjoy the sunset on my 'private' beach. Minutes later the monsoon starts to pour. Thanks to my rainfly the hammock stays dry.

The next morning I‘m squashed between six Thai guys in the truck cabin. Every time I try my newly learned Thai phrases we burst into laughter. I'm distracted by a roadside stall: My favorite fruit Durian. Near Hat Yai I wave a Malaysian flag. My cardboard sign reads „Saya mahu balik kampung. Shah Alam.“ (Want to come back home. Shah Alam.).

At the well lit Petronas gas station a Malay family offers to give me a lift. Chatting with them I trip down the memory lane and I catch up with speaking Malaysian over a tasty Roti Canai.

Finally: As I approach Jalan Adang No. 75 my (host) brother Danial catches sight of me. He runs into the house and yells:

"Craig is back. Craig is bearded."

Terima kasih daun keladi semoga kita berjumpa lagi.


This is the original text that I submitted!
If you want to read on head to the original blog posts.
For the full magazine go to: AirAsia Travel3Sixty.

Balik Kampung

Pekan Rabu - Market in Alor Star, Kedah

Mit Bob hatte ich eine herrliche Zeit. Nach der Polizeistreife gestern Abend nimmt er mich nun mit zum landesweit bekannten Markt von Alor Star.

Gestern hat mir ein netter Polizist eine traditionelle Art von Zigarette vorgestellt. Es heißt übersetzt 'Blätter Zigarette'. Das beschreibt sie auch ziemlich gut: Ein bisschen Tabak kommt in ein getrocknetes Blatt eines speziellen Baumes und wird wieder zusammen gerollt. Fertig. Da habe ich natürlich gleich an Gerd (Name geändert) gedacht und möchte ihm ein paar dieser Zigaretten mitbringen. Wir kaufen noch ein paar andere Spezialitäten, denn das ist Sitte in Malaysia, wenn man zu Besuch kommt.

Bob bringt mich auf die Autobahn und scheint selbst nervöser zu sein als ich: Die Stories vom LKW-Fahren haben ihn anscheinend besonders beeindruckt. Er möchte unbedingt Trucker fragen. Zum Glück fährt keiner von denen passend für mich. Deshalb verabschieden wir uns und ich versuche mein Glück alleine. Das tritt auch ziemlich schnell ein: Ich bekomme einen 'Straight lift' nach Shah Alam in einem schnellen Auto! Yay. Mit dem malaiischen Paar unterhalte ich mich lange über die Reise, über die Dinge die ich an Malaysia mag und die unterschiedlichen Schulsysteme. Die beiden sind begeistert, als ich ihnen ein Bild aus dem Iran von dem Auto (Proton CamPro) zeige, in dem wir beide sitzen. Das war echt ein Zufall, ein malaysisches Auto zu sehen, wo es im Iran praktisch nur vier Modelle gibt. Ich bin überrascht, dass sie Zärtlichkeiten austauschen. Natürlich finde ich Streicheln und Kuscheln total schön, nur in Malaysia hab ich's einfach fast nie gesehen. In der Öffentlichkeit ist es sogar verboten - zumindest Küssen. Irgendwie hat's mich also gefreut zu sehen, dass die beiden sich auch in der Form lieb haben ;-) Nach ein zwei Stunden schlafe ich - mit Genehmigung - ein. Viel früher als geplant erreiche ich Bukit Jelutong, mein 'Kampung'. 'Balik Kampung' ist Malaysisch für 'Zurück in die Heimat' oder direkt übersetzt 'zurückkehren Dorf'.

Die beiden setzen mich an der Autobahnauffahrt 'Bukit Jelutong Sentral' ab - auf der Autobahn! Schon damals war es für mich schwierig, BJ zu verlassen, da der dreieckige Stadtteil von zwei Autobahnen und undurchdringlichem tropischen Regenwald begrenzt wird. Mist - es fängt an zu schütten. So richtig monsunmäßig! Innerhalb von Minuten bin ich komplett nass.

Craig, merke: Steck Regencape und Poncho so ein, dass du sie schnell benutzen kannst!

Am Golfplatz stelle ich mich unter und überlege, ob es vielleicht ein höheres Zeichen ist: Komm noch mal zur Ruhe! Geh die zwei Kilometer durch den Stadtteil! Deinen Schulweg! Ja! Das mache ich! Es muss keinen besinderen Lift' bis zur Haustür geben! Egal wie unangenehm das Wetter ist, überglücklich wandere ich los. Nicht viel hat sich geändert: Die Schule hat jetzt eine Bushaltestelle und 'Propaganda-Graffitis' ("Be the architect of your life!" oder "Respect your parents! Respect your teacher! Respect your country!"). Außerdem gibt es einen neuen Shoplot-Komplex am Fußballfeld. Dort spielt keiner während dem Ramadan.





Mein Herz schlägt immer schneller, je näher ich der Nummer 75, Jalan komme. Auf dm Spielplatz, wo ich so oft mit Danial, Yasmin, Sophia und anderen Kindern aus der Nachbarschaft gespielt habe ist gerade keiner. Eine Rutsche scheint kaputt zu sein. Ich stehe vor meinem zweiten zu Hause und schnaufe noch mal tief durch. Oh, da ist Danial. Schnell verstecke ich mich, um ihn zu erschrecken. Aber daraus wird nichts: Danial ist wie immer schneller. Kurz umarmt er mich, guckt mich verträumt an und rennt ins Haus:

"Craig dah sampai! Craig ada janggut." (my.: Craig ist da. Craig hat Bart).

Ein großes Hallo. Wir fallen uns in die Arme. Meine malaysische Familie. Ich bin zu Hause.

Patrol

I'm still nervous. Hitching at night isn't the wise thing to do but it's apparently close to impossible in Malaysia.

Anyways, I'm in a good spot: A brightly lit Petronas gas station in the outskirts of Jitra. After some minutes chatting with motorcyclists and Petronas staff I finally get a lift with two friendly Malay guys to Alor Star - Kedah's capital which is more of a provincial town. I'm enjoying our conversation in BM so much. This time it's much better than last year. I didn't forget too many words.

As we speed into Alor Star Dzivani offers to call my friend Bob. My Malaysian mummy gave me his number. I met him only once on a trip to Sibu island - if it's that person I'm thinking of. Yes it is: "Apa khabar Bob?" ("How're u bob?"). - "Khabar baik."

With Bob & Alor Star Police Patrol in Mamak Store.

Typical Malaysian Neighborhood

Bob introduces me to his colleges at Alor Star City Council. It's already 9 o'clock but they're still working.

I enjoy the atmosphere. Everybody is impressed by my Malay - except for me! I know I used to speak even better. Never mind. We go out for a police patrol on the night market. It's nothing really thrilling: Just check if the hawker have a license and so on. There are so many officers that I feel as if I had been introduced to half the Alor Star police personnel. We do one mor round then we go to a Mamak store. It's that special kind of restaurant that I like so much about Malaysia. Usually they're open 24 hours serving all the nice everyday dishes like Nasi Lemak (coconut steamed rice with spicy sambal and condiments), Nasi Khandar (rice with selection of curries), Roti Canai (calorie packed bred ;-)) … Terima Kasih Daun Keladi Semoga Kita Berjumpa Lagi Bob! It was a real fun time with you and your friends!

Thailand Summary

Pick Ups & Buddha

I'm looking for a coffee. The Seven Eleven only sell those cold canned coffees. I need a coffee that energizes me for this day. Krabi town looks like all towns on the Malay peninsula: Wide straight roads through between square shoplot blocks. One KFC. One McD. Many Seven Es.

Aaaaaah finally… there is a street stall. After the coffee I start thumbing. Difficult since it's rush hour. Most people want to go to work fast. A guy wants to help me and explains one of the modified pickup busses to help out. It's a short lift to the next junction. From here I get several short lifts with people that can't really speak English … always in pick-ups.

Pick-ups seem to be the no. 1 vehicle for southern Thailand. I enjoy the rides with Bon to Trang, with a group of female teachers to a private school half way to Phattalung, with two guys to the highway junction, with a couple to near Hat Yai and a salesman from Bangkok to Hat Yai city center.

These were the highlights: The couple Wit and bunya laughed as we found out that there where three different religions in the car. Some minutes later a member of the royal family was escorted passed us in a group of black Benz cars and police motos. Another surprising moment: As we go passed a temple on a road pass Ning lifts his hands from the steering wheel to honor the place with a 'Sawadee Gesture' - while driving!!!

Better I pray too: 6000++ kms without seat belt, on the back of pick-ups and high-speed mountain lifts deserves appreciation to any god: Be it Krishna, Buddha or Allah.

Durian finally!

Bar and his bro just dropped me at a gas station outside Chumpon. A rich guy accepts to bring me some kilometers further. But our ride comes to a complete stop as I see a pickup load of Durian at the road side: "Please stop here!" After the hassle of language barrier I finally hold my first Thai Durian in my hands - well not really, since the Queen of fruits is possibly not only the tastiest but also the most spiky fruit!

Lift with Military Police. Wow.

Lu Pot (name changed) is apparently the highest rank officer of the group of military police personnel. They notice me wandering about the beach. Lu offers his help. As he inspires confidence I tell him my needs. He's willing to help. After a short blah with his colleges he asks me to jump in the police car.

It's a short two km hop to a camp site. The old guy at the reception asks for 50 Thai baths. I tell my story. Lu repeats:

"No money? You like Backpacker correct?!" 

– "Extreme backpacker!"

We see a smile on the the reception guy and he shows me two trees for my Hennessy. Lu leaves me and I can merely manage to take a decent shot of the car. Usually policemen are not allowed to be photographed and I sense that I'm actually not allowed to take any photos on military territory. It's called Area Wing 5. I enjoy a very special sunset with a maximum horizon-to-horizon rainbow.

My first police car lift (police car on the road, left).

Good morning Thailand. Sunrise wakes me up in my Hennessy.

As I set up my hammock Lu comes back: "Hey Krag. You remember me? I come back because I have to see. Eeeeh. Do you have passport? You know better for me. Better for you. Better for Area Wing 5." He takes a shot with his mobile and we exchange mail addresses. From our conversation I think that if I was hungry, he'd take me to a restaurant. The people are so friendly!

I fall asleep. What a gorgeous place to fall asleep. Thank you Thailand!

Indien Zusammenfassung

Sukria Sattya

With Indian Students in their apartment.

80 short of Agra we try to thumb up a ride on a busy crossroads - just like locals. Some hop on a truck, some get lifts with a shared taxi.

We make friends with a friendly guy: Sattya invites us to take a truck with him. He wants to pay. With five people and our two backpacks we occupy most of the truck's front. Over the course of the bumpy ride on jammed roads we try to call our CouchSurfer. Unfortunately we find out that he is in Delhi. Emergency situation once again!

We get off in the outskirts of Agra. Sattya introduces us to some friends and relatives. Excited they decide to host us for one night. Sattya's brother points at two motorcycles. We look at each other:

"Craig (!), we said riding  motorcycles is a no-go!"

We jump on the bikes and vrooom some hundred meters to a student apartment. Sattya proudly shows us a room. Other friends show up and put away their homework to make space for us. One guy brings a Pepsi - in this part of the world a symbol of hospitality and welcome. I take some gulps and then try to explain diabetes - dificult with only hands and gestures.



It's midnight. We have enjoyed a tasty snack and brushed our teeth. The landlord and ten young Indians with different levels of English from 'no word' to 'college English' stare at us waiting for something to happen. As we are really tired we ask them to leave us alone. Some more jokes, short blahs and shy looks into our dark room .... silence finally .... zzzzZZZZZZZ.

Rupien und Verfolgungsjagd

Nach 20 Minuten hält endlich ein Auto. Das reiche Ehepaar ist nicht großartig an Konversation interessiert. Wir kommen schnell voran, doch plötzlich sehe ich, wie wie einer der Jugendlichen von eben auf seinem Motorrad uns folgt. Sofort weiß ich warum: Ich konnte die 200 Rupien nicht mehr zurück geben, als wir eingestiegen sind. Hoffentlich wird er nicht böse. Bei voller Fahrt reichen wir das Geld durchs Fenster. 80 Kilometer vor Agra müssen wir leider aussteigen - an einer geschäftigen Kreuzung.

First Family Lift

Baloons for Heitie

We have just had an awesome, unforgettable lift with an Indian tractor! Yay.
The next lift is more decent but not boring at all: It's the first family on our tour. The mother speaks very good English. Dario blows some balloons for the three year old Heitie. He's really happy. While driving (!) the father (forgot name) blows a ballon too, but he doesn't manage to knot it so I do it for him. Both the parents admire our travel and ask questions most parents would ask: "What do your parents think about it?" "Don't your parents worry?"

Halfway to Mathura they have to turn off the road so we say goodbye.

Typical Indian Street Scene

Cheating on Toll Plaza

The next lift is a young Indian who barely speaks English.  He drops us on an elevated highway on the fringe of sprawling Delhi - a city of 18 million. I can't really understand him what he's telling me as we bid farewell. We walk on the highway. Already close to the toll plaza we see two officers. We greet them. They ask us to leave the highway. Behind the toll plaza we see a car and a guy waving his arms. Immediately we understand. It's Ramy and he didn't want to pay toll for three people. We jump in and continue the lift for some more kilometers.

120% feucht

Bunter Saree

Von gefühlter Luftfeuchtigkeit bei 0% auf 110%. Wir treten aus dem Gebäude und sind im indischen Chaos: Streunende Hunde, Straßenstände, bunte Saris, Tuc-Tucs und zugegeben - viel Dreck! Die ersten Inder lachen uns an und wollen uns irgendwohin fahren. Wir aber haben den nahegelegenen Connaught Place im Herzen New Delhis im Auge.


Auf dem Weg dahin erleben wir Delhi, als es aufwacht. Ganz anders als eben ist hie roch fast nichts los. Wir gehen an Hunderten vorbei, die auf der Erde, in Hauseingängen und auf Bänken schlafen. Diejenigen die schon wach sind putzen sich die Zähne oder nehmen ein kleines Frühstück ein. Frühstück - genau darauf haben wir mittlerweile richtig Lust. Nur finden wir einfach kein Restaurant. Ein Inder erklärt uns, dass die Restaurants erst um 10 Uhr aufmachen, weil Wochenende ist. Doch wir finden eins, dass schon um 8 öffnet. Shavan Baghvan - ein Restaurant einer südindischen Kette mit vielen leckeren Veggie-Gerichten.

Inder!

Connaught Place ist meiner Meinung nach nicht sehenswert. Ein kreisrunder Platz mit mehreren radialen Strassen - ähnlich einer europäischen Barock-Stadt - und Häusern im Kolonialstil. Vielleicht sieht es hier später am Tag, wegen des indischen Chaos, schöner aus.

Etwas beeindruckender ist das Regierungsviertel: Prachtvolle Alleen und pompöse Gebäude wie das Generalkonsulat und das Parlament. Es ist immer noch so bedeckt, wie heute morgen.

Kalanshnikov & Poetry

We're casting long shadows on the burning hot tar of the Teheran-Shiraz highway. A pick-up comes to a halt: An old man descends with his Kalanshnikov gun and crosses the road. Sadly no space for us in the pick-up.

Two minutes later a big Volvo-truck honks and comes to a stop. A young guy from the passenger side asks us where we go? My short "Shiraz" is answered with a "yeeeees". Surprisingly Ismail und Ibraim do fast during Ramadan unlike most people we have met in Iran. Still they offer us nuts and water. We talk about life and love, cars and countries, girls and gas. They desperately try to convince us of staying with them in Shiraz. We have to decline that offer as we have promised us to Mohamed - a friend of our Isfahan-CouchSurfer Mohsen. Thanks again here!

Over the course of the ride we also show pictures of our families and exchange phone numbers. Ismail asks for a German number. As Dario tells the numbers he types them into his phone. Dario emphasizes: "It's a German number!!!" Ismail smiles and calls the number.

Apparently somebody has picked up. Ismail: "Salam! Germany?"

It's Moritz - Dario's friend - on the other end of the line. We start to laugh loudly: In the middle of the Iranian desert a truck driver calls a randomly chosen German telephone number. The line gets cut as we move around a big mountain. Some minutes later we alight on the fringe of Shiraz.
In the locally assembled Payand-pickup we speed to the meeting point: 'Hafazieh' - the tomb of a popular Iranian poet. Whatever page that you read in his books will give u a fortune - it is believed.
With a friend we have a dinner in a western-style eatery. We're looking forward to tomorrow: Mohamed invites us to play Futsal together.

Iranischer Schlagersänger

Moshdawa ist sehr gesprächig. Die Stimmung steigt als wir eine seiner Fragen gedankenlos mit "Yesno" beantworten. Ein breites Grinsen zeigt sich auf Moshdawas Gesicht: "Yesno. Hahaha." Von da an ist es unser 'running gag' irgendeine Frage oder Aussage mit Yesno zu kommentieren.

Wir singen (u.a. Iranische Schlager und 'Viva Colonia'), quatschen und lachen bis zu einem Ort, der denkbar ungünstig, kurz vor der Kreuzung mit der Autobahn nach Shiraz liegt.

Wir tanken Wasser, dann geht's weiter. Assis Darun ist unser "Zubringer"zur Hauptstrasse. Dort haelt Karun mit seinem Zweite-Weltkrieg-Mercedes-LKW. Mit ihm holpern wir zur Autobahn-Auffahrt.

Secret Breakfast in Yazd

The park is calm as we wake up in our hammocks. This night was another proof that camping in Iran is a good option for accommodation.

A homeless guy pours himself a first cup of chai. Some loud voices come nearer. It's a group of Indian looking men from Beludshistan - a supposedly dodgy and dangerous region bordering Pakistan. They sit down, marvel at our hammocks and invite for a Chai. We're more up for a whole breakfast so we make our way into the city center. Since we cannot eat on the streets and no restaurant is open during Ramadan we buy some groceries in a mini market. The nearby Internet cafe allowes us to eat there.

Amir Chakmak-Moschee. Yazd. Wüste. Iran

Eventhough we have explored other bazaars already, the Yazd one is a stunning labyrinth. The mosques are beautiful. We meet German tourists and exchange some stories.

At noon time we set off. Short lifts with Ali and Hossein bring us close to the junction to Shiraz. As we got further south in Iran the more difficult it got to explain our way of travel. People only understand after 10 or fifteen minutes.

"Salem. Es me man Craig has. Shavar Majani Shodan?"

On the fringe of the city we stand by the road. Dario is attracted by the bakery. Lonely I'm waving my hand in the desert. Luckily Moshdawa stops his truck next to me. He's going in our direction.

Beautiful Esfahan

Our alarm rings at 9 o'clock and we need the long sleep deeply. After finishing a short breakfast, Mohsen and his driver pick us up and we head to the post office, where we would like to buy an Iranian SIM card. It costs 5.000 Toman, that's about 4€. We ask for the way into the city and Mohsen shows us the local bus stop, where we catch a leaving bus. We will meet Mohsen later.

Chai-Trinken in der Busfahrer-Baracke

The bus is empty, so we choose the best seats at the back. This was a mistake. While heading to Esfahan, more and more people join and a pattern comes to light: Men at the front, Women at the back.
Embarrassed as we are, we choose new place in the front if the bus. It's not on us to break the cultural rules!

Gorgeous Mosaic.

At this point another important thing: Today for all strict muslims Ramazan (or Ramadan) starts. They are not allowed to eat or drink while the sun is shining for 30 days. Many restaurants and shops will be closed and we don't know yet, whether this will be a problem for us.

We are slowly getting a feeling for this interesting country. Our first Farsi sentences are getting easier, I learned the way how to write Iranian numbers and the climate seems comfortable.

Old Bridge Building in Isfahan offers exotic communication.

We arrive near to the Imam Square. It's huge. Lonely Planet says it's the second largest square in the world and we can agree with that. Large grass surfaces, many fountains and stone plates cover a space, bigger than five football fields. At each side of the square, four big mosques reach to the sky.
In the surrounding gangway, a souvenir market is located. They sell everything: Persian carpets, antique ceramics and the local dessert "Gaz", a white nougat with pistachios inside. Delicious!
Surprisingly, many venders talk German to us. They learned from school and daily tourists. One of them actually could "jodel".

The sun is at zenit, as we meet a Polish guy, who does almost the same style of traveling as we do: Hitch-hiking and CouchSurfing! What differs is his schedule, he isn't planning to go home soon and he's run out of money.



Some minutes later a joung Iranian student invite us to his small home, right next to the "big bazar". We drink tea, listen to modern local music and talk about studies.

While discovering a nearby park Mohsen calls and we meet at a square. He and his girlfriend want to show us an old bridge, crossing the waterless river. We do some photos and have a lot of fun. Mohsen explains some history facts and some minutes later we fill our hungry stomachs beneath in the IFC (Iranian Fried Chicken :D).

Only at sone topics our opinions differ: Mohsen thinks not so good about the Malaysian culture:

"Two hundred years ago, they lived in trees!"

We all laugh and finish our chicken. After that, Mohsen spontaneously invites us to a family meeting nearby. Curious as we are, we accept excitedly.

17 aunts and uncles, many cousins, nephews and other relatives welcome us and we have a funny evening with great food, even better desserts and two parties backgammon.
Tired, but satisfied we leave and with a bunch of fruits for breakfast we sleep instantly.

Iran Through the Backdoor

After Kurdistan leg we approach another crucial moment on our trip: Iranian pass control.

The Turkish emigration takes some minutes each. The officer from Antalya excuses: "Computer slow here!" We go through a short gangway on international territory than we enter the Iranian border control building: Nobody is there. We see two pictures of Ayatollah Khoemeni and Ahmadinejad. A Turk complains: "Yeah, I work here. We have to look at them every day."



We don't dare to go through the door or even touch it. We are in Iran! Over and over again we raise our voice: "Salam." After some minutes a young officer comes to the control counter. He checks our details, scans the passport, asks "Dario? Craig?", he slams a stamp on our passport and then he remotely opens the kitschy wooden door. We thanks him with Farsi intonation: "Merci."

As soon as we exit the building a guy shouts: " Money. Money. Turkish Lira. Exchange. Exchange." Luckily we don't have significant Turkish lira left so we ignore him and head to the bank where we get a better rate:

50€ becomes 750.000 Iranian Rials or as they say 75.000 Toman. Don't ask me why. I think even they don't know.

At the exit of the border area taxi driver after taxi driver offers his service. Even after 15 Minutes (scarce traffic!) the men don't understand the idea of hitchhiking. It's amazing if you know that a hundred meters back on the Turkish side most people would understand 'autostop'.

First Iranian Lift! Merci!

The sixth car in total that we see leaving the border is our's. The two guys are Iranian Kurds. We can further our Kurdish on a short hop to the first big town in Iran: Orumiyeh. We see fundamental differences: There are apparently only four types of car brands in Iran: Two local companies that build KIA cars under licence, one with Peugeot engines and Peugeut itself as the only foreign brand (only three different models from three decades I think, latest Peugeot 207.



Another fact that leaps to the eye:  The single only place where you see Latin characters are on road signs. We are in a really different part of this world: Let's explore Iran!

Handsome IRAK

On the most adventuresome and dangerous leg of our trip we go deep into Southeast-anatolian territory: Kurdistan. Although people told us it is not wise to go there, we have an awesome time hitching with locals.

On a junction just meters off Iraqi territory.

Dunno what happened to this car.

For about 500 meters we are on Iraqi soil!!!
It is a once-in-a-lifetime-experience!



The landscape is jaw-dropping: Huge mountains, remote villages and goat herding.
At the border we are actually not allowed to take pictures. Anyways. Here for you:



More to come!

Mardin-Mesopotamia-Melon

It is storming heavily as we wake up on Farid's terrace in scenic Mardin.

Dario staying for free at Darius.

He shows us around his guesthouse and offers a Chai. Then we bid farewell. Thanks Farid for your spontaneous kindness! Your place is a must-see in Mardin. As we stroll along the few streets the sun rises. Only now we see what a spectacular view you have from here: We enjoy the Mesopotamian plain.

Gorgeous view over the Mesopotamian Plain.

Mardin is waking up: Donkeys carrying baskets of fruit and vegetables trot to the bazaar. The structure of the city reminds me of villages in southern Italy.In the bazaar we buy a melon for breakfast. We enjoy it with a nice view over the vast plane down there. Fortunately the melon is so big that we can share it with locals. After a short hike up the hill we get ready to stage the most difficult and supposedly most dangerous leg of our hitchhiking through Asia: South-Eastern Anatolia. We really go off-the-beaten-track hitchhiking through southeastern Anatolia. Let's do it!

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First we get noticed to be on the wrong side of town so we head back. At the gas station Mehmet with his Caddy invites us to come with him to Cizre - a good deal for us, since it's close to Sirnak. Mehmet doesn't care if we understand or not. He's really talkative. For quite some distance the road skirts with the Syrian border. It's mined and heavily protected by Syrian military.