071 to Golpayegan 29.9.2018

For the good-bye situation, I had decided to show happiness instead of sadness to make things easier. But when grandpa started crying I was not prepared for that.
Fatimeh and Parastoo came downstairs for a last photo

and a farewell ritual: pouring water behind me, so that nothing bad is left (I hope I recall it correctly).
And the I was alone on the street with thoughts and feelings…
It took me a while to recover, but when you are pedalling for hours you can overcome some things eventually
Today, a man waved from the other side of the street and mimed drinking tea as an invitation. He is a craftsman constructing pushcarts.

the showroom

He gave me food, too, and in his explanation of what this fat with orange stuff does or is, he mimed a goat and also pointed at Sibel Can and I am quite sure that he said (and meant) sex – all in all the explanation was similar disgusting as the taste of that fat and the bread that contained traces of cheese from another meal and his dirty fingers (although he kind of washed them) AND the rag he used to “clean” the plastic table cloth.

As the option to run away or other kinds of impoliteness would not fit to an invitation I thought that I can eat what he can eat and did it.
As a last favour, he wanted to screw in the protruding screws of my gear shift. He was too fast for my explanations and later I had to fix that again (was better before but works again)
Later, a truck stopped, and the guys asked for a photo session. Btw., it was the 2^nd time for my introduction letter that Parastoo had made for me.
The road was most of the time good and offered enough space and there were less cars than on the roads before.

The wind and the elevation allowed smaller progress but until noon I needed breaks very rarely, so I reached Khomeini early enough.
In the city centre, some guys were provocative, standing in the way and not moving, etc. One of them jumped on my top bag to go with me. I asked him to leave as I feared that it would be to heavy for the bike with all the luggage and me and him. When I moved on, he suddenly jumped again on the bag. I stopped again and thought if getting angry would be an option but some bystanders tried to calm me down and the guy made off anyway. I am glad about the quality of the bags, as they didn’t tear apart or so during this attack.
When I was about to take a dirt road to follow the route a car stopped, and a man said that the better road would be on the left.
For the GPS route, I had left the main road that now was on the right, so I hesitated to follow his advice. When he was away, I consulted my phone for other options. Soon some men came to talk to me in Farsi and to help me. In this situation the man came back and said that he had waited for me at the crossroad. Now I stopped thinking about other options and followed him.
He left me, showing the directions and on the way, I saw this clay building. I guess it is for storage. I forgot when the older buildings more and more were made of by clay instead of stones, but the first I saw was in the garden of Hadi in Zanjan (see 060)

In the end, GPS route and his route united and I could go on to the hotel. When I arrived there, it was no hotel, but a restaurant. The owner helped me to find another hotel somewhere and then asked if I would like to eat something. I was not hungry but felt obliged, because of his help and agreed. It was Abgousht (see 051 in Tabriz Bazar) and I could easily finish without being hungry.

The communication was led indirectly as a guest could speak English and knew even some German words.
I followed his route for a while but then it became obvious that something was wrong and I looked for alternatives and found something. Again, a car stopped, this driver showed me the way in another direction but then another one stopped and the driver new the way. I followed him for a while, then he said that I just had to go 2km straight to find it. There was even a sign, pointing to a dirt road. I followed for a while, but the only entrance on the way was locked. When I turned back to leave, another man helped me to find the right entrance and finally I found myself in a nice garden

and a friendly young man, Mayhar, responsible for the place, showed me around including a small museum.

When I was in my room,

they try to integrate the facilities in the old structure

“fighting” with the poor internet connection (but still glad that there was any) for uploading my blog diary, I heard interesting music played on the melodica. So, I came out to talk with Mayhar, who is not only manager of “Karbalaei fereidoun guesthouse”, but a musician, arranger and composer, playing several instruments and dreaming of an accordion and because of that, as a compromise, using the melodica.
He told me about arranging for some theatres in Tehran, and orchestra, originally consisting of 80 musicians and now active with still 20 and a band project, mixing Iranian traditional music with western style pop. And above all looms the censorship authority…