The Road to the Capital

The natural border between Ramsar and Tehran was created by a big mountain range, known az Alborz. Even if our distance to the capital seemed short by looking on the map, Ilaria and me had to start our trip quite early in order to reach our final destination. As the car which we stopped didn't go straight to the capital, we got a chance to say goodbye to the Caspian sea by making a small town Chalus, as our last stop before inhaling dirty air of Tehran. A quiet beach was perfect place for meditation, but as we were not meditating type of people, we managed to find a small wooden coffee shop. Hehe, coffee magic... and the Caspian see... and some random hungry ducks asking us for food on their own language. Perfect combination. Our calmness was interrupted by a car trying to drive on the sand. As I mentioned before, Iranians would even drive into the sea, if it would be possible. So... the car got stuck, and my small muscles used their power to push the car out of the sand. Miracle happened – I succeed.

After an hour on the beach, we went back to the road trying to find a ride, by explaining that we don't pay for the rides (pul nadaram). An old man, with strange expression on his face stopped, and gave us a ride. He might've been old, but his reflexes were still good. That's because he worked as a freelance taxi driver, which we didn't realize at the beginning. We reached the curvy road going through the mountains, and the old man turned into a manic racer. He liked overtaking other cars even on the full line, so we didn't enjoy properly the incredible view over the big canyons. Half an hour later, we realized that he actually charges for driving... so we had to go out from the car, and find another ride from the gas station where he planned to fill the tank with our money. Luckily, we found an elderly couple who were driving to Karaj, the big city just across the Alborz mountains, which we crossed after 3 hours. After we said goodbye to them, there was only 20km between us and the capital. We found the crossroad to Tehran, but due to misunderstanding with a woman who picked us from there, we realized quite late that she already drove us into Karaj. The rain started, and it made it difficult to find a way out. Finally, one guy told us that he will drive us there, but instead of it, he put us into some car, and after we left, the mysterious driver said that the man from the street, to whom we talked for 20 seconds, paid for our ride to Tehran.

The evening fell, we were still in the car. The streets were becoming wider every minute. I realized that we arrived. Shortly after we made our first steps on the capital's ground, I remember a small tornado of papers. The first reason was the wind. The second reason was election. Apparently, the campaign for election was so big, so there was not enough space for all the material printed. That's why the presidential candidates were flying around the city.

From that moment, my experience of Iran changed. Like I was not in the same country anymore. The traffic became crazy, the streets dirty, air polluted... but people were still the same: nice, friendly, hospitable, intelligent, informed and ready to help to anyone. Not even 5 minutes after we made our first steps on Tehran's streets, a random old man approached to us, telling us that he would be honored if we can be his guests. However, our host Mohammad, appeared few minutes later and brought us to his house. Now when I remember, I think I met at least one Mohammad each day, and four Ahmeds each week. So, Mohammad was a natural choice for the first experience of the Iranian capital.

The Shah's Lost Paradise

Hitchhiking in Iran

The mother of our host gave us a ride to the exit of Rasht. "Koja miravid?" and "Pul nadaram!" were the phrases we used for hitchhiking in Iran. It didn't take long and we stopped a small truck. The man didn't speak English, but he didn't stop speaking Farsi, as he was obviously excited to have foreigners in his small truck. He extended our small knowledge in Farsi by pointing on random places and repeating the local word twice... or more... He had a big smile, good mood, and a wife at home who was cooking lunch. From our sign language, we realized that he wants us to be his guests for a lunch, and he would be offended if we refuse him. As our host was waiting for us in Ramsar for lunch, we had to explain this to him somehow. So, I draw a man sitting on a table, holding a fork and knife above the empty plate. Then I draw a clock with scales pointing on 3 above the man, and explained that we had to be there at that time. My explanation worked, and our driver was happy to deliver us to our host on time.

Ramsar used to be one of the most exclusive places in Iran during the reign of the last Shah. Today, its a quiet town, with memories of its former glory. The Caspian coast is very quiet, with almost no people. However, there is a cafe next to the half destroyed building which used to be a discotheque once. At the town center, there is a big building which served as a summer palace of the last two Shah. The last Shah spent his honeymoon at that palace. Twenty years after the fall of Shah, the palace opened its gate again, as it reincarnated into a museum.

The town itself is very small, so Mohammad was waiting for us on a crossroad which was not difficult to miss. We spent two days with him and his big family who fed us with almost everything they could think of. Besides their town, we went to the mountains from where we could see the big panoramic view over the Caspian sea. Our host Mohammad and his family were just one more example of the endless hospitality from Iranian people.

Shah's former summer residence

Moral Police of Iran

Back in 1979, leader of the Islamic revolution, Ayatollah Khomeini, established "Basij", paramilitary volunteer militia whose duty is to act as morality police ever since the revolution. They are arresting women who are not dressed Islamic enough, prohibiting connections between unmarried men and women, confiscating satellite dishes and in general trying to stop any form of "westoxification", which is threatening to the Iranian national identity

Rasht is the biggest city on the south Caspian coast. Being the major trade connection between Russia and Europe for centuries, the city is known as the "Gate of Europe". Like in any big cities in the world, most of the young Iranians are following the newest fashion. However, dressing properly can be tricky, because of the strict Islamic laws. Girls who put too much make-up, dye their hair, mix their jeans with the traditional hijabs or even wear jackets which can show small parts of their arms, are in danger of being arrested by the so-called morality police, who can appear anywhere at any time. They are the eyes of supreme leaders, whose pictures are decorating street walls of Rasht and many other cities. Their recent actions caused closing of some cafes, restaurants and other places where young people would break the moral law.

Their eyes are following you!

People that you can see in the streets of Iran are not the same people you see in their houses. Women are not wearing hijabs, taboo subjects are allowed, facebook, youtube and foreign TV channels are not forbidden, and you can even drink alcohol. Our host was a modern girl, very intelligent, open and of course, really hospitable, like all of the Iranian people. After she made delicious breakfast for us, we borrowed her friend Moein to help us explore the city. The temperature was very hot, so being an Italian girl, Ilaria forgot about her moral obligation towards this country. While being busy exploring the city, all of us didn't notice that her shirt sleeves were few millimeters shorter than usual. But there is always somebody whose job is to notice...

A black ninja woman with evil eyes appeared out of nowhere, and started talking with us with a tone that my geography teacher used to talk to me some 20 years ago, as he was mad at me, as I imitated him in front of everybody. We didn't realize what's the problem about, until another man appeared to support her. They were dressed like all other civilians, with a small difference as they were carrying some sort of a radio in their hands. Apparently, Ilaria didn't get arrested, as they have small tolerance towards foreigners, and Moein acted like he just met us. Otherwise, being a local, he would have been in a trouble. Ilaria's sin was forgiven by the supreme leader's messenger so we were free to walk further. Or was it just an illusion?

Surprises on the South Coast of the Sea

"No problem. I will host you in Astara" - said Arash the previous day. However our morning didn't happen in Astara. And our host was not Arash, but his friend Azim. He is a history teacher, nice and calm family man in his 40s, who lives in a village 30 km south from Astara and gives shelter to the guests of Arash. If this sentence confused you, then imagine our confusion. Anyway, we found out that Azim inspires his younger friends and pupils to host people, and gives a good example, even by accepting their guests. Another surprise waited for us in his house: big meeting of couchsurfing members from nearby towns, all of them staying with him during the night.

 

That day we decided to explore mountains and waterfalls around Caspian sea, with a help of our guides - Arash and Reza. They bought delicious Iranian bread, perfect for a picnic that we decided to make near the waterfall, after an hour of hiking. Wonderful views on a rice fields, which are guarding the sea from the distant hills waited for us, together with curious villagers. A small waterfall, surrounded by forest, was like an oasis, out of reach from a "moral police", making it as a perfect place for couples, and women who were tired of walking with a scarf on their head.

Back in their village, Azim continued the tour, and almost drove us into the Caspian sea with his car. Most of Iranian people prefer to drive everywhere, instead of walking, even for a short distance. I wouldn't be surprised  if one day Iranians invent waterproof cars, which would allow them to drive into the sea...

Azim's car, Azim, Reza and their guests at the Caspian sea

The coast of Caspian sea was long, covered by thick grey sand where, instead of tourists, garbage was taking a sunbath. Only few men were swimming, while completely covered women waited for them on the sand. If they would swim, they wouldn't take their clothes off.

In the late afternoon, Ilaria and me went to the road again, remembering the Arabic numbers of a registration plate for Rasht. The driver who stopped, agreed to bring us to the town on half of the way there. And then, another surprise: as we arrived to that town, driver asked for money. We tried to explain him about hitchhiking... but once again, another confusion and another crowd surrounding us from each side. We tried to escape from all of them, but the town was too small for any escape. Another car stopped on our signal, but then our stalkers came and scared that driver. And of course, once more, there was police, coming to help us. All of them started talking at the same time, creating another confusion... until, our saver appeared, sent by God, as Ilaria said. A man walked towards our audience closing the door of a big white car, and solved the problem by insisting to pay to the man who was hungry for money. He told the police that he will drive us to Rasht, and problem was solved. That day we learned that many cars in Iran are unofficial taxis, and that we should know few basic sentences in Farsi language for making our hitchhiking trip easier.

From the Medevial Capital to the Caspian Sea

The blue mosque of Tabriz

Tabriz was chosen few times as an official capital of Iran, by the several rulers in different historical periods. The city was even a residence of an Iranian crowned prince until first part of 20th century. Today, it's a capital of East Azerbaijan, and home of 2 million people. The city's turbulent history and geographical position, which caused numerous earthquakes, destroyed most of the historical monuments. However, being one of the most historic Persian cities, Tabriz and its streets can still give you few surprises.

We were still in one piece, although our drivers from the previous day wouldn't expect us to be. Our new friends, Hamed and Arman, were quite enthusiastic to be our guides through the authentic bazaar, blue mosque, local cuisine, and the city streets. After we finished our tour of Tabriz, they drove us to the end of the city, and even hitched a truck for us.

Hamed and Arman stopped the truck... and rain started falling

Following the ancient silk road to the east, our next 200 kilometers we spent in a truck, going to the direction of Caspian Sea. Our truck stopped in the town one hour away from the coast, so Ilaria and me needed to get out of sight from the all curious people whose eyes were following us, and use combination of our hands once again to stop our next car. Two older men, sharing a small car, chose us for their company, and the ride through the hills started. Despite all the differences between them, they were dressed like brothers. The driver was Iranian Turk. Cartoon like character, he was a short man with a gray hair combined with Groucho Marx mustaches. The talker was Azeri man, his younger friend with a golden smile. Many people from the Ex-Soviet countries, are followers of the golden fashion which they like to put in their mouth. His breath was smelly, his stories were dirty and his voice was changing tones, as he probably did something he shouldn't do in Iran - drank forbidden drink. His sexual imagination mixed with alcohol inspired dirty words from his golden mouth, after he found out that Ilaria and me were not married. He didn't stop until she declared herself as a strict Christian, and his mind didn't have inspiration anymore.

Iranian Groucho Marx and golden Azeri man

Finally, we reached Astara, a small town on the coastal border with Azerbaijan. As we waited for our host to come, random men in front of us couldn't wait to satisfy their curiosity and offer us food from their stores...

Salt of the Earth

Urmia salt lake

After we woke up in his mansion-like house, Yassin drove us to the east end of the city. In front of us there was a large salt lake, divided by a long causeway in the middle. That was the road to Tabriz, and the provincial border between East and West Azerbaijan. We decided to change our hitchhiking strategy this time, so we used our hands and waved up and down, hoping that cars will stop. Cars would stop anyway, as everybody who saw us, became extremely curious who we are, what are we doing on the road, what are we doing in life and what are we doing in Iran. We tried many times to escape from their curiosity, but even if we thought we did, there was another surprise. One of the surprises was waiting for us in Tabriz, after we crossed the lake.

Our driver at the salt lake

Urmia lake is the third largest salt lake in the world, and the largest lake in the Middle East. It is a home to many endangered animal species, and therefore it's being protected by the UNESCO. Unfortunately, protection couldn't do much, as Iranian government built a huge causeway across the lake, dividing it to the north and south. A big gap between two sides, almost doesn't provide mixing of water, and therefore the lake shrunk for 60% in the past decade, being in danger it will completely disappear. This caused big protests in 2010 and 2011, but as all protests in past couple of years in Iran, nothing could be done. Many protesters ended up in jail, and some people said, that protests even caused few deaths in these clashes. With all inner political conflicts in Iran, many people don't trust each other nowadays.

Yassin was worried for us, so he kept us company until the car going to Tabriz stopped. Telling to the driver to keep us safe, he put responsibility on his back, much bigger than we thought. The driver and his father felt a big pressure, like they are driving a royal family members on their back seats. Once we crossed the shrinking lake, we felt "royal" as we arrived in Tabriz. Naturally, they brought us to their home, where we met all the other family members, who wished us welcome with a delicious lunch that we shared together. The problem appeared as we called our couchsurfing hosts to come and pick us up. Our drivers felt that we are in danger, they called the police, and all of us ended up being interrogated one more time. What can I say... it was just another "normal" day in Iran...

Having a lunch with a family of our drivers

Please, Come to My House and be My Guest!

Visiting Iran was my dream for a long time, so I woke up early as my high enthusiasm defeated my tiredness. Urmia's population crosses one million, and the city serves as a capital of West Azerbaijan province. A huge mosque, watching over the old bazaar full of people reminded me on the atmosphere in Turkey, except that the street spice was mixed with Azeris, Kurds, Asyrians and Armenians. Constant traffic jam and crazy way of driving, was not only landmark of the city, but of the whole country.

a mosque in the center of Urmia

lunch with Yassin (our host) in his family house

On that first day I spent in their country, I discovered that Iranians have high friendship values, and being their friend even for a day means that you will remain their friend forever. I found them as very sincere, warm, well informed, intelligent and extremely hospitable people, who would share with a stranger everything they have. Therefore, saying goodbye to most of them was never easy, and I realized that one month I planned to spend in Iran will not be enough. I got to know that feeling by meeting Yassin, a friend of our busy host. He took his time, energy, car fuel, emotions and stories to share with us, showed us every corner of his city and made us feel like his siblings he didn't see for a long time. At the end of the day, he stole us from our actual host, so we spend one more night in that city without planing, just in a different house.

Babysitting Iranian Truck Driver

Before we left Iraq, we met Ahmed's family, helped them to wash their carpets, wrote on a piece of paper "Penjwin" in Arabic language and went to the highway, towards the border of Iran. A huge truck appeared few minutes later, on that big crossroad where we stood. A man with a sincere smile of a child invited us to his truck. He didn't speak much English, but the excitement on his face was showing that he would drive us anywhere. Before we crossed the border, he was worried that we didn't eat enough, and brought us his cheese, bread and other vegetables which he prepared for himself. Ilaria was emotionally shocked, and we got introduction to Iranian hospitality.

I have a habit, like many Serbians, to bring with me sausage for the road so I can eat it with bread. I realized later on, that my sausage didn't have a visa for Iraq, as it was made of a pork meat. However, crossing the border was easy, they didn't even open my bag and my sausage was an illegal immigrant. Anyway, this is not a story about the sausage...

Our driver was talking with a baby voice saying something like "nam-num-nam" and smiling to us all the time. I realized that he wanted to give us everything he had in the truck, to keep us happy so we can stay with him for longer time. He was too slow though, and we wanted to change him. There were many mountains in front of us, but before we reached them, he bribed us with some cucumbers and carrots he bought on a stop-by town. I tried to explain to him that we are in the rush, but his hands told me that he can go faster, and his face made a sad smile, making us feel guilty. Hours felt like days in his truck, but we accepted our destiny for that day, and felt like being babysitters of a truck driver.

Ilaria and our lonely truck driver

Eventually, that evening he needed to turn to the other road, and we ended up in Bokan, a small town where no foreign legs are walking around. We didn't know much about hitchhiking in Iran, but it didn't take us long to realize it was impossible doing it with a sign. People didn't understand what we were doing, and suddenly, we were surrounded by 20 of them, all talking at the same time. In all that crowd, there was even a man saying: "I am an English teacher. I can help you". Although, we didn't need their help, it was impossible to explain, and the crowd became larger. Some bikers stopped, causing the car drivers to stop as well as everybody went curious what's going on. We created traffic collapse, so police came to examine the situation, and since we were unable to explain the meaning of hitchhiking, we ended up in their station. Of course, the question "Are you married?" was the first one, so after they got a wrong answer, strange look on their faces appeared. They got confused pretty much by each answer we gave to their questions, as they still didn't understand the way of our travel. At the end, they put us on the bus, ordering the driver to bring us for free to our next stop, Urmia. Our host Hussein (who was also not married on surprise of a police), greeted us with "good morning" around 4am.

Saddam's Cells of Torture

Sulaymaniah is a fast growing city and cultural capital of Iraqi Kurdistan. Founded in 18th century by the Kurdish Prince, it got its name after his father Suleiman Pasha. Since then, the city had turbulent history through the centuries, and in the 80s suffered a lot from the Arab nationalist movement against the Kurds.

Streets of Sulaymaniah

Our host, Ahmed, guided us through the local history, and brought us to the infamous Amna Suraka secret prison, today turned into a museum. From 1979 till 1991, regime of Saddam Hussein used that "bulding of horror" to interrogate, torture and kill thousands of Kurds. Today, its an exhibition of haunting photos and relics of the genocide. Outside of the "red building" Iraqi artillery and tanks showed us the way out, where graffiti "life is very nice" decorated the main street...

The building of horror

A City Across the Green Hills

Morning in Erbil started by drinking coffee in a mall, so we can escape big heat on the empty streets. Malls became popular in last few years, and many local people adopted pro-American lifestyle. We met Ali, friend of Mohammad, who drove us to the end of the city and wrote a sign "Sulaymaniah" on Arabic language, so we can continue our road. Few months later, one Polish guy that I met in Iran ended up hitchhiking with the same sign to Sulaymaniah, and the sign ended up in Ali's hands again. But, that's another story...

Most of the Kurdish people live in East Turkey and North Iraq. They have their own language, which originates from Iran, and is part of Indo-European languages. However, they use Arabic as their second national language as percentage of Kurds in Iraq is around 20%. Many locals are still wearing their traditional clothes, which never went out of fashion.

As we went further from the regional capital, most of Kurdish men were dressed the same way. They were all very kind, generous and extremely hospitable to foreigners, so hitchhiking was quite easy. We changed few cars, and eventually hitched a car of a soldier who was driving to Baghdad. Nature of the north was stunning, as after "yellow" Erbil, I didn't expect to see green hills, rivers and lakes on the road. Eventually, we reached 5th largest city in Iraq, and went to the international hospital to wait for our host, whose name is Ahmed Mohammed (combination of two most common names). While waiting in the hospital, we talked to the stuff, and they asked us if we have European friends who would be interested to work as nurses for a good salary. Not many people from Europe have a clear idea about safety in the North Iraq, so finding a stuff is a difficult task.

Anyhow, Ahmed Mohammed came with a friend, they gave us short introduction of Suleymaniah, and we realized that this city might be the most liberal city in Iraq. Rest of the evening we spent on a hill which overlooks the whole city. Ahmed threw a carpet, prepared shisha and we enjoyed watching sunset over the city of one million people.

Kurdish life in North Iraq

helping my driver with the beers he bought on the road to Erbil

Duhok. Small town in Kurdish Iraq, where river Tigris brings "dirty" water from Mosul. Mosul is second largest city in Iraq, and during last couple of years, is considered to be most dangerous. Therefore, many Arab refugees, along with people from the villages in the north Iraq, moved to this small town and made it overpopulated. Except of green hills, post-apocalyptic houses, crowded markets and strange advertisements, there was not much to see. So, we went towards the road to try hitchhiking. The idea of hitchhiking in Iraq is non-existent, so first driver we stopped brought us to the bus station. The second car driver understood what we were doing, as he lived in France where he was a refugee for some 20 years, so he agreed to bring us to Erbil, regional capital of Kurdistan, Autonomous Region of Iraq.

We crossed hills, plains, villages and many police check-points. He stopped to buy some 6 bottles of beer, and started drinking along the road. As he would finish the bottle, he would throw it away through the window, neither looking where it crashes nor feeling guilty. After a while, we finally arrived in Erbil and he invited us to join him for a typical Kurdish kebab.

Erbil greeted us with a busy Friday atmosphere. A huge ancient citadel built on a small hill, overlooks the city and its flat roofs, traffic jam, markets, vegetables and carpets with a picture of a prophet Mohammad. During the day, not many women could be seen walking around, so naturally, many eyes were following Ilaria. Later on, we met our host Mohammad (name for every second person in Iraq), who was happy to share coffee with us, and bring us to try good kebabs (again), in a place where curious eyes of some 20 random men kept us company.

To Iraq

Mardin, one of the oldest settlements in the world, situated on the rocky hill in once Upper Mesopotamia, today Kurdish town in Turkey. Street merchants selling carpets, pottery and other handicrafts were all part of a special and authentic feeling of being back in time. Ancient houses made from white brick were overlooking the green plains and the Tigris river in the distance. Thinking of that river, I had a feeling I am already in Iraq.

After a journey through the time, we left Mardin, continued our road towards Iraq and eventually reached the town 10km away from the border. Not many cars went there, but some two guys decided to give us a ride. One of them decided to perform a small concert in his car... so he made our ears hurt by abilities of his voice. Turkish Pavarotti arrived at the border, and his concert was finished without an applause.

The border felt like a big village market, and the guards looked like organizers of a rooster fight, chilling around and collecting passports (or money). Random children were begging around, walking through the border without passport (I would be surprised if they even had an ID). However, we couldn't cross to the other side of a village market unless we find a car to drive us to the side called Iraq. Eventually, a mini van appeared, and border guards put us in. It was a van of traveling comedians, magicians and belly dancers from Turkey, on the road to Iraqi town Duhok, where they had performance the same evening. They decided to give us a ride to that town, and even offered to be our hosts by giving us a free place to stay at the same hotel they were performing. So... we got a room! A huge one. It was not a room for guests, although it had two nice beds, TV, many bottles of water and few more random stuff.

Two funny guys, in the Duhok bookstore

Later that evening, we wanted to attend their show. On the door, there was a sign: "No guns allowed". We started walking inside unarmed, but the security guard stopped Ilaria saying: "Sorry. No women allowed". Before going to sleep, we decided to find few more cultural shocks on the streets of that Iraqi Kurdish town, and find out what else is not allowed...

Hansel & Gretel in Turkey

After a day of eating kebabs and drinking saleps in Adana, Ilaria and me left one of the largest Turkish cities and chose a small historical town named Mardin as our last destination in Turkey. There was only 600 km in front of us to hitchhike for that day, so we started our day by taking a slow truck. We used our hand language to make conversation with two truck drivers, who gave me chaplet as a present, and who gave signals for a faster truck to stop and bring us further. Eventually, we changed that truck with a car driver, who left us at some small town, where we made a break looking at the sheep who are waiting to become kebabs, being chained for a tree.

Further on the road, we got into the few hours of life of unusual three friends: slightly retarded young man, old man with an evil face and nicely dressed guy with mustaches who looked like a pimp selling the body of a young man to the old one. I don't know... something didn't feel right about them. But then again, maybe I was wrong... and like so many people that we met before that day, they stopped for lunch which they insisted to pay for us.

Having lunch with suspicious looking Turks

Finally, we arrived in Mardin, and our host Mehmet seemed very happy, enthusiastic and a bit nervous to have us as his guests. Again, we couldn't escape from Turkish hospitality, no matter we ate already 3 times that day. He insisted to bring us to some fancy restaurant and order everything he can think of. We felt like Hansel and Gretel, being fed all the time and feeling like raw kebabs. However, we survived, and continued the evening enjoying the night lights of that small spectacular town trapped between the hills...

Advantages of the Mediterranean pearl

"Mersin is the most important trade area in Turkey between Turkey and The World" - K.M.Ataturk
Known between Turks as "the pearl of Mediterranean", this city serves as the largest port of Turkey. Although the pearl doesn't have much to offer to a random traveler, except a huge promenade near the sea, tons of ships, sea food markets, huge buildings and streets where you can easily get lost. However, being with a local can make a difference. Even if the locals are not Mersinians, because the city is full of students from all around Turkey.

My host, Cihan, and few of his friends were a great guides through the soul of the city. During the day we drank coffee on his balcony, which offered a view to some 20 twin buildings and one lemon tree. During the night, we went to a club to listen to the rock music performed by Cihan and his band. As he was living some 10 km away from the club, I suggested that five of us hitch a ride. Although the whole idea sounded absurd, I put a thumb up, and car stopped (as always). We somehow managed to squeeze with two of them, and made it to his house in one piece.

Next day, Ilaria and me added our host to our hitchhiking trip to Adana, and Cihan ended up getting a job from a driver who picked us up...

Our family that we never met

Second day in Nevsehir: We already became a part of that family, and they were treating us like that. We used the day to explore the old town which hides so many abandoned and half-destroyed houses, filled with memories from the past lives of people who used to live there. Broken miracles, old photographs, toothbrushes and calendars with Mecca were keeping us company until rain stopped and we went uphill to see the view from the remaining of a castle. Later on, we went to visit the famous natural wonder - hundreds stone pillars in minaret-like forms, known as Cappadocia.

After the end of our tour, we came back to "our" family, where we met more of "our relatives", who were behaving like they didn't see us for years. I expected they will say something like "- Look at you, you grew up". In any case, it was hard to say goodbye to them. Especially for Ilaria. She would get really emotional, even if a random man shares a piece of bread and cheese with us. However, even it was late, we continued our hitchhiking trip and stood near the sign pointing to Nigde (means "nowhere" in Serbian). Our next destination was the largest port in Turkey, Mersin. A football coach chose to bring us there... and of course, make a stop for a dinner so he can introduce us to the famous meal from the south - Adana kebab. That evening, we managed to reach Mersin, and join the party of our host... or our hosts... actually, we didn't really know how many hosts do we have, and who is a guest, as all of them seemed like living with each other. What a great way to finish the day...

Surfing couches in a Turkish couch shop

With one bus ride, we reached the toll gate of the highway. We were thinking it will be a success if we manage to reach Ankara before the sunset. However, we found a direct ride after two minutes, we even managed to eat and drink tea with our driver, but also listen to him singing famous Turkish love songs from 20 years ago. Time passed quickly and it was not even 4pm when we were at the road leading to the south... so why only to Ankara, as we can go much further by hitchhiking in Turkey. We wrote Nevsehir on a piece of paper, as there was a good chance to visit famous Cappadochia. On that road, not many people went our direction, so after 10 minutes of waiting we chose a truck. Yes, it was a bit slow, but after few hours of driving (and of course, break for a tea and food), we reached the town of Nevsehir.

In that town, we didn't have any contacts, but I told Ilaria not to worry, as we will manage to find something, and 5 minutes later... miracle! A shop full of couches. Open! There is the place to sleep. Naturally, we entered and by moving hands, I explained to the shop owner that we want to use his couches overnight. His confusion turned into the incredible hospitality, so he agreed and told us that beside couches we can use his stove to make a tea, TV and make ourselves at home until he comes in the morning. However, 20 minutes later, he felt bad that we are sleeping in his shop, and invited us to his house where his wife made very delicious dinner and their children asked us all possible question with the help of "google translate". They gave us very nice room, and told us to stay as long as we like...

Between two continents

In Turkey, cars are not choosing you. It's you who are choosing the cars. As we went to the outskirts of Edirne and found the highway, we knew we will not wait. First car that we saw, stopped, and gave us a ride into the heart of Istanbul, the only huge city which I love so much, and where I always feel like at home. Once more, I ate kebabs, walked the authentic streets, saw Blue Mosque, crossed the Bosphorus and saw some of my old friends again. In all the crowd I gathered together, we ended up staying with Ipek, Turkish girl who lives in Asia... just across the bridge from Europe. I was surprised to see the small postcard of Tito (former president of Yugoslavia), together with his wife and Yugoslavian flag decorating her wall :) Later I found out that her grandfather was born in Yugoslavia.

To cross Bulgaria, you need less than a day

After the morning coffee, everybody got their traveling partner: Katarina ended up with Ilaria's dog, and I ended up with Ilaria. So, two of us decided to reach Turkey the same evening. It took us some time to get out of Sofia, and we stood at the road with a sign "TR". The guy who stopped offered us a ride only to the half of the road, but we accepted. Although he had a kid, that non-shaved man dressed in a sports clothes drove like a maniac, and left us at the crossroad to Haskovo, from where a minivan driver saw our thumb. Our "cool" driver stopped, opened his freezer-trunk and put our backpacks to freeze with the company of coca-cola bottles. He made a turn off the road, where three hungry chained dogs were guarding some forgotten factory. After we delivered bottles to the factory, he left us on the road, some 60km from Turkish border... and eventually, after few more cars, we reached that post-apocalyptic border crossing town known as Kapitan Andreevo. Instead of asking where are we going, border guard asked "- Are you married?" That was the most common question we heard, and by crossing the Turkish border, I knew that every second person is going to ask the same question. So, we agreed to be married for all curious Turkish people.

Whenever I enter or exit Turkey, there's one guy for hello and goodbye. His name is Kutay. He was my first couchsurfing host in Turkey (back in 2008), and ever since we kept seeing each other either in mine or his country. As always, I was happy to see this funny, positive and a bit crazy English teacher and once more share coffee, beer and the best kebab in Turkey with him.

First gate towards the east

Nis is my hometown, but my home is every place where I put my hat on. From time to time, I take my hat from my hometown, and start a journey. Time for another journey finally came, and on that day I decided to say goodbye to Nis once more, but this time for a longer period. My map was showing Asia, my plan was to reach China eventually... but date, time, countries or way of traveling after Iran were not certain.

Iranian visa was two months already in my passport, and was waiting for me to start the trip. So as Katarina, my first co-passenger who decided to join me to Sofia, in order to take care of the dog from my second co-passenger, Ilaria, while she is not there. Ilaria is an Italian girl, who fell in love with Balkan countries, quit her job, moved to Sofia and completely changed her life. I met her one day in Nis, and suggested her a possibility to join me for some time on this trip. It didn't take her long to accept, and I was happy to have a travel partner for my first three weeks. That night, we were Ilaria's last guests in Bulgarian capital, before she canceled the flat she was renting. Katarina came back to Nis next day, with much smaller traveling partner.