Bandar-e Abbas

Buying a bus ticket can be as difficult or as easy as you make it. Like in Turkey, Iran's bus stations are full of touts who desperately want to know where you're going and how. Unlike in Turkey, these guys expect a tip for their 'services'... I fell for the 'scam', but it only cost 15 cents - hence no need to complain. Ticket cost $11USD for 1360 km in a brand new luxury coach... not bad.

Bus left one hour late. Reason unknown. Unlike Turkey, it soon became apparent that there was no tea service, even though ice-cold water was available from a tank. Driving looks like this: you step on the accellerator, then flash your lights if the vehicle in front is too slow and hope they move. In the middle of the night I woke up to see one of the bus drivers beating the crap out of a passanger in a nearby seat. Don't know what the problem was, but soon after, everything became quiet.

Southern Iran is worlds away from the north. The mountains look like a slice of the continental shelf had been simply lifted out 2000 metres and left sitting there. Scorched by the blistering sun, they are only covered by the thinnest of shrubs. Yet in the valleys below, there are patches of lush palm trees and some signs of cultivation (I think nuts).

Bandar-e Abbas is scorching. After 20 hours on the bus, I'm exhausted. I get to the bus station, and check onward bus times, then sit with some people peddling kids toys and play my Saz. Next, the taxi problem. A dude wants to drive me for $3 to the centre of town. I insist that he find some passengers to share the ride with. End up paying 50 cents.

The place is dead in the middle of the day, the bazaar mostly closed. The shop owners lazily sit around. I seem to be the day's main attraction. Talking to these people, it is apparent that this is a very different Iran. Half of these people are either Afghan or Baluchi or Pakistani. I see several women in red Burka (face mask) - not the Taliban version, but a 18thC Portugese fashion accessory that has somehow been assimilated by the local culture. I meet an Afghan owner of a women's clothes store. We sit down in his shop and have a chat. He's lived in Iran for 20 years but doesn't like the place. Afghan refugees get no education here, hence the kids do all sorts of random jobs on the streets and are stuck in a cycle of poverty. He hopes to go to Holland in two months for study, but has no passport. He also tells me he loves Bin Laden and has all of his speeches on VCD.

I'm staying at a mosaferkhuneh (cheapest grade of hotel, illegal for foreigners to stay at). It costs about $2USD per night. The other guys in the dorm are very friendly, but but speak little English. When the bazaar opens I think will need to go and buy myself a Pakistani outfit. I'm glad I bought the Kurdish head scarf in Sanliurfa. With any luck, turning up wearing these two fashion items at Melbourne airport will get me arrested. The Persian Gulf looks very inviting. Hopefully I can go for a swim.