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If I was told I could only drive a truck in Tehran for the rest of my life, I would instantly hand over the driver's license to the authorities. And yet, Tehran gave us, apart of Manca, a green light to cross the Persian Gulf.

Who is Manca? Manca Juvan Hessabi is a photographer. The one which visited me together with Katja Božič two weeks prior to my departure in order to make the article for Slovenian magazine Jana. A couple of days later she moved to Tehran.
Manca and Amir Ali, that left us with an impression of a great person, were waiting for us in a black Landcruiser on the Tajrish square. It was eight in the evening. I had been driving through Tehran traffic for two hours by then. An hour and a half too much for my taste. Both Carmen and me are surprised by something I already noticed in Damascus. Otherwise very friendly people convert into beasts when behind the wheel. But it's not the only thing that's surprising us. It's a complete lack of respect and fear towards our vehicle. When squeezing through Cairo jams with my Peugeot Partner I always had on my mind the fact that the one who can loose more is me with the brand new metallic silver car, and not the driver of 30-year-old rusted truck. Now as the roles have been switched I am surprised by a complete absence of this kind of thinking with other drivers. Driving would probably not be so exhaustive if I wasn't drivind agiant, pretty wider than the rest of the vehicles (trucks are not allowed to enter Tehran. Convincing the police on Tehran roundabout that it is not a truck, but a "home", took longer than usually this time. Even Carmen had to come down to show her eye-lashes) and one that stops later than the others. I became a beast myself. I don't ask anymore. As I spot a gap, I fill it instantly despite seeing in the mirror that the one behind me fully accelerated as I turned on the indicator. Then full brake, all the lights and the horn come into action. But I don't care. Let him crash into my wheel. Let him peel-off his roof on my fuel tank. I just simply don't care. And yet, I still care a bit about the pedestrians in a countinuous flow across the streets, which are also immune for respecting and fearing the big and clumsy truck. Actually, they are brave. Even the drivers of the Paykans are brave as they enter the main street from the right and have faith in me that I will (and will want) instatntly reduce my speed from 50 to 20 kph in order not to smash them.

Manca? Yeeeah, Indian restaurant dinner was great. Manca smiling all the time, Amir Ali gentle. We had our big dinner. We were suggested to take the rest in a doggy bag as the locals constantly do this. We still didn'd consider it okay so we had our lunch the next day in a restaurant with gorgeous flower arrangement on the table. Not only traffic, the city itself also reminds me of Damascus. You can get it all in the shops, but the streets lack a bit of care. And one has to train his eye to find a restaurant. Taking into account Farsi is Indo-European language I am surprised how much Arabic helps me here. I'm talking of written Arabic here. Spoken Farsi sounds to me like a mixture of Hungarian and Turkish, while I understand is as much as Chinese.

Manca? We met with her for a coffee in the afternoon. To practice Slovenian a bit. In the snowy morning before coffee we went to the UN office in Tehran to pick up the Emirates visas Dane sent us from Dubay. The business person and the house wife have authorisation to enter the UAE! Hooray! DaNe, thanks a lot! Then a visit at the shipping agent was due. As we got some bizzare quotations for the Gulf crossing we wanted to speak to the Sales Manager. We were waiting for him for an hour to return from his meeting. Young, smiling, in a good mood, well dressed... and he Spoke English! He took us into his office. And the bizzare numbers from before got even more bizzare. I got an offer from them a year ago. Now the offer was four times the old one! A nice conversation, during which we could perfectly feel we were on opposite sides. I was applying a tactic learned among the Arabs. Will it also work with the Persians? Do I want too much? We agree on the price which stays like a tripple of what I had been quoted a year ago. The good part was that the price was quoted in USD. 1 EUR = 1,47 USD. Of course we paid euros. And the light for the Emirates got its full green brightness.

Manca? Yes, Brane, she's also sending her regards. With a big smile. There are also warm regards travelling back to Katja. She can't send you the sun you sent us, we can only deliver you some snow, if you wish. However, Carmen got some useful suggestions for a female to survive Iran from Manca's friend Zahra, while sipping her 3 euro coffee.

In the evening we unfroze the windscreeen and windows and took off through the beastiary again, to the south, out of Tehran pollution.

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