Isfahan is the first spot where we finally stopped and started breathing. Till now, we were being continuously pushed to go further by the low temperatures. Those of you who know me also know I like driving. In spite of this, the 6.000 kilometres we've done through the last two weeks were such that I was happy to leave the car parked for 60 hours without even opening the cabin. Specially the last 100 kilometres were responsible for this.
I was told a couple of times this truck would run fine but that I would have to constantly dedicate myself to it. If not by my own wish, it would certainly remind me of it.
We're climbing a slope while the oil-lamp turns on. I'm shocked and I pull over to stop the engine. But the lamp is not constantly lit so I decide to make to the end of the climb in order to have the truck level. I ckeck the oil, one third above minimum. There is an orange bus stopped a bit further, a technician approaches us. "Pompa..." and something more he said, while pointing under the truck. "Hawa?" was my question. He nods. "Ok, we're comming." Despite our best will we weren't able to fill bus's air-system so they could get it down the slope to the first rest area. The connectors weren't compatible, quick-releases on my side, no idea about theirs. But the guy that thought he could hold the 8 bar by hand was really optimistic. Even four were too much. Happy to be able to catch a picture of Carmen and of the truck and unhappy I couldn't help them, we said goodbye. But the oil-pressure indicator did not disappear.
The next day it glows again, again while climbing. We stop at the first rest area, I put the cabin down and get under the truck to check whether the oil pump works and delivers the oil to the turbocharger. Stivart, thanks for the tip! Meanwhile Carmen shops, shoots some photos and deals with the guys that popped around the apen-air workshop. After the check I'm relaxed and we keep on. But only till in the middle of nowhere, but really in the middle of nowhere, 100 km before Isfahan, the indicator gets fully lit and doesn't turn off at all. I noticed a relation between wrong oil temperature display and oil-pressure indicator glow. It relieved me a bit. We took the risk, turned off the radio and continued to the 100 km distant Isfahan where we parked the house in the very centre of the city, next to the Public Library and behind the Abbasi Hotel.
I did not collect enough energy on Thursday to start repairing the truck. It was parked under the maple trees that were shedding their leaves on it.
Carmen went to sleep early and I went to the main square to take some pictures of the volleyball players.
"Excuse me, do you speak English?" a gentle voice enters my ears from the side as I try to focus the muqarna above mosque main gate. I didn't fancy socializing but Shahab proved to be a very pleasant young man. We discussed the "situation", we discussed the tea-houses that in Isfahan were closed two months ago. This was the reason Carmen and I couldn't get not only hubble bubble the first night, no, even tea was impossible to find. The health minister decided to take care of the health of his citizens which were frequenting tea-houses to get som argila smoke. That's why all the tea-houses were closed by law. Simple, eh?
We decide to have a tea but therefore we have to get to another part of the city. We stop-over at my home to leave the camera, Carmen's sleeping. Allright, so we'll have a male night. But I receive a text a few minutes later, Shahab makes a U-turn with his Iranian Samand and we pick up Carmen. "Vous voulez du café?" is a really chic cafeteria where you're told you'll have to wait 15 minutes to get a cappuccino, the rest will be delivered earlier. As the 15 minutes are over the cappuccino arrives and they don't forget to point out ther punctuality. Ali joined us later. He was pretty busy with the cellular, sending text to his beloved. This, and the fact his English wasn't as fluent as Shahab's, was the reason he wasn't really part of our conversation.
Friday. Shahab's off, Checa Food Industruies where the 21-year-old is in charge of marketing, is, like the other Iranian companies, open "only" 6 days a week. He picks me up at my place half past one p.m. an we head for Carmen that went to shoot some photos of the Friday prayer. We spot her on the main square, talking to a local wrapped in a chador. They both approach the car and Shahab and I are acquainted with Tabea. She speaks perfect English and after Shahab's approval Carmen invites her to join us. But Tabea is not a local. She's a Lufthansa flight assistant, travelling by her own around Iran since two weeks ago. Next she's visiting Egypt, then Pakistan, she wishes to get to Afghanistan too, from where she's got first-hand info that travelling there is straightforward and easy even for a single female traveller.
We head for the "Shaking minarets", a pair of towers at Isfahan outskirts where the tourists can admire a "World wonder" every full hour. A chap climbs to the right minaret and starts to swing it. And watch out, soon the left one starts to swing as well. Slightly less than 50 eurocents per person. I was amazed as well. By the fact they still have the minarets at all. We met Eva while waiting for the big happening. She's travelling alone. A lady in her best age. She comes from Funland, as the Iranians call the country of Santa.
We spent the rest of the day in a restaurant with three aquariums. Nice fish from the lake Tanganyika were in one of them. And a sunken pirates ship. Actually, daylight was lasting but first we had to wait the employees got fed. It was our fault. Our arrival timing was bad. When they finished their meal, rests of previous guests' food was taken from our table (we chose the least laden table), only Tabea got some cucumber and a few grains of rice into her lap. However, I didn't think her hunger was so desperately evident.
Ali said goodbye, he had to leave for a party. It was an official birthday party which took place from half past seven till nine p.m. in a fancy hotel lobby. As long as we thought it would be an illegal party we were picking him to invite us as well. Well, as we discovered it was really all about a legal party, we just wished him nice entertainment. However, our party moved to our house. Yes, unmarried young men and women were socializing. But! The party didn't comply for being an underground party because we didn't drink nor smoke. So we could be relaxed without the fear that the Commeetee for Decency would imprison us for two weeks (despite the gossip that says the real party is only there).
Saturday. Finally got to lift the cabin and found out the problems are wiring-triggered, not mechanic. I'll solve it somewhere in the future, for the moment it's important we can lift the anchor.
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