The landscape that floored us in Iran was the first one we saw.
A road running alongside the Aras river, which marks the border between Armenia and Azerbaijan on one side and Iran on the other. A route we hadn't even considered until that very morning, when we decided to take a detour rather than heading straight to Tabriz.
After crossing the Meghri – Nordooz border checkpoint between Armenia and Iran, we rode into Iranian territory. The climate had changed within a few kilometres — from the cold and rain of the Armenian mountains to Iranian warmth and blue sky.
Our clothing changed too, especially Ilze's — obliged to wear long sleeves and a hijab at all times while in the country.
The first driver to overtake us stopped immediately, pulled to the side of the road and got out with his passenger to welcome us to Iran. Both of them offered us their lunch and posed for a few photos with us before continuing on their way.
That caught us off guard — but what was spectacular was how that became the pattern for the rest of the day... and the months that followed. Wherever we went, Iranian people would stop to greet us, give us food and drink, and take photos with us. If they weren't inviting us to their homes, that is.
The route to Jolfa by bicycle
The ride to Jolfa was, simply put, stunning. Other cyclists who'd passed through had warned us it would be tricky to camp, since it's a border zone with one military post after another. Even so, we didn't have too much trouble finding a peach orchard where we could pitch the tent discreetly, keeping out of sight of Iranian soldiers.
In the morning we were woken by the owner of the field — he needed to water it. He apologised, over and over, for having had to rouse us. That was when we realised he'd already watered the entire rest of the field and had waited until the very last moment to avoid disturbing us.
Of course, that wasn't the end of it. The moment we crawled out of the tent he brought us tea, fruit, bread, cheese... Some send-off for people who'd just camped on his land without asking. He offered to help us with anything we needed in Iran, and even wanted to take me to a restaurant and treat me to an Iranian kebab.
Between encounters, stops, conversations, gifts and photographs, we eventually made it to Jolfa — where we were promptly invited to another Iranian family's picnic.