From the main town of Qeshm, we again take a ferry to the much smaller island of Hormuz. The rather conservative mood of Qeshm already fizzles out as we push the bikes from the jetty to the harbor road. This island seems more colorful, cheerful and open. Fashionably dressed Tehran women approach us, their faces heavily made up and operated on, their headscarves tied into stylish turbans. Inviting little restaurants indicate that the long month of fasting is now really over.
Perhaps you remember our hot noon spent in Qeshm under the shady roof of the mosque? On this afternoon between sweating, mosquito defense and dozing suddenly seized me such a correct heat panic: We wanted to spend another two weeks there on the islands, then take the ferry to Dubai and drive from Dubai through the desert to Muscat. In Muscat, after three long years, the reunion with Kathi, Louie’s mother, was to take place. Another two weeks of vacation in Oman would have followed. Our weather app says: It’s hot, it’s going to stay hot, and it’s only going to get hotter in this part of the world. Hot in our case means we are talking “cool” at 37 °C….
My panic attack resulted in a radical program change, which we immediately put into action. We phoned Kathi, who was relieved to rebook her flight from Muscat to Kathmandu. In-depth research of the ferry schedules and the advice of an experienced travel agent, let us also adjust our immediate plans. We cancel the ferry to Dubai from the program, and book a flight from Qeshm instead. During this action, we sit in front of a small snack bar in the port of Hormuz and realize that we cannot book this flight at all without an Iranian credit card. So what to do? I speak to two young women on the street, try to explain our problem slightly nervously and so we meet Sarah from Shiraz, who patiently helps us. Fortunately, we still have $200 in cash and so we can settle the flight. Phu! Fortunately, we also discover that afternoon that we have to apply for a tourist visa for India in advance. We overcome this obstacle as well and now hope that the visa will be approved in time.
Now the way is free to explore the small rainbow island. In the meantime it is dark and we leave the town to set up our tent a bit outside. The air is sticky from the salt and the heat and only thanks to a light breeze we find sleep.
We take the loop under our own wheels and cover a fabulous 12 kilometers per day. The landscape of Hormuz is extraordinary. Pointed, crusty salt mountains rise in white, black and red into the steel blue sky.
A highlight is the view from a high cliff down to the turtle beach. Thanks to a little patience we can actually watch the huge sea turtles breathing.
The two days in Hormuz pass by despite unbearable heat and for our last night before the flight to Dubai Sarah helps us out again: She and her friends have rented an accommodation in Hormuz and let us stay in a free room (with AC!). What a relief! The Iranian hospitality outdoes itself once again.
The next morning we take the ferry back to Qeshm, pick up two old bicycle boxes in a bicycle store and set about disassembling our bikes in a side alley. Our mountain of luggage suddenly seems huge! It’s really time to get rid of our winter gear!
We just manage to squeeze everything into the available containers in time and organize a cab to the airport. A little bit of tape holds the tailgate shut and indeed: The big boxes don’t shatter on the road, but arrive safely at the airport.
Hours later, we stand in line in Dubai for check-in to India and struggle with yet another dysfunctional website. Covid forms want to be filled out… Finally it works and it’s our turn to drop off our extensive luggage. “I need to see your onward flight,” announces the man from check-in. “We don’t have such a thing, we will ride our bikes from Dehli to Kathmandu”, we explain. The explanations go back and forth but the official insists on his demand. Stressed we book a completely unnecessary flight from Dehli to Kathmandu including cancellation insurance and show the booking to the guy. “I need your e-ticket number”, he says bored and we update our email inbox every 10 seconds. Nothing. “I have to close the check-in in 15 minutes”, we are informed. We negotiate, argue, curse the incompetent company (hands off lastminute.com!) that does not send us the e-ticket immediately and are finally left standing at the check-in. Our plane flies without us, we look for a quiet corner and settle in frustrated for a night in the airport.
The next day passes with anger, airport food and reorganization. We book a new flight for the evening, and sometime in the afternoon, the darn e-ticket number does arrive.
In the middle of the night we land in hot and humid Delhi, load our boxes into a prepaid cab, which takes us to the desired location, but charges extra for luggage transport. We stay firm, insist on the prepaid amount and get a first impression of the grueling and unfriendly negotiation processes in India. It is two o’clock in the morning and our hostel is definitely not where it is marked on the map. We search and consult and eventually a small, crooked man appears out of nowhere who happens to know our booked hostel and shows us the very convoluted way to get there.
In the next two days we are happy about the Indian mess, send 10 kg of winter goods to Kathmandu, eat something that messes up our stomachs and make our (re)way towards Haridwar. Louie by bike and thanks to his stomach by car stop and I by bus; also a rather unpleasant experience.
Have I already mentioned that it is also unbearably hot in India? It is also unbearably hot in India!