Quetara, ode for Dylan and other cookies

Time is something relative. This evening I was thinking we might be thinking wrongly about it just like 1 dimension, when the most easy thing would be, at least, that time was 3-d, just like space is...but enough of this, the important thing is little time has passed since our last post but many things happened, that's why I was noting the relativity of time. Prepare for a long post. Life is a tough thing to deal with.

Remember we were at Shiraz, contemplating the impressive Persepolis. That night, at 21:30 we took a bus to Kermam, I was feeling more and more anxious about which I will call "the Dylan affair", to the point of being suspicious about everything and everyone "Why if our bus has to depart in 10 minutes there's no bus on this lane? Why were you talking to a girl?" I keep asking Ferran. I didn't want to bring the attention to us, and keep the lowest profile possible for 2 europeans at Iran, which is kinda difficult. But by now, you probably are quite inquiring about "who the hell is this Dylan?". Some of you have some clues and some other not, let me enlight you. There are two ways of getting the Iran visa at Spain, one is going Madrid and requesting for it with 3-4 weeks of anticipation. The other is contacting with an Iranian travel agency and make the request through them. We didn't have 4,3,2 or 1 week, so our only option was the second. Our main agent in the Iran side was named Jakob. He was able to get our visas and send the MFA number to Istambul in 6 days time record, an awesome job, counting the fact was the end of the Ramadan. Til that moment he was more than a simple singer, he was our man, 007 was a simple shade of performance and efficiency compared to Jakob. Our relation problems with our foreign agent began at Istambul, remember we raced Croatia, Monte Negro, et cetera, so we arrived Turkey and for extension Iran, 1 week before we expected. Then Jakob got more and more nervous about getting paid for his services, the payment of 60euros for each visa to Iranian government was not enough for him, he wanted more (well, probably telling him we wanted to make a tour with his agency accelerated the visa process).
At some point, at Shiraz to be more exact, our relations got to a point that he threatened us not to enter Iran using the visas he got for us...hmmm...I was wondering if being at Iran at that point negated the threat, but then he told us he will cancel the visas! Hmmm I don't really know if a travel agent can cancel a visa government has been paid for, probably not, but if you were at Iran, believeme, you would not want to discover if that statment is true or false.

So all I wanted, after visiting Persepolis, was exit the country. Arrived at Kerman at 8 a.m. with another bus night trip at our backs. There we met with a funny Iran albino, who was working at a bus agency. We wanted to get a bus to Zahedan at noon, so we can arrive there at night and sleep in a hotel for a change, get some force and then cross the border with enough energies in case we have to fight with Jakob minions. I should have never said never. Let Ferran buy the ticket, noticed and noted that the farsi word written before the time number did not match with the "evening" word, Ferran answered "don't worry, what's the worst that can happen to us..." and we happily departed to see the wonders of Kerman, which are reduced and secluded to a small area named Ali Khan Bazaar. After that we made time til 21:30 to get our bus to Zahedan, talked the evening with one local, who had been english teacher and now spent his time preparing desert tours. Kerman has many bus terminals, and the locals barely talk any english beside the common left-for-right words. We were not able to find a taxi who drove us to the bus station, so got a map and walk our way to there. We made it on time, but oh surprise! You won't believe it, the farsi word that did not match with evening was "Sob", which translates for "morning". Yea. The 13 old's child trick again. Sorry, your bus is long away. No more buses tonight, your backpacks are closed and barred....good thing is money can open everything. Of course we had to pay for two new tickets to Zahedan, nearly exhausting our poor funds, but we were not planning to sleep in a hotel...so...we waved farewell to our albino "friend" and made another night by bus.

Arrived Zahedan at 7a.m. As soon as we jumped out of the bus a couple tigers asked if we need a taxi, but all of them parted away when the big white shark appeared. He had the form of a small, big bearded english talking man on his sixties. He stared at us and said, 5000 tomem each to go to the border "dar baste" (which means the taxi open its doors to anyone til it's full of passangers). We climbed into a taxi with the promise from his lips we will see him at the border at 8:30 a.m.

Our taxi driver did a couple tours trying to fill his vehicle, thing that he finallymanaged to accomplish. After that headed to Mirjhave, the town closer to the border, where our 2 extra passangers left us. The Iranian-Pakistan border is 12km from Mirjaveh. When we arrived there while praying the 3 police-military controls that checked our passports haven't received orders from Jakob, a crowd was gathered at the border officine, we fighted our way half of the queue and then to the 1st place after a local pointed to the first position saying "spanish". The guard who was stamping the exit on the passports stared at us ominously, keep the passports and wrote something in a book...then...the big white shark appeared again from the door on the pakistani side...what the hell??!! Walked to us with a smile on his bearded face and...$%&·$ shit took the passports from the guards hands!!! Who was that small smiling bearded gnome? Could be that we had run out of luck and finally Jakob got us? Would he write a song after putting our heads in a pike? Minutes passed slowly as we tried to keep our ticks for ourselves, and smile to everyone while the gnome walked around with our passports at his hands and shouting orders right and left...our fate was sealed. We were expecting the worst, the white shark said, follow me. We did, no one in their sense would opposite against the will of an unarmed gnome who shouts orders to armed soldiers, and has the ability to appear from nowhere. He took us to the iron closed and barred gates of Pakistan and again started yelling "Qujar!Qujar!" or something like that, he was telling to the crowd on the other side to make room.

At the end he let a young soldier to open some iron gates and let us pass to Pakistan ground, clapped his hands and told us "My job is done!" We probably will never know if he was, in fact, Jakob, Jakob Dylan, and if he will make a song for us, but...we were safe at the other side!!!!

I would like to write about our trip through Taftan to Quetta, and how we decided to spend the visa money on Jakob's salute, but I think it will be better if I let Ferran write something in catalan.

Best wishes, and if you ever find Jakob, beware!