The border between Iran and Iraq.
Trucks were parked by the road from my standpoint all the way to the end of the visible road.
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A spectacular view of the snow mountains on the border awaited me the next morning, along with the kebab for breakfast. I said a farewell to my excellent host Salam, and a couple of hours later a farewell to perhaps my favourite country of these travels, Iran.
On my steep uphill to the 1800m high Haji Omaran border, I had passed hundreds and hundreds of parked trucks, waiting to go into Iraq. Some were fuel tankers, others were car carries, with cars that I hadn't seen on the roads in Iran, including American Chryslers. However for me on my bicycle, immigration was a breeze, and the police were as helpful as ever.
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After an amusing incident with a car, where we had both been on the wrong side of the road, I finally arrived in the village of Choman. Some friendly interaction over lunch with the locals resulted in a conversation in Swedish with one man! He had lived in Sweden for 17 years, England for 6, and had now returned to his homeland for a little retirement, and business. Numerous Kurds I was to meet in Iraq had followed this pattern. Kurdistan was now the place to be for business.
The afternoon was a tiring, windy, but 'gorge'ous downhill with some single-handed riding while video shooting. The dogs were a little lacklustre and barely gave chase. I was surprised to find a theme park located in this mountain gorge setting, and a quick photo turned into lots of conversation, and a bed for the night in the guards quarters. I had almost closed my eyes when the police came along, and after some discussion with the park owner I was told I had an interview with the police the next morning.
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