As my cart quietly pulls up to the most easterly point of Turkey, the Iranian border, my horse stops and my drivers turns to me, ‘I’ve taken you as far as I can, from here, you’re on foot’. ‘Much obliged Sir, Teşekkür ederim’, as I hand my driver 10 Lira and and an Australian football, ‘This is a souvenir, a real Football’. I observe a sign in Farsi, which I use Google Translate to decipher, ‘Please leave all western evils behind before entering Iran’. I promptly unpack Facebook, Flickr, Skype and 2 bottles of beer from my sack. A Persian approaches, ‘And that one too, Sir’, pointing to the bottle of beer in my pants. ‘But please Sir, I’m Australian, I need it’. ‘Ha! Beer? Where you’re going, you won’t need beer’. ‘Ok’ (I have another hidden further down my pants). As I walk the final stretch, the credits begin to role on Part 1 of the trip. Part 2, ’30 days in the Islamic Republic’, begins tomorrow. The trip has officially begun.