A different reality

 

Lights begin to twinkle from many small villages around me, stars emerge from the twilight, the last of which reflects off the snow on the peaks beyond. The dry, dusty plains stretch out towards the Caspian Sea and rugged brown hills block the way to Azerbaijan. The rocks beneath me strut from the earth in rolling formations while scrubby bushes cling to life on the barren tops. Lizards dart from crack to crack as birds soar past on a graceful journey to their nests. Our tents gleam like jewels in green, red and yellow, accenting the beauty which surrounds them. A small gravel road weaves through fields of golden wheat, slowly making its' way back to civilization.
As darkness falls, headlights appear on the horizon, growing steadily into a roar of engine noise as they near. My stomach growls as I await the feast which they have promised to bring.
The 1980's Landrover bumps into view, with a final bounce and a short toot of the horn it comes to rest some meters from my tent. I'm introduced to a new member of the entourage, the rest of whom we met 2 hours earlier. The smell of alcohol on his breath explains the slightly erratic driving, they bring with them roast chicken, cucumbers, tomatoes, bread, pickles . We add our watermelon to the feast. In a gesture to show their gratitude, these gentlemen drove 25 km back to the town to buy us dinner after we turned down their offer to take us to their places to sleep for the night. Our reason being that this was certainly the most beautiful camp spot so far on the trip. Our acquaintance, Hanif who we had been introduced to by a lone cyclist who found us looking lost in Tabriz two days earlier, was run off his feet translating long sentences of gratitude stated in every possible manner. The theme was mostly what an honour it was that they could meet foreigners like ourselves and to serve us as best they could. The more they drank, the more they repeated themselves, finally they agreed that they must take us to the hot springs the next morning. After telling us that we meant so much to them and applying a soppy kiss to both cheeks, they left us to sleep in peace. They did not turn up as planned the next morning which, for better or worse, allowed us to move on, Hanif back to Tabriz and Stefan and I on towards the Caspian Sea. Before he leaves we make a quick call to Mohammad, as we had done two days before as we entered Ahar.
His car stood still in a large roundabout, he greeted us with a warm smile and a few words in English. He insisted that we stay in his home which we accepted. We followed his car the 3 or 4 km to his home. After a short introduction to the rest of his family, they left us for religious reasons. His wife not feeling comfortable to have us in her home while she was there.
For us, this feels very strange, but that's just the way it is. After sharing dinner on Persian rugs on the floor we all slept in the living area. Being a mountain man himself, Mohammad invited us to join him to a castle the following day by car, we kindly accepted. Situated on the peak of mountain, it is easy to understand how Babek Castle withstood decades of attack from invading Arabs. This picturesque monument is very significant to the Azari people of northern Iran and Azerbaijan.

Training for Iran

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I curl up in the fetal position, trying not to let any part of my body touch the ground. Sweat beads on my skin, I'm shaking. My ears are filled with the thrum of large rain drops battering my tent just centimeters from my head. It is as if there is a horror movie playing outside as lightning strikes the ground all around me. My only hope is that we are in a small depression 100 m or so from the highest point. Water rushes under the tent in a rush to the slat lake which disappears onto the horizon. I lie sleepless, just waiting for the worst of the storm to pass. Two or three hours pass before the lightning becomes less frequent and the ground ceases shaking from the roar of thunder. I drift back into dreamland. Of all things that one may expect to happen on your first day in Iran, getting killed by lightning certainly wasn't one of them.
Iran is separated from Turkey by an incredible set of steep mounts, gorges and rivers which fortify the area from the outside world. Twelve hours after our departure time from Van, the train slowly groans into a continuous lurch through a network of bridges and tunnels which took us through this incredible area. The Oriental Express as it's known, sounds much more romantic than it is. Lumbering at best and completely stationary the rest of the time, it takes 4 days to travel the roughly 2500 km from Istanbul to Tehran. We take the first possible opportunity to get off once clearing the border and begin what will certainly be a memorable journey through the depths of Iran and everything it has to offer.

 

Looking out of a fishbowl


"What are you doing in my town". A moment of nervousness runs through me, "I'm the police chief here so please let me know if you have any problems".  As quickly as the feeling of unease came, it disappears. It is our last night together, in the morning Olof will head back to Ankara and then Sweden and I will make up for the late start to the trip by taking a bus to the east of Turkey.
As the policeman blocks the road to speak to me, the cars build up behind him. With a grin and a wave he continues on his way. A guy on a motorbike, who we met at the first set of lights in town, waits patiently to show us where the only hotel in town is. As the hotel comes into sight, a guy comes over and starts speaking quickly in understandable english about us, him, the town etc etc. We try to keep up, "you coming with me now, we sitting and too much talking, ok?". Some persistance is required before he gives us 5 minutes to change our cloths and meet him. He worked at hotels at the coast for years so has learned tourist english. This is only the second English speaking person we have met by chance since leaving Istanbul, actually in all of Turkey!
After a huge dinner for 9 lira (about 4 euro), he leaves us to his friends who speak no English but graciously show us around their town, the old market, historical building etc. After 125 km we are totally exhausted, but they do not see the signs and take us on a long walk to the otherside of town to drink tea in the 'park'. This park is a small grass area surrounded by two factories with a distinct smell of chemicals in the air.
We arrive back at the hotel totally out of it, there is nothing we can do but thank them for being so kind. Sleep comes without a second thought.
Since leaving the coast, the landscape has changed completely. The lush green mountains with blue rivers and rocky peaks have changed to an open  landscape which has been carelessly shaped by erosion. The sandy soils taint the rivers gray and the vegetation is sparse and stunted. Water is less frequent and sometimes dirty. The people remain incredibly generous and friendly, we have only paid for a handful of the dozens of teas we have had. We were offered a half finished house to ourselves for a night and provided with a packet of biscuits when we stopped at a petrol station to buy something. At a time when we were both running low on energy a truck slowed to allow us to grab hold for a long hill, with a toot and a wave he continued when we reached the top.
Peering through a bus window, I feel as if I am in a fishbowl. The beauty of this country and people surround me but I can not experience it as we fly past. I feel that I will certainly have to return to experience this part of the country for real, by bike.
Tomorrow I will cross into Iran, providing the unrest is not out of control, I will spend a little over a month experiencing what is said to be the friendliest countries in the world. This is quite a reputation to uphold when comparing to Turkey. May the adventures continue.