Tuesday 16th October
Had another good breakfast and the bus tour of Isfahan to follow was cancelled due to lack of interest. Most of the lads went back to bed happily placing their don't disturb cards on the way. As a result our departure time was put back to 12.00 noon. We went and had our first experience of an Iranian bank. The inside did not look like an English bank with cashiers but people sitting at desks. We were sent upstairs where a slip containing my name and two signatures and the name of the hotel were recorded and I was then sent back down stairs where I was given the cash.
The rest of the morning was spent trying to find a post office so that we can send postcards but if there's one thing I've learnt about Iran is they don't want anyone communicating with the country and vice versa. We have not seen a post office since entering the country and you can't buy stamps when purchasing cards. In Turkey Anne managed to accumulate 14 stamps which are sitting in my wallet waiting for our next visit to the country.
We set off promptly at noon to head for the mud town of Yasd. Spent all the 250 kilometres writing this blasted blog. It's becoming a pain and I'm seriously considering abandoning it altogether. It's just too time consuming. If internet access is as hard to find and as slow in Pakistan then I'll have to quit.
Yasd is an amazing town in the middle of a semi arid landscape. The old houses are made of mud with beautifully smooth arches and windows: architecture without sharp edges. The Hotel Mehr is something special being a mud fortified house from the outside but on entering you walk into an oasis with central courtyard of with may rooms all looking out onto the large rectangular pool bordered with flowers and large pots. Sitting in the water area are two large decking areas with rails round them and carpets to sit on and big heavy cushions to lean against. We were booked in for a buffet at 65,000 rial at 7.00pm but to fill the two hours before we were taken for a tour of the town especially the water museum by Vali. Within 30 yards of the hotel we entered the bazaar, a complex maize of undercover alleyways running off each other at 90 degrees. The first cloth material shop we came to Vali pointed and said 'this is very famous Persian cloth' and we both said together 'paisley' In surprise he looked at me and said 'are you've heard of it?'. The thing that struck me was the amount of different patterns; simply hundreds of them. Grenoside could have bought enough material to make as many jackets as they wanted and the material would have cost about £100.
The water museum was based in a house similar to the hotel and told the story of qanats the system of underground drinking water. The men would locate water sources running out of the hills outside each village and then build a system of underground canals hundreds of yards long and 100 to 150 metres underground leading into the towns. These elaborate tunnels were cut out using basic cutting tools, and plumb lines using stones and what Vali calls carbon lamps which if I understood him properly they used them for light but also as measures to accurately take the water course to the town. On the way they would also build water mills to pump the water to the surface using the water as power. These canals once in the town would run from house to house providing underground fresh water to the door step so to speak. Water was also used in conjunction with large air vents built above the houses to keep the water cool to avoid warm conditions for bacteria and circulate fresh cool air in the very hot summers to all the households; in excess of 45 degrees. Vali told us the men who built and maintained them wore white garments and were classified as religious. This system was only abandoned 40 years ago.
The buffet meal destroyed my newly acquired impression on Persian food i.e. Kababs and chicken and rice. These were beautifully laid out on a raised area like a stage in a series of stainless serving dishes. The choice consisted of two soups, chicken vegetable and a thick pea and mint, like mushy peas, an aubergine and yoghurt and mint dish, a meat very similar to Rogan Josh and lamb cubes with whole baked tomatoes. The selection was delicious and only lacked a good bottle of wine. Anne had a bottle of Islamic non- alcoholic lime beer which she maintains tastes like shandy and I went for a vintage bottle of water as a mark of respect for the qanats. It also tasted better than Anne's choice. After the meal we all sang happy birthday for only the second time since leaving London, lit a cake and shared our sobriety with Kate now a respectable 29.
After the meal and celebrations we held our second family forum to iron out any problems. Surprisingly there were few complaints, still a little apprehension about the route through Tibet and China. Having looked at the itinerary for the rest of the trip to Sydney a few of us are beginning to warm to route two flying from Calcutta to Bangkok. Route one includes two overnight drives not something I am looking forward. We also learnt a little more about the journey across the Baluchostan desert into Pakistan in three days. I thought we would be n convoy and would do the journey non stop but not so it seems. The motto of the journey as been 'all things are subject to change' and this means the information you’re given. We are now told we will have an army guard travelling on the bus and they will change each day. We may be stuck waiting for the next guard to turn up for duty. This seems more dangerous than making a run for it.
Some of the lads along with Kate went onto the hotel room and spent the night smoking from the hubbly bubbly thing, we went to our room early to carry on writing my blog and just bathe in the atmosphere of this beautiful hotel. I can't wait until tomorrow to see what our next venue throws up in Kerman.
Wednesday, 14 November 2007
Day 23: Kashad to Isfahan
Monday 15th October
The weather's been better than I ever imagined it would be with hazy blue skies and fine warm evenings and today's no different. Left our hilltop hotel and set out for one of the top tourist attractions in Iran: the ancient town of Isfahan or Esfahan depending whether it's spelt from the Persian or not. I noticed Eid also spelt Id.
The beautiful gorge that led to last nights stop carried on for another half an hour up until we came to a plateau. Just before the top we came to a citadel standing guard on a barren outcrop above a long strip of green vegetation. I have never seen an oasis but this gorge had the right qualities.
We arrived at the Suite Hotel Isfahan just after noon and quickly found our way to yet another very clean double room with all the modern features. The double was enormous if I had a signal on the mobile phone it would have made conversation with Anne easier. We also had TV with BBC World News which seemed to be concentrating on Puten's visit to Tehran. What a pity we missed one of the world's great criminals by only day. Unfortunately I have to say the mod cons did not stretch to the internet access. I had to pay 30,000 rial for one hour. To gain access I had to create an account via the network wizard using an account number and password. This was made even more difficult because the keyboard had Farci scrip stuck over it and the spacebar and arrow keys did not work and neither did the 9 on the formula bar. After an hour I gave up only managing to read my emails, delete them and reply to two. I have tried at least three times to send a general message out to all in my address book and it is impossible so far. Last night it froze each time I tried to bring up my address book. It was good to hear from Pete and Val still in India and having a good time and Sharon Anne's colleague from work spilling the gossip.
Anyway back to Isfahan and after a most unmemorable meal of awful soup which had the hallmarks of Bachelors, another absolutely dreary salad of two slices of tomato, shreds of white cabbage and lettuce with no dressing whatsoever and of course bloody chicken we set off on a guided tour with Vali. I have come to the conclusion that the only way to taste the real fruits of Iran is to get invited to someone's house for a meal and there's no chance of that on this schedule.
Out of 37 on the bus only five turned up for the tour of a couple of Chehel Sotun Palace, the Imam Mosque and of course the bazaar. Poor old Vali is completely wasting his time trying to impart his depth of knowledge and love for his country on most of the passengers. I have to admit he's not pitching the information at the right level, it's far too detailed. His descriptions of all the dynasty's over the past one thousand years are completely wasted on anyone other than a graduate in Persian history. The palace was fine with some interesting paintings depicting wars between Persians, Turks and Indians and all riding horses that floated above the ground. I mentioned Stubbs to him and he dismissed him not really seeing the point.
On the other hand the Imam Mosque was gobsmaking in every detail. I had stood in amazement at the Ayasofa ands the Blue Mosque in Istanbul but in comparison they were made by mere mortals whereas this was drafted by Allah. The two large domes, angles, arches, pillars, minarets standing at one end of a 500 metre rectangle of gardens, fountains, polo pitch with stone goal posts and a palace strategically positioned for the Shah to watch the game were all in perfect proportions each other. The massive mosque complex was situated at 45 degrees to the rectangle facing Mecca. The two domes, arches, minarets and pillars were set out to create a square for outside prayer and all incrusted in the most beautiful blue Persian patterned tiles in perfect symmetry and interspersed by a freeze of verse from the Koran. At the far end away from the main entrance and in front of the myhre was situated four smallish stones positioned vertically below the apex of the dome. Standing on these stones Vali clapped his hands and the echo bounced of the dome, the walls and circumnavigated the arches and filled the whole space in eerie omniscience. I have stood in English cathedrals and amazed at the acoustics but this beggared belief. The whole complex was built for Shah Abas in the 16th Century.
Surrounding the main rectangle and situated in the outside wall were 300 shops selling everything from postcards, books, silverware, jewellery etc and of course carpets. Our next stop was to shop selling Persian carpets of the most exquisite quality. We were treated to a master class on the aspects of the Persian carpet from the thread, material and patterns by young man called Abde who had learned his trade from one of the masters.
We learned the difference between the threads; Persian (single knot) and Turkish (double knot) hence the reason that Persian is much finer. While he told us about the patterns; classical of Isfahan with their perfect symmetry and the cruder but no less beautiful nomadic designs from the Turkoman and Baluchistan areas. All the carpets to my surprise were made by women using either cotton (inferior), pure angora wool (better) and finally a combination of wool and silk; the best being pure silk. In excellent English he took us through the various patterns and the meaning of such symbols as the Turkaman cross, the tree of life, hands on the hips, the snake, animals strong like lions and weak like birds and the different flowers. Each carpet he pulled out to demonstrate outshone the one before for colour and quality. He would unfold the example and spin it through the air with a flick of is wrists like a matador flashing his cape at the beast and the object twisted and fell catching the light and changing colour before your eyes before settling on the floor in a triumph of craftsmanship the equal of a Michael Angelo. He finished off by unfolding a masterpiece of silk thread, colour and design made by one of the best makers in Iran and was a bargain at €4500 and I'm not joking. If I had the money it would be on its way home this morning. It's not surprising then that I succumbed to his salesmanship and bought a beautiful example of a Turkaman carpet. Only hope the kids are in when it arrives.
After putting the price of the trip up significantly we made our way to the bazaar to see if Anne could put it up further. Although there were lots of beautiful objects to desire she resisted and we left no worse off. The Imam Mosque has to be seen to be believed and appreciated but there is one thing that is common to all the tribes, provinces, towns and cities of Iran which beggars believe to the unsuspecting visitor and that is the driving. Isfahan is no different for all its reputation of 'being half of the world' and the centre of Iranian art and culture and after our visit to the bazaar we were treated to an exhibition of driving by our taxi, at rush hour, that would make Louis Hamilton retire if it was regularly repeated on the formula 1 circuits of the world. Things were ok until he started the engine and ventured out on to the streets. We'd agreed a price of 15,000 rial which to my estimation meant our hotel was not too. After all a litre of diesel costs the staggering sum of 164 rial a litre. To put this into perspective a cup of tea, when we get back to the hotel if we ever do, costs 2900 rial. So the driver's urgency and aggression is not based on a rising metre and the next pickup as back home but firmly embedded in centuries of riding the open spaces on a camel or a donkey. Once he entered the heavy traffic he honked, put his shoulder and arms outside to physically stop other cars from overtaking. The back end of a bus represented no more of an obstacle than the one way system he belonged to. In order to get round a bus in front he actually turned back on himself across the flow of the traffic. He had no more regard for red lights, which according to Vali means everyone has the right of way especially on the fading zebra crossings, than he did motorbikes which zip in and out and do set of against the flow. At one point early in the experience he attempted to cut off a motorbike which was trying to overtake and which was carrying two men and a women seated between them in the middle holding out to her side a baby feeding from a bottle. I couldn't help thinking clever kid, no guarantee he'd make home for tea. In the middle of all this chaos is the poor pedestrian trying make his way through life. Being a pedestrian in Iran must be more dangerous than the life of a policeman or a soldier. The latter just stand around watching from every corner. After getting out of the taxi and start walking you get a false sense of security until there's a road to cross. As we made our way confidently across a pedestrian crossing showing a green man walking a car driven by a librarian, teacher or some other professional attempted to kill us both together on the spot. When I went to kick the car and gesticulated to the driver through his window about the green man Vali informed it also means both have the right of way.
The rest of the night was boringly spent drinking tea, thumping and f..... and blinding at the keyboard and the speed of the internet access. Bed at 11.00pm came as a great relief.
The weather's been better than I ever imagined it would be with hazy blue skies and fine warm evenings and today's no different. Left our hilltop hotel and set out for one of the top tourist attractions in Iran: the ancient town of Isfahan or Esfahan depending whether it's spelt from the Persian or not. I noticed Eid also spelt Id.
The beautiful gorge that led to last nights stop carried on for another half an hour up until we came to a plateau. Just before the top we came to a citadel standing guard on a barren outcrop above a long strip of green vegetation. I have never seen an oasis but this gorge had the right qualities.
We arrived at the Suite Hotel Isfahan just after noon and quickly found our way to yet another very clean double room with all the modern features. The double was enormous if I had a signal on the mobile phone it would have made conversation with Anne easier. We also had TV with BBC World News which seemed to be concentrating on Puten's visit to Tehran. What a pity we missed one of the world's great criminals by only day. Unfortunately I have to say the mod cons did not stretch to the internet access. I had to pay 30,000 rial for one hour. To gain access I had to create an account via the network wizard using an account number and password. This was made even more difficult because the keyboard had Farci scrip stuck over it and the spacebar and arrow keys did not work and neither did the 9 on the formula bar. After an hour I gave up only managing to read my emails, delete them and reply to two. I have tried at least three times to send a general message out to all in my address book and it is impossible so far. Last night it froze each time I tried to bring up my address book. It was good to hear from Pete and Val still in India and having a good time and Sharon Anne's colleague from work spilling the gossip.
Anyway back to Isfahan and after a most unmemorable meal of awful soup which had the hallmarks of Bachelors, another absolutely dreary salad of two slices of tomato, shreds of white cabbage and lettuce with no dressing whatsoever and of course bloody chicken we set off on a guided tour with Vali. I have come to the conclusion that the only way to taste the real fruits of Iran is to get invited to someone's house for a meal and there's no chance of that on this schedule.
Out of 37 on the bus only five turned up for the tour of a couple of Chehel Sotun Palace, the Imam Mosque and of course the bazaar. Poor old Vali is completely wasting his time trying to impart his depth of knowledge and love for his country on most of the passengers. I have to admit he's not pitching the information at the right level, it's far too detailed. His descriptions of all the dynasty's over the past one thousand years are completely wasted on anyone other than a graduate in Persian history. The palace was fine with some interesting paintings depicting wars between Persians, Turks and Indians and all riding horses that floated above the ground. I mentioned Stubbs to him and he dismissed him not really seeing the point.
On the other hand the Imam Mosque was gobsmaking in every detail. I had stood in amazement at the Ayasofa ands the Blue Mosque in Istanbul but in comparison they were made by mere mortals whereas this was drafted by Allah. The two large domes, angles, arches, pillars, minarets standing at one end of a 500 metre rectangle of gardens, fountains, polo pitch with stone goal posts and a palace strategically positioned for the Shah to watch the game were all in perfect proportions each other. The massive mosque complex was situated at 45 degrees to the rectangle facing Mecca. The two domes, arches, minarets and pillars were set out to create a square for outside prayer and all incrusted in the most beautiful blue Persian patterned tiles in perfect symmetry and interspersed by a freeze of verse from the Koran. At the far end away from the main entrance and in front of the myhre was situated four smallish stones positioned vertically below the apex of the dome. Standing on these stones Vali clapped his hands and the echo bounced of the dome, the walls and circumnavigated the arches and filled the whole space in eerie omniscience. I have stood in English cathedrals and amazed at the acoustics but this beggared belief. The whole complex was built for Shah Abas in the 16th Century.
Surrounding the main rectangle and situated in the outside wall were 300 shops selling everything from postcards, books, silverware, jewellery etc and of course carpets. Our next stop was to shop selling Persian carpets of the most exquisite quality. We were treated to a master class on the aspects of the Persian carpet from the thread, material and patterns by young man called Abde who had learned his trade from one of the masters.
We learned the difference between the threads; Persian (single knot) and Turkish (double knot) hence the reason that Persian is much finer. While he told us about the patterns; classical of Isfahan with their perfect symmetry and the cruder but no less beautiful nomadic designs from the Turkoman and Baluchistan areas. All the carpets to my surprise were made by women using either cotton (inferior), pure angora wool (better) and finally a combination of wool and silk; the best being pure silk. In excellent English he took us through the various patterns and the meaning of such symbols as the Turkaman cross, the tree of life, hands on the hips, the snake, animals strong like lions and weak like birds and the different flowers. Each carpet he pulled out to demonstrate outshone the one before for colour and quality. He would unfold the example and spin it through the air with a flick of is wrists like a matador flashing his cape at the beast and the object twisted and fell catching the light and changing colour before your eyes before settling on the floor in a triumph of craftsmanship the equal of a Michael Angelo. He finished off by unfolding a masterpiece of silk thread, colour and design made by one of the best makers in Iran and was a bargain at €4500 and I'm not joking. If I had the money it would be on its way home this morning. It's not surprising then that I succumbed to his salesmanship and bought a beautiful example of a Turkaman carpet. Only hope the kids are in when it arrives.
After putting the price of the trip up significantly we made our way to the bazaar to see if Anne could put it up further. Although there were lots of beautiful objects to desire she resisted and we left no worse off. The Imam Mosque has to be seen to be believed and appreciated but there is one thing that is common to all the tribes, provinces, towns and cities of Iran which beggars believe to the unsuspecting visitor and that is the driving. Isfahan is no different for all its reputation of 'being half of the world' and the centre of Iranian art and culture and after our visit to the bazaar we were treated to an exhibition of driving by our taxi, at rush hour, that would make Louis Hamilton retire if it was regularly repeated on the formula 1 circuits of the world. Things were ok until he started the engine and ventured out on to the streets. We'd agreed a price of 15,000 rial which to my estimation meant our hotel was not too. After all a litre of diesel costs the staggering sum of 164 rial a litre. To put this into perspective a cup of tea, when we get back to the hotel if we ever do, costs 2900 rial. So the driver's urgency and aggression is not based on a rising metre and the next pickup as back home but firmly embedded in centuries of riding the open spaces on a camel or a donkey. Once he entered the heavy traffic he honked, put his shoulder and arms outside to physically stop other cars from overtaking. The back end of a bus represented no more of an obstacle than the one way system he belonged to. In order to get round a bus in front he actually turned back on himself across the flow of the traffic. He had no more regard for red lights, which according to Vali means everyone has the right of way especially on the fading zebra crossings, than he did motorbikes which zip in and out and do set of against the flow. At one point early in the experience he attempted to cut off a motorbike which was trying to overtake and which was carrying two men and a women seated between them in the middle holding out to her side a baby feeding from a bottle. I couldn't help thinking clever kid, no guarantee he'd make home for tea. In the middle of all this chaos is the poor pedestrian trying make his way through life. Being a pedestrian in Iran must be more dangerous than the life of a policeman or a soldier. The latter just stand around watching from every corner. After getting out of the taxi and start walking you get a false sense of security until there's a road to cross. As we made our way confidently across a pedestrian crossing showing a green man walking a car driven by a librarian, teacher or some other professional attempted to kill us both together on the spot. When I went to kick the car and gesticulated to the driver through his window about the green man Vali informed it also means both have the right of way.
The rest of the night was boringly spent drinking tea, thumping and f..... and blinding at the keyboard and the speed of the internet access. Bed at 11.00pm came as a great relief.
Day 22: Tehran to Kashad
Sunday 14th October
Today's breakfast was by the far the best yet anywhere on the journey. Once again this hotel showed its four star status with a choice of juices, teas and coffee, cereals with a selection of raisons and dates, three types of eggs: fried, boiled or scrambled either plain or with mushrooms and sweet green peppers and a selection of melon to finish.
When we entered the early morning traffic jam and made our way to downtown Tehran the city had a better feel to it: a vibrancy that is missing at night. I asked our guide about my observations about the lack of a pavement culture and agreed. But early the in the morning the place buzzes with office worker and academics pitying their wits against the traffic. We made our way round the main bazaar and although it didn't exhibit the architectural features of the grand in Istanbul it was enormous taking the bus ten to fifteen minutes to circumnavigate it at a steady pace. Our guide announced we would very quickly get lost if we were allowed to walk round it. Some smart arse at the back quickly challenged his assumption saying 'you underestimate our map reading skills'.
After a few minutes we stopped to look at the ? Palace in central Tehran passing the various embassy but the British. Barry asked the guide if we could go and see the British Embassy, a strange request I thought for a Republican until he explained it stands on Booby Sands Street. The guide promised but it never materialised; we quickly skirt the station the starting point for trains to Europe, Russia, Azerbeijan and Pakistan, the old airport now military and eventual the Holy Shrine the resting place of the young martres of the Iraq Iran War and Aoyttolah Amenii before heading out into a barren landscape of hills.
After A short journey we arrived at the famous town of Kashan. Had a rushed dinner and then went with Vali our guide to visit the bazaar. At first it looked a bit disappointed until we made our way of the main passage. Firstly he took us to an old Persian baths which had a coffee shop/ restaurant with Zoe and Kate sat eating a traditional meal and chi. He then took us to a large central area with an absolutely beautiful large dome which unfortunately has been left to the effects of time. I was beckoned by an old man who had an antique shop on one of the corners beneath the dome. He wanted to show me coins mainly from the Shah of Parsia's period and The 1979 Revolution. I asked him if he had any older coins thinking a thousand year old. He nodded and pulled out a little round tin and handed me handful of very badly worn coins, two of which had been bastardised into pennants by adding silver hooks for chains. I asked him if they were very old and he nodded saying one hundred and fifty years old a thousand less than I had been led to believe. He told me I could have both for 250,000 rial and I bought them for my daughters. Had a they been very old I wouldn't have bought them because I object to objects of antiquity going out of their country of origin.
On our way back to the bus Vali managed to locate a chouda for Anne who has been looking since we entered Iran. As you know women must wear head gear and cover their shoulders, necks and legs in Iran. Anne has been wearing a thick scarf, jumper and skirt and has been very hot. As she tried the robes on it caused much interests especially from some young female teenagers who had to help Anne them properly because a man, including the stall holder who sold it us, is not allowed to touch a women. Even though she looked like other women walking about in traditional dress she obviously stood out because of the attention and looks she received from both men and women.
Once back on the road we entered a most amazing gorge which ran for many miles with a lush green floor of fruit trees and vegetables, a stream which disappeared underground now and then and the odd citadel on the hillside. Our hotel for the night was modern and stood at the top of a hill looking out over the barren countryside and a very old mud build village below. Our rooms were beautiful once again and there's no way we can complain about the accommodation so far. After booking in we made our way down the very steep hill to look at the village and immediately drew attention to ourselves by the fact we were there. This now well off the tourist trail. At first the village disappointed but then we were chaperoned by a young villager on leave from the army who took an instant attraction to Kate who does seem to charm the young men. He led us down some very dark street which led to an area consisting of newly made mud three story houses built into the very steep hillside. Running through the whole town is a water system of narrow canals running down the streets leading to a very beautiful wash house/ prayer room. As we attempted to photograph the interior we drew the attention of a very old little women with the most amazing voice. She looked and spoke for all the world like a witch straight out of Macbeth. She most have some power over the man who ran the washhouse because he immediately opened up and welcomed us in.
On making our way back to the hotel we encountered the lads playing young villagers at Volley Ball. Later we had a meal at the hotel which again consisting of soup, chicken and rice etc: this seems to be typical Persian faire. Again went to bed early, nothing to do but watch the lads playing a card game called spoons. Hotel doesn't have internet access. Becoming more and more difficult to get access that is fast enough to make it worthwhile persevering.
Today's breakfast was by the far the best yet anywhere on the journey. Once again this hotel showed its four star status with a choice of juices, teas and coffee, cereals with a selection of raisons and dates, three types of eggs: fried, boiled or scrambled either plain or with mushrooms and sweet green peppers and a selection of melon to finish.
When we entered the early morning traffic jam and made our way to downtown Tehran the city had a better feel to it: a vibrancy that is missing at night. I asked our guide about my observations about the lack of a pavement culture and agreed. But early the in the morning the place buzzes with office worker and academics pitying their wits against the traffic. We made our way round the main bazaar and although it didn't exhibit the architectural features of the grand in Istanbul it was enormous taking the bus ten to fifteen minutes to circumnavigate it at a steady pace. Our guide announced we would very quickly get lost if we were allowed to walk round it. Some smart arse at the back quickly challenged his assumption saying 'you underestimate our map reading skills'.
After a few minutes we stopped to look at the ? Palace in central Tehran passing the various embassy but the British. Barry asked the guide if we could go and see the British Embassy, a strange request I thought for a Republican until he explained it stands on Booby Sands Street. The guide promised but it never materialised; we quickly skirt the station the starting point for trains to Europe, Russia, Azerbeijan and Pakistan, the old airport now military and eventual the Holy Shrine the resting place of the young martres of the Iraq Iran War and Aoyttolah Amenii before heading out into a barren landscape of hills.
After A short journey we arrived at the famous town of Kashan. Had a rushed dinner and then went with Vali our guide to visit the bazaar. At first it looked a bit disappointed until we made our way of the main passage. Firstly he took us to an old Persian baths which had a coffee shop/ restaurant with Zoe and Kate sat eating a traditional meal and chi. He then took us to a large central area with an absolutely beautiful large dome which unfortunately has been left to the effects of time. I was beckoned by an old man who had an antique shop on one of the corners beneath the dome. He wanted to show me coins mainly from the Shah of Parsia's period and The 1979 Revolution. I asked him if he had any older coins thinking a thousand year old. He nodded and pulled out a little round tin and handed me handful of very badly worn coins, two of which had been bastardised into pennants by adding silver hooks for chains. I asked him if they were very old and he nodded saying one hundred and fifty years old a thousand less than I had been led to believe. He told me I could have both for 250,000 rial and I bought them for my daughters. Had a they been very old I wouldn't have bought them because I object to objects of antiquity going out of their country of origin.
On our way back to the bus Vali managed to locate a chouda for Anne who has been looking since we entered Iran. As you know women must wear head gear and cover their shoulders, necks and legs in Iran. Anne has been wearing a thick scarf, jumper and skirt and has been very hot. As she tried the robes on it caused much interests especially from some young female teenagers who had to help Anne them properly because a man, including the stall holder who sold it us, is not allowed to touch a women. Even though she looked like other women walking about in traditional dress she obviously stood out because of the attention and looks she received from both men and women.
Once back on the road we entered a most amazing gorge which ran for many miles with a lush green floor of fruit trees and vegetables, a stream which disappeared underground now and then and the odd citadel on the hillside. Our hotel for the night was modern and stood at the top of a hill looking out over the barren countryside and a very old mud build village below. Our rooms were beautiful once again and there's no way we can complain about the accommodation so far. After booking in we made our way down the very steep hill to look at the village and immediately drew attention to ourselves by the fact we were there. This now well off the tourist trail. At first the village disappointed but then we were chaperoned by a young villager on leave from the army who took an instant attraction to Kate who does seem to charm the young men. He led us down some very dark street which led to an area consisting of newly made mud three story houses built into the very steep hillside. Running through the whole town is a water system of narrow canals running down the streets leading to a very beautiful wash house/ prayer room. As we attempted to photograph the interior we drew the attention of a very old little women with the most amazing voice. She looked and spoke for all the world like a witch straight out of Macbeth. She most have some power over the man who ran the washhouse because he immediately opened up and welcomed us in.
On making our way back to the hotel we encountered the lads playing young villagers at Volley Ball. Later we had a meal at the hotel which again consisting of soup, chicken and rice etc: this seems to be typical Persian faire. Again went to bed early, nothing to do but watch the lads playing a card game called spoons. Hotel doesn't have internet access. Becoming more and more difficult to get access that is fast enough to make it worthwhile persevering.
Day 21: Tabriz to Tehran
Saturday 13th October
Day started with a simple breakfast of bread, butter, cream cheese, honey and tea and Nicecafe coffee. Had to load the coach risking life and limb on a busy road because of the open sewer or overflow drain on the other side preventing us opening the bay doors.
At breakfast we met our new guide Vali who will stay with us for the rest of the journey to Pakistan. Told us he is 56, married with officially four children and did a degree in aeronautics in the USA the great friend of Iran. 'Ah! Ah! Ah!' he said.
We've now travelled over two hundred and fifty klm to the first petrol station and a WC. Set off at a gallop to the WC because I'd been busting for an hour or so. Firstly my money (a great wad) and my passport flew out of my body belt as I ran across the forecourt and this put me behind the others and then I found myself in the most disgusting toilet since the drive down to the Amazon in 1993. What made it worse was because of my prostate it was the longest piss that I have had since 93 and I did it with my nose and mouth covered. I can't help thinking there's worse to come. What I have just found out from Mary is that the hotel supposedly in Tabriz was infact twenty klm outside, hardly a visit to this famous city. Also during this journey we saw numerous police patrols and we were stopped twice. As the officer made his way onto the bus the women raced to get their head gear on. After the first stop the police made the comment to our guide that they should show respect for Islam when in the company of the police. Noreen was still struggling to get hers on when the officer was half way down the isle.
We have now come to look round a Mosque that has the third largest dome after Ayasopha and the Blue Mosque. Once again like Ayasopha it was a monument to scaffolding. After the tour I bought a Persian penknife and Anne a silver ring for a Lucy. The knife cost 50,000 rial, about £4 and the ring 180,000 or ten pound.
We're still on the road and it's 6.15pm with a couple of hours to go. We'll be back on the road tomorrow by 8.00am heading for; so no chance to see anymore of Tehran than we saw of Tabriz. These long drive days are beginning to ware me down a bit. Time is spent, on such days, playing quizzes, listening to music and watching videos: so far we have watched hours of Friends episodes, Braveheart and Bridget Jones. I can't decide if it makes it easier or not.
It's now 8.00pm and we're still heading towards Tehran in a very slow traffic jam. About an hour a go Leighton put on a video called Coyote Ugly which is a pretty naf American film about some small town country girl going off to New York to be a songwriter. In order to survive she gets a job in a joint as a bar dancer and some of the scenes are a bit raunchy but nothing too sexy to us in the west. However, everyone at the front of the bus is made aware that something funny is happening by the laughter and screaming of the youngsters on the back seats. Travelling along side us in the next lane are two Iranian buses which keep overtaking and then falling behind as the lanes speed up and slow down. What is a bit of titillation must look like porno to the passengers on the bus. There are men, stretching their necks and contorting with mouths open as they try to keep in contact with the two bus monitors. I can't imagine what our guide thinks of this is. It will probably drive him back towards the Mullahs'. Come to think of it it's having the same effect on me. We have just passed an accident spot and the road has cleared and we're moving again probably to the disappointment of the men on the bus momentarily living the American dream as they make their way to celebrate Eid in the big capital.
We arrived at the hotel to find the Ozbus 1 bus, the cause of our delay into Iran standing lamely outside, still waiting for someone to remove it over a week after it broke down. The Cousar Hotel on the other hand was far from the end of its' life. The central area gave the impression of a middle range well respected stopping place with ornate roof and hanging chandeliers, plush carpets, well laid out seats and tables and plenty of guests. Our ensuite room was a pleasant surprise with a large double bed laid out with an imperial style bedcover and pillow of blue and gold motif. The large windows were fully laced with matching blue, heavy, drapes tied at the wall creating an arch. The room matched the elegance of the lounge area with a wooden control panel for lights, telephone etc, TV, fridge with non alcoholic beers and fruit juices and a blue tiled floor area leading from the large, solid dark oak door leading into the room and stopping at the bathroom/ wet room. The actual bed area was heavily carpeted.
We made our way to the foyer to find that most people had already gone to look for food and we were a little reluctant to make our way out alone into Mr Bush's big bad Tehran. Nevertheless we made our way up to the nearest main road and spent the next hour trying to circumnavigate a large round about. It consisted of four maypole type structures with streams of coloured lights hanging down and framing a central large fountain. Although the four wide roads were linked by zebra crossings the series of traffic lights did not seem to be. Traffic flow was clearly the preserve of the knutters sitting at their steering wheels bearing down on us menacingly. The locals had two options. One stand stationary until every driver went to bed and then take the opportunity make for their destination before it started again. Two launch themselves in the midst of the sea of cars and put their faith in Allah. This is no problem for an Islamist but a major problem for an atheist like me. At one point we were marooned in the middle of a steady stream of cars all trying to deliberately keep going at all costs including our lives. At one point I got so angry I kicked a car that was passing at about twenty mile and hour within a foot of us and got a telling off from Anne for antagonizing them.
With the exception of the traffic there was no street life as such in the sense no cafes and restaurants or pavement life. The temperature last night was ideal and even with the anti alcohol laws I still expected to find a pavement culture. I am quite disappointed with this country so far. Perhaps I am not visiting the right places. I dearly hope this is the case. But in both the area around Tabriz and here in the suburbs of Tehran the centre of night life seems to be furniture shops. Tom Paine called the English pub the working man's university but with no stretch of the imagination can I envisage revolution or dissent spreading from the armchairs and sofas starring out from every other store in the main towns of Iran.
I was glad to get back to the safety of the hotel; cars were not allowed beyond the foyer I was assured. The hotel had a pretty little coffee shop with a central fountain styled like some tiled Arabic chimney. No alcoholic beer so early to bed yet again.
Day started with a simple breakfast of bread, butter, cream cheese, honey and tea and Nicecafe coffee. Had to load the coach risking life and limb on a busy road because of the open sewer or overflow drain on the other side preventing us opening the bay doors.
At breakfast we met our new guide Vali who will stay with us for the rest of the journey to Pakistan. Told us he is 56, married with officially four children and did a degree in aeronautics in the USA the great friend of Iran. 'Ah! Ah! Ah!' he said.
We've now travelled over two hundred and fifty klm to the first petrol station and a WC. Set off at a gallop to the WC because I'd been busting for an hour or so. Firstly my money (a great wad) and my passport flew out of my body belt as I ran across the forecourt and this put me behind the others and then I found myself in the most disgusting toilet since the drive down to the Amazon in 1993. What made it worse was because of my prostate it was the longest piss that I have had since 93 and I did it with my nose and mouth covered. I can't help thinking there's worse to come. What I have just found out from Mary is that the hotel supposedly in Tabriz was infact twenty klm outside, hardly a visit to this famous city. Also during this journey we saw numerous police patrols and we were stopped twice. As the officer made his way onto the bus the women raced to get their head gear on. After the first stop the police made the comment to our guide that they should show respect for Islam when in the company of the police. Noreen was still struggling to get hers on when the officer was half way down the isle.
We have now come to look round a Mosque that has the third largest dome after Ayasopha and the Blue Mosque. Once again like Ayasopha it was a monument to scaffolding. After the tour I bought a Persian penknife and Anne a silver ring for a Lucy. The knife cost 50,000 rial, about £4 and the ring 180,000 or ten pound.
We're still on the road and it's 6.15pm with a couple of hours to go. We'll be back on the road tomorrow by 8.00am heading for; so no chance to see anymore of Tehran than we saw of Tabriz. These long drive days are beginning to ware me down a bit. Time is spent, on such days, playing quizzes, listening to music and watching videos: so far we have watched hours of Friends episodes, Braveheart and Bridget Jones. I can't decide if it makes it easier or not.
It's now 8.00pm and we're still heading towards Tehran in a very slow traffic jam. About an hour a go Leighton put on a video called Coyote Ugly which is a pretty naf American film about some small town country girl going off to New York to be a songwriter. In order to survive she gets a job in a joint as a bar dancer and some of the scenes are a bit raunchy but nothing too sexy to us in the west. However, everyone at the front of the bus is made aware that something funny is happening by the laughter and screaming of the youngsters on the back seats. Travelling along side us in the next lane are two Iranian buses which keep overtaking and then falling behind as the lanes speed up and slow down. What is a bit of titillation must look like porno to the passengers on the bus. There are men, stretching their necks and contorting with mouths open as they try to keep in contact with the two bus monitors. I can't imagine what our guide thinks of this is. It will probably drive him back towards the Mullahs'. Come to think of it it's having the same effect on me. We have just passed an accident spot and the road has cleared and we're moving again probably to the disappointment of the men on the bus momentarily living the American dream as they make their way to celebrate Eid in the big capital.
We arrived at the hotel to find the Ozbus 1 bus, the cause of our delay into Iran standing lamely outside, still waiting for someone to remove it over a week after it broke down. The Cousar Hotel on the other hand was far from the end of its' life. The central area gave the impression of a middle range well respected stopping place with ornate roof and hanging chandeliers, plush carpets, well laid out seats and tables and plenty of guests. Our ensuite room was a pleasant surprise with a large double bed laid out with an imperial style bedcover and pillow of blue and gold motif. The large windows were fully laced with matching blue, heavy, drapes tied at the wall creating an arch. The room matched the elegance of the lounge area with a wooden control panel for lights, telephone etc, TV, fridge with non alcoholic beers and fruit juices and a blue tiled floor area leading from the large, solid dark oak door leading into the room and stopping at the bathroom/ wet room. The actual bed area was heavily carpeted.
We made our way to the foyer to find that most people had already gone to look for food and we were a little reluctant to make our way out alone into Mr Bush's big bad Tehran. Nevertheless we made our way up to the nearest main road and spent the next hour trying to circumnavigate a large round about. It consisted of four maypole type structures with streams of coloured lights hanging down and framing a central large fountain. Although the four wide roads were linked by zebra crossings the series of traffic lights did not seem to be. Traffic flow was clearly the preserve of the knutters sitting at their steering wheels bearing down on us menacingly. The locals had two options. One stand stationary until every driver went to bed and then take the opportunity make for their destination before it started again. Two launch themselves in the midst of the sea of cars and put their faith in Allah. This is no problem for an Islamist but a major problem for an atheist like me. At one point we were marooned in the middle of a steady stream of cars all trying to deliberately keep going at all costs including our lives. At one point I got so angry I kicked a car that was passing at about twenty mile and hour within a foot of us and got a telling off from Anne for antagonizing them.
With the exception of the traffic there was no street life as such in the sense no cafes and restaurants or pavement life. The temperature last night was ideal and even with the anti alcohol laws I still expected to find a pavement culture. I am quite disappointed with this country so far. Perhaps I am not visiting the right places. I dearly hope this is the case. But in both the area around Tabriz and here in the suburbs of Tehran the centre of night life seems to be furniture shops. Tom Paine called the English pub the working man's university but with no stretch of the imagination can I envisage revolution or dissent spreading from the armchairs and sofas starring out from every other store in the main towns of Iran.
I was glad to get back to the safety of the hotel; cars were not allowed beyond the foyer I was assured. The hotel had a pretty little coffee shop with a central fountain styled like some tiled Arabic chimney. No alcoholic beer so early to bed yet again.
Day 20: Dogubayasit to Tabriz Iran
Friday 12th October
I have been lucky to be task free on the bus but since Tuesday I have been a packer. Today is the first time we the team have had difficulty packing all the bags, rucksacks, sleeping bags and tents into the holds. Things this morning were made worse by the effects off the party last and the on some of the team and the excellent breakfast cooked by the new breakfast crew. This was the first hot breakfast since leaving home and although I can't really say I'm missing them it was rather nice to have a make shift full English breakfast of scrambled eggs, sausage, beans and toast.
As we drove out of the campsite I was immediately struck by the enormous presence of Mt Aryrat looming over the road ahead and like a burkha clad beautiful young women had shed the veil of cloud that had kept its snow-capped secret from prying eyes the night before. She accompanied us for much of the way to the Turkish border; first on one side of the bus and then on the other as the vehicle snaked its way over the hills to Iran. We arrived at the Iranian side of the border at 9.00am and a sad to say goodbye to the beautiful and varied Turkish landscape and people. I will definitely make way back down this way Allah willing.
It's now 2.05pm and we're still in no mans land having had our passports and visas checked. We are now waiting to have the bus frisked and x-rayed by the guards. Just spent over two hours in a lounge area where the TV programmes consisted of an Iranian type soap, to be expected, football match, also to be expected, a documentary about the Cuban revolution, in line with Bushes propaganda about the country and Mr Bean, not to be expected a sign that all is not well in the Islamic world. Leighton has just announced to the exceptionally patient coach 'welcome to Iran'. We have entered without the full search and I have used the time to bring my blog notes up to date for the very first time.
The road ahead, from the border, looks exactly like the one behind us with an horizon of large mountains. As we head down the road to Tabriz our guide Hussein takes the microphone and announces 'welcome to this fucking prison of Iran'. 'This f...... prison of the Mullahs'. 'Wherever there is religion and the f....... British government there is f...... intrigue and we the people of Iran suffer. He then took us through some useful phrases and said he could arrange black-market booze if we wished.
For you interested in driving through Iran the coach has just taken on a hundred and fifty litre of diesel for two Euro. Wow! We have now been driving down the road to Tabriz for a couple of hours and mountains, not as high has in Turkey, line both sides of the road. These are very rolling hills that remind me of the coal spoils' of South Yorkshire, once they've have been landscaped. Anne just described them like the wrinkles on a bloodhound's face which I think is a better description. The further we travel into this forbidden land the fields seem to push the hills away from the road and the wide expanse is filled with shrubs interspersed with lines of beach and Aspen trees, the odd apple orchards and strangely at this time of the year sunflowers still in flower. Sunflowers bloom in October.
It's now 6.15pm and the sun has set throwing the hills, the trees and the shrubs into a silhouette reminiscent of Tuscany. Peter Moore in his book The Wrong Way Home described them as 'broken, twisted and foreboding'. Perhaps they would be if travelling alone, however, on a bus with your own makeshift family they are beautiful.
Our guide as suddenly changed into a traveling bank with an exchange rate not much better than the money sharks at the border. With just hundred pounds of sterling you can become a rial millionaire at an exchange rate of 18,000 to the pound. I have just bought a six pack of one and half litre bottles of water for a hefty 20,000 rial. I was convinced he was ripping me off till Mark looked at his exchange calculator and said about one pound twenty.
We arrived at Tabriz at about 7.00pm to find that the hotel was an oven. All the rooms had heaters blowing out hot air. Took nearly an a hour to cool the room down. After a shower we all set off to find food. We were advised by our guide that few restaurants would be open because it was Friday and he was right. The hotel had a restaurant that was opened but the menu consisted of soup and chicken and rice a combination very familiar to the Morris lads back home and one I still find hard to try again even after two years. On going to the hotel restaurant I felt physically sick because of the heat. We all decided to follow our guide Hussein to what we thought would be down town Tabriz. As we walked along we were seen as visibly different by the locals who wanted to say hello. After passing shop after shop of the most appalling furniture those in the lead disappeared into a pizza/ beefburgher bar. The general consensus was to stay and because we were told to keep together we were forced by circumstances to spend our first night In Iran, old Persia, eating the worse pizza I have ever had with two cans of Bavarian non-alcoholic beer. The bill for the two of us was 80,000 rial or just over £4. I returned to the hotel rather down, I could for the life of me see how they could have a good night out without a glass or two of wine. Before our food arrived an Iranian couple asked if their lovely young daughter could be photographed with us which then led to them sitting with us through the meal. We exchange basic information: names, occupations, they were both teachers him in the university and they wanted our address and email account. I am not sure why they wanted, it neither spoke much better English than our Farci but we'll see. By the way in case you're wondering my Farci extends from thank you Merci to bread naan.
Had the worse night's sleep since leaving home. There were a number reasons for this. Firstly the room was boiling, secondly had to open the window which let in the din from god knows where because the streets were empty and three I was scratching from the first bites of the journey. Oh and I forgot number four I went to bed for the first time for many, many years without a drop of alcohol in my body. I'll let you decide the main reason. Anne was very unkindly and in no doubt at 2.00am this morning as I tossed and turned.
I have been lucky to be task free on the bus but since Tuesday I have been a packer. Today is the first time we the team have had difficulty packing all the bags, rucksacks, sleeping bags and tents into the holds. Things this morning were made worse by the effects off the party last and the on some of the team and the excellent breakfast cooked by the new breakfast crew. This was the first hot breakfast since leaving home and although I can't really say I'm missing them it was rather nice to have a make shift full English breakfast of scrambled eggs, sausage, beans and toast.
As we drove out of the campsite I was immediately struck by the enormous presence of Mt Aryrat looming over the road ahead and like a burkha clad beautiful young women had shed the veil of cloud that had kept its snow-capped secret from prying eyes the night before. She accompanied us for much of the way to the Turkish border; first on one side of the bus and then on the other as the vehicle snaked its way over the hills to Iran. We arrived at the Iranian side of the border at 9.00am and a sad to say goodbye to the beautiful and varied Turkish landscape and people. I will definitely make way back down this way Allah willing.
It's now 2.05pm and we're still in no mans land having had our passports and visas checked. We are now waiting to have the bus frisked and x-rayed by the guards. Just spent over two hours in a lounge area where the TV programmes consisted of an Iranian type soap, to be expected, football match, also to be expected, a documentary about the Cuban revolution, in line with Bushes propaganda about the country and Mr Bean, not to be expected a sign that all is not well in the Islamic world. Leighton has just announced to the exceptionally patient coach 'welcome to Iran'. We have entered without the full search and I have used the time to bring my blog notes up to date for the very first time.
The road ahead, from the border, looks exactly like the one behind us with an horizon of large mountains. As we head down the road to Tabriz our guide Hussein takes the microphone and announces 'welcome to this fucking prison of Iran'. 'This f...... prison of the Mullahs'. 'Wherever there is religion and the f....... British government there is f...... intrigue and we the people of Iran suffer. He then took us through some useful phrases and said he could arrange black-market booze if we wished.
For you interested in driving through Iran the coach has just taken on a hundred and fifty litre of diesel for two Euro. Wow! We have now been driving down the road to Tabriz for a couple of hours and mountains, not as high has in Turkey, line both sides of the road. These are very rolling hills that remind me of the coal spoils' of South Yorkshire, once they've have been landscaped. Anne just described them like the wrinkles on a bloodhound's face which I think is a better description. The further we travel into this forbidden land the fields seem to push the hills away from the road and the wide expanse is filled with shrubs interspersed with lines of beach and Aspen trees, the odd apple orchards and strangely at this time of the year sunflowers still in flower. Sunflowers bloom in October.
It's now 6.15pm and the sun has set throwing the hills, the trees and the shrubs into a silhouette reminiscent of Tuscany. Peter Moore in his book The Wrong Way Home described them as 'broken, twisted and foreboding'. Perhaps they would be if travelling alone, however, on a bus with your own makeshift family they are beautiful.
Our guide as suddenly changed into a traveling bank with an exchange rate not much better than the money sharks at the border. With just hundred pounds of sterling you can become a rial millionaire at an exchange rate of 18,000 to the pound. I have just bought a six pack of one and half litre bottles of water for a hefty 20,000 rial. I was convinced he was ripping me off till Mark looked at his exchange calculator and said about one pound twenty.
We arrived at Tabriz at about 7.00pm to find that the hotel was an oven. All the rooms had heaters blowing out hot air. Took nearly an a hour to cool the room down. After a shower we all set off to find food. We were advised by our guide that few restaurants would be open because it was Friday and he was right. The hotel had a restaurant that was opened but the menu consisted of soup and chicken and rice a combination very familiar to the Morris lads back home and one I still find hard to try again even after two years. On going to the hotel restaurant I felt physically sick because of the heat. We all decided to follow our guide Hussein to what we thought would be down town Tabriz. As we walked along we were seen as visibly different by the locals who wanted to say hello. After passing shop after shop of the most appalling furniture those in the lead disappeared into a pizza/ beefburgher bar. The general consensus was to stay and because we were told to keep together we were forced by circumstances to spend our first night In Iran, old Persia, eating the worse pizza I have ever had with two cans of Bavarian non-alcoholic beer. The bill for the two of us was 80,000 rial or just over £4. I returned to the hotel rather down, I could for the life of me see how they could have a good night out without a glass or two of wine. Before our food arrived an Iranian couple asked if their lovely young daughter could be photographed with us which then led to them sitting with us through the meal. We exchange basic information: names, occupations, they were both teachers him in the university and they wanted our address and email account. I am not sure why they wanted, it neither spoke much better English than our Farci but we'll see. By the way in case you're wondering my Farci extends from thank you Merci to bread naan.
Had the worse night's sleep since leaving home. There were a number reasons for this. Firstly the room was boiling, secondly had to open the window which let in the din from god knows where because the streets were empty and three I was scratching from the first bites of the journey. Oh and I forgot number four I went to bed for the first time for many, many years without a drop of alcohol in my body. I'll let you decide the main reason. Anne was very unkindly and in no doubt at 2.00am this morning as I tossed and turned.
Day 19: Nemrut Dag to Lake Van
Thursday 11th October
This was an unscheduled stop as we were supposed to be going all the way to Dogubaysit or DoggyBiscuit as it is affectionately called by travellers heading for the border with Iran. The journey would have taken fifteen hours driving and very wisely Leighton after consultation decided to break it down with a camping stop at Lake Van, the largest lake in Turkey.
Within just a few minutes of leaving our free camping spot we reached a town with hotels and pensions and our first sight of the lake. So our situation the night before was not as desperate as we thought. We started our journey around the lake at 8.00am and finished three and half hours later, with no serious hold ups and travelling at a steady thirty to forty miles an hour. This is one big piece of water. The road follows the lake edge for what must be a hundred miles or so, sometimes rising high above the water and at other times at lake level with water almost washing against the bus's wheels. At the southern edge of the lake the flat expanse of land swept past the road for a few hundred yards in gradual upward curve to the mountains. This is a very green and arable area with lots of what look like small holdings. As we moved further north towards the town of Van the shoreline became very bare but still beautiful in a kind of a Mediterranean way but without the villas. As we enter Van we had to slow down because of an accident; sight our first since leaving home. How the van and car had managed to end of on the other side of the carriageway facing the way the came is beyond me but doesn't surprise me. One seriously injured man was being stretchered towards and ambulance and another man was unconscious on the floor having his head bandaged. Van had nothing to really recommend it, with big signs for what looked a western type retail/ industrial park with a Carrefour.
Our next stop was Dogubaysit or doggyBiscuit as it is called in travelling circles. My impression after very interesting walk up the main street was dog's bollocks. Architecturally this is the worst town so far by miles. The whole place is series of low roofed concrete box shops with no furnishings inside and goods stacked everywhere aimlessly; a far cry from the beautiful shops and stalls in the Grand Bazaar in Istanbul. Our steady progress from the Aegean coast as been marked with and increased military presence. In dog's bollocks their on every corner, patrolling but not offensive. Has we made our way to find lunch, a rare event for us, we are followed by children saying hello, money, money, money with hand held out. Surprisingly young school girls kept coming up to us just say hello. The main street, looking nothing like its western equivalent, had a strange traffic system with traffic police attempting some level of control all to no avail. Like the traffic cops I couldn't make out who had the right of way until everything came to a complete stop and then I realized the mad drivers ruled. All of the maneuvers were accompanied by a chorus of horns. The street was a wash with pedestrians, taking their lives into their own hands and making the driving even more difficult: the reasonably wide pavements were a barricade of goods, ranging from spices, washing machines and clothes, all successfully blocking any intention of using them for their right purpose. One mini bus with what looked like a family in it had goods strapped down on the roof along with the poor family goat that was laid flat and held down by a rope. The only indication that it was alive was when it tried to raise its head of the van roof. The driver and occupants found, us passing by, just as amusing as I the goat. Strange old world. Out of the blue a middle aged man approached us and asked us what we're looking far and recommended a restaurant which he then preceded to take us to. We had a good meal of spicy lentil and mint soup with a kind of square naan bread, a mixed grill and a side salad. In a country where you can get a room for two for a fiver our meal cost me a staggering forty lira or £20 for two. We made our way back to the bus again through a sea of looks, hellos and mad drivers. When got back we found out that there had been a theft from the bus. One young lad, of four, had taken his opportunity, as JP sat at his wheel, jumped on the vehicle and stole Marcus's hat and the nerf a device that when thrown whistles as it heads towards its target. The lad has my gratitude, every lunch across Europe and Asia has been accompanied by the wretched whistling sound of his device.
The campsite was half way up a mountain side with a disused mosque/ palace hanging on a rock above it. Once again we took the opportunity to upgrade for the princely some of ten lira for two or £4. The room was basic in the extreme especially the toilet come wet room. After trying to get the shower to work Anne appealed to the site manager who managed to get hot water but only at the expense of the showers in the joining rooms. Hot water sprayed the toilet floor to the screams from the girls in the next room trying to do the same. Ours was one of those combination efforts slung a foot of the tiled floor that operated as a low slung tap until switched to the shower. It worked ok as a foot tap and dry shower but that was it. However it did have the power to spoil everyone else’s chance of a hot anything. I later spent an interesting ten minutes doing contortions down by the toilet bowl in an attempt to get my dirtier parts under the flow of water. I was amazed at my flexibility perhaps crawling in and out of tents is the secret exercise for the over sixties.
Evening again followed the old pattern of dinner followed by drinking party style, after all this is what this dog's bollocks of a place is famous for. This is the drunken traveller’s last chance of happiness for ten days until leaving Iran and reaching the green fields of the Indus, Quetta and our Pakistan. The lads had bought between them 120 cans of Efes and went to bed at 1.00pm when the beer ran out. Iran will really test my resolve but it could send the gang stir crazy.
This was an unscheduled stop as we were supposed to be going all the way to Dogubaysit or DoggyBiscuit as it is affectionately called by travellers heading for the border with Iran. The journey would have taken fifteen hours driving and very wisely Leighton after consultation decided to break it down with a camping stop at Lake Van, the largest lake in Turkey.
Within just a few minutes of leaving our free camping spot we reached a town with hotels and pensions and our first sight of the lake. So our situation the night before was not as desperate as we thought. We started our journey around the lake at 8.00am and finished three and half hours later, with no serious hold ups and travelling at a steady thirty to forty miles an hour. This is one big piece of water. The road follows the lake edge for what must be a hundred miles or so, sometimes rising high above the water and at other times at lake level with water almost washing against the bus's wheels. At the southern edge of the lake the flat expanse of land swept past the road for a few hundred yards in gradual upward curve to the mountains. This is a very green and arable area with lots of what look like small holdings. As we moved further north towards the town of Van the shoreline became very bare but still beautiful in a kind of a Mediterranean way but without the villas. As we enter Van we had to slow down because of an accident; sight our first since leaving home. How the van and car had managed to end of on the other side of the carriageway facing the way the came is beyond me but doesn't surprise me. One seriously injured man was being stretchered towards and ambulance and another man was unconscious on the floor having his head bandaged. Van had nothing to really recommend it, with big signs for what looked a western type retail/ industrial park with a Carrefour.
Our next stop was Dogubaysit or doggyBiscuit as it is called in travelling circles. My impression after very interesting walk up the main street was dog's bollocks. Architecturally this is the worst town so far by miles. The whole place is series of low roofed concrete box shops with no furnishings inside and goods stacked everywhere aimlessly; a far cry from the beautiful shops and stalls in the Grand Bazaar in Istanbul. Our steady progress from the Aegean coast as been marked with and increased military presence. In dog's bollocks their on every corner, patrolling but not offensive. Has we made our way to find lunch, a rare event for us, we are followed by children saying hello, money, money, money with hand held out. Surprisingly young school girls kept coming up to us just say hello. The main street, looking nothing like its western equivalent, had a strange traffic system with traffic police attempting some level of control all to no avail. Like the traffic cops I couldn't make out who had the right of way until everything came to a complete stop and then I realized the mad drivers ruled. All of the maneuvers were accompanied by a chorus of horns. The street was a wash with pedestrians, taking their lives into their own hands and making the driving even more difficult: the reasonably wide pavements were a barricade of goods, ranging from spices, washing machines and clothes, all successfully blocking any intention of using them for their right purpose. One mini bus with what looked like a family in it had goods strapped down on the roof along with the poor family goat that was laid flat and held down by a rope. The only indication that it was alive was when it tried to raise its head of the van roof. The driver and occupants found, us passing by, just as amusing as I the goat. Strange old world. Out of the blue a middle aged man approached us and asked us what we're looking far and recommended a restaurant which he then preceded to take us to. We had a good meal of spicy lentil and mint soup with a kind of square naan bread, a mixed grill and a side salad. In a country where you can get a room for two for a fiver our meal cost me a staggering forty lira or £20 for two. We made our way back to the bus again through a sea of looks, hellos and mad drivers. When got back we found out that there had been a theft from the bus. One young lad, of four, had taken his opportunity, as JP sat at his wheel, jumped on the vehicle and stole Marcus's hat and the nerf a device that when thrown whistles as it heads towards its target. The lad has my gratitude, every lunch across Europe and Asia has been accompanied by the wretched whistling sound of his device.
The campsite was half way up a mountain side with a disused mosque/ palace hanging on a rock above it. Once again we took the opportunity to upgrade for the princely some of ten lira for two or £4. The room was basic in the extreme especially the toilet come wet room. After trying to get the shower to work Anne appealed to the site manager who managed to get hot water but only at the expense of the showers in the joining rooms. Hot water sprayed the toilet floor to the screams from the girls in the next room trying to do the same. Ours was one of those combination efforts slung a foot of the tiled floor that operated as a low slung tap until switched to the shower. It worked ok as a foot tap and dry shower but that was it. However it did have the power to spoil everyone else’s chance of a hot anything. I later spent an interesting ten minutes doing contortions down by the toilet bowl in an attempt to get my dirtier parts under the flow of water. I was amazed at my flexibility perhaps crawling in and out of tents is the secret exercise for the over sixties.
Evening again followed the old pattern of dinner followed by drinking party style, after all this is what this dog's bollocks of a place is famous for. This is the drunken traveller’s last chance of happiness for ten days until leaving Iran and reaching the green fields of the Indus, Quetta and our Pakistan. The lads had bought between them 120 cans of Efes and went to bed at 1.00pm when the beer ran out. Iran will really test my resolve but it could send the gang stir crazy.
Day 18: Nemrut Drag to Lake Van
Wednesday 10th October
Many of the group arose at 4.15am and set off up Mt Nemrut, by mini bus, to see the sunrise over the area. Unfortunately it was overcast and started raining when we were eating breakfast later. Sue said the views were good and the ancient heads were amazing which is just as well because we had made a big detour to include it. Left the hotel late because of the Nemrut excursion and very quickly arrived at a large lake which appeared out of nowhere in a deep gorge. As we came to the end of the road my first thought was we'd took a wrong turning and would have to turn back but to my further surprise we were told we were catching a ferry down the lake to try and cut the journey time. Firstly we'd just missed the ferry and the next was an hour and half later; immediately Daz, Jim and Emmett jumped the ten feet from the key into the lake. Within ten minutes most of the lads were swimming along with three bikini clad girls which seemed to please the young Turkish lads but not their elders.
What followed next was something out of a Whitehall Farce. As John Paul attempted to edge the bus forward onto the boat, which was not very big, vans carrying cows, mini buses full of traditionally dressed women and children attempted to overtake the coach which was first in the queue. Three or four managed to get on and the only thing that stopped a repeat of the Gallipoli landings was Scooby, Ian and Co standing with backs against the leading mini bus's windscreen and preventing it from passing. This gave JP enough time to reverse the bus into place and eventually board to the howls of approval, clapping and cheers from the family and much to the annoyance of the crew member trying to exercise favouritism on behalf of his fellow countrymen and his fellow countryman who were all left squabbling on the quay for the few vacant births. From the bridge of the ferry we were entertained by the antics of the other occupants of the ten or so vehicles trying to fill the last few spaces. One pickup truck with carves jammed packed in the back which fought for one of the births whilst the driver's mate pulled apart and smacked the animals who were trying to mount each, either out of pure frustration at being jammed tongue licking tongue to bum or in just an attempt to survive and use the available space better. The ferry set off eventually with a Toyota Pickup which came from the back of the queue on the rails so to speak and after some very dangerous maneuvering on the edge of the quay perched his vehicle on the ferry's tail board. A smiling Maz turned to me as we sailed away and remarked 'I love mixing with the locals and I thought to myself you can't argue with that. If JP carries on holding his ground against such odds he could become the next Pope John Paul or St John or Paul. After a journey off just ten to fifteen minutes we arrived at another quay and the whole process started again but in reverse. One mini bus which was first on before and was now at the back attempted to overtake the vehicles stationed in front by pulling out into the middle of the boat, much to the danger of two small children trying to climb aboard. The kids survived because the angle of the maneuver was so acute that the iron ladders on the back of the minibus, leading to the luggage rack on the roof, got wedged against a strengthening bar on the side of the ferry. I walked past him, arguing with the crew member who tried so hard to help them the first time round about the damage he'd caused to the boat. As I left the ferry, various vehicles including a lorry seriously overloaded with bales of cotton, numerous mini buses laden with passengers and pickups empty of cattle returning from were starting the process all over again.
Rather than save time I suspect the ferry fracas delayed us and after many more hours of driving through this incredible mountain range we ran out of time and light and were forced to spend our first night free camping down a winding dirt track across a bridge not really made for a 52 seater coach with 43 occupants on board. Only a few minutes earlier we had stopped at a very busy lorry pull-in. This was the first time I'd felt as though I was out of my comfort zone as Leighton likes to call it. This was a bit of a wild place with lorries swerving into narrow vacant parking spaces like Michael Schumacher coming to the pits: three pedestrians had to dive out of the way from a crazy lorry and I'm convinced he would have killed them had they not took evasive action. When the driver and his mate jumped down from the cab they beat their chests and punched the air in victory in Zorba the Greek fashion. The pull-in consisted of a transport type café, a posher looking restaurant which some said had a sign saying no women and a general store which charged Leighton over £6 for half a dozen bananas and a bag of apples. Large bottles of water were over 2 lira a bottle which is four times the normal price. Leighton left the owner in no doubt about his thoughts.
There was a suggestion, from JP, that we should camp across the road on some waste ground but I'm glad to say it was dismissed and we set off further up the pass. After only a few minutes we found a good area to set up camp for the night and quickly pitched our tents and cooked a pasta of smoked sausage, tomato sauce and grated cheese.
The rest of the night was spent around a very substantial camp fire built by Scooby and Co. We played silly games and sang songs washed down by a single bottle of Raki, that I'd commandeered in Goreme as everyone watched the belly dancer and one glass of Gin and Tonic carried from Sheffield and a terrible bottle of red wine bought in Gallipoli. This turned out to be a good opportunity to purge the bus of all traces of alcohol before entering Iran in just over a day’s time.
Many of the group arose at 4.15am and set off up Mt Nemrut, by mini bus, to see the sunrise over the area. Unfortunately it was overcast and started raining when we were eating breakfast later. Sue said the views were good and the ancient heads were amazing which is just as well because we had made a big detour to include it. Left the hotel late because of the Nemrut excursion and very quickly arrived at a large lake which appeared out of nowhere in a deep gorge. As we came to the end of the road my first thought was we'd took a wrong turning and would have to turn back but to my further surprise we were told we were catching a ferry down the lake to try and cut the journey time. Firstly we'd just missed the ferry and the next was an hour and half later; immediately Daz, Jim and Emmett jumped the ten feet from the key into the lake. Within ten minutes most of the lads were swimming along with three bikini clad girls which seemed to please the young Turkish lads but not their elders.
What followed next was something out of a Whitehall Farce. As John Paul attempted to edge the bus forward onto the boat, which was not very big, vans carrying cows, mini buses full of traditionally dressed women and children attempted to overtake the coach which was first in the queue. Three or four managed to get on and the only thing that stopped a repeat of the Gallipoli landings was Scooby, Ian and Co standing with backs against the leading mini bus's windscreen and preventing it from passing. This gave JP enough time to reverse the bus into place and eventually board to the howls of approval, clapping and cheers from the family and much to the annoyance of the crew member trying to exercise favouritism on behalf of his fellow countrymen and his fellow countryman who were all left squabbling on the quay for the few vacant births. From the bridge of the ferry we were entertained by the antics of the other occupants of the ten or so vehicles trying to fill the last few spaces. One pickup truck with carves jammed packed in the back which fought for one of the births whilst the driver's mate pulled apart and smacked the animals who were trying to mount each, either out of pure frustration at being jammed tongue licking tongue to bum or in just an attempt to survive and use the available space better. The ferry set off eventually with a Toyota Pickup which came from the back of the queue on the rails so to speak and after some very dangerous maneuvering on the edge of the quay perched his vehicle on the ferry's tail board. A smiling Maz turned to me as we sailed away and remarked 'I love mixing with the locals and I thought to myself you can't argue with that. If JP carries on holding his ground against such odds he could become the next Pope John Paul or St John or Paul. After a journey off just ten to fifteen minutes we arrived at another quay and the whole process started again but in reverse. One mini bus which was first on before and was now at the back attempted to overtake the vehicles stationed in front by pulling out into the middle of the boat, much to the danger of two small children trying to climb aboard. The kids survived because the angle of the maneuver was so acute that the iron ladders on the back of the minibus, leading to the luggage rack on the roof, got wedged against a strengthening bar on the side of the ferry. I walked past him, arguing with the crew member who tried so hard to help them the first time round about the damage he'd caused to the boat. As I left the ferry, various vehicles including a lorry seriously overloaded with bales of cotton, numerous mini buses laden with passengers and pickups empty of cattle returning from were starting the process all over again.
Rather than save time I suspect the ferry fracas delayed us and after many more hours of driving through this incredible mountain range we ran out of time and light and were forced to spend our first night free camping down a winding dirt track across a bridge not really made for a 52 seater coach with 43 occupants on board. Only a few minutes earlier we had stopped at a very busy lorry pull-in. This was the first time I'd felt as though I was out of my comfort zone as Leighton likes to call it. This was a bit of a wild place with lorries swerving into narrow vacant parking spaces like Michael Schumacher coming to the pits: three pedestrians had to dive out of the way from a crazy lorry and I'm convinced he would have killed them had they not took evasive action. When the driver and his mate jumped down from the cab they beat their chests and punched the air in victory in Zorba the Greek fashion. The pull-in consisted of a transport type café, a posher looking restaurant which some said had a sign saying no women and a general store which charged Leighton over £6 for half a dozen bananas and a bag of apples. Large bottles of water were over 2 lira a bottle which is four times the normal price. Leighton left the owner in no doubt about his thoughts.
There was a suggestion, from JP, that we should camp across the road on some waste ground but I'm glad to say it was dismissed and we set off further up the pass. After only a few minutes we found a good area to set up camp for the night and quickly pitched our tents and cooked a pasta of smoked sausage, tomato sauce and grated cheese.
The rest of the night was spent around a very substantial camp fire built by Scooby and Co. We played silly games and sang songs washed down by a single bottle of Raki, that I'd commandeered in Goreme as everyone watched the belly dancer and one glass of Gin and Tonic carried from Sheffield and a terrible bottle of red wine bought in Gallipoli. This turned out to be a good opportunity to purge the bus of all traces of alcohol before entering Iran in just over a day’s time.
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