As we know, Sunday is the biblical day of rest after six strenuous working days. Like today.
Whether we really should speak of working days in our case (after all, we are on vacation, even if it doesn't always feel that way) is a different question. And exhausting? Rather not, the time spent waiting in Tabriz provided us with a few, albeit unwanted, days of rest.
Travelers on the way out and the way back
But what the heck, we enjoy the day, lying on the proverbial lazy skin and meeting new people. After all, we sit in the center of the storm, so to speak, life goes on all around us, we just sit and look and wonder about all the people gathered here who, as we learn, have the same destination.
Some are on their way back, you can see it on their faces, or have they always been so lean and weary?
However, they radiate something specific, after all, they have accomplished everything we still have ahead of us. They are heroes, people surround them, they want to know everything, about the experiences and findings, about possible dangers and risks, about the people there, still far away, but nevertheless getting closer.
We are hungry for information, for all the things that can be generated only by personal experience and which are not mentioned in the guidebooks. However, most of us are still on the way there, all of us with anticipation of what is coming, but also with certain doubts and fears, which, however, we prefer to keep to ourselves.
And of course, the returnees enjoy their particular status and tell stories with faces showing a lot of pride.
About the road conditions in India, about the reckless bus and truck drivers, the people's curiosity, the poverty, the countless experiences on and off the villages and cities. Sometimes one has the impression that the focus is mainly on the dramatic experiences, while the "normal", which probably represent the majority of the time, stays in the background.
But I assume that it will be the same for us on the return trip. We as heroes. If we ever make it
New Friends
Not far from us a Citroen 2CV with a Graubünden number plate has arrived, it doesn't take long to get to know each other.
Hello, Beatrice and Ruedi.
Not surprisingly, their destination is the same, India, everyone's big dream, the ultimate paradise that one is dying to reach. We soon feel a lot of sympathy for each other, but that our journey will continue together for many thousands of kilometers, is still far away at this point.
Anyway, the circle of new acquaintances expands in the course of our sojourn, actually almost inevitably, because - as we will find out later - cars with CH license plates are frequently encountered, sometimes even outnumbering the others. Which of course makes us a bit puzzled. I did not know that the Swiss are as adventurous.
Those new acquaintances are Roli and Dora with a brand new orange VW bus, accompanied by Ueli and Silvia, with a vehicle that is just as new as it is orange. When I consider our old van, which is on the verge of giving up steam every few days, we feel a certain inferiority complex. And their common destination also differs from our comparatively modest plans - they intend to go all the way to Australia.
But in fact, we wanted to continue the trip for a long time. In Afghanistan, it is supposed to get quite cold in November, i.e. quite soon, and snow is also a possibility that should be taken seriously. Snow? For God's sake, not snow. We want to go to the warmth, to the eternal summer, and above all, our car lacks many things that others have, but especially heating.
But that doesn't stop us from continuing to drink coffee, chat and enjoy life despite all these imponderables. And delaying the onward journey. I hope we will not regret it sooner or later.
And by the way - the water pump is back in operation, the waves of indignation have dissolved into joy.
But then the onward journey
With the Afghan visa in our pockets and stocks of groceries, petrol and gas and whatever else is needed for the next stages, we let Tehran disappear behind us with little nostalgia.
Tehran is a precarious place in a number of ways, but it's also a city that's booming.
We look back nodding regretfully, but the regret is for the population that, despite the wealth of a small upper class, still lives in dire poverty (how little we were deceived by our feelings at the time becomes clear a few years later with the revolution). Tehran is one of those places in the world where you just don't want to live. There will be some more in the future, but that is not really surprising.
The Alborz Mountains
How could it be otherwise - even in the company of new friends, we start not a bit earlier than usual.
It is almost noon when we finally set off in a convoy of four vehicles. A very heterogeneous convoy, consisting of 2 shiny orange new buses, a blue 2CV and a very run-down VW bus, putting us a bit to shame, but only a bit.
Anyway, the Alborz Mountains are ahead of us, they must be conquered in order to reach today's destination, the Caspian Sea.
So quite a long distance, which we criminally underestimate once again, this time in company. It doesn't stop us from enjoying our lunch in peace and quiet in the midst of a beautiful landscape with fertile valleys and picturesque villages.
And even an occasional stop in the middle of a rough mountain landscape, though the young gentleman's gaze a little tense, seems to be possible (although the rugged hills visible in the background say otherwise).
However, our peace of mind is quickly over, as shortly after Karaj the climbs through a brown, barren landscape start. Yellow-red rock, crisscrossed with wide bands, lines both sides of the road. The inclines up the pass become steeper and steeper, the gorges deeper and deeper.
It dawns on us that we will once again be pressed for time.
The Amir Kabir Dam
Even the biggest time pressure can't stop us from taking a break at one of the longest reservoirs (40km2) ever seen. The Amir Kabir Dam is so impressive that I quote some abbreviated information from Wikipedia:
The arch dam is 180 m high and double curved. The first ideas for the construction of the dam date back to the time of Reza Shah Pahlavi. However, it was not until 1952 that the first concrete plans were initiated.
In 1956, the approval process was initiated and construction work started by the US company Morrison-Knudsen. The construction work was carried out without interruption in three shifts 24 hours a day. The dam was opened on February 24, 1963. The construction work was financed entirely from the oil revenues of the state-owned NIOC.
The dam serves multiple purposes, including generating hydroelectric power and supplying drinking water for the city of Tehran and supplying electricity to the city. The reservoir is also a popular excursion destination and there are opportunities for water sports such as boating and water skiing in summer.
We can't help but give this structure the respect it deserves. It is more than a remarkable achievement.
The air is getting thin
The higher we get and the thinner the air gets, the more our poor 1200cc engine wheezes. But actually his good-natured purr is reassuring, in any case, despite panting, it heroically takes us up to almost 3000 meters. The highest point is a relief, because our vehicle would not have lasted much longer.
Who would have thought that we would have to conquer such heights so quickly.
But in hindsight, one is always (always?) wiser. Most of the time, things are different than imagined. Just one of the lessons accompanying us on the trip and proving again and again how little we know. Basically, it is just another expression for our unwavering, incurable arrogance and ignorance that has led us here. How far will it carry us? We prefer not to know.
Always look at the bright side of life.
So now it's downhill, into a deep gorge stretching shady and dark towards the north. Endless curves, sometimes reminiscent of the Tremola (Gotthard Pass in Switzerland), make driving a torture. Besides, what worries us more and more, the evening darkness is slowly and unstoppably approaching in the east.
As if a heavy velvet curtain is being drawn.
Chalous on the Caspian Sea
The curtain is drawn, so it's already pitch black when we finally arrive in Chalous, our destination for the day. Somewhere there must be the sea that vast blue cosmos of water called the Caspian Sea, but it has retreated into darkness like everything else.
We don't look back, but we conquered it, this 3000 meter high obstacle, these abysmal gorges, the thin air, our fear that we won't make it.
And of course we are already expected by the faster vehicles. However, the second orange bus seems to be missing, so we gather in the other orange vehicle, drinking coffee, chatting, getting to know each other better. And waiting with increasing anxiety, where Ueli and Silvia have remained.
After two hours it doesn't look like the missing guys are arriving, so we look for a suitable place at the sea to spend the night.
The Caspian Sea
The morning at the Caspian Sea shows itself in its best garment, almost like Sunday.
So this is excellent lounching. The weather is warm and of a spicy clarity (if there is such a thing, but apparently the blue sky over the blue sea once again seduces me to all sorts of poetic nonsense).
And by the way - the second orange bus has finally arrived this morning, apparently the Alborz Mountains generated so much curiosity that an unplanned overnight stay at the road side could not be avoided.
Lounging in Chalous
We are camping near the shore, a fence blocks the way to the beach, the ground is stony, one wonders what usually happens here. Is it a bathing beach?An unused place nobody cares about? Who knows, in any case we are quite happy with the surroundings and since we don't want to take a swim, we don't care much about the stones.
So we're in Chalous (or Tschalus or Chalus), a village at the Caspian Sea, wonderfully located, one can really endure it here. At that time in XNUMX it was still a village, rather shabby, anything but a tourist destination. Apart from a few lice-infested hippies on their way to India, there are rarely any visitors.
Otto
Today, however, things look a little different. The village has grown into a town with almost 50'000 inhabitants, and there is indeed a tourist hotspot, a recreation area named Namakābrūd, Tourist City. And hey, there are even two cable cars leading up a mountain.
Unthinkable in 1974.
After all, we have got company, a dirty black dog, we call him Otto. Not that we have aroused his special sympathy, he is simply not being beaten in our company, but instead fed extensively. Roli proves for the first time his extremely generous heart for animals, especially stray dogs. Not surprisingly, after a short time Otto becomes so trusting that he does not leave our side (especially Roli's).
However, there is a small problem: in the absence of toilets, you have to go behind the bushes for certain needs, which of course arouses Otto's curiosity. So, before going behind the bushes, it is necessary to take all sorts of diversionary measures, which are successful - or not.
Unfriendly neighbors
The village youth has noticed that there are some strange foreigners camping on the shore of the sea. We are now on display, so to speak, people are watching us from a distance, but no one dares to come closer.
It takes only until nightfall until the first stones fly. What we actually expected in eastern Turkey is now taking place here. Well then, some exercise is nice after all those hours in the car, and so a sporty hundred-meter run turns out to be what it takes to put the unwelcome troublemakers to flight. It's no reason to get angry, though; at our age, we might have fought boredom the same way.
A Scarabaeus sacer and the Glass Bead Game
The long and probably arduous stretch ahead of us to Mashad and then through Afghanistan naturally tempts us to take it easy, to lounge even more, to do everything that one does when one has time and is not in a hurry.
And so another day goes by, nothing special, nothing worth mentioning, a little walk along the sea, but mostly chatting and drinking coffee, getting to know each other better. We drive to the village, stock up on supplies, because there won't be many opportunities to do so until Mashad.
It takes little to distract us. For example, by a strange animal crawling through the sand and rolling a dung ball in front of it. It is a so-called Scarabaeus sacer, a real sacred scarab.
I quote from Wikipedia:
They feed on the faeces of herbivorous mammals and are therefore also called coprophages (faeces eaters). After mating, the beetle forms a ball of dung that is often many times its body mass. He then clamps this ball between his hind legs and rolls it backwards in front of him until he finds a suitable place and buries the ball in the ground with the help of his head and front legs. The female then lays the eggs on the buried ball of feces, which the larvae later feed on.
In ancient Egypt, the Scarabaeus sacer was considered a symbol for the resurrection and for the cycle of the sun. Scarabs, small beetle amulets, were given to the dead as grave goods for protection in the afterlife, but the living also wore scarabs as jewelry.
Well, even idlers have their fifteen intelligent minutes sometimes, these ones are dedicated to the sacred beetle. In any case, we wish his offspring bon appetite.
But since the bugs don't fill the day, we try to do something else for the spirit, in my case with Hermann Hesse and his Glass Bead Game. Travel books are the icing on the cake on every trip, indispensable on long nights and boring bus or train journeys.
Josef Knecht made it to the prestigious Magister Ludi, the master of the glass bead game, in the venerable order of Castalia. This game brings together the knowledge and arts of the whole world. We accompany the young, highly talented orphan boy Josef Knecht on his career through all levels of the order hierarchy to the point at which a far-reaching realization matures in him...
I must confess that the novel has been on my personal canon for many years, however, I didn't figure out how this strange game was supposed to work until the very end. Never mind. Today, the Hesse euphoria has faded, one has become older, the time of Steppenwolf belongs to the younger generations.
The night sky over the Caspian Sea
Before we set off the next morning, we admire the starry sky over the Caspian Sea one last time. Only now can we see what we miss out due to light pollution in our latitudes.
In the face of this sparkling endless ocean of stars, one suddenly feels one's own dwarf nature. We are nothing, literally less than a tiny speck of dust in the universe. All that shines up there, presumably long since extinguished, is the real world, while on our strange blue ball we believe in our particularity. Nothing could be less true, nothing could prove more drastically that we are negligible. Up there, in our Milky Way, our own galaxy, billions of suns, of planets, of other rocky and dusty bodies are buzzing around, and this is only one galaxy of billions more.
You can become very small and very humble.
So we crane our necks, become very still and quiet, contemplate the splendor of the universe and go to bed quite gifted.
Matching song: Genesis – The Carpet Crawlers
And here the trip continues... towards Mashad in eastern Iran
