After having watched the flat, rocky desert out of the train window for 12 hours I am seduced in to taking a tour to go and see the real desert, a few hours drive south of Bam. Joining me is Pierrick, a Frenchman staying at the same hotel, who is on a multi year wander around the world.
On our way to the dunes we stop in a small town to checkout the bazaar, however its really a people watching exercise - we are in the Baluchi area of Iran - getting close to the Pakistan and Afghanistan borders. People certainly do look different - most men are in salwa kameez, and the women are covered from head to toe in black, but with a few bits of jewellery and colourful weaving on show.
We continue south, pass a huge caravanserai (a sort of human made oasis, where travelers and traders stopped on the journerys to water their camels and themselves) surrounded by a 6ft high adobe wall, which serves as a reminder of the amount of traffic there once was on this trade route from Asia to the Middle East.
Not that long after we arrive at the beginning of the sand dunes, blonde hills of sand with thin spines shaped by the wind standing 100 metres tall. In the distant horizon, a steep line of mountains, incredibly covered in snow, rear up almost touching the sky making a mockery of the size of the dunes.
Our guide shoos us off, directing us to head for the tallest one. Sadly reaching the top of the dune reveals what is seen in most desert tours - the dunes here don't actually stretch that far, and in the not to far distance its more flat, rocky plain. To compound the lament some local boys on motorbikes arrive, and proceed to throw themselves at the dunes at top speed redolent of the scenes from Mad Max - and the brief period of silence and contemplation is shattered.
Fortunately the day is rescued by a family of Afghani escapees who in true Iranian style have brought their mat and are having a picnic on one of the dunes. The language barrier doesn't put a dent in their unflinchingly curiosity about who we are, where we are from and what we are doing here. (We are out of range so their attempts to use the internet as a translator come to nothing) They insist that we join them on their mat, and immediately serve up tea and fruit, and start to tell us about life in Afghanistan and how much better life is here in Iran, although they long to return there. They start to bring out lunch, and Pierrick and I have to use a crowbar to extract ourselves, using the excuse that our driver is waiting.
When we return to our driver he has struck up a conversation with the bikers, and they join us for lunch of bread and cheese.
On our way back to Bam we stop in at the special economic zone, a huge industrial park created by the Iranian government 20 years ago, to generate employment as an antidote to the wave of smuggling and violence that plagued the area. The public safety of Iran makes it easy to continually forget that there are wars raging in almost all of it's neighbours. The zone turns out to be a huge series of car factories - most recently taken over by the Chinese, and a monument to concrete - row upon row of concrete box houses, an artifical lake (in the desert), a few unfinished and unused stadiums, a horse riding area, and a half built roller skating rink. It is another grand economic dream, that is tarnished by its collision in to reality - unfinished buildings litter the landscape, facilities are fraying and already in decline and the only people we see are maintenance workers and a group of local kids on a school excursion. According to our driver it has however been successful in generating jobs and reducing smuggling - even if there are massive car parks full of new cars that no-one wants to buy.
On our way to the dunes we stop in a small town to checkout the bazaar, however its really a people watching exercise - we are in the Baluchi area of Iran - getting close to the Pakistan and Afghanistan borders. People certainly do look different - most men are in salwa kameez, and the women are covered from head to toe in black, but with a few bits of jewellery and colourful weaving on show.
We continue south, pass a huge caravanserai (a sort of human made oasis, where travelers and traders stopped on the journerys to water their camels and themselves) surrounded by a 6ft high adobe wall, which serves as a reminder of the amount of traffic there once was on this trade route from Asia to the Middle East.
Not that long after we arrive at the beginning of the sand dunes, blonde hills of sand with thin spines shaped by the wind standing 100 metres tall. In the distant horizon, a steep line of mountains, incredibly covered in snow, rear up almost touching the sky making a mockery of the size of the dunes.
Our guide shoos us off, directing us to head for the tallest one. Sadly reaching the top of the dune reveals what is seen in most desert tours - the dunes here don't actually stretch that far, and in the not to far distance its more flat, rocky plain. To compound the lament some local boys on motorbikes arrive, and proceed to throw themselves at the dunes at top speed redolent of the scenes from Mad Max - and the brief period of silence and contemplation is shattered.
Fortunately the day is rescued by a family of Afghani escapees who in true Iranian style have brought their mat and are having a picnic on one of the dunes. The language barrier doesn't put a dent in their unflinchingly curiosity about who we are, where we are from and what we are doing here. (We are out of range so their attempts to use the internet as a translator come to nothing) They insist that we join them on their mat, and immediately serve up tea and fruit, and start to tell us about life in Afghanistan and how much better life is here in Iran, although they long to return there. They start to bring out lunch, and Pierrick and I have to use a crowbar to extract ourselves, using the excuse that our driver is waiting.
When we return to our driver he has struck up a conversation with the bikers, and they join us for lunch of bread and cheese.
On our way back to Bam we stop in at the special economic zone, a huge industrial park created by the Iranian government 20 years ago, to generate employment as an antidote to the wave of smuggling and violence that plagued the area. The public safety of Iran makes it easy to continually forget that there are wars raging in almost all of it's neighbours. The zone turns out to be a huge series of car factories - most recently taken over by the Chinese, and a monument to concrete - row upon row of concrete box houses, an artifical lake (in the desert), a few unfinished and unused stadiums, a horse riding area, and a half built roller skating rink. It is another grand economic dream, that is tarnished by its collision in to reality - unfinished buildings litter the landscape, facilities are fraying and already in decline and the only people we see are maintenance workers and a group of local kids on a school excursion. According to our driver it has however been successful in generating jobs and reducing smuggling - even if there are massive car parks full of new cars that no-one wants to buy.
1 comment:
You make my itchy feet more itchy!! I'm sure as a single woman traveller I would have a whole different adventure in the Middle East. Perhaps I should stick to Asia or the Latino countries.
I think it will be an adventure for you to refind your space in Broome when you return.
Great words and great photos Brendan.
Just to remind you we have some fabulous dunes here in the west😀 Haven't seen too many people utilising them for a picnic however
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