“Welcome to Iran!” said the immigration officer, as he offered us a dish of sweets. We had just crossed the land border from Turkmenistan, where we’d driven deep into the desert and camped under the stars, visited ancient archaeological sites and isolated villages where time seemed to have stood still. We had taken in the sights of crazy Ashgabat, where we had the impression of stepping into the film set of a bizarre, brash and blingy futuristic city.
Now, in Iran, the hospitable welcome continued; our local guide said he and his family would be honoured if we would visit his home in Mashhad and have dinner with them. All ten of us. A visit to a typical Iranian cake shop ensued in order that we should not arrive empty handed but, of course, we were the ones who were offered the cakes we had purchased as a gift! Dinner followed – salads, soup, gutabs (meat and herb pancakes) and platters heaving with fresh watermelons.
What a wonderful introduction to Iran! We left feeling that we were the honoured ones despite our host, his wife, son and daughters thanking us profusely for coming to their home.
Our journey through Iran continued to surprise us at every turn – from the arid slopes and craggy outcrops of the Alborz mountains where we scrambled up to an 11th century assassins’ fortress, to the stunningly beautiful wooded mountainside that led us to the medieval military complex of Roodkhan Castle. We breakfasted in Masule (bread fresh from the oven, local cheese, walnuts and honey) sitting on the roof of the house below, so steep is the terrain on which the town nestles, and gazed at the verdant mountains that rose all around us.
Descending to the shores of the Caspian Sea, we had tea, biscuits and fresh, juicy peaches on the beach. Swimming was out of the question – it was a wild, windy day, the sea was choppy, grey and very uninviting and reminded us of a typical English winter coastal scene, save the warmer temperature and the curtains that extended into the sea to enable women to bathe unobserved by males. We drove through vast kiwi fruit growing areas and, before we knew it, we were in Azerbaijan.
But we did know it. The differences in the physical features of the people, their dress, their lifestyles, were fascinating; we had left the tall women of Turkmenistan clad in their elegant, colourful, figure-hugging full-length dresses and high-heeled shoes to be greeted by women in Iran swathed in black. At the Azerbaijan border women dressed in a headscarf, colourful skirts and blouses barged their way through the melee carrying plastic bags of electrical goods and fruit to sell in Azerbaijan.
Once through immigration (jolly chaps, once they overcame their surprise at seeing us at such a remote border) yet another ‘world’ hit us. Men sporting faux-leather blouson jackets and thick stubble hung listlessly on street corners whilst vehicles – mostly ladas – rattled along seemingly held together by the mud and grime that pervades the landscape. The land is salty marsh; barren, desolate, the villages have an air of depression and dilapidation.
As we neared Baku, Azerbaijan’s capital, everything changed. The roads are new, swanky housing developments are mushrooming along the coast, including enormous mansions (owned by government people, our guide sheepishly admitted). Shipyards, docks, oil fields, industry; a far cry from the terrain we had just driven through. The difference is staggering, as is the wealth of Baku itself.
Our journey has taken us through three countries. It has been a diverse, intriguing, educational and rewarding experience. Be it in remote locations or capital cities, we’ve witnessed contrasts and contradictions, inequalities and injustices, heart-warming hospitality, different cultures and cuisines. Even if we were unable to venture into the Caspian Sea, our heads are swimming.
