18-24 May
From
Bandar-e Gaz we head for a big detour through the Albors mountains, to visit Badab-e Surt, a natural wonder. The route finally
ends in Sari, only 80 km West from Bandar-e Gaz. However, visiting Badab-e Surt is also an excuse to
ride through the mountains, that we like so much more than the plains north of
the mountains, with the crowdy towns, highways and cars.
The
mountains are supposed to be much quieter, but on the Friday that we ride
southward again they are definitely not. We climb on a road from Galugah
through the jungle to a pass. It is steep and above all it is Friday. It is
also Ramazan, so we didn’t expect a lot of people to go picnicking, but there
are, massive amounts. The whole population of Galugah seems to be on its way on
this one road. The forest is blue from kebab fire smoke and the road is filled
with mad Iranians in cars and on motorcycles. Every single person deems
it necessary to greet us, shout in our left ear or try to scare us off.
Adolescents on motor cycles cut off our way, ride towards us to scare us and make as much
noise as possible. At the same time the road is narrow and very steep with
longer stretches of 12%. Usually I am not nerved by this type of behavior at
all, but being shouted at an entire day finally also gets to my nerves. Just
beyond the pass the road becomes more quite and when we follow an unpaved road
for a few hundred meters we are suddenly in paradise, away from all the noise.
We find a perfect spot in a lush green piece of grass. It has been a long time
that we could put our tent on juicy grass. The spot is almost perfect. Again at
11 pm we get a surprise visit, this time by the Wizard of Oz who shines with his magic
stick on our tent. After 10 minutes of asking questions in Farsi and answers in
English he gives up and leaves us alone. Most likely we have taken his usual
sleeping spot.
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| Our super quiet, juicy grass camping spot after a day full of shouting Iranians on motorcycles and in cars |
The next
day brings us to an agricultural area in a valley with a big muddy river, of
which the water is used to irrigate the surrounding rice fields. It is
beautiful and green and above all very very quite. There are hardly any cars on
the road and at times the road is very very steep. The fact that the road is so
quite brings about a slight problem. There are quite some villages, but we do
not find one that has a shop that sells fresh produce. So, no cucumber-tomato
salad on the menu for tonight ☹. We do have a lot of biologically produced
bread, that was a kind gift of one of the few car drivers. Bread is never a
problem.
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| Rice fields and quite roads |
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| A crazy cemetry |
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| Quiet and very steep roads |
In the last
village before the pass we try for water but the complete village is empty.
Really strange. Well, one car drives through the village and Martin waves with our
empty water bottles and although the gesture is initially not clear, the car
stops after a few hundred meters and turns back. The driver invites Martin to his
house to fill the water bottles and I try to have a conversation with his wife
while we are waiting. His wife is really happy to be able to help us and
excited to meet strangers in her mountain village and she asks me if we need
something else. I type tomatoes and cucumber in Google translator and oh wonder,
a bag with cucumbers and tomatoes is taken from the car, plus some fresh salad,
fruits, bread and a herb omelet. We are excited and so is the woman. She
embraces us when we say goodbye. After that the road continues unpaved and a
few hundred meters under the pass at 2400 m altitude we find a good spot for
camping.
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| Farmer family that let us camp on their land |
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| Camping on 2400 m altitude |
The next
day we continue to the pass and then descend into the valley at the south side
of the mountains. We are back in the desert and it is so beautiful. We also
pass a village where we buy loads of fresh fruit and vegetables, that we
finally don’t need because in the next village, where we put up our tents in a
garden we are invited for diner by the local tailor, who obviously wants to practice
speaking English and show us his atelier. We are eating lunch at the edge of
the village in someone’s shady garden and we are trying to contact the owner to
ask for permission to camp. People tell us that the owner is an old grumpy man,
who will get angry. But he doesn’t show up when we knock on the door of his
house, so we take the risk and put up our tent. We do not get disturbed by the
grumpy old man during the night, but in honor of Ramazan the local mosque
produces several times nasty noises during the night which are commented by the
local dogs.
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| Beautiful ride down towards the desert |
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| I am not sure what these are doing here, in the desert..... |
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| The ladies of the tailor atelier |
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| Camping in the garden of the grumpy old man |
The next
day we make one of the most scenic tours so far. We climb 800 m through
beautiful mountainous desert with lots of colors and then have a spectacular
steep unpaved ride down into the valley of Badab-e Surt. We find a super nice
camping spot along the quite road on the board of a mountain stream and from
there we visit the terraces of Badab-e Surt. Not everyone respects the beauty
of this place. A guy on a motorcycle rides straight through the beautiful
terraces.
Unexpected scenic tour to Badab-e Surt:
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| Schneekettenpflicht? |
Badab-e Surt Natural Springs:
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| Our near to perfect camping spot near Badab-e Surt. It has its own mountain stream in which we can wash ourselves and some clothes. The spot can be easily seen from the road, where no-one passes anyway, apart from a German retired couple, travelling through the Middle East in a big camper-truck. |
It then
takes us another two days of up and down to finally arrive again in the plains
of the Caspian sea. We stay with Farzane and her parents in Sari, a ‘small’
town with 300’000 inhabitants.
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| Rice fields on our way to Sari |
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| Cheerful Sari! In a week or so, we need to return here for visa extension... |
karin, we gaan n zelf helping groepje starten voor vrouwen met wc Problemen.
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