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Mashhad - Herat
E.Route : Ealam Qala - Kandahar : ETD 0600 : ETA 1700 : Dist 450 m.
A.Route : Mashhad - Herat : ATD 0757 : ATA 2020* : Dist 251 m.
- Depart Mashhad 0757
- 0819 - 0829 Fuel stop.
- 0950 - 0940 Bogstop ( add -g- )
- 1107 - 1109 Fan trouble **
- 1150 - 1200 Bogstop
- 0835 - 0842 Bogstop.
- 1301 - 1338 Aid to distressed Sussex.
- 1355 - 1614 Frontier Clearance.
- 1650 - 1653* Bog stop.
- 1709 - 1711 Bog stop.
- 1745 - 1750 Road toll halt.
- 1814 - 1816 Crew change.
- 1935 - 1900 Puncture **
- Arrive Herat airport 1920
Est.A.Spd. : 40.9 mph. : Gross A.Spd. 22.80 mph. Net.A.Spd. 35.80 mph.
Stop time : 4:05 hr. : Speedo TD 8050.5 : Speedo TA 8301.5
Comment : Asterisk (*) - time throughout in Iranian time. (**) - fan trouble = the fan on the dashboard losing contact with its mounting at an especially bad bump. The puncture was in fact the first stripped tyre.
@ Schedule under E.Route in fact that for 10.8.69; 9th allocated as rest day at Ealam Qala.
Jim Lindsay's diary:
Once we were on the road we were treated to more of the state's munificence in the form of
a landscaped road with statues on roundabouts, and large houses in their own grounds. Even
the Shah's resources had limits, though, and very suddenly we found ourselves on horrible
corrugated roads that set everything shaking. Our poor little bus evidently did not have a
wheelbase capable of tuning into these ripples on the road. Every so often there would be a
groan or curse as something hard vibrated over the edge of the rack and hit a body below it.
Even things that should have been firmly fixed came loose, including a rather ominous crack
in the struts holding one of the luggage racks up.
On we rattled though an arid landscape with dust devils running through the fields. We actually
drove through one but it was a tame affair. Eventually we got to the customs post at Taibad,
which would have done nicely as a set for Beau Geste. Soldiers could be seen peering over the
wall of the mud fort. The Afghans were keen to know about alcohol and cameras, and drivers
were questioned in a bungalow. Outside was a convenient standpipe with a litter of bits of
watermelon skin round it, which would become a familiar sight in Afghanistan.
Russia and the USA were in competition to provide aid to Afghanistan, and they contributed
more or less equal shares of the new main road that ran down from Heart to Kandahar and then
back north to Kabul. The Russians knew better what they were doing and used prefabricated
blocks, much easier to make good after flash floods. The Americans had laid continuous tarmac,
a nicer surface but much more vulnerable. The spur from Taibad was actually American-built
but soon gave way to the top of the Russian section.
Not long after Taibad we were met by our first toll. These came up quite regularly but it
was not always clear who was running these. The army worse dusty green and the police wore
dusty blue, but some of the uniforms at the toll points were impossible to place. For all
we knew they may just have been men from local villages supplementing their incomes. Normally
they gave us quaint little tickets in exchange for the toll.
Not much further down the road one of our tyres shed its tread, the first of many. It turned out
later that Goodyear had given Comex a defective batch. In a way Cuddles was lucky to be hit early,
because a lot of other contingents hit big problems at the same time and had great difficulty
getting a share of the replacements.
Towards the end of the day we were escorted into Herat Airport, a hub of Ariana Afghan
Airlines. I think the airline had only two planes, so whole days passed when there were
no flights. There was a mildly unsavoury incident where various contingents fought over
a pre-ordered meal. Food always brought out the worst in people.
Life on the bus and desert landscapes by Liz Y
How we occupied ourselves inside the bus during the long hours on the road depended largely on the time of day and the nature of the terrain
which we traversed. We had novels to read, letters to write, Carol worked on macramé, drivers drove, navigators navigated, maps were deciphered,
cooks prepared food, issues were mulled over and plans were agreed, disagreed or gone along with.
As the sun got up, the unrelenting heat induced a kind of languid torpor. Despite our best efforts to force a breeze into the bus, by opening the
door and windows and angling the two small sun panels in the roof, the ambient temperature inside the bus would soar.
Then there was always a compromise to be made with the curtains. Closing them provided some shade, but deprived us of views of the landscape.
Every now and then, something on our journey would catch our eye. In semi-arid areas this might be the contours of a mud brick village, the
swirling funnel of a dust devil curling across the road, an overloaded lorry, a camel caravan. Otherwise, we dozed in the heat as we covered
mile upon mile of beautiful but monotonous desert roads.
In Iran, where the unpaved roads beyond Mashhad were a problem, the bus jolted and bumped for miles over uneven ruts and loose stones. Dislodged
belongings would land unexpectedly on us from overhead storage racks. All this kept us alert but made it difficult to do anything else. Then
there was the dust, which got everywhere. To some extent we got used to the heat and the sweat and the dust. The mechanics probably had the
messiest job, coping with unpredictable breakdowns and the inevitable mix of grease and dirt from the road.
The interior of the bus was colourful with diverse belongings and deceptively chaotic, as we lolled and baked in the heat of the desert sun.
Really we were quite organized. Kilts were neatly rolled in stockings behind rear seats. Equipment and supplies were carefully stowed. Basic
needs for food, bog stops and trot stops always had to be met wherever we were. Water was crucial. Some Comexers became ill from dehydration.
We had been advised to bring individual 2 pint water bottles and purification tablets. The latter gave water the taste of a swimming pool.
Bill was in charge of sourcing water for communal needs, not a straightforward task. There was only so much water we could carry in the bus
in the large jerricans provided for cooking and elementary hygiene. After bog stops and trot stops, we all dipped our hands in the same bowl
of disinfected water. In Afghan towns, there was a lack of public toilets for girls. We came to rely on those roadside blanket-shielded stops.
We had plenty of time for reflection on the bus. Sometimes I imagined a young Comex from countries along our route, how they would find a
journey through Scotland in the 1960s, the unfamiliar food, turnips instead of watermelons in village shops and the ever-changing weather.
I thought of times beyond the treeline, camped out and washed out by the Kyle of Tongue or pierced by the wind on the northeast coast. This
could be a challenge too.
There were better road surfaces after we crossed the Iranian-Afghan border at Taybad to Islām Qala. Here the roads were paved and it was easier
to read the travel-battered novels we'd brought for the journey, their themes perhaps to be forever linked in our memory with the long dusty
roads of western Afghanistan.
The distances we travelled were vast. To break the monotony one of the boys would launch into a chant of "Uggy, uggy, uggy", at which we would
rouse ourselves to a chorus of "Ug, ug, ug".. and perhaps too, a crescendo of "Be kind to your webbed-footed friends ..." in an ever-repeating
round. In a way perhaps, we were a bit like a sun-baked sports team on tour.
In unfamiliar places, we couldn't be sure what to expect. The group often made decisions on the hoof, or should I say decisions evolved on the bus.
Flexible plans weren't generally a bad thing. This is what happened after we left Herāt. We hadn't set off from our airport campsite intending to
spend all night in the bus. A late evening drive was cool in the desert, but a night of slumped-in-seat sleep was rarely a preferred option.
For reasons explained in the log, we eschewed a few hours of camped-out rest in Kandahar and proceeded towards Ghazni.
We made the most of chance opportunities. Somewhere, as I recall, we found a roadhouse with showers, two basic washrooms each with a communal
shower head. For us this was luxury, a chance to wash away the sun-broiled sweat and dust from hours on the road.
Later, after Kabul and our camp at Qargha Dam, there would be a buzz of anticipation on board the bus as we left the long, straight, dusty, desert
roads for the tortuous mountain passes further east.
| Memorabilia Corner Afghani notes |
