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Erzurum - Tabriz
E.Route : Erzurum - Tabriz : ETD 0500 : ETA 1600 : Dist 308 m.
A.Route : Erzurum - Tabriz : ATD 0502 : ATA ------* : Dist 372m.
- Depart Erzurum 0502
- 0705 - 0712 Crew change
- 0720 - 0727 Stop to aid VW party
- 0901 - 0904 Bog stop
- 0930 - 0932 Crew change
- 0950 - 1018 Shop stop ( Agri )
- 1131 - 1133 Army convoy delay
- 1205 - 1215 Bog/Ararat photo stop
- 1300 - 1426** *Frontier clearance
- 1502 - 1505 Crew change
- Arrive Tabriz -----*
Est.A.Spd : 28.00 mph : Gross A.Spd ---- : Net A.Spd ----
Stop time : 2:29 hr : Speedo TD 6592.7 : Speedo TA 6964.6
Comment : Very pleasant departure from the worst sections of Turkish road onto the luxury of the Tans-Asian Highway, and the comparative civilisation of Iran, Asterisk by ATA , and blanks in table, indicate that there ie no record of ATA -an omission caused probably by the rush for free drinks and food on arrival. However, memory, and comparison with return Journey time put ATA about 1800 hrs Turkish, 1830 Iranian - double asterisk indicates time zone change - times throughout in Turkish series. This was the day we stole Leicester's thunder.
Jim Lindsay's diary:
July 31st
A rest day in Erzurum. The official altitude is 1757 metres, which makes it a good deal higher than Denver, and
the night had certainly been cold. We were in a military town with both Turkish and NATO significance and officially
a no-photography zone. This was probably not a great loss. Although we may not have tried very hard, there did not
seem to be many sights to see. On days like this we did domestic things, washing, drying, and mending, cleaning
the coach inside and out. A shopping trip got us a lot of plastic ware for food and water storage. There was even
one of our rare Shakespeare rehearsals.
Tony damaged his bare foot cruelly on a tent peg while being chased by Jim Moyes with a bee. Ricky cut his heel
badly on a glass fragment. It was not a good day for feet. The water supply went on and off during the day and
rumours of showers led people in all sorts of vain hunts. For the most part we reposed on our sleeping bags and
slaughtered the ever-present flies. During the day other contingents straggled in showing their scars from the
Zigana Pass.
That evening we went out and visited a wine shop, led by a helpful man on a motorbike. There was a power cut while
we were there and some of the men were felt up by one of the customers. Despite the wine, the night was disturbed
by a pack of feral dogs that yapped around the campus. It was very cold again.
1 August
On and into Iran. Because this was a military zone, the Turkish army was much in evidence. Mostly they did not
seem to be doing anything very purposeful, but the sight of hulking soldiers walking hand in hand was quite sweet
in a way. A good many of them were on the move in convoys and we had to work our way through these cautiously.
The truckfuls of soldiers beamed at us and made sucking gestures that meant either "give me a cigarette" or
something a good deal coarser. The road to the frontier did not look particularly bad but everything on the coach
rattled and there was a steady rain of items falling from the racks. One theory was that over the years the road
had gradually developed a wave form created by the big Mercedes buses that plied their trade along it, but not at
all sympathetic to our shorter wheelbase. Every so often there was a little stone and mud village with dung drying
on the roofs, and there were ugly sprawling little towns.
Shopping from here on was a new experience. Branded products were not so common and things were bought from
wholesale packages. Sampling before buying was expected and so was haggling.
We stopped to photograph Mount Ararat. Officially this was a wicked thing to do in this sensitive zone and there
were stories about offenders' cameras being opened, but other people reported the army passing them with cheery
waves while they were taking their pictures.
The customs post was a splendid thing, built around a courtyard divided by a low wall. A gap in this wall marked
the frontier, and was closed by two chains. A matched pair of sentries stood rigidly to attention a couple of feet
apart and ignoring each other. If anyone came too close to the wall, the appropriate sentry would goose-step over
and crash to a halt as close as possible to the offender, but without actually acknowledging their existence. To
add to the comedy, when one country cleared a vehicle the chain on its side was set aside, but of course the other
chain stayed in place until the other country was happy as well. This was accompanied by a lot of whistling and
gesticulation.
Arid as eastern Turkey was, Iran was much more like a true desert, with arid valleys flanked by pastel-coloured
hills, and every so often villages in patches of dark green vegetation. The little towns were superficially much
more orderly than in Turkey, with wide central streets edged with channels of running water.
As we approached Tabriz we were purely by accident the lead coach so we were led onwards by an official guide
in a personnel carrier. We had unwittingly stolen the thunder of Leicester, who were meant to be the lead, and
there were radio exchanges about this. They seemed quite hurt. As the day came to an end we passed lots of
families picnicking by the roadside, and then we were in Tabriz itself, which had more neon lights than we might
have expected. At the campsite was a welcoming committee with pastries and 7-Up, and neat rows of frame tents.
However there had been a miscalculation and we were not allowed to use these, since there were not enough for all,
so our own tent was erected for the first time since Üsküdar.
Through other eyes by Liz Y
It was disquieting to have small stones and rocks aimed from aloft onto the Comex coaches by shepherd boys on
the mountainsides in Eastern Anatolia.
Apparently they did the same with other sporadic, passing traffic, so the stone throwing wasn't entirely personal.
But there were other things which were disconcerting, rather troubling, causing pause for thought. How do people
here see us? What do we represent in their eyes? Three little scenes come to mind.
In the first, we have drawn to a halt at a convenient point on a bend of the road, perhaps to change driver and
navigator, perhaps to eat or simply to admire the view. A few small children emerge on the hillside, not too close
but curious to see who we are. Soon an old woman, stooped with gnarled hands and leaning on a stick, perhaps their
grandmother, hurries towards them. She doesn't look at us but she scolds the children, warns them to keep away
from these strangers.
In the second scene, a straggle of people make their way uphill on the other side of the road opposite where we
are standing. *At the front is a woman of indeterminate age, but fairly young. Two children hasten to keep up with
her. She is bent under the burden of a large object tied to her back. It is covered with a piece of cloth, but we
can make out that she carries a baby's wooden crib on her back. She doesn't acknowledge us, but must know we are
there.
In the third scene we are mesmerised by a distant view of Mount Ararat. From childhood we have known the story of
the flood and Noah's ark. Here is the mountain, majestic in the distance, its peak capped in snow and part-hidden
above the clouds. Near us is a makeshift stall where a teenage boy is selling cold, bottled drinks and leers
unpleasantly at the girls as we approach.
We see ourselves simply as friendly, young wayfarers passing through this land, but things have gone before.
There is injustice in these people's lives and they see us only through a glass darkly.
* see photo by Kirsteen on previous page of log
