| Previous | Next |
Teheran - Tabriz
E.Route : Teheran - Tabriz : PTD 0506 : PTA 1842* : P.Dist 401 m.
A.Route : Teheran - Vabria : ATD 0650 : ATA 2107 : A.Dist 400 m.
- Depart Teheran 0650
- 0857 - 1045 Tyre stripped.
- 1333 - 1342 Crew change/Shop stop
- 1357 - 1423 Another stripped tyre.
- 1533 - 1540 False alarm.
- 1713 - 1721 Bogstop/Crew change
- 1737 - 1810 Chai stop
- 2000 - 2004 Bogstop/crewchange
- Arrive Tabriz 2107
P.N.A.Spd. 39.30mph : Gross A.Spd. 27.97 mph : Net A.Spd. 35.71mph
Stop time 3:05 hr : Speedo TD 13519 : Speedo TA 13919
Comment : not a good day for tyres . (*) PTA 1842 is time of arrival on outskirts of Teheran ( see sheet 11 ) - the difference between the times of the two journeys, if the additional dealy of travel in the city itself counted, is therefore not so great.
Jim Lindsay's diary:
24 September
A day of travel broken by forced and recreational stops.
We managed to get on the road before 0700 despite the inevitable group of late
risers ambling off to the loos when everyone else was ready. I was suffering gut
pains and sucking antacids, which I am sure were nothing to do with our meal of
the night before. I had visions of kitchen-table appendix surgery and wondered
who would do it.
We were not allowed on the cars-only freeway we had used on the outward journey,
so I directed Jim M along the planned continuation, but it finished at a brick
wall, so we had to turn and improvise.
Any confidence we had in our tyres was dispelled by losing two more during the
day. We had become so familiar with the noise that when we heard it again in
mid-afternoon we thought a third had gone, but for once it was a false alarm.
During one of the tyre episodes we went into a nearby village of mud-brick houses
with little domed roofs, and introduced ourselves. The houses were surprisingly
neat and light.
People had fond memories of immersing themselves at the irrigation tank at
Qazvin on the way out so we stopped there again.
As we headed towards Tabriz it became dark. Lorries in this part of the world
lacked the decorations we had seen further east, but after dark they were lit
like Christmas trees. Our last stretch was though a desert glistening in the
moonlight. Cuddles' persistent problems including the irritating governor had
been cleared up and now she was running really well.
We were last or near last into the Tabriz site and we had to make do with laying
out the groundsheet on a concrete loading bay behind the café, but it made quite
a comfortable site.
Tents and tales of the past by Liz Y
By the time we reached Tehran on our return journey, we were seasoned itinerant campers. Eating and sleeping outdoors had
become a way of life, the pumping of a primus stove, the stirring of a large cooking pot, meals in oblong mess tins and
drinks in those memorable orange plastic cups. We slept under open skies and rarely pitched our tent, unless we camped
with the other contingents.
When all the groups camped together, we became a kind of village. If the campsite was a level grassy field, as in Tehran,
the tents were pitched in a wide circle facing inwards towards a common central area. Each group had its own domestic
patch, bounded on either side by the pegged out reach of the guy ropes. Cooking, washing up and other tasks were done
in view of everyone else.
The tents themselves could be configured in different ways. There was the traditional single ridge system with the canvas
angled to the ground on either side. An alternative two ridge arrangement was also possible. This created a flat canopy
between the two sloping sides, providing an open-ended, shaded area for daily chores, although the daytime heat under
canvas could still be stifling. There was clearance for a Comex bus under the canopy, but I think this was only tested
once, for a photo line-up in Nottingham.
The tents were roomy and, because of their height, there was no need to stoop to get inside. Except for the odd muttered
curse from a painful stubbing of a flip-flopped toe or a stumble over a guy rope in the dark, there were no particular
issues. Pitching the large tents was, I suppose, a bit of a palaver and turfing out late sleepers in order to dismantle
the tents could delay an early morning departure, but otherwise we were at ease with our tented lifestyle.
Back in Afghanistan, we had seen encampments of nomadic people. Their tents were sited away from the road, too far for us
to see at close proximity. They were of a different shape to ours and had a flattened elliptical appearance with a number
of tent poles at differing heights. The black tent covers were made from goats' hair, chosen because it was long and of
considerable strength. The material was held taut with guy ropes and pulled in a gentle slope towards the ground, leaving
an open area at the base. The interior of each tent was apparently partitioned into various rooms, some open to the
outside. Floors were carpeted and cushions used for seating.
We spent three nights in Tehran, the longest stopover of our return journey. There was time to rinse the dust of the road
from Cuddles, as well as from a few of our clothes, and for another chance to visit the city. To us, the Iranian capital
was a cosmopolitan place with bright lights, busy restaurants, nightlife and interesting things to see. Undercurrents of
discontent weren't plain to us at that time.
After her release from quarantine, Iona caught up with the group in Tehran. Fortunately she hadn't been stricken with cholera.
Other lurgies had already afflicted the group. Hilary had collapsed in the Afghan desert, Tony had been laid up in Delhi
and the health of others could be measured in trot stops. On the inanimate side, Cuddles' recurrent tyre troubles were not
at an end.
On the third morning we headed for Tabriz. This was a long day on the road, a journey of about 400 miles. The log recounts
how we stopped for a while at a mudbrick village and made friends with some of the villagers, how the day was marked by failing
tyres and how we swam again in an irrigation tank in Qazvin.
I guess we didn't know much about Qazvin, apart from the water tank, the irrigated fields and our long dusty road. Qazvin is
sometimes spelt Kasbin. Like the Caspian Sea, it derives its name from Cas, the name of an archaic tribal people, who lived
in this region thousands of years ago. If there had been time to explore, we were actually in a very interesting part of the
world. There have been settled, agricultural communities here for over 9 thousand years.
Perhaps one story we might have heard was "The Legend of the Old Man of the Mountain" as told by Marco Polo and believed to
relate to the Order of Assassins which was founded on Mount Alamut in 11th Century Qazvin.
More recently, the province and city of Qazvin were at the heart of a vast Persian empire during the golden age of the Safavid
dynasty in the 16th Century, when the city was for a time the Persian capital.
But our journey ahead beckoned. It was already dark when we camped for the night in Tabriz. We left early the next day, with
no time to revisit the city or sit in the morning sunshine under an apricot tree.
