The Detouring Doctor

I am up and out of the tent minutes after sunrise. The first night camping out is always the worst as th body acclimatises to the hard ground. While I did need to turn around every few hours I managed a deep and restful sleep. Morning packing in the tent and my ablutions flow smoothly despite my absence from the camping scene for more than a decade. I decide that it is like riding a bicycle you never forget. I am up and ready for the 6:30 am breakfast.

A short drive takes us to the beginning of the trail leading up to Houq’s cave. It is an hour steep scrambling walk straight up. Despite it being early morning the heat is still enervating. The cave entrance is obvious from the very beginning like a wide open mouth high up the cliff face. Massive boulders litter the flat patches.

On arrival at the cave I am amazed by the limestone formations. It is a dry cave but in the distant past this was a massive vibrant beautifully decorated limestone cave. Massive stalagmites, columns and shawls abound as we walk deep into the darkness. There is no infrastructure here, lighting is from our headlights and there is no formal demarcated path. I feel like a spelunker “discovering” a cave in the raw. It takes an hour to reach the end point of the cave and we are rewarded with the sight of a beautiful fluted column reflected in rockpools below.

Snorkelling was on offer this afternoon. I did not have high expectations. We arrive at the beach and the snorkelling equipment was well maintained. I flap into the shallow water and the shallows look uninspiring and rocky. Initial impressions were misleading, first there are a few tropical fish then the numbers increased. Still minimal poor quality coral but it was not long before that changed also. A beautiful coral wonderlandon show with amazing fish and large numbers of them colourful and surprisingly large. Sadly, I have no underwater camera to capture the vista and I did multiple circuits of the beach to immerse myself in the experience.   

I first booked this trip in 2019 for a 202 departure. COVID and lockdowns cruelled that and a 2021 booking. March 2022 saw my booking cancel when the once weekly charter flight to Socotra was comandeered by the ruler of Abu Dhabi to take workers down to the island for 2 months. No tourist seats. Rebooked for May 2022 I actually cancelled at the last minute due to illness and hospitalisation of my dear and now departed father-in-law. No other trip has been as long in planing for me.

Bright sunshine and terrible roads start my second day. Leaving Hadibo the roads rapidly deteriorate and when we leave the main road for a track up a mountain our driver has to skilfully negotiate potholes that appear as though they could swallow our jeep whole. As we climb ever upwards the vegetation improves. Now trees are aplenty. Squat thorn tree bushes abound at head height. Small baobabs with pretty pink flowers become more common place.

Suddenly, there on a ridge is my first sighting of a dragon blood tree. I am sorely tempted to jump out of the jeep run over and give it a hug. The dragon blood tree is emblematic of Socotra. Unique to the island it has a unique umbrella shape and is named for the  blood red sap that oozes out if you scratch the trunk.

A 3 hour walk all downhill ensues and the vegetation does not disappoint. The track narrows and becomes steeper. We round the corner into a gorge and are rewarded with beautiful vistas down to the coast and the turquoise sea. There is a small rock pool fed from a spring and I go for a paddle. The scenery is ridiculously beautiful.

Back in the jeep we find our way back to the “main road” and head further out to our campground which is sited in between 3 massive sand dunes extending 100 metres up the mountain. After lunch we head off to an isolated beautiful white sand beach to a point that marks the confluence of the Indian Ocean and the Arabian Sea.

Tonight its my first night back in a tent on the white sand facing the ocean with the sounds of waves rumbling against the shore.

The heat hits me as I walk out of the aircraft door down to the tarmac. It is 30 something celsius a dry, sapping heat. The immediate surrounds are flat and burnished yellow stubbles of grass dot the arid plain. In the distance I can see a spine of rugged rocky mountains concealed by wreaths of wispy clouds. Welcome to Socotra!

While the island nominally belongs to the war ravaged Yemen, The feel is more African. Not unusual as it lies half way between Yemen and Somalia and historically belonged to the former. On the way into the main town of Hadibo the streets are fringed by old car tyres. Rusting car chassis decompose roadside. The odd rubbish dumpster in the middle of the road overflows and the stench is obvious. Delighted omnivorous goats chow down on the trash, bleating delightedly.

I am slightly but not overly surprised by the amount of construction happening here. Everywhere I see partly constructed houses, albeit noone seems to be working on any of them. Since Yemen has been at civil war with the Iranian backed Houthi rebels the island was administered by Saudi forces who are backing the existing regime in the war. That is until 2 years ago when UAE staged a bloodless coup and displaced thir Saudi battle partners to take over. Subsequently the Emiratis have poured money into the island, improving infrastructure and clearly fostering a construction boom. Rumour has it that they are starting construction of a resort to exploit the tourist potential o this amazingly beautiful island.

On arrival we are served a spread of salads, rice, potataoes and massive cutlets of freshly caught fish.

Sated we check into the clean Diamond hotel before heading off to Delisha beach. At the southern end is a decomposing large oil tanker. It ran aground 7 years ago and is now left to the elements to reclaim it. At the northern end is a massive sand dune sinuously winding its way up the mountain side. We watch the sunset from the dune and I am abuzz with anticipation for what the next few days will bring.

Our last stop in Iran is the city of Shiraz, yes it is named after the eponymous grape. Ironic as the imposition of strict Sharia law by the Ayatollahs has banned all alcohol. It is a busy city with the traffic congestion that is the hallmark of all the big Iranian cities.

We visit the mosque here known as the pink mosque for the colour of its decorations. Inside the mosque the sunlight streaming through a series of stained glass windows results in a kaleidoscopic play of colour lighting.

An hour north of the city is my favourite part of this country, the archeological site of Persepolis. The ceremonial capitol of the Achaeminid Empire it dates back to 515BC, this was the palace of King Darius the great and his successors. A wide stone staircase takes us up to the elevated complex. Firstly we walk through the massive gates where two massive bulls with emperor heads flank the walkway.. Multiple columns remain soaring skyward and providing perspective on the massive magnitude of the building. The actual palace is also marked by multiple columns and was where the king received foreign delegations. All of these encounters are recorded carved in stone on various beautifully carved and preserved reliefs around the palace. Across the valley in the distance are the tombs of the great rulers of the Achaeminid dynasty. In 330BC Alexander the Great attacked Persepolis and set fire to the complex tragically destroying all but the stone infrastructure most of which is what I see today. As an archeology “tragic” I am in my element here.

As quick as that my time in Iran is at an end. I have a 6pm flight out and have to catch a cab straight to the airport. I am impressed by the beauty of this country. The people go out of their way to ask where I am from and welcome me to their country. Above all after recent unrest throughout the country I was somewhat anxious regarding personal security. I saw no evidence of unrest, tension nor any military or police presence on the street. In retrospect I could have easily back packed independently here.

Good thoughts, good words and good deeds is the philosophy of the religion known as Zorastrianism by the prophet Zarathustra who is thought to have lived in the second millenium BC. It is the world’s first monotheistic religion celebrating the single god Ahura Mazda and his good essence that runs through all things. Prayers are said facing the sun , fire or other source of light representing Ahura Mazda’s divine light and energy.

The religion took hold throughout Persia and Turkmenistan eastward to India. In Iran the city of Yazd maintains a signifiant Zoroastrian population. We visit the fire temple in the evening, lit up it is peaceful and spiritual. The next morning we visit the Tower of Silence which was the zoroastrian funerary centre. Bodies were laid out in these buildings to be exposed to the sun and eaten by vultures. It is a quirky little place with buildings that are reminiscent of a Star Wars set.

The old town of Yazd is a maze of narrow alleyways that is a delight to explore with shaded archways. Dotted all around are towers that are windcatchers that amazingly traps the breeze and funnels them into buildings, ancient air conditioning.

Central is the beautiful Jame mosque with its intricate blue decorations.

Leaving the mosque we are confronted with 30 soldiers in uniform heading straight for us. We move to the side to let them pass. It is forbidden to photograph or associate with the miltary. The troops engage us. I am offered sunflower seeds and they ask us to take selfies with them. Crazy but fun.

Leaving Tehran I am leaving behind the politics, war and terror of the Iranian past. Bright rays of sunshine flood into our spacious bus and the suburbs of Tehran and snowcapped mountains give way to desolate scrubby desert. Unsurprisingly it is totally reminiscent of my travels through southern Iraq last year. I am travelling to visit some of the magnificent sights of Persian history, a rich culture that goes back to the times of the Roman empire.

We arrive inthe world heritage listed city of Isfahan after dark and take in the beautifully illuminated Khaju bridge spanning the Zayandehrud River.

Built 400 years ago it houses a central Royal pavilion, an observation point for the Shah and the royal family. When river levels were high the bridge  doubled as  weir. I was up early the next morning to walk back down there and get a daytime picture. The crisp early morning sunshine and a stroll down the riverside before breakfast a perfect start to the day.

Isfahan is also referred to as “half the world” for the diversity and beauty of its architecture. In the 17th century it rivalled cities such as London and Paris. It’s centrepiece is the UNESCO world heritage designated Nagash-e Jahan Square. Built in the 17th century it is a massive civic space that used to host public events such as polo matches for the entertainment of the royal family who would watch on from the elevated balcony of their palace.

The other focal points are the Imam mosque which housed a massive madrassa (school) and the intimate Sheik Lotfollah mosque. 

Persian food is varied and exquisite and our lunch here consisted of a smorgasboard of varied classics.

Dinner that night was a local classic Dizi. A slow cooked dish with lamb neck and onions, beans, chick peas and middle eastern spices. The service at the restaurant was quite theatrical and the meal didn’t disappoint. The only thing missing was a glass of red wine!

No mention of Persian food is complete without mentioning saffron. Produced from the stigma of the crocus flower. It is easily the most expensive spice on the planet and sells for $3000 per kg. I adore this seductive earthy spice and my description of it as “sex on a plate” has my fellow travellers chuckling out loud.

A wander through the bazaar at the northern end of the square and handicraft shopping fills a really satsifying and productive day.

The right to propaganda is one of the spoils of war. The winner has the opportunity to utilise the data they acquire from the vanquished. Exposure of abuses needs to see the light of day but it is incumbent upon the winner not to repeat them.

A bright sunny mild spring morning sees us strolling along a wide boulevard in the southern suburbs of Tehran. Bright cafes at the end of the street and the imposing facade of the Ferdowsi Grand Hotel dominates the vista. Opposite is a plain unmarked brick wall that looks as though it could be an apartment block. It’s very ordinariness is chilling and seems to be a theme for many other such secret police headquarters I have seen around the world. As we walk through the door we enter a dark, cold, evil place. This is Ebrat prison, headquarters of Savak, the last Shah’s secret police. Political prisoners were detained, tortured and either died or were sent onto the notorious Evin prison to serve the rest of their sentence.

I have seen many of these “museums” around the world. While some portray more gruesome acts of depravity none have the visual reconstructions quite as realistic as this place. The tortures start at the banal level of their activities of daily living. In esssence they were blindfolded all day apart from washing, toileting and interrogation. They were only allowed toilet breaks 3 times a day. All other excrement would have to be collected in the bowls that they would be served their meals. The realistic depiction of the brutal tortures transports my mind back to imagine the suffering at a visceral level. I am appalled but my exposure to oter such examples of man’s inhumanity does not leave me surprised, rather just deeply saddened.

I blink as I emerge into the bright sunshine and inhale the fresh warm air. I remind myself of my immense good fortune to live in a society where I and my loved ones have never had to experience such horrors. I also wonder about modern Tehran since the Shahs defeat in 1979. It is totally appropriate for the present regime to highlight and even monetise the sins of the past but there is evidence that they are complicit in the perpetuation of those sins to the present day.

The first official day of the tour focusses on revolutionary Iran. First stop the Ayatollah Khomeini mausoleum. Unlike the man himself this does not disappoint. It is a massive gold domed structure with the floor covered with exquisite Persian rugs. In the middle stands a large green lit crypt with the coffin draped in green. It is all opulent and spectacular.

Arrival at the massive Azadi (freedom) monument the cloud rolls in and the rain buckets down. It is a mad scramble to get photos before returning to our bus looking like drowned rats.

A wander through the small and colourful bazaar

Precedes the visit to the former US embassy. The site of the 1975 kidnapping of the American staff and their long detention, it is now a propaganda museum adorned with anti American pictures, posters and graffiti and a shredded American flag flutters at half mast in the forecourt. Inside a young Iranian shows us around a mundane set of rooms, vaults and machinery. The furniture and the technology on show is typical of its time and to me it seems like a fairly reasonable set of equipment for any of the major power embassies particularly in a world hotspot. Anyone who believes that some degree of espionage does not occur in any of these venues is naive. Nothing there screamed out skulduggery to me.

Interestingly the young guide mentioned the movie Argo which depicts the escape and ultimate rescue of 6 embassy staff who flee to and are given refuge by the Canadian Embassy. He acknowleged the veracity of the story line but none of the portrayal of Iranians as violent. As he mentioned the movie I decided to poke the bear and remind him of the psychological torture scenes against the Americans. He denied it and to back it up he showed me pictures from a book with smiling hostages seeing Catholic priests and being offered tasty westeren foods as he described them as guests of Iran. Suffice it to say I leave unconvinced.

The pretour email arrives and there is the instruction to stay with the tour group at all times. Due to the security situation avoid crowds, demonstrations and no wandering the streets alone. I email the tour leader back to point out that I will be in Tehran 1 day beforehand and planned to go sightseeing by myself. His instruction was to blend in but not like Dr Marcus Brody (from the Indiana Jones movies).

My flight in the previous night was an adventure in itself. At the departure gate in Dubai there were only around 50 passengers on a large Boeing 777 aircraft. As the plane touched down at Tehran, all the women immediately donned headscarfs. Immigration seemed to be progressing smoothly until I got to present my papers. I was ordered back down along empty corridor to be accosted by a young lady demanding to see my travel insurance. Never been asked for that before! Reading it and finding no mention of Iran I am forced to take out Iranian travel insurance for $13. Then off to the visa desk to pay what was initially quoted at $80 and then quickly doubled in price. Feeling totally ripped off and helpless I get through immigaration. As I approach the luggage belt I see my pack as the final item and it is being picked up by someone who at my approach hands it over.

Next step is get local currency for a cab ride into town. The sign to currency exchange takes me upstairs. As Iran is under continuing sanctions ATMs do not accept foreign credit cards. At the exchange kiosk the first lady looks me in the eye, shakes  her head and looks down at her paperwork. The next lady does the same. In trouble I enter negotiations with a tout to change money on the blackmarket. At a major disadvantage I bargain him up from 40 to 43 million rials, for $100 US and am handed a large wad of local currency each with enough zeros on it to make one cross eyed but most next to worthless. I hoped that I had legitimate currency in my hands.

The taxi stand gave me a chit for 4 million rials to give to the driver for the 100 minute trip into town. The night was capped off by being dropped off at the wrong destination and on my arrival the hotel having no record of my booking.

I hit the ground running next morning and start my sightseeing day at the Golestan Palace. Dating back to the 16th century this was known as the Hunting Palace was was the main residence of the rulers of Persia until the 20th century. It is here that I get my first taste of Persian art and architecture. The fusion of many styles and outside influences is beautifully stimulating. This place truly is a melting pot of ideas and cultures and is truly the “middle east”.

The remainder of my first day was spent at the Shahs palace

and the national museum which has some amazing archeological artefacts.

It is less than 2 weeks ago when the late night news announced that James Earl Carter has been admitted to a palliative care unit in the US at age 98. This meant little to my life partner sitting on the couch with me but for me the juxtaposition of this news against my impending trip to Iran was a remarkable coincidence.

Jimmy Carter, peanut farmer and governer of Georgia became the 39th President of the United States in 1976. He was a decent human being but a weak president who became one of the few single term presidents of the US and his presidency was largely ended by the Iranian Revolution of 1978-1979. As a young adult these events unfolded right at the beginning of my political consciousness and remain a very vivid memory of that time.

The west knew Iran as Persia before 1979 and to me this is always a more mellifluous name than Iran. Prior to the revolution Iran was ruled by Shah Pahlavi. By all accounts he was a corrupt dictator, a descendant of royal lineage whol sold out the oil assets of Persia to the west. The oil crisis of 1973 resulted in massive price rises for oil none of which trickled down to the Persian masses. The resulting civil unrest toppled the Shah and into the power vacuum flew the Shiite leader in exile Ayatollah Khomieni.

Khomeini rapidally established a theocratic state under the strictest interpretation of Sharia law. What followed was a breathtaking repression of western norms, harsh punsihments for the most minor transgressions. The images of men hanged in public hanging off large cranes by the roadside was an eye opener to me then. Forty years on and having seen the atrocities of Al Qaeda and ISIS these pale by comparison but it was a precursor to these events.

Television brought images to our screens, bodies decomposing on cranes, the daily demonstrations and burning of American flags in the streets of Tehran as the US was seen to be a supporter of the deposed shah. The final nail in Carter’s presidency was the storming of the US embassy the capture and imprisonment and subsequent torture of 66 Americans for 444 days. An ill fated resue mission left crashed helicopters in the Iranian desert and Carter lost the next presidential election. 

In the forty years since Iran has remained a repressed state. The people regret the new regime as evidenced by the recent mass demonstrations following the death of Mahsa Amini for not wearing her head scarf correctly. Iran sponsers terrorism around the world ranging from AlQaeda to Hezbollah to separatists in the civil war in Yemen. The intellectually challenged president George W Bush actually got it right when he put Iran into the 3 states as the Axis of Evil!

Tonight I am in Tehran. Tomorrow I will walk the streets for independent sight seeing. The next day as part of a tour I will set foot into the former US embassy now a training centre for revolutionary guards. Now I am in transit in Dubai in the Emirates lounge sipping fine French Champagne which, in Iran, would be an offence punishable with imprisonment. The whimsical in me would say that that is a sobering thought!