The Detouring Doctor

The dragon blood tree is emblematic of Socotra. The few people who have heard of this island would all have seen photos of this unique tree. Shaped like an open umbrella it sports tufts of pandanus like leaves. If the bark is damaged blood red sap flows hence the name. Fully mature trees are 600 – 800 years old, they do not grow anywhere else on this planet. Today turns out to be a celebration of this beautiful botanic specimen.

Our morning starts with a brief detour to another, smaller collapsed limestone cave. The short walk takes us to a single expansive chamber with dry stalactites hanging off the ceiling looking for all the world like a frayed curtain. Two massive columns adorn the entrance with vines and ferns growing off them.

Thereafter we ascend to the Dickson plateau bouncing along another diabolical heavily rutted dirt track. Our first stop is to a conservatory dedicated to propagating these ancient living treasures. Prior to human occupation vast forests of dragon blood trees blanketed the high country. Deforestation was the initial blow to dragon tree numbers but now the major impact is the introduced feral goat population which loves to feast on the young plants. Consequently senescent trees are failing without any saplings to replace them. A stone fence greets us enclosing a few hundred small trees. A few inches tall I am told that they are already 16 years old. Tragically all around are goats’ droppings as the fence is not high enough. Tragically most of the plants have been chewed and are struggling. At this rate extinction beckons. 

We reach the middle of the island through another stunning gorge this one lined with dragon blood trees. The sun is shining, the sky is blue and the photography is spectacular. Arriving at our lunch spot and campsite for the night we are in the middle of a beautiful forest. We spend the afternoon sipping tea and soaking in the ambience and the view. Before sunset I wander through the forest and along the ridge over the gorge. An orgy of photography ensues.

This island just keeps amazing me! I awaken earlier and in the predawn light the waves crash onto the white sand beach mere metres from my tent. For the first time this trip we quit the coast road for a direct road through the heart of the mountainous interior. The road rises steeply through a serious of narrow hairpin bends. The further inland we go the worse the road gets until we are on a narrow rock strewn rough track.

The mountains close in on us and the contrast with the first couple of days by the sea could not have been more stark.

Our first stop comprises a half hour steep descent into a beautiful gorge with views to the sea and a beach in the distance. The base of the gorge has layers of contrasting limestone terraces and multiple rockpools. On the valley floor we all strip off to underwear and swim in the cool refreshing waters of Wadi Khalisa. A steep walk back up in the hottest heat that we have experienced has us all ready for an icy cold drink albeit of the soft drink variety in this Muslim country.

After lunch we continue south through the heart of the mountains. The track becomes diabolically bad and our jeeps are often reduced to walking pace. Three bone jarring hours of tough 4WD driving finally gets us to the south coast and a better road. We arrive at a patch of classic sand dune desert, go figure, and have the hour before sunset to explore, photograph and enjoy. I marvel at the ecological diversity of this remarkable “undiscovered” gem.

The coup de grace was dinner and at the crazy price of $20 lobster was too good to refuse.

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.