Iran Story

I've called my story "NO BAD HAIR DAYS!" because those who know me, know that I am always battling that slippery lot on top of my head - and all of a sudden for 14 days - no problem - bliss!!!! That is not the only good thing about Iran.
But back to the beginning: "Why would you? with all the top riding you have within a few hours of right here? It's just not on", said Reg. "Oh yes, it is" I said, and went to Iran with a few companions to experience an outstanding riding adventure. Iran, an Islamic country, about a fifth of Australia in size, has opened the gates and welcomes visitors. It is at the cradle of civilisation, it certainly is the cradle of the horse we know today.

On the Dubai-Tehran leg of our flight the first signs of cultural differences appeared. No alcohol in the hostie's trolley! On landing at Tehran, ladies busied themselves covering-up; not a fringe, ponytail or curl in sight. There were smiles from fellow passengers; smiles of approval, smiles of amusement, of embarrassment and of anticipation. Even some female customs officers managed a slight smile while deftly frisking our bodies for contraband. The trip to the hotel left no doubt that Tehran, home to nearly seven million, is a city bursting at its seams. Construction sites everywhere, traffic is solid to say the least, yet drivers appear very calm and hardly raise an eyebrow at near misses. Our mid city hotel has all the usual international comforts,but alas no bar. Realisation dawned - we won't be saying Cheers, Prost, Kanpai or Slange - for the next fortnight. We arrived in Iran during Moharram, a week long festival commemorating a National Hero - Iman Hosein. Placards picturing him on his beautiful white horse were displayed prominently everywhere.

At last we were to realise our dream - a trek on Turkoman horses! Eight unparalleled days in the saddle of savouring the wilderness of northeast Iran. Armed with the usual riding clobber and pills for "just in case" we boarded the bus destined for "Ghara Tappeh Sheikh" - GTS for short, a tiny village 700 km east of Tehran near the Turkoman border and home of our hostess and guide, Louise Firouz - a remarkable lady. She has lived in Iran for 40 odd years, ever since she left her native USA to follow her heart and to marry her "Persian Prince". Her veterinary training aided her genetic research into the 4000 year history of the oriental horses. She has a collection of them. Her work is internationally acknowledged. She regularly rides into remote mountain country and forests hoping to find yet another pure Caspian, Bam or Turkoman horse for her herd. These horses are now rare; war, famine, land mines, reduced their numbers. The trips have led her along incredibly wild and beautiful paths, which we now had the pleasure of revisiting with her on horseback.

Her grandson Alex and her head horseman Ibrahim were obviously as keen to meet the bunch from Australia, as we were to meet them. We 'dined' on delicious kebabs accompanied by freshly made flat bread washed down with tea out of the most elegant version of a 'billy'. In our huge felt tents, a permanent fixture at GTS, called 'Oy' or 'Alachekh' a few logs burnt on the exposed earth floor in the centre. We unrolled our sleeping bags on layers of beautiful, locally made carpets. We had looked over the horses on arrival, and over dinner heard their stories - oh yes, just about each horse had one. Some had horrific pasts, their physical scars supporting the tales. However thanks to Louise's care, expertly supported by Ibrahim and his helpers, their bodies and souls are mended. This also applies to the 6 dogs around the place which Louise happened to 'find'. They are all large dogs typical of the region, used to protect livestock from wolves. Most have their ears and tails shortened, so the wolves have less to grab in a fight. They look ferocious and we later found at various villages they indeed are ferocious, but Louise's dogs were the cuddly variety - lovely animals.

Matched with our horses, all we had to do next morning was to breakfast, entrust gear to a driver, mount up and ride out. The saddles were good and our Australian lambskin covers had full size mohair goatskins thrown over the top of them, comfort galore! We were a sight as we rode off with Louise, Ibrahim, Kadir and Alex to take care of us. We wore big scarves under the helmets, goatskin enveloping our knees. Our longish shirts covered the 'curves' so we wouldn't offend. In the next eight days we rode 450 km - about 50 to 70km a day. The horses and we handled it well. We rode through green fields of young wheat, yellow fields of rapeseed, pastures so sparse it's incredible that sheep and goats survived. We crossed parts of "Alexander's Wall" and rode through many deserted settlements. Nomads and herds were on the move to more fertile and less scorching country for the summer ahead. The stark beauty of the severely eroded hills and mountains en-route quite captivated us. It is a geographically violent area; broken mountain ranges and collapsed valleys are stunning remainders of gigantic upheavals. Huge expanses of like shaped mountain tops dominate the horizons. Closer by, wild irises and tulips delight the eye. Platter sized tortoises were a common sight, so were eagles and ground squirrels. Avoiding squirrel burrows required concentration. As Aussies of course we are used to that. If it's not rabbit holes, its wombat burrows and they are worse.

The first night we shared a hilltop with a nomad family. There was water for the horses - albeit bucket-by-bucket out of a well. Once unsaddled, horses were wrapped in beautiful woven blankets called jols, and then given their nosebags. Tethered to long ropes the horses soon settled for the night. To our delight - the nomad family invited us to eat with them. We enjoyed the company of these hospitable people. Our interpreters were kept busy. Both we and our hosts had so many questions! Again, there were burning logs in the middle of the oy, a beautiful samovar brewing tea, the centrepiece. Comfortably piled cushions and carpets encouraged discourse well into the night. When we made our farewells it was cold and the wind threatened to blow us off the mountain as we returned to our distant tents. Fortunately we had anchored them well and they withstood the gale. Our host's son had to come along to make sure that the dogs didn't eat us! They would protect our horses along with 'their' stock, but would look on us as predators!

The next few days we traversed mountains and steppe country with a highlight of a day in primeval forest where bear, boar, wolves and big cats still roam. We averaged about 10 km per hour, the horses had a good fast walk, jogged a lot, and all enjoyed the trot and canter breaks. 'Traffic' on our trails consisted of fat-tail sheep and goat herds, heavily laden donkeys, the occasional Turkoman horseman and sometimes even a motorbike. One day we got lost because we 'lost' our guide. Actually we didn't lose him. The Aussie TV crew who came along to film, 'kidnapped' him, because he and they were on trail bikes that day. By the time we realised that we were on our own and probably on the wrong ridge, it was too late to backtrack. The temperature was well into 30's. Even the ubiquitous 'slow worms', a kind of harmless snake about 3 - 4 ft long, had gone underground. We finally came across nomads and asked for directions. They kindly offered us some of their precious water.

There are no local maps, one just chooses trails which seem to head in the intended direction. Some lead nowhere. Kalib the guide was not the most popular man around the campfire that night nor were the crew! Villages with schools were fun, children would ignore teachers, rush out to wonder at us, followed by the teacher and fire questions at us via Ibrahim. Parents, doing their best to stop the dogs from mauling our horses, joined in. Most wanted to know where we came from - one word we could always pick out was 'Australia'. It was interesting to watch their faces change from pure curiosity to interested approval - we were made welcome everywhere. The six of us, by that I mean the riders, were all female, aged between 19 and 60-something, had a great time. We came to respect our horse's stamina and intelligence and much admired Ibrahim's superior horsemanship - the Turkomans are known for it.

It is sad that Iran is getting such bad press - it is a great place, especially when experienced from astride a horse. Three of us are going back next year, because we want to ride with Louise. There certainly won't be a TV crew, time constraints or predetermined trails for the day. We'll ride, enjoy our horses and stop where it's nice. The only shutters clicking will be our own!

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