Vincent Schuller

Nemrut Dagh

After some great kebabs in Adana we drove to Nemrut Mountain. I had heard years before that sunset over the mountaintop was a beautiful experience. We climbed the mountain around four in the morning and encountered snowy slopes and excruciating cold. We had borrowed some woollen blankets from the hostel in Kahta and waited for the sun to come up shivering. The top of the mountain is an manmade monument grave of the King of Commagene Antiochos l built around 50 B.C. Statues of Kings and Gods cover the sides of the 'tumulus' as the grave is called.

Eastern Turkey - Statues on Nemrut Dagh summit

The heads of the statues have fallen off and were standing majestically upright over two meters in height. As the sun came up the light played over the heads and the mountaintop mystically. It was indeed beautiful and all our cold bones were forgotten.

The Adiyaman ferry

After leaving the Turks who were going back to work I drove east again. The surroundings were wonderful. There was little traffic and the rough mountainous terrain was utterly unlike flat and green Holland. To cross one of the many Turkish artificial lakes I was told to take the ferry near Adiyaman, a small and rusty steel boat that keeled dangerously when a truck drove off it. While I waited a group of local bike devils, all on 250 CC and MZ bikes, admired my foreign looking bike and invited me for tea and fish. We shared no language, but I had a great time. When I finally boarded the ferry, they all stood waving me off enthusiastically. I was probably the reason everyone on two wheels had to pay that trip, but I was still welcomed. An hour and black smoke over the lake later I arrived on the other side and continued to Tatvan. The drive south of Van Lake is a beautiful one and the views are magnificent. Van was to be my last stop for anything European like semi-synthetic motor oil and an ATM cash machine.

'Isfahan is half the world'

Driving under the shadows of mount Ararat the road was getting frozen in places and my caution in the hairpin curves more than tripled. I crossed the Iranian border at Dogubayazit or 'doggy biscuit' as travellers call it.

EasternTurkey - Historic cemetery near Dogubayazit

Iran made a lasting impression on me from the first moment. I remember stopping at a gas station, being invited for tea and being able to watch the road running straight into the mountains at the horizon, singeing with heat. When I reached Isfahan after a long day's drive it was even better than expected. I rode into town and saw green lanes and sensing the long history. The central square is only exceeded in size by Tian-an-men in Beijing and the fountains and mosques make you think you are in the tales of a thousand and one nights.

I had memorised the location of a popular youth hostel and after nearly overheating the motorbike and myself I found it. The hostel turned out to be the one place everyone crossing Iran went. In a matter of minutes I encountered a Briton travelling from the UK to India and back in a London cab, another Briton on his way back from Afghanistan, several women travelling around alone, three Germans on Indian 'Enfield bullets', a Malaysian and a group of Aussie and Kiwi overlanders. Being surrounded by Westerners was bizarre after weeks spent alone and with locals. I stayed in Isfahan for three days and visited the souqs (markets), the teahouses, the mosques and the restaurants with the other travellers.

Iran - Esfahan main square and mosque

The city was very lively and the area near the footbridge great to spend the evening enjoying a 'bubbly-bubbly' or water pipe. I didn't even miss having a beer that much. The journey was by the way covered in glasses of tea. The hospitality in Iran and in the Arabian countries too I would find out that stopping for fuel usually meant having tea and even when I arrived somewhere to put up my tent it meant having tea first. As in India and Pakistan I had enjoyed the milk tea very much, the Turkish and Iranian tea was quite different but good as well. The Arabian mint tea would be my favourite though. There would always be 'chay'.

Travellers' Stories

Isfahan April to June, 2000
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Garden of Eden

The Briton travelling in his London cab had shown me a newspaper clipping about an explorer that had tried to prove that the 'garden of Eden' existed somewhere and had been trying to find it based on clues from old tales and changes in river and mountain names. The article stated that he had found it in the North of Iran, near Tabriz. I planned to visit this place as I drove north. After visiting Hamadan I drove towards a salt desert that lies West of Tabriz and I found a turnoff heading towards the place the 'Garden of Eden' was supposed to be. The sign said 'Islamic Island' and I thought it plausible that the place would be an Islamic highlight. After driving through a vast whitish plane for around thirty kilometres I reached a cup-like mountain range opened at one side. The road was driving straight into it. Inside was a green valley containing a forest and the village Sarai. I drove into and though the village and put up my tent near a stream by a hill.

Iran - Camping in mountain valley near Tabriz

The villagers passed surprised on their donkeys coming back from the fields while I was cooking myself dinner and coffee.

Hasankeyf, village to be drowned

After a restful beautiful star lit night it was only a short drive back to Turkey. As I crossed the border I was soon confronted with staggering fuel prices. On my way to Syria I decided to cross the Kurdish region although people had tried to dissuade me. Halfway through I visited a village that will no longer exist when the plans of the Department of Waterworks will be executed. The whole region will be an artificial lake providing electricity in around ten years. The old part of the village consisted of caves in the riverbed lying next to the houses that have house the inhabitants since several decades ago. Although the Department of Waterworks, consisting of encampments near the dams, provided me with a place to put my tent or a good bed several times my feelings were mixed.

The inhabitants are predominantly Kurdish but are ruled by Turkish police. As I drove into town I was asking around for a campsite or hostel and was told there was none. Someone took me to see the manager of the local pool hall and after talking a lot and having loads of tea, he offered me a place to stay. I couldn't refuse and after having kebabs I had to report to the police as they had summoned me. I went with one of the guys and after showing my passport I was asked to leave town ASAP. No explanation was given. Of course it started to rain at that moment and I was very pissed off. The guys I was with expressed their frustration as well and I was told how their lives were like, I was shocked.

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