Soundtrack: The Colours of Life - CFCF

Vahid tells me how he used to come here when he was a student, we sit facing each other at a small table in a worn out looking restaurant near the Tehran University. He wanted to take me out to lunch and show me one of his favourite places before I departed Tehran for the mountains. It was the September of 2015 and I had been travelling around Iran solo for the past 3 weeks. I had one week and a half left on my visa and during the past few weeks I had heard much praise about the mountains and lush forests of the north, I decided that I would spend my remaining time exploring the northern provinces. Vahid came back to the table with a stack of lavosh bread and a large platter of chicken hearts and livers covered in a thick gravy, I didn’t want to offend my incredibly hospitable host as I struggled to stomach the food in front of me. Vahid smiled endearingly and said “it must not be to your taste”, he made sure to finish off the plate otherwise the ancient chef who had been cooking there for decades would be offended. He was helping me plan out the rest of my trip in Iran, my itinerary had been so impromptu, my plans would change at the drop of a hat, that’s how I like to travel, some think i’m disorganised, i’m just open to going with the flow.Vahid said I was all over the place, he wanted to make sure I saw the best sights of his country. The next destination would be Mt Damavand, I would eventually work my way across the Caspian sea towards Tabriz and back to Tehran in time for my flight out. Vahid like most of the Iranians I had met throughout my time traveling always kept in contact, he wanted to make sure I was having a good time and keeping safe in his country.

I love how confident Vahid was when suggesting that I climb Mt Damavand, he said it was a relatively easy climb, little did I know Mt Damavand is the highest peak in the middle east. A week prior to this I was in the south of the country melting in the desert enduring the 40°c heat, I didn’t plan to be walking in the mountains near a blizzard a week later. All I had packed in my bag were a few t-shirts and some worn out sneakers. After lunch, he helped me catch a ride in a share taxi towards Polour, a mountain village in the Manzandaran province and within an hour I was hurtling along the winding decayed roads weaving through the Alborz mountains in an old Pars car pumping Persian folk music. As we ascended the air changed, it became a lot cooler and as the pollution of Tehran dissipated the quality became more pure.

Upon my arrival in Polour I searched for somewhere to stay, I was directed to head to an old climbers federation hostel outside the village. From the hostel you could see the sheer scale of Mt Damavand, as I looked up I laughed to myself in disbelief at Vahid’s confidence in my abilities to climb the peak. A handful of climbers were visiting from Poland and Germany, they were confused as to why I had made the effort to travel there and not climbing the mountain, I was some unprepared Australian city boy with no experience in mountain climbing. I decided I was going to enjoy the scenery one way or another, I packed a bag with fresh barbari bread, fruit, labneh cheese and decided to go on my own adventure, following a very basic map sketched out on a scrap piece of paper, I was in search of a blue lake.

As I walked along a deserted road I witnessed the dry vast landscape transform as I ascended into the mountain. It was late summer and most of the vegetation had dried up, the air was crisp and the light and shadows cast from the passing clouds constantly changed the appearance of the scenery. As I kept walking along the empty road a majestic looking dog came out of no where and started to accompany me, its coat of fur weathered by the elements blended with the colours of the mountain. At this time of year the mountains had a greyish brown colour and were bare of vegetation. I wasn’t sure whether the dog had an owner, but it wanted to keep me company. The dog knew all the different paths of the mountain, sometimes it would run further up the mountain or disappear down a ravine. If I ever decided to veer away from the path, the dog would always lead me back in the right direction. At this moment I had a feeling as if the mountain had provided me with a guardian. I had recently lost my dog of 17 years, and felt comfort in my new companion. This experience of walking aimlessly along a winding road into the mountain gave me profound sensation of peace and freedom that I hadn’t felt in a long time, I finally started to process where I was in the world and what had happened over the past few weeks travelling through Asia and Iran. I had witnessed the bombing in Bangkok and soon after travelled to a country that has been shut off to the world since the Islamic revolution in 1979, I had met people having to repress their identities and sexuality in fear of persecution, I had been hosted by the most hospitable family imaginable who had been split apart and forced abroad after the government wanted to incarcerate their children for the crime of protesting and singing in a pop music video. I became friends with an asylum seeker who got deported from Australia, lived on top of a life saving hut in Bondi beach and was now living with mental health problems with the government breathing down his back. I even met an old man on top of a mountain in Shiraz who lived in a cave for 6 years writing poetry and philosophy, he could speak 6 languages, travelled the world and had the most incredible insights about the world. I realised how I was a world away from friends and family back in Australia. I was alone walking through an ancient mountain range with a stray dog in the Alborz mountains in the Islamic Republic of Iran. It was surreal, and perfect.

I didn’t imagine that my new companion would end up following me for several hours on my hike into the mountain. Eventually we reached the blue lake after hours of walking and entering into strange territory. Upon our arrival the weather began to turn, the clouds grew dark, Mt Damavand was covered in thick cloud and the wind picked up. The rain started to pour and I decided it was time to turn back. After an hour of walking back the way we came, a car drove past and two older men offered me a ride to the village, I was hesitant to accept as this would mean leaving my companion behind, but the intensity of the storm grew and I decided to hop in. As we started to drive down the mountain I noticed in the rear window that my companion was desperately racing after the car, the two older men laughed as they looked behind. The storm grew and our speed increased, it was pretty heart wrenching to see my friend chase after us, eventually my companion was lost in the distance.

Once we arrived in the village I decided it was time to continue my route towards the Caspian sea. I left the hostel in search of the main road to try hitchhike my way to the next city. The second I stepped out of the hostel I was saw my companion sitting across the road watching me whilst sitting next to his canine companion in anticipation. Saying goodbye to my new friend put me at peace.

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