From time to time we receive "from the cow pasture" stories about travels to "cow pastures" around the world from friends whose trips take them far from their home pastures.....This one came from a dear friend.  I hope it brings a smile to your day as it did mine...


Hi everyone,

This is a live postcard from the Islamic Republic of Iran.

I’m just completing week-two of a three-week journey to China and Iran. This story is only 2 days of the adventure.

Upon entering Iran, the Immigrations Declaration prohibits the following, with priorities and penalties commensurate in this order:
· Pornographic Material

· Alcoholic Beverages

· Narcotic Substances

· Transmitting Apparatus
Good thing I left the 800 MW QRP rig back in Oregon. Wouldn't want to emit any strange RF ;-)  (For you non-ham types, QRP refers to very low powered transmitters)

The last few days I have been out in the field, or more rather desert and mountains of Sistan Va Balouchistan Province in Southeastern Iran. This remote area is the intruding bulge just north of the western axis of Pakistan’s and Afghanistan’s borders.

Our Persian agent and I fly to Zahedan, the provincial capital and are greeted by the local carpet managers. We point a pick-up truck and their over-built Nissan Patrol 4WD truck to the highway north. These trucks look like they are ready for a run to Dakar with steel cages protecting the front ends, extra large auxiliary lights, and a heavy chains attached to the undercarriage to catch boulders and road debris before they can damage or break the axles at high speeds.

I ask, “How far to Zabol?” The driver replies through an interpreter, “It’s about 210 kilometers and takes about two and one-half hours, unless (big pause) there is a sand storm.” That should have been my first clue….

It was smooth sailing for the first leg of the journey and all the locals in truck were hyping an upcoming stop. About 175 klicks north we pull off the main highway to visit the archeological site of Shahar-E-Sukhteh, “The burned city,” that dates from 3200  2000 BC and was a once thriving culture way ahead of its time. This ancient city featured a clay pipe running water system to all the major buildings. “Why you can just walk around and pick up ancient pottery and tiles,” they say.

Our vehicle caravan wheels in and we all pile out to explore the area. Just as we start spotting the aforementioned free treasures and start picking up some goodies, suddenly the wind whips up from nowhere driving sand, grit and pebbles at us with a maelstrom of penetrating velocity. It was kind of a “Raiders of the Lost Ark” or “Return of the Mummy” thing and it was all we could do just to make it back to our trucks. It was chaos for the first 50 feet until I suggested or rather shouted we walk backward into wind. We made it…. but you know all those great new travel clothes with tiny pores to permit breathing? Well, they also permit sand and fine grit to permeate. I felt like a walking sand bag for most of the day.

In and around Zabol we visit three small weaving workshops employing 200 young Balouch and Zabol women weavers, most of who have graduated from high school. Another key facility we inspect is the wool yarn dye plant. It has three heated vats and uses all natural dyestuff including pomegranate rinds, walnuts shells, indigo, and ground madder root. Our group has a late lunch of chello and polo kebab over saffron rice with peeled cucumbers and yogurt with lots of bread and warm “Zam Zam” cola.  Yumm.

After lunch we require a two-hour rest as the outside temperature hits over 105f, and the local hotel puts us up. Bare light bulb, small hard bed, hole in the floor toilet, but hey, it is clean and available. No complaints from me.

At 5:00 PM we meet with the local economic development guy who is a smooth back-slapper. The area is reeling from a four-year drought that has left all the local marshes, lakes, and reservoirs dry as a brick oven. This is due to natural causes and by the Taleban in neighboring Afghanistan diverting the water into Pakistan that for centuries naturally flowed into Zabol, Iran. As Mark Twain said, “Whiskey is for drinking, and water is for fighting over.” Maybe the problem here in the region nobody drinks whiskey. Zabol has lots of development plans for tourist destinations including the restoration of an ancient site bordering the lake. They are ignoring is that there is no more lake.

Before departing town we make a foray into the Bazaar. This place is an Afghan smugglers dream destination featuring four to five city blocks of small stalls selling stolen car radios, un-inspected fruit, crystal goblets, “special” teas and spices from all over the world. Need an AK-47, no problem; would you like new short barrel carbine or the folding stock? You want fries with that? For here or to go? We haggle with the only legitimate vendors, carpet merchants of course, and our agent closes the deal on five Sistan pieces, “Woven by ancient cultures hundred of years old.” Sure…

At dusk our caravan is ready to pull out of Dodge loaded with our new larder. We are only seven klicks from the Afghan border when we spot two riderless camels with full saddlebags, kind of goofy footing across the highway. I want to stop and take a picture, but the driver slaps the tranny down a gear and punches it, shooting the gap between the camels. The explanation is the camels are smuggling dope and are like homing pigeons to some clandestine rendezvous’ out in the Persian desert. These camels are hopped up on dope with headbands of hashish and opium and are amply rewarded if they make it to their destination. Our barefoot driver doesn't want anything to do with these camels, much less have some stupid foreigner out their taking pictures as the camels will charge any vehicle in their perceived path. OK, I'll buy that.

We proceed south passing through six police checks, where they have chains with welded spikes blocking the road that are only pulled back if you either have the proper documents or the correct handshake passing the appropriate baksheesh. The air smells of gasoline, and I find out that gas is three times more expensive in Afghanistan than Iran; the reverse smuggle is going on. All trucks and cars are driving north either with topped off gas tanks or they have a few extra containers with gas to sell. Hmm, that explains all those barefoot street urchins in Zabol with plastic gas cans and siphon hoses on the street corners. Didn't make sense at the time but does now.

We roll into Zahedan in time for a fashionably early 11:30 PM dinner. The restaurant features three outdoor dinning areas, one for adults with no kids (that’s us), one for families, and one for single men and women (general seating & dim lights here). White canvas secured between concrete utility poles serves as screens for projected movies. Welcome to the Sistan version of the American drive-in. In all three areas people dine on raised platforms covered by Oriental rugs with cushions to recline against crossed legged and without shoes. Bread is made in a huge open brick oven visible across the way. A water pipe with charcoal burning large chunks of tobacco is passed around and we stuff ourselves with food and chilled bottled water.

The next morning we begin the negotiations. Zabol is weaving the same designs over and over and the managers requested I bring them new designs. I lead off with three designs of somewhat Persian influence, one is an assembly of Persian motifs, and two are East-Turkestan pieces. Things are going somewhat smooth and then I present the fourth design drawn by an LA artist with absolutely nothing relating to anything Oriental. This blows them away and they want to know the significance of the motifs; are there any hidden meaning, etc? This one they'll have to take up with their board of directors; meaning, they need more time to decline it. (I have another production source)

Tomorrow, we are off to Kerman with proposed side trips to Rafsanjan. The Provincial Governor is sending a car and driver to pick us up at the airport, and we have a full schedule of activities for the next two days. Should be a whirlwind tour; I just hope it is not like the whirlwind near Zabol.

That’s the snap shot from here. I'm soon on my way home, a 30 hour journey via Tokyo. You'll be hearing from me in the near future when I land in the US and rest up a bit.

Cordially,

Tom Atiyeh  
K7TLM

Atiyeh International
Portland, Oregon
Atlanta, Georgia

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