Desert Oasis Breaths Life

Footy in the desert

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I was told that the bus departure to Khur was at 07:00, and from there a taxi would complete the journey to the desert oasis of Garmeh. I was headed with Thierry that I had met in Yazd and we got to the bus station at about 06:25. 'Bus, two in afternoon'. We weren't having that and when we got to the desk, just after half six in the morning with about 15kg hanging off my back the first question was, 'Would you like to go this afternoon'. I was too tired to even respond. 'Oh you want to go this morning, seven-thirty'.

The bus was a classic 70's Mercedes. In Iran, if it's not a Mercedes or Volvo, then it's not a bus. It rattled along for the five hour trip the whole bus sloping to the right. It was boiling, not helped by getting a bus into the heart of the desert. First camels spotted, dirty dark creatures that where loosing their 'winter' coat. And there was even a beware of camels sign on the road before we came on them. Impressive! Khur was deserted. The luxury of finding somewhere to have a bite of lunch was a struggle. Not that shops didn't exist, but just that nothing happens around midday.

Studying in the oasis

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Eventually we hit Garmeh, the tiny desert oasis made famous by the owner of the guest house Maziar, an artist who fled the fumes of Tehran to head for his ancestors home. His pet camel greeted us at the front door. The restored mud brick house  could be a thousand years old. The crumbled remains of the village's mudbrick castle next door. To the back, a forest of date palms. This would be the perfect spot for some relaxation before the final push to Pakistan.

And so it was. The next morning we went to the next village that houses what many say is the Arg (mud brick citadel) in the best condition since the destruction of Bam in an earthquake two years ago. The first mission was to find the village key keeper. We tracked him down without too much trouble and before we got there, he had the gate open. Inside, the arg really seemed like it was in such a natural state. Upper levels had been bombed by the shahs to prevent sites for risings. We rambled around the ground level that was mainly used by merchants as a bazaar. Small rooms lead off the alleys, still housing the pottery containers that were used centuries ago. It was a joy to stroll about, thinking of the jewels that actually lie in these little desert towns. We were the only people in sight, with the keeper patiently waiting for us to leave so that he could lock up and go back home. Restoration works are in the process of starting, it won't take too much to turn it into a fabulous site, once they don't ruin it.

Our personal camels, you can't smell them from there!

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I wandered the forest of date palms. In the middle of them, you could imagine you were anywhere in the world except for in the middle of a parched desert. A small stream running from the mountain behind irrigating the fields along it's channeled route.