We'd been told that there were 1 or 2 local Shirazi guides with family ties to a nomadic tribe west of Shiraz. These guides could get you up into the mountains, find the tribe and fix it for you to stay with them. We managed to track one down and paid him to get us into camp for 1 night, then drive us the 400k or so across the high passes of the Zagros mountains to Esfahan, which was our next stop.
We set off early Tuesday morning. We were ushered into a Peugeot that had been stripped down to the bare minimum. As bits had fallen off, like bumpers and windows, they not been replaced. We learnt on this journey just how few parts a vehicle actually needs to be able to move in roughly the right direction.
The journey into the mountains took about 1.5 hours, with the last 30 mins off the roads, picking a way through rocks and up and down dry river beds.
The Bakhtiyari tribe move between the Persian Gulf coast in winter and the uplands of the south western Zagros mountains in summer, following the path of falling temperatures and grazing land for their sheep. In August they are scattered in their black tents across the Zagros between Shiraz and Yasuj.
We arrived and were shown around the homes. The family consisted of 4 brothers each with their own 2/3 tents, in which they housed their children (average of 3 or 4) and their worldly goods. Each brother's tents were about 200 yards apart from the next brother's so that their flocks did not mix. They fenced their meagre cooking areas off against the vaste landscapes beyond. In addition to their sheep, each brother had varying numbers of goats, dogs, chickens and donkeys.
Our guide Bahman (we called him Batman and despite his countless corrections we didn't explain why) promptly suggested a walk across the high valley floor and up onto the mountain slopes. The first hour took us over a mixture of steppe and something almost Provencale. Then into vaste orchards where we loaded up with apples and peaches.
As we started onto the lower slopes, we met a herdsman and his sheep. He looked at Rich and I with bemusement. His body was bent permanently at 45 degrees, from a lifetime of leaning into the steep slopes. His eyes looked in different directions, presumably from years of watching for errant sheep.
After an hour or so into a climb, the slopes turned a lot steeper and so we stopped and assessed our progress. As we were getting ready to continue the climb, Batman asked if we were interested in a swim. He said he knew of a place about 20mins away. We needed little persuasion and followed a track slightly downwards and away from our route up. We quickly saw a small patch of blue green water in the near distance. It turned out to be a neat rectangle of cool water fed from a black pipe, erected with no obvious purpose in the middle of nowhere. We messed about in the pool for nearly an hour, trying not to focus on the soft irregular floor beneath us.
Our walk back to camp took about 2 hours, where food was nearly ready. We ate well off of a large grease proof sheet, with the by now customary piles of rice, boiled meat, something close to ratatouille and the bruised peaches left in our bags.
After dinner we were shown every variation on cannabis or similar resins imaginable, that had smoking or medicinal purposes. We also picked off threads from bits of wood, which when matted together, tasted like apple. Rich and I taught the children rude noises, plus mouth popping sounds and Donald duck voices. We also instructed them on Old Maid using a tired deck they had.
As night set in, we joined the whole family around a Soviet style gas burner in a big tent, and listened to them talk in their rare Turkish dialect. Bedtime was early as the fathers and eldest sons would be up at dawn to take the sheep to higher ground to graze. We were loaded with rugs to lie on and underneath as the temperature would drop sharply at this altitude overnight.
As the snores started up shortly after everyone was settled, the wide chorus of sheep flatulence began, broken only by the odd emission, we think, from one of the donkeys. Alas my sophisticated sense of humour disappeared, because I spent the next hour or so in pieces at the feast of nearby blasts.
In the morning we quickly fed, watched the herds move slowly away and thew our bags back into the Peugeot, to start the long drive to Esfahan.
