Wild, Wild Horses

Turkey has given us some superb sights to enjoy, but we're leaving these hills behind now.

Today is a short day, only 120 miles.   After the excitement of yesterday’s riding, I sense we are all content to roll off another stage without too much exertion:  we sit quietly in our off-set lines and trundle across the desolate high plains.

Around one ‘field’ a wild-eyed horse gallops, nostrils flaring and traces trailing.  A group of stick waving villagers, and dogs, look on with either alarm or amusement.  The panic stricken animal suggests the former, and it’s an unsettling sight.  A mile further on and a foal careers down a steep bank, skitters straight across the highway, and skids to a halt next it’s mother(?).  We duly add wild horses to the growing list of road hazards.

Much of the road is above 2,000m and I begin to regret not wearing my heated jacket.  I tell myself to toughen up as I glance at the families huddled around stoves or already out with the cattle - the biting wind is as cold as Tiffany’s daily rebuff of Geordie Al’s cheeky morning advances.

In response to a raucous dinner conversation last night, we pull over for a few photo opportunities...  But none of us can capture the scale of this barren landscape.  It stretches for mile upon mile, whole herds reduced to specks and mountain relief barely discernible in the view finder.  No matter, we’re exhilarated by the stark scenery and enjoy how it contrasts with views we’ve seen in past weeks.

Miniature cairns, 2ft high, make stone markers for the fields or pastures, a dotted line to stand out from the snow, perhaps.  Frozen grey stones make up occasional sheep crofts and at one point low walls ran over the hills reminding me of the Lake District in England. 

However, for most of the route we see precious little shelter for man, woman or beast.  It’s strange to think of the folk who live here - do they spend their whole lives here?  Does national service demand, or urban appeal draw them away?  We have seen more fertile (and warmer) regions only a few hundred miles away.  Yet nothing about the village children we see trotting along the litter-strewn edges of the highway suggests a future any different from that played out by their elders.  Maybe that’s a good thing, and I’m the one who is missing out by leading a lifestyle akin to a modern-day nomad?

Have we taken enough time to pause, & smell the flowers?

I run though such lines of thought as we ride though - ignorant and unable to even Google for more information.  It’s a feature of this travel that all manner of questions and topics register their interest like flicking switchboard lights...  but by day’s end the questions are mostly forgotten or buried by more pressing demands.

A better answer would be to travel more slowly, seek learning from the people we meet, and experience first hand some more of these different lives.  But no, that’s not what we’ve signed up for on this leg.  It’s a compromise, and as such not exactly as I would wish.

We’re heading instead for Igdir and then Dogybyazit (mispronounced Doggy Biscuit), frontier towns that sit either side of snow capped Mount Ararat - the marker for the border with Iran.

Texture...  that's what we've missed

Before reaching the hotel, we divert briefly to Isak Pasha Palace only 5km from town.  Build around 1784, the imposing structure sits 1700m up in the mountains (verified by the otherwise uncommunicative GPS lady today), and is in turn overlooked by an even older citadel (maybe 3,500 years earlier).  Both have commanding views of the plains and transit town below.

I’m loathe to hang around the crowds, not least because my guts are gurgling ominously, but I do make a rapid ascent up to the rocky outlook to peer down on the world.  I’m missing my Hong Kong hiking and would love to kit up and get up in the surrounding hills.  I’m missing exercise of any sort really, and I’m growing more worried about how I can maintain my conditioning for the rest of this trip - we’ll be needing it in a few weeks.