Of Camels and Caravanserai

We visited a site in the desert where four caravanserai had once stood, along with a watchtower overlooking all of them, and an underground irrigation channel. Caravanserai, if I haven't explained them earlier, are ancient hotels along the desert roads and trade routes, where you can find protection at night and stables to feed and care for your caravan of camels and possessions.

We've seen probably hundreds of remains of these caravanserai throughout the desert, in various conditions, probably about a day's camel ride apart from each other as well as at the entrance to any town. Although they are fascinating, and quite old, our guide explains that there's simply not enough resources to keep all of them preserved. Other times, local families have moved in and are putting them to use for their own agriculture or other businesses.

The irrigation channels begin at the base of the mountains, and it is an ancient art to dig the tunnels under the earth to locations miles away. The longest such channel known in Iran is over 350 kilometers. There are access points along the way, which you protect with earth mounds, or in this case a truck tire, so debris doesn’t blow in.

One of the caravanserai is still in quite good condition, and some local farmers have put it and the rest of the complex to use as a fairly busy stockyard. Bales of hay were stacked in the external porticoes, one was fenced in to keep the chickens or goats at bay, and the furthest one from the road held half a dozen camels. Jon caught a ride on one of them out of the gates.

Our travels were lightened a bit today by the sharing of tea and cream puffs, which tasted every bit as good as I imagined when I saw that young couple devouring them. They are best chilled, but even when we had our second and third helpings later in the afternoon, they were still pretty good. Lunch was in a traditional-style travelers’ in at Na’in, with a walled-in garden and rooms opening on to a main court rather than long hallways.

In the afternoon, we stopped at a modern 'truck stop,' which happened to be on the edge of a village, near a mosque and its accompanying cemetery, looking lonely in the desert. Some of the people buried there appeared to be very young men. I wonder what happened to them. The desert can be a hard place to survive, but this is also a country whose memories of the last war are still so close to the surface.

And still life goes on in this place, and in the houses of the village just beyond. And we go on as well, back into the bus and on to the next place where we weary desert travelers will rest our own heads tonight.