Travel Diary: A Road Trip Through Ardabil

Updated: 8 July 2019

Iran is a vast country with a varied landscape and geography as well as different languages, cultures, and ethnicities. So much so, in fact, that it’s easy for even Iranians to feel a sense of culture shock in their own country. As most of central and southern Iran start to heat up at this time of year, I decided to explore a corner where temperatures would still be pleasant: Ardabil, in the northwestern, Turkish-speaking part of the country. There was only one problem: the language barrier.

“I’m going to a place where they’ll hate me because I don’t speak their language,” I tell my friend whose family is from Ardabil.

“Don’t worry,” he reassures me. “Ardabil isn’t like Tabriz. The people are much nicer.” That was a relief. Although I didn’t have a bad experience in Tabriz (probably because my cousin was a local and did all the talking), Tabrizis are notorious for not speaking Persian and answering in Turkish even when they know the person doesn’t understand. Some Tehranis swear that while in Tabriz, the locals had a personal vendetta against them simply because they were “outsiders.” As one of my Tabrizi students so bluntly [albeit jokingly] puts it, “It’s your problem that you don’t speak Turkish!”

From the capital to the cat’s ear 

Relieved that our lack of Turkish-speaking abilities wouldn’t put a damper on our trip, we set out taking the scenic route: Tehran to Qazvin to Gilan province where we would pass Manjil and Roodbar (full of wind turbines), Rasht, Someh Sara, then along the Caspian coast, passing Talesh on the way up to Astara on the right ear of the cat (Iran is shaped like a cat, didn’t you know?!) on the border of Azerbaijan, and then down towards Sarein in Ardabil province.

We hit some heavy traffic along the way, but luckily, Gilan is so beautiful that the scenery takes your mind off everything else: on our right, shâlizâr (rice paddies) separate us from the Caspian Sea; on the left, more shâlizâr, behind which are forest-covered mountains. And Gilanis are out, straw hats on heads, pants rolled up and knee-deep in, tending to the rice. Meanwhile, the water buffalo are staying cool by standing neck deep in muddy water.

I’m so used to seeing arid, desert-like conditions in Iran that seeing so much greenery and forest throws me for a loop. I swear some parts even look like my sweet home of Alabama. By the time we near Astara, it’s only the road that isn’t covered in an emerald carpet. The Iranian side has some development with villas clinging to the mountainside, but across the border in Azerbaijan, the nature looks completely untouched.

We reach Astara at dusk and take the Heyran gondola lift up the mountain. It’s a shame we don’t make it there sooner- it would have been one spectacular view during the day- Switzerland in Iran, as many call it. But on (literally) the bright side, we get to see the dark landscape illuminated by a lightning storm. And as we hop back on the gondola to return, the workers mention breezily, “If the gondola suddenly stops on the way down, don’t panic. It’s probably just a power outage because of the storm. It’ll come back soon enough.” Nothing, absolutely nothing, phases Iranians.   

 

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Alvares Ski Resort, Mt. Sabalan, and Shahsavan nomads

With our base in Sarein, known for its mineral hot springs, we head out to the Alvares Ski Resort just northwest. The sweatshirt I had packed comes in handy, though it isn’t nearly enough. It’s cold, but add to it the wind factor, and it’s absolutely freezing! After taking the chairlift to the top, we are offered thyme-infused tea by a local. A Shahsavan nomad himself, his family hasn’t yet set up camp due to the icy temperatures. “We should be able to set up in about 3 weeks time,” he mentions. In the meantime, he’s up there offering tea and selling local honey to visitors.

The view of Mt. Sabalan from here is breathtaking. Iran’s third highest peak after Mt. Damavand and Alam-Kuh, Sabalan is a dormant volcano whose crater becomes a frozen lake in the winter. In fact, like a watchful guard, you never lose sight of it as you travel throughout the region.

Back around the resort, vendors are out grilling jigar (liver kebabs), cooking âsh-e doogh (a local specialty made with yogurt or doogh [the yogurt drink], various herbs, vegetables, spices, and topped with lots of fried mint), and baking bread. I’m captivated by two ladies making bread as if it’s an Olympic sport: one baking it, the other deep frying it.

“Try some, azizam,” the lady says in between deep frying one piece and using a rolling pin with another. She grabs one loaf, sprinkles it with sugar, and hands it to me to tear off a piece. She tells me it’s called kolucheh ashâyer (nomad cookie). It’s heavenly.

“How much is it?” I ask.

“3 for 5,000 toman.” Less than a dollar.

I’m like an addict devouring the bread, and about 10 minutes later, I’m done, my fingers and mouth covered in grease and sugar. But there’s no shame in my game. I feel utterly blissful. My friend quietly hands me a tissue. “Pontia, I think you need this.” 

I clean up enough to be able to handle my camera and ask the ladies if I can take a picture.

“No problem, azizam. Do what you like, râhat bâsh [be comfortable],” she smiles.

“I just want to make sure YOU are ok with it,” I tell her.

“We’re not like others. We’re comfortable with everything! Go ahead.”

On the way down, we stop at a Shahsavan tent and ask to see inside. Just as the Bakhtiari did the year before, they welcome us with open arms and bring us tea. The circular tent is held up by wooden beams and covered by namad (a kind of material made of wool). There’s an anchor in the middle that holds the tent down. “We can disassemble it in about 3-4 hours,” they say.

Cows, cows, and more cows

What strikes me most in these parts is that the cows roam free. I’m used to seeing flocks of sheep (which I never tire of seeing), but seeing free-roaming cows is a new one for me. Ardabil is known for its dairy products, and now I know why. That’s why âsh-e doogh, khâmeh (heavy cream), and sar shir (that top layer of fat when you boil milk) is so popular here (the latter two are popular breakfast items). I keep thinking that these are the lucky cows, the ones who are truly laughing. Yes, they’re being raised for dairy, but at least they have grass under their hooves and enjoy natural light all day long. Some were nestled in the wildflowers, basking away in the sun.

 

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Sheikh Safi al-Din Shrine in Ardabil

In Ardabil city, we visit the UNESCO-listed Sheikh Safi al-Din Shrine. It’s a lot smaller than I expected but absolutely magnificent. There’s a peaceful garden at the entrance, which, as we say in Persian, joon mide barâye ketâb khundan (gives its soul for reading [is perfect for reading]). Inside, the China Room is my favorite. It reminds me of the Music Room in Esfahan’s Ali Qapu. It once displayed the royal porcelain collection, but it was taken back to Russia after the invasion in 1828.

Elsewhere in Ardabil, we try halvâ siyâh (black halva), a local specialty made with flour, wheat germ, oil, and spices. It reminds me of samanu (wheat germ pudding) with ginger and cinnamon. Not my favorite and I definitely prefer samanu, but I still buy a small box as a souvenir.

“Gâbel nadâre,” he tells me, and I smile upon hearing his Turkish accent. (Iranians from that part of the country can’t pronounce the Persian ق gh sound and say گ g instead.)

Meshginshahr Suspension Bridge

The last place I want to see on this trip is the Meshginshahr Suspension Bridge. I had written about it last year for Culture Trip, but I had yet to see it myself. This pedestrian bridge is 365 meters long (one for every day of the year) and 80 meters high, making it the tallest of its kind in the Middle East. It hovers over the Khiavchai River, and there’s a 5-meter spot in the middle that’s glass so you can see under your feet. Walking from the entrance to the opposite side, you not only have amazing views of the valley beneath but also of Mt. Sabalan. As we walk across the crowded bridge, others opt for a 20-second zip line ride. And once we catch up with them on the other side, we are invited to chai zoghâli (charcoal tea) and, what else, enormous pots of âsh-e doogh and more deep-fried dough (thankfully this time, I’m able to exhibit some self-control).

Ardabil-Gilan-Tehran

It was time to say goodbye to the cool, clean air, happy cows, and impressive Mt. Sabalan. We drive through Ardabil, down towards Khalkhal into Ardeh in Gilan province and on towards Punel. It’s hands down one of the most beautiful roads I have seen in Iran. Small houses and wooden fences dot the hillside, so lush and green that you doubt whether this is really Iran. Then we head back to Someh Sara, Fuman, Roodbar, Qazvin, and on home towards Tehran.

I think back to my initial preoccupation with the language and realize I was worried for no reason. Ardabil was, in fact, not like Tabriz. And if anything, when needed, they repeated their words shyly, understanding that I didn’t quite catch what they said with their heavy, yet endearing, Turkish accent.

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