So where did I leave you hanging at the end of the last post? Yes, perfect camp spot en-route to Borazjan and on to Bushehr. I made a fire that night. Not really necessary but just cause I could. Pretty happy with my efforts as well. First match and away we go. I slept well on flat ground and less than 100km from the Persian Gulf the night and early morning temperature in the Zagros was bearable. No problem in my Rab sleeping bag, but its the getting out for the call of nature and breaking camp in the mornings that can be killer.

Following the road the next morning was a pleasure – wide, stable and gently downwards. The best! I was taken close to the River Hilleh along this apparently royal road. After a couple of hours beside this rather lovely stretch of water I spotted a bridge in the distance between the mountains. Coming closer there was a gang of workers about, going back and forth across the structure to a construction area. Again, its a funny thing. A good 100m still from them, just one looks up, he nudges his mate and then for the final 50m approach you have around 30 sets of eyes belonging to some rather rough looking blokes carrying picks, shovels and other murderous instruments, drilling straight through you. This look lasts during the introductions and handshakes, but then like magic with a short explanation of my journey, is replaced by the biggest smiles, laughter and strong manly hugs. They are stoked. Of course the offers of food start up and tea is immediately on hand. I take tea but politely refuse food, instead filling my water bottles (5 litres!). I say goodbye to the lads and cross the bridge. Mmmm…this is an old bridge, attached to an old road…I wonder…perhaps the Shah and the Brits did build this road. It will take some research to confirm but I think the old guy was on the level.

It’s hot! Damn hot! Worse, I am back beside the road after being deep in the mountains for a good few days. I pass a police checkpoint and am stopped. As usual, these guys don’t care for my passport or permits and such, they just want to know what the hell I am doing and wish me well.

I manage to get in my first real river crossing of the whole walk. Of course I have jumped across many little streams and creeks through the mountains but that just won’t work this time. I figure I can head straight for Borazjan if I can just make the other side. A 200m descent of a combination scree and smooth glass rock sees me beside the river, flowing fast but thankfully not so deep. All it requires is boots off, trousers rolled above the knees and go! Bloody heck! I can barely walk. After 50 days in boots over all sorts of terrain my feet are cactus. The small rounded stones of the river bed are like knives. My feet are so tender and bruised I am struggling. A simple knee high river crossing turns in to an epic. I make it and collapse on the other side. I have to laugh – my body is so weak! I am astounded that such a small thing almost toppled me. Crazy!

Another hour or so and I make Dalaki, a small town on the way to Borazjan. It sits on an open plain beginning at the base of the mountains. The view is amazing. Not so much because of any natural vistas but more so for the endless sea of date palms. As far as the eye can see, vast plantations are growing. A safe bet for dates here I reckon. At a truck stop I manage to procure a mediocre kebab to keep me going and then its back on the road, now a straight arrow of black hemmed in on one side by the mountains and by the other with palms.

The road signs mock me by ever so slowly counting down the kilometres to both Borazjan and Bushehr. I pass nomad encampments. Small shanty towns with shelters built from a combination of wood, plastic, metal and basically anything to plug the holes. Some are right next to large industrial plants, sitting on a harsh, hot and dusty plain. Not the best but better than a winter in the high Zagros I suppose.

Five kilometres from Borazjan and inquisitive passers-by on scooters stop to chat with increasing regularity. A couple of guys even pull out a digital SLR and get some snaps with me. Very excitable!

One of my scooter buddies, turned out to be Mr. Karim. Often, to avoid confusion when people asked me what I do for a living I just said “Kuh navardi”, which means mountain climbing. As luck would have it, Mr. Karim was an avid climber, having summited peaks all over Iran and Pakistan. A quick chat and he roared off into town, the 2 of us making plans to meet me in the town square, whenever it may be that I reach it. True to his word and an hour or so later when I reached the city, Karim came and collected me on his scooter. Away we weaved through traffic to his house. That evening reminded me of the pleasures of staying with people of my journey. Having left Yasuj with a bad taste in my mouth, I had, for a time been cautious of getting too close to folks in cities. I realised now what I had been missing. A bunch of Karim’s friends came over, most, old, grizzled climbers the same as himself. We talked for hours and ate far too much. A great bunch of guys. By an amazing coincidence one of the chaps was mates with one of my former hosts Dr. Abaci in Borujen! Freaky! I was also pretty happy to have a shower after 7 days of walking through the mountains. Lovely feeling!

The next day I bid farewell to yet another awesome family and set my sites on Bushehr proper. Just out of the city I saw a sign. Bushehr 60km. A more lovely road sign I have never seen. 60km? Bloody hell. 2 days walk. I was very amped but still kept myself composed. A lot can happen in the space of 60km. The final stretch was hella boring. At 40km out the usual industrial landscape kicked in. I tried to leave the road as much as possible, thwarted often by behemoth factories and a desert that was not so much dry sand as thick mud! I stopped to take photos now and then but it was so un-inspiring that I took to self portraits instead (whoa…that is bad!)

After a night camped in the soggy desert, between a brick factory and a busy Persian Gulf Highway I was more than ready to make a triumphant march in to Bushehr. Umm…are we there yet? I entered a massive built up area by about 10am but I still hadn’t seen the Welcome to Bushehr sign I was waiting for. Where was it? I saw a billboard with a Dubai-esque skyline proudly advertising Bushehr. Not quite a true picture. I reached an archway over the road with portraits of my 2 favourite boys, Khamenei and Khomeini, welcoming me to the Persian Gulf on behalf of those great guys at Sepah. Still not sure if I was actually in the town I kept walking to the port.

At 1300hrs on Monday 18th January 2010 I had finally made it to Bushehr, thereby completing my expedition to walk solo across the Islamic Republic of Iran. I was stoked! I was also relieved and massively exhausted. The journey had been much harder than I had anticipated and despite quickly adapting to this realisation my mind and body were kaput. I just needed to rest. So that is what I did, finding the closest $10 hotel, I had a shower and went to sleep (with a big smile on my face).

In my next post I will go through a bit of a debrief on the expedition. Highs, lows, mistakes, things I was happy about, preparation etc. I will also reflect on the most important aspect of the journey – that is regarding the people of Iran. From reading my posts it is clear of my views but I would like to speak in a more general sense as well. I also look forward to thanking those people at home and in Iran who helped me achieve my goals. I may even talk a little about the plans for my next expedition!