Wanderland: a journey through Iran’s wild west

By Anthony Sattin

This is a story about cities turned to dust, about an older, simpler way of life and about the pleasing surprises of travelling out of the way. It’s also about a man called Fereydun who used to herd animals but has settled down with his horse, planted an orchard of fruit trees and a small garden of vegetables and who told me I could put my feet in his eyes. Welcome to Iran’s wilder west.

Three years ago in springtime I was up in the Zagros Mountains – the spine of Iran – visiting nomadic pastoralists, a group who have shaped our world but mostly slipped out of our histories. The timing was good because the snow had melted, and this was the season when sheep and goats are moved from winter pastures near the Persian Gulf to summer grazing high in the Zagros peaks. I flew into regal Isfahan and then drove west and ever upwards. There, beneath the icy peak of jagged Zard Kuh, I found a broad, beautiful valley alive with the rush of meltwater, spring blossom and nomads.