Crossing Alborz
By Heidi Noroozy
Crossing Iran’s Alborz Mountains on the Chalous Road from
Tehran to the Caspian Sea is sometimes breathtaking, often hair-raising, and
always an adventure. The road twists in a multitude of hairpin turns, and I
hold my breath as we scrape past rough rocky walls, swerve around oncoming cars
that straddle the lanes, and seem about to plunge into endlessly deep ravines.
The road runs through a multicolored landscape—gray and red rock on the Tehran
side, white-capped peaks at the summit, and green valleys on the descent to the
land-locked sea. Early in the journey, we pass the Karaj Dam with its lake of
blue-green water. A village on the far shore, cradled by rocky cliffs, is
accessible only by boat. Higher up, the road tunnels through the mountain, and
avalanche shelters protect it from bits of broken glacier. Villages, farms, and
restaurants crop up in places that seem too bleak to support human life.
Roadside shops sell everything from cigarettes to yogurt strained through huge
white cloth bags that dangle from the eaves. I always keep an eye peeled for
the haft sheytoon (seven devils), cone-shaped rock formations that line
the road. There are only five devils now, since two of them broke off and fell
into the valley below, victims of an earthquake or the wrath of God, depending
on who’s telling the tale. When I spot the deep blue expanse of the Caspian Sea
peaking through the trees, I feel my muscles relax. Once again, I’ve survived
the perilous journey across the Alborz Range.
Oregon
Coast
By Jenni Gate
On home leave from Africa or Asia every couple of years,
we traveled the U.S., visiting every relative my parents could think of. My
earliest memories of the Oregon Coast are from one of these trips, when I was
about 7 years old. We traveled from seeing family in Oregon down the Oregon
Coast, through the Redwoods in Northern California and into central California
to see more relatives. I don’t remember much about the family we visited, but
the Oregon Coast made a deep impression. In California, the beaches were warm
and inviting, but in Oregon they are wild. The rocks rising from the waters off
the coast create a raw, stormy beauty matched by few other places. Its
treacherous, rugged coastline inspires artists and photographers the world
over. In college, I visited the Oregon Coast and fell in love all over again.
When my son was about 3, we traveled with my parents to Brookings, and it was a
joy to see my son experience the surf and sand for the first time. Now it is
still my favorite place on the planet, one I have the opportunity to visit
occasionally. Whether during a violent winter storm or a sun-kissed summer day,
my favorite memories are of contemplating the vast ocean and hiking the cliff
trails, sand dunes, and beaches of the Oregon Coast.
For more of my tales, please check my blog at Nomad Trails and Tales and like my page on Facebook. You can also follow me on Pinterest.
For more of my tales, please check my blog at Nomad Trails and Tales and like my page on Facebook. You can also follow me on Pinterest.
Snowy
Mountains, Tripping Stream
By Kelly Raftery
This picture always
garners the question, “Where in Kyrgyzstan was this taken?” It always reminds
me why we chose Colorado as our home. Colorado, we are proud to call you home,
for all that you are that reminds us of Kyrgyzstan, for all the opportunities
you have given us. This photo was from a trip we took two years ago, just after
my husband landed the job that brought us to the Front Range.
I remember this warm,
sunny day, stopping alongside the road, walking in a mountain meadow and
watching the stream rush by, washing our hands in the ice cold water. After
three years of trying to escape Las Vegas’s severe economic downturn, we would
be in our new home by the end of the month.
This photo marks a week
when our lives took a new direction. Once in Colorado, my son was able to take
dance lessons (he is now competing on the national level), my husband was able
to find a challenging and fulfilling job and I was able to find time to pursue
my passion for writing.
Those snowy mountains,
that tripping stream, thank you for leading us home.
