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Tehran-Damascus train gives travelers an appreciation of the real world
It may not be fast, but the 3-day trip offers plenty to see
By Paul Cochrane
Special to The Daily Star
Wednesday, September 29, 2004
DAMASCUS: Some train trips have a legendary aura about them.
The Trans-Siberian is famous for being the longest train trip on earth,
connecting Moscow with Vladivostok, over 9,000 kilometers away. It
is possibly the ultimate train ride, taking seven days and covering
seven different time zones.
The Orient Express has a reputation as one of the most luxurious train
rides, connecting Istanbul with London, and is also the setting for
a famous Agatha Christie murder mystery novel "Murder on the Orient
Express."
By comparison, a lightweight contender with no prior history or fame
is the Tehran to Damascus train trip.
Established two years ago after lengthy bureaucratic discussions
between the Iranian, Turkish and Syrian governments, the direct route
began with little public fanfare.
The modern era, after all, is one of speed and convenience - the
era of the airplane. Traveling 2,500 kilometers over 70 hours when
a three-hour plane ride would suffice might seem a waste of time to
some. But unlike air travel, the train gives an appreciation of the
actual size of the world, and of the changing landscapes and peoples
seen through the window of a train carriage. Unless you travel the
length of Russia by land, for example, it is hard to truly conceive
of that nation's vastness - the train keeps going for days on end. The
same can be said of Turkey and Iran, both huge landmasses.
The length of the Azerbaijan route (Western Iran is known as
Eastern Azerbaijan) from Tehran to the border at Razi, is 958
kilometers. Turkey requires a further 1,000 kilometers of train track,
as well as six hours to cross Lake Van by ferry. The remaining
500 kilometers from Northern Syria to Damascus seem relatively
inconsequential. In terms of the monotonous, flat desert scenery of
Syria, and after three nights on the train, it is the final lap of
the trip, and one you want to see end as rapidly as possible.
Starting in the south of the bustling and polluted Iranian capital,
a city almost devoid architecturally and physically of any sense of
Iran's past other than that reflected in Tehran's numerous museums,
the train begins to roll past fields and mountains.
It is completely full - mostly Iranians going to Damascus on holiday,
in search of work or on pilgrimage to the Shiite Muslim shrine of
Zeinab. The remaining handful are Syrians and one Afghan. One carriage
consisted of 32 Iranian teenage schoolgirls all dressed in their black
chadors going on pilgrimage. Such trips are not available for young
men as after the age of 16 males cannot leave the country until they
have completed the year long military service.
Tickets, costing between $55 and $70, are booked a month in advance
for the bi-weekly trip. Everyone started in first class sleepers of
four bunks to a compartment, the price difference only noticeable
when switching from the Iranian to Syria train - where the extra cost
ensured a double sleeper compartment rather than a reclining seat.
As the 20-year-old East German-manufactured train chugs through the
countryside past mud houses made from wattle and daub, and winds
through valleys of weathered red sandstone, the scenery resembles
a miniature version of the Canyonlands National Park in Utah, USA -
an arid landscape, but not without diversity, color or beauty.
Dinner is taken in the dining car as the sun goes down, and consists
of the staple fare for Iranians when dining out - soup, yogurt,
buttered rice and chicken or meat kebab.
After the evening meal, the train stops at the city of Zanjan for 20
minutes so passengers can use the station mosque to pray or wander
along the platform for a stretch of the legs. Others sit in their
compartments drinking tea, reading, talking or sleeping as sheets,
blankets and pillows are brought by attendants.
The next morning at 9 a.m., the train pulls into Salmas station, where
a three-hour wait begins for passports to be processed. Around 400
passengers pile off the train to sit in waiting rooms, take breakfast
on the grass outside the station, or walk to local shops. Conversations
start with strangers, and tea becomes a highly sought after beverage.
Once all the documents are processed, an Iranian official comes out
with huge stacks of passports and is immediately accosted by men,
women and children waiting for their name to be called out. This
waiting game was repeated three more times, taking around 15 hours
of the total trip, at the borders into and out of Turkey and on
entering Syria. Without such lengthy waits - late at night in the
case of Turkey and Syria - the trip would certainly flow faster and
have been more enjoyable for all concerned.
The Tehran to Damascus train ride however is not really geared
towards enjoyment. It is instead a cheap people carrier between the
two capitals, but more comfortable than three days on a bus - those
with cash obviously take the plane.
Still, the trip down to Van goes through ancient Armenian areas
of Eastern Turkey, and past picturesque, fertile plains of grass,
sunflowers and tilled fields awaiting seeding. The border between
Iran and Turkey is not just a line dividing the two politically as
the difference in landscape is striking. From barren, dusty terrain
in Iran to rolling hills of rich agricultural land, lakes and olive
trees in Turkey.
At Lake Van, the largest body of inland water in Turkey, the Iranian
train draws to a halt at the harbor where the goods carriage is shunted
onto a ship, and all passengers carry their belongings aboard. There,
travelers lie on carpets brought to sell in Damascus on the top deck
of the single smokestack ferry, dozing or killing time looking out over
the watery expanse lit by the moon. If you have ever wondered where the
stains on your Persian carpet came from, it is probable they came from
the steel deck of a ship rather than tea spilled in a nomad's tent.
Docking in Tatvan, the Syrian train waits alongside Tehran-bound
passengers leaning on their baggage. Two nights follow, spent on
the Syrian train in comfortable sleeper compartments complete with
duvets and washbasins. Unlike the Iranian train, meals are included,
although they resemble more a school packed lunch than the culinary
delights of the Orient Express.
A full day passes as the train rambles through the cities of Mus,
Elazig, and Malatya until Gaziantep, where the train cuts down to wind
along the Syrian border. After the now-expected wait for visa stamps,
the diesel-powered vehicle passes through Aleppo overnight to arrive
in Damascus at 1 p.m. - only 18 hours longer than the official 52
hours initially cited in Tehran.
For some, Damascus is the end of train travel for a while. For others,
the Syrian capital serves merely as a brief respite before taking
the train all the way back.
It may not be fast, but the 3-day trip offers plenty to see
By Paul Cochrane
Special to The Daily Star
Wednesday, September 29, 2004
DAMASCUS: Some train trips have a legendary aura about them.
The Trans-Siberian is famous for being the longest train trip on earth,
connecting Moscow with Vladivostok, over 9,000 kilometers away. It
is possibly the ultimate train ride, taking seven days and covering
seven different time zones.
The Orient Express has a reputation as one of the most luxurious train
rides, connecting Istanbul with London, and is also the setting for
a famous Agatha Christie murder mystery novel "Murder on the Orient
Express."
By comparison, a lightweight contender with no prior history or fame
is the Tehran to Damascus train trip.
Established two years ago after lengthy bureaucratic discussions
between the Iranian, Turkish and Syrian governments, the direct route
began with little public fanfare.
The modern era, after all, is one of speed and convenience - the
era of the airplane. Traveling 2,500 kilometers over 70 hours when
a three-hour plane ride would suffice might seem a waste of time to
some. But unlike air travel, the train gives an appreciation of the
actual size of the world, and of the changing landscapes and peoples
seen through the window of a train carriage. Unless you travel the
length of Russia by land, for example, it is hard to truly conceive
of that nation's vastness - the train keeps going for days on end. The
same can be said of Turkey and Iran, both huge landmasses.
The length of the Azerbaijan route (Western Iran is known as
Eastern Azerbaijan) from Tehran to the border at Razi, is 958
kilometers. Turkey requires a further 1,000 kilometers of train track,
as well as six hours to cross Lake Van by ferry. The remaining
500 kilometers from Northern Syria to Damascus seem relatively
inconsequential. In terms of the monotonous, flat desert scenery of
Syria, and after three nights on the train, it is the final lap of
the trip, and one you want to see end as rapidly as possible.
Starting in the south of the bustling and polluted Iranian capital,
a city almost devoid architecturally and physically of any sense of
Iran's past other than that reflected in Tehran's numerous museums,
the train begins to roll past fields and mountains.
It is completely full - mostly Iranians going to Damascus on holiday,
in search of work or on pilgrimage to the Shiite Muslim shrine of
Zeinab. The remaining handful are Syrians and one Afghan. One carriage
consisted of 32 Iranian teenage schoolgirls all dressed in their black
chadors going on pilgrimage. Such trips are not available for young
men as after the age of 16 males cannot leave the country until they
have completed the year long military service.
Tickets, costing between $55 and $70, are booked a month in advance
for the bi-weekly trip. Everyone started in first class sleepers of
four bunks to a compartment, the price difference only noticeable
when switching from the Iranian to Syria train - where the extra cost
ensured a double sleeper compartment rather than a reclining seat.
As the 20-year-old East German-manufactured train chugs through the
countryside past mud houses made from wattle and daub, and winds
through valleys of weathered red sandstone, the scenery resembles
a miniature version of the Canyonlands National Park in Utah, USA -
an arid landscape, but not without diversity, color or beauty.
Dinner is taken in the dining car as the sun goes down, and consists
of the staple fare for Iranians when dining out - soup, yogurt,
buttered rice and chicken or meat kebab.
After the evening meal, the train stops at the city of Zanjan for 20
minutes so passengers can use the station mosque to pray or wander
along the platform for a stretch of the legs. Others sit in their
compartments drinking tea, reading, talking or sleeping as sheets,
blankets and pillows are brought by attendants.
The next morning at 9 a.m., the train pulls into Salmas station, where
a three-hour wait begins for passports to be processed. Around 400
passengers pile off the train to sit in waiting rooms, take breakfast
on the grass outside the station, or walk to local shops. Conversations
start with strangers, and tea becomes a highly sought after beverage.
Once all the documents are processed, an Iranian official comes out
with huge stacks of passports and is immediately accosted by men,
women and children waiting for their name to be called out. This
waiting game was repeated three more times, taking around 15 hours
of the total trip, at the borders into and out of Turkey and on
entering Syria. Without such lengthy waits - late at night in the
case of Turkey and Syria - the trip would certainly flow faster and
have been more enjoyable for all concerned.
The Tehran to Damascus train ride however is not really geared
towards enjoyment. It is instead a cheap people carrier between the
two capitals, but more comfortable than three days on a bus - those
with cash obviously take the plane.
Still, the trip down to Van goes through ancient Armenian areas
of Eastern Turkey, and past picturesque, fertile plains of grass,
sunflowers and tilled fields awaiting seeding. The border between
Iran and Turkey is not just a line dividing the two politically as
the difference in landscape is striking. From barren, dusty terrain
in Iran to rolling hills of rich agricultural land, lakes and olive
trees in Turkey.
At Lake Van, the largest body of inland water in Turkey, the Iranian
train draws to a halt at the harbor where the goods carriage is shunted
onto a ship, and all passengers carry their belongings aboard. There,
travelers lie on carpets brought to sell in Damascus on the top deck
of the single smokestack ferry, dozing or killing time looking out over
the watery expanse lit by the moon. If you have ever wondered where the
stains on your Persian carpet came from, it is probable they came from
the steel deck of a ship rather than tea spilled in a nomad's tent.
Docking in Tatvan, the Syrian train waits alongside Tehran-bound
passengers leaning on their baggage. Two nights follow, spent on
the Syrian train in comfortable sleeper compartments complete with
duvets and washbasins. Unlike the Iranian train, meals are included,
although they resemble more a school packed lunch than the culinary
delights of the Orient Express.
A full day passes as the train rambles through the cities of Mus,
Elazig, and Malatya until Gaziantep, where the train cuts down to wind
along the Syrian border. After the now-expected wait for visa stamps,
the diesel-powered vehicle passes through Aleppo overnight to arrive
in Damascus at 1 p.m. - only 18 hours longer than the official 52
hours initially cited in Tehran.
For some, Damascus is the end of train travel for a while. For others,
the Syrian capital serves merely as a brief respite before taking
the train all the way back.