Feature Article: Merrell Outdoors - "Choosing Mountains in the Middle East over Mojitos in Marbella..."

Despite the incredulous disbelief flickering across the faces of family and friends, I would not be dissuaded from my holiday plans to climb Damavand in the Islamic Republic of Iran. Had I listened to a couple of the more popular media-influenced ‘facts,’ I would have been frightened off by cloak-and-dagger tales of a hostile, ‘anti-west’ country; ‘the axis of evil’ where men with stones stalk dusty streets in search of infidels while the government spends its time rigging elections and stockpiling vast arsenals of nuclear weapons. 

But I chose the mountains of the Middle East over mojitos in Marbella and what I discovered was just the opposite.

Challenging some of my own preconceptions, I joined an expedition to climb an 18,372 ft. peak called Mount Damavand, the highest peak in Iran and the highest volcano in the Middle East. Over the course of the expedition I experienced first-hand the hospitality of the Iranian people and the pride that they have in their rich, Persian history. I fell in love with the cozy teahouses of Teheran, the lively bazaars, vast deserts punctuated by historic oases, and rugged mountain ranges surrounding the country’s favorite cone-shaped icon.

Read the full story here... 

http://blog.merrell.com/us/en/epic-trails/damavand/

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Feature Article: Merrell Pack stories - "Journey, not the Destination - Discovering new cultures while climbing"

"People often ask me why I climb.

One of the benefits of mountain climbing is that it helps me to put life into perspective. The sheer magnificence of the vistas I experience from lofty mountain precipices - high above the cloud, looking out over the curvature of the earth far, far below - helps me to connect with my thoughts and put into context my place in the world around me...." 

To continue reading... http://blog.merrell.com/us/en/pack-stories/people-meet-along-way/

Huge thanks to Merrell Outdoors for featuring some of my recent adventures in their Pack Stories series...!

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Shifting Sands, Mountains and Mosaics in the Islamic Republic of Iran

Drawing my scarf up over my mouth I attempt to find a happy medium between desperately trying to gasp enough air to breathe and trying not to breathe too much. I look up from the dusty trail to see plumes of yellow smoke being belched into the atmosphere by a giant yellow vent, and, a few hundred metres further, a small plaque below the dry remains of what appears to be a dead sheep… The stench being emitted by the crater serves as a reminder of where I am – under a clear blue sky taking the final few steps to the 5671m summit of Damavand, Iran - the highest peak in the Middle East and the highest volcano in Asia. The summit is a barren plateau festooned with dull, sulphur-yellowed stones offering unparalleled views of the dry and rocky plains below.

Our journey had started much, much earlier that day…

Night in our ‘airy’ 4-person tent at our 4000m Base Camp had passed in a sleepless torment of quickened heartbeats and haggard breaths, until the alarm sounded, waking us from our hypoxic slumbers. It was 5am - go time.  One of my teammates, Kirsten, stuck her head out of the tent and reported back to us in a rasped in an excited whisper: “The weather is perfect.” We were in luck – the mountain gods were smiling upon us.

Our intrepid little group was the ‘united nations’ of teams – under the guidance of Shirin, a lovely Iranian-British friend with a true passion for the mountains and sharing her Iranian heritage through her newly established British-Iranian trekking company, we were a small team made up of a patchwork of nationalities and backgrounds -  British, Belgian, Brazilian, Japanese, South African, Spanish, Italian, Iranian and Canadian.

Fourty-five minutes later, with the sun rising at our backs, we set off single file behind our local Iranian guide up the spine of the gentle ridge, eyes squinting in the direction of the summit – from here a dull brown dome with patches of snow, defiant and still impossibly remote, framed against a bright blue sky. The rising sun cast a shadow of the mountain onto the dusty plains and shifting sands hundreds of metres below.

With boots crunching over the gravel, I reassured myself with the knowledge that we were embarking on what is a relatively uncomplicated climb. “Basically a walk-up,” had been my conclusion based on the numerous websites I’d consulted while researching the trip. “Technically easy and physically moderate.” Technically easy it was – the terrain being very similar to Kilimanjaro. Having said that, it differed from a standard Kilimanjaro climb as the physical element came from a very aggressive altitude profile – a 1600m summit day to 5671m - the climax of a 2.5 day climb which left very little room for acclimatisation. Empty syringes of dexamethasone, a steroid used to aggressively treat symptoms of altitude sickness, were littered between the rocks from past climbers.

I was also very aware of Damavand’s tempestuous weather system. Like other prominent peaks around the world, Damavand has a weather system all of its own: hot air blowing up from Iran’s dry interior hits the mountain’s southern flank, producing storms that are sudden, unpredictable and can easily quash the ambitions of the most seasoned climbers. In the early 1970s, Reinhold Messner, who is widely considered the greatest alpinist in history (and a personal hero of mine!), learned firsthand about Damavand’s fickle winds when a storm swept in and sabotaged his summit bid. Henceforth, Messner, whose normal playground is the 8000m death-zone of the Himalaya, would describe Damavand as “That little hill that defeated me”.

With that thought, I continued on, head bowed in submission to the altitude and moving slowly in single file behind our guide plodding on up the hill. We calculated that our average speed on the way up was just over 1km / hour. We certainly weren’t setting any speed records but we were moving at a steady and comfortable pace.

About 6 hours later we were within touching distance of what looked like an ominous rocky gate, a gap between two rocky outcrops, like a half-finished barricade, through which we could see our goal. Cheered by its apparent proximity we were urged onwards. “Ten minutes from here,” said our indefatigable guide, fibbing brazenly in a last-gasp attempt to raise our spirits – it turned out to be more like 40.

A welcome cultural distraction to our monotonous plodding was provided by a government religious group made up of about 10 rather militant looking men who were climbing alongside us. Every few minutes a call of prayer echoed down the ridge from what appeared to be a heavily bearded and prominent group leader. The climbing party, between strained gasps of breath, would respond in chorus, urged onwards and upwards, driven by their faith. I looked on and became increasingly conscious of my presence in this ‘foreign’ land – a woman, a Canadian, climbing as an equal alongside a party of men, in a country which I felt had, thus far, defied the media headlines and the many preconceptions I’d had. I adjusted my warm hat and pulled my head-scarf more prominently over my face to cover my western features and also provide protection against the acrid fumes.

Eventually, at a little before noon, our intrepid little team breached the crater rim and trundled onto the roof of the Middle East, a barren plateau festooned with sulphur-yellowed stones. The noxious smoke contaminated each triumphant breath, as fumaroles within the crater – the reason behind the rocks’ jaundiced coloration – pumped out a concoction of gases from the center of the earth. The stench served as a reminder of Damavand’s earthly purpose: a pressure-valve built by nature to relieve the earth-shuddering friction at the conjunction of the Arabian and Eurasian plates.


Living up to the Canadian stereotype, I arrived at the summit with a modest-sized Canadian flag stored in the depths of my rucksack. Earlier that morning, I’d spoken to our guide asking whether it would be permissible to have a picture on the summit of myself, alongside both the Iranian and Canadian flag. After much deliberation it was decided that as long as I was discrete the moment could be captured on film. So, it was with much trepidation that I stood on the summit with the red and white, maple leaf emblazoned flag hoping for a quick photo.

In the meantime, the burly-looking men which made up the government religious group had also arrived on the summit and were busy offering each other congratulations whilst continuing their exhortations of faith. My ‘sixth sense’ kicked into overdrive and I became aware that taking out a Canadian flag could go one of two ways, possibly putting me in the centre of a diplomatic incident… I began to visualize the headlines flashing across the ‘Globe and Mail’ and wondered how my parents would fare in dealing with ransom demands… The irony was that the risk that I found myself deliberating with surprising clarity was very different from the risk that I normally found myself deliberating on my more frequented Himalayan stomping ground.

And then it happened.

As I discretely attempted to unfurl the Canadian flag, one of my teammates started to cheer… All eyes turned to me. There was no going back as I held my flag – a symbol of democracy, freedom and equality - proudly above my head. The leader of the local Iranian religious group waved with a gentle nod indicating that it was ok to proceed. My united nations team looked on smiling. Suddenly it struck me. I was on the highest point in the Middle East, surrounded by friends, old and new… a team which reflected my perception of the ‘modern Iran’. Whilst the summit reflected the ‘crux’ of our climb, I realised that it actually was so much more than that. It was a symbol of the multifarious melting-pot that is defining modern Iran –a country that is endlessly welcoming and a country that is desperate to been seen for what it is, rather than what it is depicted to be.

Before we began our descent, all of the teams standing on the summit – a mosaic of cultures – stood together to celebrate what we individually and jointly had achieved. It was one of the most pivotal and memorable moments that have shaped my climbing ‘journey’ as other flags soon began to appear from the depths of dusty climbing packs – Iranian, Ukranian, Palestinian… Climbing mountains has become a symbol of a journey which brings together people from all walks of life with a shared passion to achieve a common goal; to celebrate, learn from, and inspire each other.

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The People You Meet: Destination Iran!

People often ask me why I climb mountains. I climb for the sheer magnificence of the vistas I see and experience at altitude - high above the cloud, looking out from a sheer precipice over the curvature of the earth far, far below. I’m but a tiny speck of sand in the panorama framed by the horizon. But also, I climb to find out who I am. This form of ‘vertical’ meditation helps me to connect with my thoughts and put into context my place in the world around me. I believe that in order to really connect with someone, you need to know yourself - and climbing has helped me to do this. It’s taught me about courage, commitment, creativity, discipline, teamwork… Climbing has helped me to realise that at the end of the day, at the end of my life, it’s not going to be where I placed in the race or the summits I’ve stood on, it’s going to be about the relationships with the people I’ve met along the way and the experiences shared.

These shared experiences are what drive me to the mountains– to experience new cultures, meet new people, to explore new landscapes, to challenge my perceptions. My expedition to Peru to climb Alpamayo last month reminded me of this. Attempting to engage with the locals in the mountain-town of Huaraz in my rudimental Spanish, trying new foods like the traditional Peruvian ‘pachamanca', experiencing the differences in the way that expeditions are organised and run, and the different mountaineering styles and techniques… despite feeling ‘lost’ in this new country and new environment, my senses were heightened and I felt truly alive.

"Why are you going to Iran...?"

So, to answer the question I’ve been asked on numerous occasions… “Why are you going to Iran?” From the reactions of most people that I’ve spoken to about my forthcoming expedition, it seems that I, the ‘Diva in Down’, can’t have picked a less credible, less comfortable, less diva-esque holiday destination than if I’d decided to go wind-surfing off of the coast of Somalia.

When the opportunity arose to combine my passion for the high mountain vistas and experiencing a new culture in the Islamic Republic of Iran, I didn’t hesitate.

If you listened blindly to the media your picture of Iran would be one where men with stones stalk the dusty streets in search of adulterous women, while the government spends its time rigging elections in between sessions of feeding pieces of glowing green metal into a centrifuge.

But in speaking to friends, colleagues and even complete strangers who have been to Iran and experienced first-hand the hospitality, the culture, the atmospheric teahouses, bustling bazaars, deserts punctuated by historic oases and rugged mountain ranges, I couldn’t have a more convincing argument of why I am so incredibly excited to go ‘off the beaten path’ and see it for myself.

I’ve been told that if you like people, you’ll like Iran. Iran is a nation made up of numerous ethnic groups and influenced over thousands of years by Greek, Arab, Turkic and Mongol occupiers. If what friends and locals say is true, it’s a country that is endlessly welcoming and a country that is desperate to been seen for what it is, rather than what it is depicted to be.

I experienced a great example of this ancient hospitality last Thursday evening when a group of friends and I went for dinner at the Persian restaurant, Kandoo, on Edgeware Road here in London. The waitress was Iranian and rather than ordering off of the menu we told her of our forthcoming trip and asked her to order for us based on her local knowledge and passion for Iranian cuisine. We were not disappointed – dish after dish of succulent lamb, chicken baked in rich, fragrant sauces and spiced to perfection were served with understated elegance until we were so full that finishing the aromatic saffron ice-cream dessert was even a challenge. She then shared with us an insight into what we could expect to experience in Iran – from tips on what to wear, what to eat, and what to see… and even gave us her family’s contact details in Teheran to visit for an opportunity to see and experience the city from a locals perspective.

As with many of my trips, this adventure, rather unsurprisingly, involves a mountain. Whilst in Iran I will be climbing Mount Damavand. At 5671 meters (18,605 feet) it is the highest summit of Iran and the western Asia. What Everest is to Nepal, Damavand is to Iran – the mountains silhouette is one of the most recognisable icons in Iran, appearing on the local currency and on bottles of spring water and numerous other commercial items. It is a perfect cone-shape volcano located in the central part of Alborz Mountain Range in north of Iran on the southern coast of the Caspian Sea. ‘Damavand’ means ‘Breathing Mountain’ primarily because whilst it is a dormant volcano, it still belches out sulphuric fumes strong enough to kill unfortunate stray sheep.

Snow covers the entire mountain in winter and the upper parts in the other seasons. Damavand has a narrow summit crater usually covered with snow-cap and cloud. The snowy white peak with its regular lenticular cap cloud is one of the most beautiful sights of Iran. In a clear day it is visible far from 250 km.

Counting down the days...

With my visa in hand, I am now literally counting down the days… This week will be spent on an itinerary similar to the run up to other expeditions - packing, training, rounding-off some final work-related objectives and preparing to experience the culture and hospitality of this beautiful country and its people. I am very much looking forward to challenging my original perceptions of this country, arriving with an open mind, experiences to be shared, and eager to learn from the people who I meet along the way.

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