Arfa is a small village a little off the main road to Tehran in the mountains, and from there you can hike up further to the peak of Arfa mountain (kuh). My idea was to hike to the peak and camp somewhere around the area as I heard it was possible, but stupid to do it on your own. I overheard the stupid and focused on the possible, so up I went, with a good amount of water and food and positive attitude.
Shortly after starting the hike, it started to rain. I was still in a good mood as I thought I have the right gear and a good tent. But then it started to rain heavier, and with the rain came fog and, even worse, the ground got so muddy I sled back down with every step I took forward. I evaluated my situation for almost half an hour, constantly trying to continue my way up. But when I looked around me and was surrounded by fog, with no idea about the area and what was still to come, I decided to turn around and go back to the village.
It turned out to be the right decision. With my super heavy backpack I sled down the mountain more than I walked and was just hoping I did not fall. Of course I did, and I almost didn’t manage to get up again, but also didn’t want to put my backpack in the mud. The way back was difficult already and after the first fall, it’s always easier to fall again. My legs got tired and I was as wet as after taking a shower. Luckily for me, my boots hold tight and my jacket and rain pants did an awesome job. Having warm and dry feet was what kept me going. I knew there was a café listed in the village where I was hoping to get away from the rain and think about my next steps. Back in the village it was so dark it could have easily been seven pm when it was just two in the afternoon. It was muddy and foggy and I wasn’t sure if I was able to go up even the smallest hill. I found one person on the street and asked him about the café. He was surprised to see me and denied there was one (my guess is it was just closed) but he mentioned something about a shelter so I followed him. I thought it would be a room offered by village families for rent and I would have been happy to pay for it, but it turned out to be one of the family’s homes, warmed by a wood fired oven. they fired it up a little more for me and I could get out of my rain clothes to dry them while they prepared some hot tea for me. Once again, I thought I was the luckiest person on earth.
I discovered that even though I had a rain cover around my backpack, it didn’t stop the water from coming in through the back and most of my stuff was wet. I tried to dry as much as possible, but one night wasn’t really enough and the space to dry it was limited.
At the end, I had dinner with the family of my rescuers. The mother decided I should sleep with them in the grandmother’s house with his parents. I got used to the more spacious room and my stuff was already all over the place to dry, but his mother wasn’t one to argue with and I was in no position for it, either. Given their hospitality they gave me, all I could do was to try to help as much as possible in the household during my stay. It was a real village life. The house had one room which served as living, dining, and sleeping room and we prepared three beds on the ground while the grandmother slept in the only “permanent” bed in the room. I’m not the one who complains about a warm room, but with four people sleeping in it and a wood fired stove heated up to the highest possible temperature I honestly had problems to sleep. The snoring didn’t make it better (I’ve never heard such noises in my life), but I heard the rain pouring down on the roof and was too happy about the hospitality and kindness of the family to complain. A night without too much sleep was a price I was happy to pay. The next day I made my way to Pooloor to see Mount Damavand, the highest volcano in Asia and one of the most beautiful things I have seen in my life.
