As the party was set in motion, called dawn, the sun, breaking away from the surface of the ocean, floated through the sky like a balloon. Our driver Mansur, having dropped us off at the pier, went to look for parking.
Life was bustling in the port of Bandar Abbas - Iran's main maritime port. Women, sitting under colorful hijabs, sorted fish, while seagulls circled above them. Arabs in long white shirts hurried to the pier, where a long queue had formed for tickets to the steamboat that departed every hour from the mainland to Qeshm Island. Soon our group, led by Mansur, joined the queue. Until that moment, he had been our driver and guide only in a dual capacity. Now, having left the car in the parking lot, he became not only a guide but also an assistant in this Arab-Iranian chaos.
The queue moved slowly, as people kept approaching the ticket office out of turn. But finally, we had the coveted tickets in hand, and now we stood in another queue, this time at the gangway to the boat. Here, it was complete disorder. If it weren't for Mansur's efforts, we would have been stuck there indefinitely.
But now we were on the ship. The sky was cloudless, the water was azure, and the sun was warm. Almost an hour of enjoying this magical flight between two oceans. There were no tourists or Europeans on the ship, mostly local Arabs and Iranians. They were all heading to Qeshm for goods, as the island is a free trade zone. We were going there for impressions. The main object of our attention was Namakdan - a towering dome-shaped mountain made of pure, red-milk-colored rock salt.
I had dreamed of seeing this natural wonder since many years ago when I explored the unique caves in the salt mountain of Khoja Mumin in southern Tajikistan with speleologists. What I saw there not only amazed me but also made me a prisoner of incredible images and phenomena. So upon returning from the expedition, I began searching for everything related to salt caves. That was when I "dug up" information about the Namakdan area in Iran. Now I was close to the encounter.
Everything happened in an instant. Stepping off the gangway, Mansur persuaded an Arab with a small vehicle for a tour of the island. Mansur, finally in charge of the situation, was happy. He wanted to show us everything he knew about the island.
The first object of our attention was a curious site called Harboz, or Noah's Ark - several shallow caves artificially connected to each other, carved into the sheer soft cliffs of marl deposits. A system of stairs was provided for ascending to the caves. From the hewn rooms, which once served as dwellings, enchanting views of the desert landscapes opened up. In one of the passages, there was a bas-relief about 400 years old depicting Noah's Ark. It is said that the bas-relief was created by joyful Iranians after the island was liberated from the Portuguese during Shah Abbas's reign. By the way, the Portuguese presence is reminded here by the grand ruins of a fortress located not far from the main port.
Time flew quickly. I reminded Mansur that our main goal was Namakdan. But Mansur continued to build the program according to his plan.
