This adventure with Biosphere Expeditions will shine a whole new
light on the wildlife in this desert destination. This immersive,
hands-on experience is dedicated to ensuring the survival of the
rare and fascinating species that live in the Dubai Desert
Conservation Reserve.
Traversing dunes by 4WD and on foot with scientists, you’ll focus on the Arabian oryx, the largest antelope in the region, observing them through the use of cameras and radio, and examining herd behaviours, habitats and food sources. You’ll also collect data for other animals that call the Arabian Peninsula home, such as the Gordon’s wildcat, the sand fox, and sand and mountain gazelles.
Akko has the habit of getting older every year, but by 40 years.” Uri Jeremias, our host for tonight’s dinner and a man who looks as much like Santa Claus as any I’ve ever met, pauses like he’s waiting for us to solve his riddle. “When I started this restaurant in Akko 21 years ago, it was declared as 4500 years of living history, now it’s 5300!” He laughs, his long grey beard grazing his round belly. We clink glasses of Israeli chenin blanc in appreciation.
This is the last in a long line of impressive Akko (also known as Acre) facts Jeremias has been telling us as we’ve dined with him in his famed seafood restaurant Uri Buri, housed in an old Turkish stone mansion looking across to the Mediterranean Sea. Over the past two hours, as we’ve devoured his deliciously fresh and uncomplicated seafood dishes, Jeremias has told us that this small Israeli port city is a perfect example of co-existence. It’s where Jews, Arabs, Christians and Baha’í live and work peacefully together, without tension and almost no police or army presence – a rarity in Israel.
He has also told us that Akko is surrounded by excellent small farms and wineries, creating the high-quality produce and unique flavours that are putting Israel so firmly on the foodie map. It’s surrounded by stunning national parks and is historically rich too, he tells us, holding remains of Crusader towns dating back as far as 1104.
I understand all the convincing. After all, Akko is located in northern Israel’s Galilee region, where travel advisory sites will warn you to exercise a high degree of caution when visiting. It’s just a 20-minute drive from the heavily fortified Lebanese border and off the track beaten of most Holy Land tourists. Jeremias has already outlined how difficult it can be to promote international tourism to a region where the travel warnings are severe, and from where news stories in the international media are almost entirely bad. And yet, just one afternoon in Akko has already rendered any winning-over unnecessary. We’re completely smitten, and convinced that this northern region just might be one of Israel’s best-kept secrets.
Admittedly, these feelings have so far largely been induced by the charms of the Efendi Boutique Hotel. Also owned by Jeremias, the 12-room hotel is one of Israel’s most luxurious, a merging of two Ottoman-era palaces, that Jeremias spent eight years painstakingly restoring and converting with the help of Israel’s Antiquities Authority. After arriving earlier in the afternoon and admiring the meticulously restored ceiling frescoes, the 400-year-old Turkish bath and the Crusader-era wine cellar and bar, my travel companion and I headed straight up to the breezy rooftop terrace for a sundowner. The Mediterranean Sea was winking at us from a few hundred metres away. The Muslim call to prayer was ringing out around us. We looked out over the crowns of the city’s mosques, synagogues, churches and Baha’i temples and raised our glasses to unity. To finding, in a country largely identified by its divisions and conflicts, a place where different cultures and faiths live peacefully side by side.
As morning dawns, we step out onto the dishevelled cobbled streets of the fortified old city and wander through winding alleyways lined with ancient sandstone buildings, their window frames painted green and blue, washing flapping from lines strung across their facades. We pass Muslim women in head scarves and street signs written in Arabic, a just-married Christian couple having their wedding photos taken by the seafront, and smiling, wizened fishermen hawking their wares from hole-in-the-wall shopfronts. We peer into Ottoman-era granite caravanserai and through carvings in the ancient stone ramparts to the roiling green sea, and get turned around in the zig-zagging alleyways of the market, filled with the scent of spices and cardamom coffee, freshly smashed tahini and frying fish.
It’s a fascinating insight into Akko’s cultural fusion, and Jeremias was right; we haven’t seen a single gun-toting soldier all morning, a ubiquitous sight in other parts of Israel including the tourist hubs of Jerusalem and Tel Aviv.
The most intriguing side of Akko, however, and one of the main reasons why its old city became Israel’s first UNESCO World Heritage site back in 2001, lies beneath our feet. Escaping the fierce midday sun, we make our way underground into the 350-metre-long Templars’ Tunnel. Created in the 12th century by the Knights Templar, it strategically connected their main fortress in the west to the city’s port in the east. Walking through the dimly lit stone passageway in the footsteps of the Crusaders is an extraordinary experience, and one that truly drives home the idea that this is one of the oldest living cities on the planet.
Soon, it’s time to farewell Akko and drive into the Upper Galilee to our next destination, Safed. We’re not quite ready to farewell the Mediterranean Sea yet though, so we take a detour along the coast to the Lebanese border. There, set into the cliffs hovering above the sea, we discover the Rosh Hanikra grottoes. A small red cable car takes us down to the caves, which have been naturally carved into the cliffs by the forces of the sea over millions of years. We wander through a network of tunnels linking the caves, stopping every few metres to watch the green ocean slapping up against the stark white chalk cliffs. It’s hypnotising and also a little strange, watching something so peaceful in a place just 100 metres away from where the 34-day Lebanon War raged over a decade ago.
The sun is starting to set by the time we arrive in Safed. A golden glow is sweeping through the town’s biscuit-coloured stone alleyways, setting the stained-glass windows that characterise the town ablaze. By happy chance our arrival in the city, a centre of Kabbalah Jewish mysticism since the 16th century and one of Judaism’s four holiest cities, has landed on a Saturday, the Jewish Shabbat day of rest. The town’s boutiques, restaurants and art galleries are all closed for the day, giving us the perfect opportunity to watch the quiet streets fill with devout local families strolling after synagogue. We walk along with them, passing men dressed in heavy black coats and rabbit fur hats with tight, shiny ringlets hanging by their ears. The women are in turbans, modest blouses and ankle-skimming skirts, many trailed by four or more children. It’s quiet; the air is still. We agree that this place seems touched by a special energy, but the atheists among us decide it probably has something to do with Safed being the highest town in Israel. A few hours later, however, we find ourselves on the rooftop of our guesthouse, chatting to the devout owner who has other ideas.
“There’s a reason why the energy in Safed is so special,” he tells us, nodding his head towards the mountains spreading out before us.
“The famous second-century Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai, who wrote the Zohar (the chief work of the Kabbalah), was buried in that mountain over there. So, they say Safed has geula, or redemptive energy and light, coming down to it from heaven.”
Whether or not we believe in the geula, it has played a part in drawing spiritual seekers to Safed since the 16th century. Back then, Sephardic rabbis, sages and poets escaping the Spanish inquisition settled here, making it a destination for Jews wishing to get a blessing or advice from the rabbis, and giving the city a unique, bohemian character. Today this atmosphere remains and continues to draw not only Kabbalists and new-age hippie types, but also many artists and creatives.
In the town’s Artist Quarter, we spend hours exploring the dozens of small art galleries and craft boutiques, selling everything from handmade candles and jewellery to weavings and ceramics, scattered among the synagogues. When the heat of the day gets too much, we take the 20-minute drive to the Sea of Galilee, Israel’s biggest freshwater lake and the place where Jesus supposedly walked on water. The lake’s circumference is dotted with Christian holy sites, including the Mount of Beatitudes and the ancient village of Capernaum, and numerous small beaches. We stop at one called Hukuk, laying our towels out under the palm trees, surrounded by dozens of picnicking Arab families.
A lazy afternoon of slipping in and out of the water and reading on the grass ensues. We don’t see a single foreign tourist the whole time, nor do we when we arrive back in Safed for a sunset dinner at Gan Eden mountaintop restaurant. As we nibble tasty fish kebabs and charred eggplant salad accompanied by crisp Israeli chardonnay that golden light is thrown over the mountains once more.
Wine has been produced in the region since ancient times, but it’s only in recent years that the country has become known for its thriving wine economy. Of the its five wine regions, the Galilee’s high elevation, hot days, cool nights and well-drained soils make it the most suited to grape growing. As we drive further north, we pass through rolling hills covered in vineyards, that sit alongside orchards and cattle ranches. When we reach the Golan Heights, the closest area in Israel to the Syrian border, we also start to see abandoned Syrian bunkers and tanks. They’re sombre reminders of the tumultuous history of this area.
Conflict, however, feels worlds away as we start our hike through the Yehudiya Forest Nature Reserve. The rocky terrain is carpeted with dry yellow grasses, stocky olive trees and the remainder of spring’s purple globe thistle flowers. It is beautiful in that raw, elemental way Israeli landscapes often are. After 90 minutes of sweaty hiking, the earth finally splits open and drops into a lush canyon, from the bottom of which a deep natural pool beckons. As soon as we reach its banks we throw our sweat-soaked bodies into the cool water, and swim surrounded by hundreds of hexagonal basalt columns formed from lava flows millions of years ago. It’s otherworldly.
Afterwards, we lay out on the smooth rocks under oleander trees heavy with pink flowers. Aside from a lone park ranger quietly building a small rock cairn by the shore, we’re the only ones here. We wonder why, for perhaps the tenth time since arriving in northern Israel four days ago, this region isn’t crawling with tourists. For the moment, though, we’re glad we have it all to ourselves.
“What do you want in Jordan?” I’m asked as I attempt to cross the border. “Climbing and hiking,” I answer, trying not to blink or look dodgy. The border patrol looks at me with suspicion.
“Maybe a jeep tour, as well,” I hear myself say.
I am starting to sweat. The border from Israel to Jordan closes in 10 minutes and I have made it all the way from Tel Aviv just in time. I have no intention of giving up now. I was told by Shadi Khries, electronic music producer and one of the headliners of the SA7RA-OUI festival, to say as little as possible. No location, no names. The organisers want to stay under the radar.
I’m here to attend the SA7RA-OUI in Wadi Rum, a music festival, I’m told, that’s very different to the others. Hosted by local Bedouins, organised by a French production company and Jordanians from Amman, and attended by Palestinians, Israelis, Jordanians, French and Germans alike, the event embodies the bridging power inherent in music.
As Shadi puts it simply, “The desert gives freedom. We listen to what we want, we dance how we want, and we wear what we want.”
In this dried-up riverbed, all rules are different. Red rocks of sandstone and granite seem to rise randomly into the sky, reaching up to 800 metres high. “We call it The Valley of the Moon,” says Mohammad, one of the hosts from the local Bedouin clan. Dressed all in white with a traditional red keffiyeh – a checkered piece of cloth tied with a black cord around the head – he greets the first guests. Some arrive at nightfall by 4WD, their beaming headlights a beacon in the darkness, moving through the desert valley like a distant torch procession.
Mohammad shakes hands, a cigarette seemingly glued to the corner of his mouth. When he laughs, which he does often, he reveals teeth slightly stained by tobacco and Arabic coffee. “This is our land,” he says, and he is not wrong. Bedouins make up 40 per cent of the Jordanian population and have inhabited these dusty plains for around 500 years. Next to the dance floor, men are lighting a bonfire, and preparing coffee and tea for the newcomers. Hospitality is a crucial part of their identity. “We just continue our tradition – receiving strangers and wanderers of the desert, giving them shelter and food,” Mohammad explains.
For years, Shadi has been friends with the Bedouins from the village. “We agreed we have to break down all barriers,” he says in his quiet yet penetrating voice. “You have to be very careful, respect the place and find common energy with the people living here. It cannot be about girls, mingling and cocktails, but only about the music.”
This time, he’s invited Paris-based duo Acid Arab to be the night’s highlight. Members Guido Minisky and Hervé Carvalho interweave Middle Eastern strings, percussion and Arabic scales into the framework of electronic music, allowing instruments such as the rebab, oud and qanbus to dive deep into the fabric of the club sound. Whenever they hit a familiar Jordanian tune and twist the knob in the right direction, Bedouins begin jumping from the rocks into the middle of the dance floor, taking each other and the foreigners by the hands and moving to the beat in ecstasy.
“What an interesting experience – dancing in such a crowd,” says Simon, one of the attendees, his expression a mixture of excitement and astonishment. As the only Jewish guest from Israel, he rarely finds himself having fun with his Arab neighbours. “But this is the next step, this is transcendence,” he says before I see his afro disappear through the crowd.
Next to him, Spiro and Daniel from Bethlehem are shaking their dreadlocks. Their hearts belong to trance music, but they confess it’s a somewhat elusive love. “A trance or electronic scene is almost non-existent in Palestine,” says one. “You have to look for it.” According to him, Arab countries of the Middle East are still in their infancy when it comes to contemporary electronic music.
On the other hand, this is why festivals are still authentic, dedicated spaces for the true counterculture and the outcasts. Especially for musicians, bookers and producers from the underground scene in the West Bank and Gaza who have a hard time expressing their art and building a crowd. They lack funding, freedom of movement and visas to go abroad, making it hard to pursue an international music career. As a result, many bands have their fan base in places they can never visit; meanwhile their compositions travel across oceans to places like Paris, Brussels or Berlin. In the Middle East, however, music is a matter charged with politics and every line-up is a statement.
“If you want to listen to Acid Arab and dance without an intervention, you are forced to retreat to such remote areas,” explains Shadi. After the festival, he will leave immediately for Paris. Only the desert can seem to keep him a few days in his home country. “There is freedom in the desert. We have to charge this area with new energy.”
With these words in mind, I gather my belongings the next morning and shake the red dust from my hair, shoes and bags. Some guests have moved their mattresses to higher ground to wake up with the sunrise. Slowly, the light creeps up from behind the mountains. In the distance, a girl pulls her yellow suitcase over a sand dune.
Two 4WD rides, one traffic jam and three police checks later, I am once again facing the border. The Israeli official looks at me and I do not blink. He asks me if I have any Arab friends. “No, sir.” And if I have visited any Arabs. “No, of course not.” What did I do in Jordan? “Climbing and hiking,” I say with a smile. “Climbing and hiking.”
Often ignorantly depicted as a dangerous nation of radicals, chauvinistic dogma and unsavoury politics, the true Iran is a country rich in culture, glorious architecture, history and warm hospitality.
This tour starts in the capital, Tehran. While subjected to destruction at the hands of medieval invasions from Arab, Turk and Mongol Empires, its magnificent architecture representing Qajar culture still remains intact, making it a must-see.
Visit the vast UNESCO World Heritage-listed Golestan Palace complex and the impressive Grand Bazaar, which is split into several corridors covering 10 kilometres and sells everything from souvenirs, clothing and jewellery to carpets and kebabs.
After the sensory overload of Tehran, the tour takes a chill pill and heads for several days to the car-free, historic 10th-century mountain village of Masuleh. With its unique honey-coloured buildings carved into the mountains and interconnected courtyards and roofs that serve as pedestrian areas similar to streets, Masuleh is the perfect destination to prepare for a day’s hike through the forest. You’ll finish up camping beside the majestic Shah Moalem Mountain.
The following days’ walks take in Masal and Kashan, where a visit to the UNESCO World Heritage-listed Sheikh Safi mausoleum and shrine complex is a highlight. Also on the agenda is a stroll around the great Naqsh-e Jahan Square in Esfahan and Fin Garden.
The last remaining days are suitably allocated to Shiraz. A stop en route to Pasargadae, the first Achaemenid capital and home to the tomb of Cyrus the Great, will be rewarding for both history nerds and neophytes. Cyrus the Great, founded the Achaemenid Empire and Persia by uniting the two original Iranian tribes, the Medes and the Persians. He was laid to rest here in 530 BCE.
Shiraz is the capital of the Fars Province and one of the oldest cities in Iran. Yes, it was once a producer of the famous grape of the same name, although most vines were destroyed during the 1979 Revolution. It’s also known as a city of poets, literature and flowers. Take some time to stroll though its ethereal gardens, like Eram Gardens, with its romantic myrtles and towering cypress trees, including one that is 3000 years old.
Most of all, Shiraz is the cradle of Persian culture. Visit the tombs of the great medieval poets Hafez and Saadi. To round things off, take an afternoon stroll through the hustle and bustle of the city’s covered Vakil Bazaar and sample Shiraz’s vast array of crafts, including inlaid mosaic work, silversmithing, and the weaving of carpets and kilims.
I was in Kyrgyzstan, standing at an altitude of 6500 metres, with a frostbite-inducing temperature of –35ºC, billowing winds of more than 30 kilometres per hour, and a nine-hour hike ahead me. It was the toughest shooting conditions I have ever found myself in.
This is not an ideal shooting scenario, but at that exact moment a beautiful alignment took place. As the sun started to glow on the horizon, a horizontal blast of snow and ice shimmered in the golden light and the struggle of my friend in the distance formed the scene.
I had to shoot this! I couldn’t feel my face and retrieving my camera from the depths of my bag took virtually all my concentration. Somehow, despite the elements raging around me, I managed to remove my outer gloves and capture some of my favourite shots of 2017.
These aren’t your every day shooting conditions, but sometimes the destinations we seek out dish up elements that are extreme and you have to be prepared. Here are some tips to improve your chances of capturing great shots in the face of Mother Nature’s whims.
More Than Just Gear
An adventure to an extreme environment is a full body experience and even the best camera is no use if you don’t function. Being prepared is half the job. Do your research – find out everything about your destination and prepare both mentally and physically for the environment you will be travelling to.
I never thought I’d be the source of the problem when it came to taking photos in high altitudes. My main concern was the wellbeing of the camera, until I realised that wasn’t much help when I could only use it for 15 seconds at a time because, beyond that, I started to lose feeling in my fingers.
Bring The Right Camera
Your body is prepped, protected and all ready to go. Now what? Make sure you pack the right camera. Regardless of whether you’re shooting in the African heat, Scottish rain or Arctic cold, you’re going to need a camera and lens combination that is fully weather sealed.
These are only impervious to the climes when attached together. Don’t remove the lens from the camera when you’re among the elements or shortly after being exposed to them – you don’t want to risk moisture creeping in and destroying the electronics. For advanced weatherproof performance I recommend the Olympus OM-D E-M1 Mark II camera and M.Zuiko PRO lenses, which are dust- and splash-proof.
Pack Smart, Pack Light
Venturing to a destination of extremes likely means being active and every additional kilo you carry will feel heavier the further you travel, so pack with practicality in mind. For the most extreme adventures I recommend packing one single lens per camera body. The OM-D E-M1 Mark II has a small and light body and my favourite expedition lens, the M.Zuiko 12-100mm f/4 IS PRO, is not only weather sealed, it’s also small and portable and has a great focal range.
Other gear that’s worth its weight is spare batteries and hand warmers. The only thing that sucks the life out of a camera battery faster than snapping awesome photos is the cold, so if you’re shooting in below-zero climates, hand warmers are essential for keeping your camera batteries functioning. Another alternative is keeping batteries in a pocket close to your body for warmth. For those adventuring into hot conditions where bone-dry heat or sticky humidity reigns, try to keep your batteries out of direct sunlight and in a cool, dry place.
Settings for Success
Preventing your shots from becoming a blurred mess can be difficult in extreme environments. You’ll likely find yourself in some precarious places, which will make shooting, blur-free, in manual – balancing aperture, ISO and shutter speed – a tricky feat. Simplify this by switching to Shutter Priority (S-Mode). This will allow you to select the shutter speed while the camera does the rest. Depending on the subject of your shot and how volatile the surrounding environment is, I suggest shooting at 1/400sec and higher to avoid camera shake.
By now I’m sure you’ve realised that this is not the time to be reading the manual. Know your camera inside out. Even knowing what field of view your lens has without looking through the viewfinder can be exceptionally useful when visualising compositions. This means you can keep your gear safely packed away, but still be ready to shoot at a moment’s notice.
Shoot In Bad Conditions
There’s nothing like coming home from an epic adventure with photos that only show the ‘good times’. Thanks to photo sharing apps like Instagram, that’s a common misconception. For those of us who seek out extreme environments, it’s about far more than just the perfect picture; it’s about being present in the face of even the worst conditions.
That said, be safe, too. Don’t venture into these conditions alone. Tell someone where you’re heading and take a charged smartphone, stashed in a sealed bag away from the elements, just in case.
Once you’ve got that sorted, take out your camera in the toughest of times and snap a few shots. Some of my most rewarding images are the ones that challenged me the most. These are the moments that you’ll never forget.
Chris Eyre-Walker is a member of the Olympus Visionary Program, a team of award-winning photographers supported by Olympus.
Capturing a moment in low light can be a thing of real beauty. It manifests in many different ways – the first rays of dawn, a dimly lit market, a neon sign – that go far beyond just long exposures of the night sky.
When photographing in low light, it’s important to remember that your camera is, in essence, a light-gathering device. Modern cameras have evolved into owl-like gadgets; now, more can be seen by a camera than the naked eye. But when there’s minimal light available it can be a struggle to snap a clear image – if you’re not equipped with the right knowledge.
Here are a few tips to get the most out of your low-light photography.
It’s In The Details
I could tell you about expensive lenses and cameras, but low-light photography is not as complicated as it seems – these days, virtually any camera is capable of snapping great shots when the light dims.
Make the most of your camera’s capabilities by shooting in raw. This format captures maximum detail and offers you flexibility post-shoot to recover some image elements you may have lost due to over or underexposure, as opposed to lower-quality formats like JPG, which are more limited.
Once this is set up you’ll need a wide-aperture lens (like a prime lens); this will gather a greater amount of light than a regular lens and should be set to the widest aperture possible. Next, select a slower shutter speed to allow more light to enter your camera. Finally, choose a high ISO, as this will make the sensor more sensitive to light. Get familiar with these, as they are the three key areas you’ll be using when shooting in low light.
Head Towards The Light
Although we’re talking about how to shoot in low light, you still need to be conscious of having as much of it as you can. One way to hunt for light to set the scene is to become familiar with the different phases of the day. Blue hour, when the burgeoning and lingering sunlight takes on a distinctly blue shade in the morning and evening, is one such phase to keep in mind.
Also be sure to keep your eyes peeled for a light source. It could be anything from street lights, a candlelit room or a lone light bulb to a crackling campfire, city skyline or the moon. In darkness, these are all things that can shine more light on your subject, or be the subject of the image itself.
Find Your Balance
When things get darker, it’s time to whip out a tripod. You might have steady hands, but even the slightest movement can interfere with the clarity of a shot. This is when a tripod is the best solution. If you find yourself caught without one, though, any surface can become a ‘tripod’. Simply set up your camera and make use of the two-second timer to avoid any residual camera shake.
That said, it’s still possible to shoot a killer image by hand. I’ve captured sharp low-light images with a shutter speed of up to five seconds with the M.Zuiko 12–100mm f/4 IS PRO lens and Olympus OM-D E-M1 Mark II, but I would consider this to be one of very few combinations that could handle this type of long exposure without a tripod.
Embrace The Darkness
Think it’s too dark? Don’t abandon the shoot just yet. You’ve got this! Most professional cameras don’t have built-in flashes, but if yours does resist the urge to use it, you’ll get a better result by keeping your photos dark and moody instead. If you’re shooting in the dark you’re likely trying to capture the essence of that, so let the darkness be the hero.
In these moments, you’ll need to consider switching to manual focus, as autofocus will likely no longer work. This is one of the very few times you will be better than your camera at telling if the scene is in focus.
For something different, shoot in black and white. This will remove the distraction of colour and train your eye to compose a photo using contrasting highlights and shadows. Some cameras, like the Olympus OM-D series, have this as a built-in feature and allow you to look at the scene in black and white as you compose your shot.
Get Creative
Low-light photography offers a vast range of creative possibilities that push the boundaries of conventional imagery. There are truly talented artists out there who create magic with ‘light painting’ – the art of a moving or immobile hand-held light source that illuminates the dark during a long-exposure shot.
Occasionally I’ll try it by adding a torch light or glowing smartphone to a scene to create a unique point of interest. Google it for a dose of inspiration, then try it yourself: simply mount your camera on a tripod or stable surface, set it for a 15 to 30 second exposure and treat the darkness as your canvas. Because who doesn’t like having fun in the dark?
Chris Eyre-Walker is a member of the Olympus Visionary Program, a team of award-winning photographers supported by Olympus.
The sudden scream of an engine startles us all as our group files into the pits of Abu Dhabi’s Yas Marina Circuit. We haven’t been here long and I’ve already shot my mouth off about being somewhat of a “Hamilton” on the racetrack. The fact I could even compare winning a backyard go-kart race and a celebratory victory “shoey” of flat VB from a Dunlop Volley to racing a Formula 3000 vehicle on an actual grand prix circuit probably says something about my over inflated confidence. But, as the great Formula One driver Stirling Moss once said, “There are two things no man will admit he cannot do well: Drive and make love.”
It has been a relatively seamless process to this point. We present our licenses, sign some insurance forms I don’t read, and sit through a 30 minute briefing and instructional session. The cars are tiptronic with gears on the steering wheel and just a pedal each for the brake and accelerator.
“It is all about maximising your speed,” our instructor explains. “Brake at the last minute into the corner then accelerate hard out.” His excitement is somewhat infectious.
We pull on our racing suits and walk onto the track. It’s sparkling clean and the luxurious and futuristic looking Yas Viceroy Hotel overlooks it like an alien spaceship lording over its speeding minions. We’re split into two groups, and each of us is partnered with a lead driver whose job is to ensure we stay a safe distance from the others.
I’ve never been much of a car guy and the mention of 3000cc V6 engines means very little to me. Formula One champs use these to learn their craft and as I slide my six foot six frame into the seat, it begins to make sense why professional drivers are so small. It’s claustrophobic and there’s just enough room to grip the steering wheel. My helmet is almost wedged in.
Our instructor signals to start the engines and a slight touch of the accelerator roars my engine to life. Suddenly, we’re off and speeding down the first straight.
The power of the car is extreme and my confidence is harnessed immediately as I over accelerate, causing my sunglasses to blow off my face. As the wind blows up my helmet, I quickly realise that being too tall for these cars causes more issues than just a tight fit.
If it looks like we are moving too fast, the slower drivers are called into the pits to allow the speed demons some real fun and within two turns my compatriot has been pitted to allow me to overtake him. I laugh.
My lead driver is in sight and I spend the next twenty minutes desperately trying to catch him. It’s never going to happen. It’s hard work and despite the car’s incredible responsiveness, it takes concentration to run the gears and strength to turn the wheels. The thrill is intense.
I push the car faster and harder on the straights, each time gaining more respect for the courage of the F1 drivers who reach speeds that are almost double what we’re pushing here today.
My final lap is signalled and I channel my inner Alan Jones, the great Australian F1 champion who’s briefcase I carried across Bahrain Airport when I was six years old (my dad made me do it). I go for top speed down the last straight, but I brake too early into the upcoming dogleg corner causing a spinout. For a split second, I fear for my life.
I’m sweating, laughing and charged with adrenaline. My lead driver pulls up beside me to check if I’m okay. I give him a thumbs up just as my compatriot passes with a raised digit of his own. I deserve it.
Wide-eyed and full of exhilaration, we celebrate our achievements with a drink on the beach. Of course, I declare myself the victor (what was it Sterling Moss said?) and raise a toast to all the others I lapped. The beer on Abu Dhabi’s beach is cold and tasty, and despite my day as an Aussie racing driver, this one isn’t going anywhere near my shoe! Sorry, Daniel Ricciardo.
Majlis al Jinn Cave is bloody hard to get to, and even harder to get inside of – but it’s so awesome we couldn’t resist including it in our must-do experiences. To get to the remotely located cave, you’ll have take a five hour 4WD journey and vouch on good weather. If you want to abseil inside this cavernous chamber – which could comfortably accommodate 10 jumbo jets wing-to-wing – you can try your luck at obtaining a permit.
Unfortunately though, this cave is indefinitely closed for redevelopment to make it easily accessible to tourists. Be patient, and one day, you’ll be able to explore this colossal wonder.
Cleanse your palate and prepare to taste the flavours of Persia by learning how to prepare an iconic Iranian feast at a local family home on this sumptuous culinary adventure.
Tachin Morgh, which translates to ‘arranged at the bottom’, is the dish you’ll be making. It’s a traditional delicacy of saffron-infused rice and tender chicken layered in a rich egg yolk and yoghurt sauce, and baked to produce a crisp bottom layer bursting with flavour. The interplay of the crust with steamed saffron rice is both beautiful and irresistible, and just one of many moments you’ll have you tastebuds titillated on this Iran Real Food Adventure with Intrepid Travel.
You’ll begin your foray into the life of an Iranian Masterchef by plunging into the markets and bazaars with your tour leader, a local from the area, who will show you how and where to source the freshest ingredients for your dish. Once you’ve collected your bounty, you’ll venture to a local home to learn about each of the necessary steps for crafting the Tachin – especially how to achieve the perfect crisp bottom layer, known as tahdig.
Once you’ve finished cooking a storm, tuck in to your homemade Tachin alongside other traditional dishes and drinks. If you can drag your thoughts from the myriad flavours exploding in your mouth, you’ll also have the opportunity to learn about the local customs and Iranian culture from your host family.
Spend an unforgettable night in a simple local home in Kahkaraan, a village in the Fars Province of Iran. This area, north of the stunning gardens, mosques and literary history of Shiraz, is famous for its nomadic people, the Qashqai, Turkish-speaking pastoral nomads and the largest of all of Iran’s nomadic tribes who have roamed this barren landscape for centuries. Once completely nomadic, they spent the harsh winters near the Persian Gulf and hot summers on the central Iranian Plateau. These days most of the nomads are settled in villages like this one; however, tribal traditions such as herding cattle, sewing carpets and embroidery are still a prevalent part of everyday life.
During your stay you’ll have the unique opportunity to immerse yourself in their rural nomadic lifestyle and enjoy the hospitality of your warm and friendly hosts – one of many enriching moments on Intrepid Travel’s Iran Adventure tour. Help prepare a meal, make local bread over a fire, share stories, try on the traditional dress, and learn local song and dance.
While the accommodation here is very simple and you will share close quarters in the home, sleeping on a simple foam mattress with pillows and blankets and using shared bathroom facilities, this will be no ordinary stay. You may even have the honour of being invited to share in the celebrations of a nomad wedding in the village.
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