25 days in Iran, that was as much as our visas allowed us. We thought we had plenty of time, but it was already the end of our trip there. We had just gotten the hang of it and with so many places left to explore, it was already time to leave.

Despite our good intentions, we have to admit we had not arrived in this country filled with serenity. Our first hotel was grotty enough. In the early hours, there were screams in the corridor. We were panic-stricken, jumping out of bed at the idea of a possible raid from the vice squad. Actually, it was rather a simple argument about the priority to use the communal showers.

A few days later, we went to Masuleh in a small van improvising as a taxi. Our bags were in the trailer of straw. There were three of us in the front seats, the police stopped us. There it was, they were going to cart us off! It was actually passport control. They gave us the passports back with a big smile and a ‘Have a nice trip’. 
                  Masuleh

In another town, we hailed a taxi (official this time) to go to the bus terminal. We were driving, driving, leaving the town…where was he bringing us? I was not reassured but we finally arrived safe and sound. That was one of the small things to know: all the bus terminals and train stations are located really far out of town. In the same vein, the collective taxis that connect the towns to one another do not go further than the entry of the towns. The town taxis take over from them there. Each one has its territory! We learnt that as we went along, when we were let out without any explanations in the middle of a crossroads.

We did not understand Farsi, and we got often mixed up between rials and tomans (the currency there). It sometimes made things difficult when we asked for directions or to negotiate a price. Taxi drivers were the toughest businessmen. We were patient; we just had to wait a little until an English-speaking or German-speaking guardian angel would come to help us, translating and negotiating for us, happy to meet us and to do us a service.

In general, Iranians are happy to see foreign people coming to visit them. They insisted on giving us souvenirs from their country; we received presents every day: a cup of tea, a meal, an ice cream, a helping hand, a stroll, a bus ticket, a museum ticket, etc. Thanks to all that, we started to relax.
                                 Naptime in Yazd

We spent our last days there peacefully in Yazd, one of the oldest towns in the world at the doors of the desert. The first hot days pushed us to adopt the local rhythm: rest between noon and 5pm. We liked the atmosphere of the narrow streets in this all brown old town. We strolled between the earth and straw walls, in the shade of the covered alleyways, always thinking we were getting lost. Here and there, tall wind towers stood. For hundreds of years, they have been cooling down the interiors of houses and the water from wells. The last rays of sunshine added a lovely golden colour to the scene before the night fell and the town came to life. It was then time to do some shopping. We felt at ease in this peaceful town that has a shock asset: an incredible ice cream maker and its absolutely fabulous pistachio ice cream!
                                  In the streets of Yazd

We adopted the tea ritual. Iranians drink it at every hour of the day and everywhere. On the dashboard of a bus, you could inevitably find a small china sugar bowl and a cup: the vacuum flask was not far. In the calm of the hotel courtyard, we sat down with other travellers on big carpets around tea, and exchanged our impressions. No surprise: women spoke about the veil tied up on their heads, just to say it was unpleasant not to be able to go outside without putting it on (even to go to the communal bathrooms). They knew they would have the opportunity to take it off soon. The conversation went on, evoking the magical cities, the incredible landscape, the unlikely encounters, the discoveries, the good times, etc. It is impossible to remain indifferent to Iran.

                   Yazd

Gabrielle
(Translation: Yolene Dabreteau)

(More pictures of Yazd in the photo album)