Yazd folk
Wandering the Old Town you meet lots of children playing in the little alleys between the adobe houses, all intrigued by what you’re doing here. A few moments later, the wisp of a woman in a chador turns a corner.
Every now & then, the waft of the Iranian flat-bread wafts out of a bakery, as it is being baked, flattened against the side of one of the clay ovens.
Back in the city, the buzz of people piled onto motorbikes, weaving past the fruit sellers.
Rather than taking a taxi, I walked out of the city, through the suburbs, to the edge of the desert to visit the Zorostrian Towers of Silence. Walking past a row of mechanics’ workshops, I was invited to smoke a chicha by a group of men, none of whom spoke English, and without me speaking any Persian. We somehow managed to communicate, them asking me about my family, was I married, did I have children…
A few blocks later I came accross two guys, heading to the mosque to pray. They walked with me a while, offering me a form of what I presume was qaat, laughing as my eyes betrayed the burning, stabbing sensation of the drug as it was pressed against my gums.
As I’ve already said, Iranians are welcoming folk.
More photos from Yazd here.
