Yazd was a really nice town, with a lot of mudbrickhouses, narrow alleys to get lost, and nice cosy courtyards with water bassins, not to mention the good food I got at the silk road hotel, where I could roll out my sleeping bag on top of the roof for one dollar per night and sleep under the stars.
But after having stayed there for three days and having handed over a bag full of books to Karin from Geneva, to bring it back to Switzerland, it was time to move on. Early in the morning I packed all my bags, to hit the road at 7 am after a basic breakfast. Karin got up early, too, just to see me off. Thank you! I left the hotel through the backdoor into one of those small alleys. When I was just turning around the first corner, I passed a man with a jewish cap on his head. I thought not to have see well, turn my head to check, and indeed, it seems to be a jew, in the middle of Yazd, probably the most central city of Iran. I am positively surprised, even though the evening before, we were told, that in a road not far from the hotel there is a synagoge right next to a mosque. So I knew, that there were jews around in Yazd. But showing this so publicly? Is it courage, jewish pride, a provocation or stupidity? Or is it normal everyday life of a jewish person in Iran, not more and not less? Anyhow, what seems to be quite normal this time of the year, towards the end of Ramazan, is the Anti-Israel-Propaganda hanging out everywhere, claiming that Palestine is part of the muslim world, or the poster, 500m further down the road, that was asking in english: "How long will your Qods still be occupied by Israel's and America's nasty agents?" (Qods = Jerusalem).
With the contradiction of the confessing jew and the Anti-Israel-Propaganda of this early morning I left Yazd, after having had my bicycle and myself blessed by the golden cyclist at the exit of Yazd (see fotos). Only 75km later, I unexpectedly got an explanation to this contradiction from a truckdriver, standing on the side of the road. Even though I had a break just an hour before, I let myself invite for a glass of tea. He set up the kettle again for me, and said out of the blue, after having found out that I'm Swiss: "Israel is bad." I was embarassed, as I didn't really know, how I should react on such a undifferentiated statement. While it is true, that I strongly disapprove with Israel's policy against Palestinians and other countries in the area, I still can't approve a general "Israel is bad"-statement. But the truckdriver was quick to add, that the Jews are good, the Christians also, and the Moslims, too. But Israel, Sharon, is bad. Well, yes, I agreed, I don't like the policy of Israel either. And again I was positively surprised, that despite the official Anti-Israel-Propaganda, even a truckdriver is capable to distinguish between Jews and the Israeli government. He gave me two muffins, a can of lentils and his telefonnumber in Kerman, before I hit the road again.
Further down the road there were a lot of "watch out for camels"-signs, and indeed 30km before Anar, I saw a herd of camels just next to the road. Just after this, the last bundles of grass disappeared. Has it all been eaten by the camels?
In Anar I wanted to do some camping. But when I stopped near the citadel to take a foto, a man came up, asking if I was looking for something. If there is a guesthouse, I asked, the hotel is too expensive. He sends me to the Emamzade, which I didn't know what it was until then. A boy on motorbike guided me to a nicely decorated building, which I first thought was a mosque, but turned out to be a mausoleum. I understand, an Emamzade is a place, where pilgrims can stay overnight. Even though I was not really a pilgrim, not even a moslim, even though it was the day before the last friday of Ramazan, probably the most holy friday in the year, I got a key from the emam for one of the rooms, and roll out my sleeping bag for the night on a nice comfortable persian carpet. While preparing my dinner outside the room, there was even some special ceremony going on with a procession. A funeral? Or has it to do with the last Friday of Ramazan, which would be the day after?
I did not find out, but that day I definitely found out, that there is much more about Islam, that I still haven't found out, and that must explain all the hospitality I encountered in Iran, even though I am not a muslim.
After leaving Anar, there where some plantations on both sides of the road, before the abruptly make room for the desert again. In a small village, where I sat down under a tree for a little rest, the owner of a glassery offers me a can of tea, just opposite a police container with a policeman on duty, even though it was still Ramazan. Once more I admire this selfless hospitality, even during Ramazan, where people are not allowed to drink or eat during the day, except for travelling, sick or pregnant people and children.
After having been offered another cup of tea at the entry of Rafsanjan, I asked at the Tourist Inn, if I could set up my tent on a little patch of grass. But they didn't want me to camp, nor did I want to pay 20 dollars for a room, so I headed out of town again and set up my tent on a picknick area along the mainroad near the bus terminal.
While I was preparing my dinner, I young boy turns up from somewhere with a sheep and six goats, which he let graze in the around the entry of the busterminal. Two afghani looking men where trying to hitch a ride on the side of the road. A truck stops, but after some discussion continues without them. The younger of the two men comes up to talk to me after a little while. Apparently they are from Zahedan, some 600km further east, near the border of Pakistan and Afghanistan. He jumps up again, as a bus comes along. Again no luck, the bus leaves without them. Some time later they seem to be more lucky. They call the boy with the sheep and the goats. After catching the animals and putting them into the luggage compartement of a bus, the younger man and the boy board the bus, after paying their fare, the old man stays behind with an empty wheel-pan.
After arriving in Kerman, it takes me a while to find a suitable guesthouse, where I inspected my tyres. I found a large cut in the backwheel. When I replaced it, I saw that the cut went actually through the whole tyre, but luckily did not harm the inner tube.
Kerman is not a particularly attractive place, but rather the sort of place where you catch a diarrea. After one night of going back and forth from my bed to the toilet, I was glad to have some medications left from my diarrea I caught in Erzurum (Turkey). I was not going to wait a whole week again this time. |
