Tabriz was disappointing. Merely an overnight stopping point on the road to somewhere more interesting, we hope. Our guide, Sorab, however, is much more interesting. Each morning we have our Farsi phrase for the day and are encouraged to ask questions about Iranian life and culture. We also have a driver and a '2nd ' driver, who appears unable to drive a bus. Our 2nd driver is, however, extremely good at counting us on and off the bus. Each time we stop and get off, he counts us back on. Then he double checks, then he triple checks, just to make sure. As soon as we set off he disappears into the bowels of the coach for a nap, surrounded by our backpacks to cushion the bumps and sudden stops as he sleeps. Our 2nd driver also seems to deal with the incessant police checks along the road.
A few minutes after leaving the hotel the coach comes to a stop and we are invited to visit the Blue Mosque. The gardens are calm and peaceful and people are sat on benches contemplating the day in front of them. The mosque itself, is a mismatch of different periods but has an interesting history of Shia and Sunni use.
Once again, driver no 2 counts us all carefully back on the bus.
As we drive along the motorway, the road surface is good and the landscape changes again. The hills resemble sand dunes and the colours are dramatic contrasts of deep red and pale beige. The villages we pass are more like mud huts, with low, matching mud walls, demarcating their land. A single power line trails through the village. In the yard, I spot chickens and turkeys and along the road and a boy on a donkey. Large piles of hay are everywhere and it occurs to me that the houses may well be made of bales held together with the mud. But we do not stop to find out and the wheels on the bus go round and round.
Another lunch stop and this time we have the choice of beef kebab, shish kebab or chicken dinner (which turned out to be roast chicken joint). All with rice. But no-one really wants a full dinner. This time, we are lucky to have the bus dustbin at our table. Michele devours at least 3 plates of shish kebab and a chicken drumstick. Where does he put it all?
Next stop is the Dome. Conceived as a mausoleum for kings & queens, it has never held a dead body, although there was a rumour that the last Shah of Iran was to be buried there. It does however, sport a beautiful turquoise roof. Inside, only the massive scaffolding is visible and I decline the 5000Rials (30p) entry to scale the dizzy heights. I wonder how long the restoration work will take but am informed the scaffolding is there to protect the building in case of earthquake. In the gardens, families are enjoying picnics in the sun. Several make approaches in Farsi and limited English, mainly young girls and women but occasionally young men, testing their English. All demonstrate a polite interest in where I am from and welcoming smile. Once again, we are counted and double counted back on the bus.
Despite it being Friday, Zanjan seems a little more lively than Tabriz and our hotel is the best yet, with spacious rooms and modern toilets. However, with no air con, the heat is stifling even though the temperature is only 27C.
The constant meat and rice diet has left us craving vegetables and on the nightly hunt for food we discover Iranian pizza and fruit beer (non alcoholic, of course). Even as we walk down the street, locals approach us. A young man inform tells me he is in the national rowing team and goes to great length to explain the competitions and other teams in his desire to maintain the conversation. I've already had that chat up line back in Turkey, or was it Bulgaria, but from his physique this one could well be telling the truth. Ah well, no harm in window shopping. I skip to catch up with my friends.
A few minutes after leaving the hotel the coach comes to a stop and we are invited to visit the Blue Mosque. The gardens are calm and peaceful and people are sat on benches contemplating the day in front of them. The mosque itself, is a mismatch of different periods but has an interesting history of Shia and Sunni use.
Once again, driver no 2 counts us all carefully back on the bus.
As we drive along the motorway, the road surface is good and the landscape changes again. The hills resemble sand dunes and the colours are dramatic contrasts of deep red and pale beige. The villages we pass are more like mud huts, with low, matching mud walls, demarcating their land. A single power line trails through the village. In the yard, I spot chickens and turkeys and along the road and a boy on a donkey. Large piles of hay are everywhere and it occurs to me that the houses may well be made of bales held together with the mud. But we do not stop to find out and the wheels on the bus go round and round.
Another lunch stop and this time we have the choice of beef kebab, shish kebab or chicken dinner (which turned out to be roast chicken joint). All with rice. But no-one really wants a full dinner. This time, we are lucky to have the bus dustbin at our table. Michele devours at least 3 plates of shish kebab and a chicken drumstick. Where does he put it all?
Next stop is the Dome. Conceived as a mausoleum for kings & queens, it has never held a dead body, although there was a rumour that the last Shah of Iran was to be buried there. It does however, sport a beautiful turquoise roof. Inside, only the massive scaffolding is visible and I decline the 5000Rials (30p) entry to scale the dizzy heights. I wonder how long the restoration work will take but am informed the scaffolding is there to protect the building in case of earthquake. In the gardens, families are enjoying picnics in the sun. Several make approaches in Farsi and limited English, mainly young girls and women but occasionally young men, testing their English. All demonstrate a polite interest in where I am from and welcoming smile. Once again, we are counted and double counted back on the bus.
Despite it being Friday, Zanjan seems a little more lively than Tabriz and our hotel is the best yet, with spacious rooms and modern toilets. However, with no air con, the heat is stifling even though the temperature is only 27C.
The constant meat and rice diet has left us craving vegetables and on the nightly hunt for food we discover Iranian pizza and fruit beer (non alcoholic, of course). Even as we walk down the street, locals approach us. A young man inform tells me he is in the national rowing team and goes to great length to explain the competitions and other teams in his desire to maintain the conversation. I've already had that chat up line back in Turkey, or was it Bulgaria, but from his physique this one could well be telling the truth. Ah well, no harm in window shopping. I skip to catch up with my friends.
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