After we left the capital, days were becoming warmer and warmer, as we kept moving to the south all until we reached half of the world (nickname for Esfahan). However, Anya and me decided to make a turn to the east, into the driest city of Iran built in the middle of the desert, and named after the fourteenth king of Persia, back in the IV century. About 350 km were dividing us from our destination, and not much effort went into the writing name Yazd into the blank piece of paper, or let's call it - our free ticket to this city.
However, more effort went into explaining meaning of hitchhiking to all these curious and confused people who saw us standing by the road. As most of them didn't go to Yazd, they would stop, make a worried face and try to persuade us to go back to the city and take a bus. One driver stood there for 30 minutes, and once we finally managed to get rid of him, he called the police to help us, as he was concerned about our safety. The police car arrived at the same moment as we found our ride to Yazd - a large truck managed by three Baluchi people, heading to Zahedan, capital of Baluchistan region. This ethnic minority occupies large territories in the east Iran and west Pakistan. Their difference in culture, religion, public opinion and lack of rights created constant disagreement with Iranian government, and even some bombing attacks, which happened few times in the past, in the capital of their province. Therefore, concern of the police increased, and once they took all the personal details of our drivers, they let us hit the road with them through the desert...
Yellow color dominated the empty road, which at times became light brown or sometimes even barely green, due to the small inhabited places in the middle of nowhere. Although you need three hours to cross the same distance in Europe, on Asian roads it can be two or three times longer. And, our truck was not the fastest transport, so we had all the time to meet our drivers... except that we didn't speak the same language. We ended up using our hands to explain our life stories, and I even brought a guide to my hometown, which delivered few more sentences made by our fingers pointed on pictures. Even by not understanding each other language, we managed to enjoy each other's company.
The day ended and we spent few more hours on an empty dark road. At some point, we saw a small light, which turned into a restaurant few seconds later. They parked the truck on the side, disappeared for a few minutes, and came back bringing plastic bags with food for all of us. They opened the front part of the truck, turned the front lights... and made their vehicle look like Transformers. They brought the carpet, which we put in front of the truck, and we made a perfect night picnic in the quiet desert, without anyone around...
However, more effort went into explaining meaning of hitchhiking to all these curious and confused people who saw us standing by the road. As most of them didn't go to Yazd, they would stop, make a worried face and try to persuade us to go back to the city and take a bus. One driver stood there for 30 minutes, and once we finally managed to get rid of him, he called the police to help us, as he was concerned about our safety. The police car arrived at the same moment as we found our ride to Yazd - a large truck managed by three Baluchi people, heading to Zahedan, capital of Baluchistan region. This ethnic minority occupies large territories in the east Iran and west Pakistan. Their difference in culture, religion, public opinion and lack of rights created constant disagreement with Iranian government, and even some bombing attacks, which happened few times in the past, in the capital of their province. Therefore, concern of the police increased, and once they took all the personal details of our drivers, they let us hit the road with them through the desert...
Yellow color dominated the empty road, which at times became light brown or sometimes even barely green, due to the small inhabited places in the middle of nowhere. Although you need three hours to cross the same distance in Europe, on Asian roads it can be two or three times longer. And, our truck was not the fastest transport, so we had all the time to meet our drivers... except that we didn't speak the same language. We ended up using our hands to explain our life stories, and I even brought a guide to my hometown, which delivered few more sentences made by our fingers pointed on pictures. Even by not understanding each other language, we managed to enjoy each other's company.
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