Iranian Sunset

"Muscat, Oman, Dubai, Saudi Arab, Kuwait, Iraq, Bahrhain, Hormoz, Kish..."

I sat and nodded as the man who could speak no English uttered apparantly random country and place names while pointing out at sea. It was about the only way we could communicate, with country names being almost the same in both languages. I offered my part of the conversation:

"Hindi, Pakistan, Baluchistan, Iran, Kerman, Shiraz, Esfahan, Bandar Abbas, Turkie, Bulgarie, Yugoslavi, Italie, Suise, France, UK, Irlande"

We sat next to each other on the Persian Gulf smoking our qalyun (shisha) and "talking". After 2 days of rain, finally, I got to experience the great Persian pleasure of smoking flavoured tobacco. With smoking banned in all enclosed spaces, it is only in the relatively warm climate of the Persian Gulf at this time of year that a traveller can comfortably experience the flavours of mint, lemon, orange, pistachio and many, many more, whilst also increasing the risk of a long and lingering death.

Long live qalyun!

Will is gone and I'm surviving on the Farsi phrasebook I swiped from a hotel we were staying at. I've sinced moved to a cheaper place where the paint is peeling and half the rooms are unoccupied due to rain pouring down their walls. I'm in a dry room, I'm glad to say.

My bike is in snowy Esfahan, and I am now enjoying the more favourable coastal climate. I'm awaiting the PhD funding application process to commence and once that is nicely out of the way (was meant to be today, but in true Irish fashion, nothing has yet appeared on their website) I'm continuing (by bus) up the coast towards a wee fishing village called Bushehr. I aim to stop off at a few places along the way. Some have accommodation, others I must rely on the generosity of these incredibly generous people. Hospitality towards guests is second only to what we experienced in Pakistan. To avail of it I must make myself look less local and so, I am afraid to say, the moustache must go.