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"The Idiot's Warehouse" Yazd, May 2, 2015

"I know the idiot's warehouse
Is always full.
I know each of us 
Could run back and forth from there
All day long
And show everyone our vast collection."


The Idiot's Warehouse. The first part of this poem by Hafez has more than a passing relevance to this trip. I have never traveled with more negative and demanding people. There is a small group of gripers that are tainting everyone else's trip. There have been temper tantrums. It is like traveling with a group of unmedicated ADHD adults. They don't pay attention and then get angry at the guide for being disorganized, when they just weren't listening. They roam and then get mad that the guide isn't there beside them. They need the guide to walk them places, and carry their luggage. The food is too cold or too hot, there are two many steps, they only want soup to eat, or refuse to eat. I have never seen adults behave this rudely or badly - and I work retail. I've apologized numerous times to the guide for various slights and flat out shameful behavior. It is embarrassing to see and hear this in a country where everyone is so polite and helpful.

Thank god for the other faction. The ones who realize the miraculous place we are in, and are interested in learning more, and can go with the flow. And thank god that James is here and has such  a good sense of humor. There are also the inspiring people. Jo-Ann reinvented herself at 67. She packed up and moved form L.A. to Manhattan and loves her new life. She's so passionate about her life and obviously loves every second of it. I want to be her when I grow up.

Our guide, Ariya, too, takes such great pride in his country and his attempts to teach us. He has started calling me Jilly and "my daughter." Part of it is because I've been here before of course, but I know he sees how important this place is to me, and that makes him happy.


Today we are in the road to Yazd. On the way are many pistachio orchards and the town of Rafsanjani, home of the ex- President of Iran, whose family owns a pistachio estate here. We stop in town and James meets a curious Afghani boy. Everyone buys a bag (or three) of pistachios and we hit the road.







We stop at a typical example of a caravanserai along the way. This structure is kind of an Iranian campground. People can rent a tiny space for sleeping, there are communal toilets, and a big courtyard. There are 999 of these around Iran on the major thoroughfares. They are placed about a day's travel time apart - if you were traveling by camel, say. We saw a fine example of one, and there were a few travelers taking advantage of the very cheap rental prices.





During our long day of travel, we stopped at a gas station and I spotted a truck that had a portrait of Ali on it. I had to get the picture, because Ali figures so prominently into Shi'a Islam, and I see his face all over the place. 


Our bus driver Heshmet filled up the bus with gas, then motioned for me to follow him. He spoke briefly to the Ali truck driver, put his hand out for my camera, and opened the truck door. I could barely get my legs squeezed into the cab, but somehow I fit, and Heshmet snapped my picture. It was a perfect moment.


The Tower of Silence. In Zoroastrianism, the earth is sacred and cannot be spoiled by contact with a dead body. Fire is the most sacred element and so cannot be used for cremation. So the Zoroastrians used vultures to dispose of their dead. They would take the dead up to the Tower of Silence, and lay the body on a large stone, exposing it to the vultures so the meat could be picked off. The leftover bones would be thrown into a pit in the center of the tower. This practice stopped in the 1970s, so now Zoroastrians are buried in the ground, but surrounded by cement, so as to not contaminate the earth. James and one other person climbed to the top.





We got to Yazd and went to dinner. Then walked back to the hotel via the mosque. When the call to prayer started, I was reminded of the second part of Hafez's poem:

"Though tonight, Hafez,
Retire from the madness for an hour,
Gather with some loyal friends
Or sit alone and
Sing beautiful songs to God."









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