the longest taxi ride.

17.

For some reason Khorramabad is left out of the guidebook, despite its presence in the index. But I guess it is no great loss seeing as the main attraction here, the castle, is occupied by the military and therefore inaccessible.

I had walked around a little on the morning of what felt like would become the most uneventful day in Iran thus far. Apart from yesterday maybe, which was just 9 hours spent on a bus from snowy Esfahan to the west. I decided I’d get a taxi out to the bus station to sort out my escape plan for tomorrow.

I stood facing the traffic, eyeing out the taxi drivers when a young guy pulled up in a rickety old car and wound his window down. “Terminal”, I said as I got in (I was feeling too lazy to even barter a price at this point).

We wheeled away and the young taxi driver started talking to me, very loudly, in Farsi. Obviously I couldn’t understand him, so I just shrugged and smiled by way of an apology. But he persisted. He pulled up round a back-alley and got out, beckoning me to follow. I had realised what was going on by now- it was lunchtime!

And so I went to his house where I met his brother, wife, mum and dad. I was treated to a bean stew with rice and some instant coffee (it’s been tea everyday up until now so that was a pleasant relief). And we sat and talked through the language barrier for a few hours.

I went on to spend the day with this guy; I visited his grandparent’s house where I had tea and oranges (that come all the way from china?). I brought his grandma to tears; too- I think I said a place name with a funny accent. His granddad wouldn’t stop placing oranges on my place, despite the fact that I sprayed him a couple of times trying to peel the buggers.

It was way after nightfall by the time I got to the bus station, but I had not chosen that particular street to wave down a taxi my experience of Khorramabad would almost certainly had been very neutral.

Thank god I didn’t wear my jeans today.
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