‘Don’t you ever find a nice country to go to’ is the standard response when i tell my mom about the next country i plan to visit. I have never received the meaning of nice, nor have i bothered finding it. It so happens that i am traveling just when the country is in the news for all the wrong reasons. Especially if the wrong reason comprises words like genocide…anyway that’s a matter apart.
The big day was finally here, Persepolis was going to be mine (I mean for my visit). As usual, I left things to the 11th hour and went around during breakfast asking if anyone was willing to accompany me when i realized the ride would burn quite a hole in my pockets.
Time for some real Yazd exploration. I checked out and left the bag at the reception assuming the day could be wound up by noon and that Shiraz seemed a possibility to reach by night. Clearly, I was wrong.
The breakfast was a nice spread and the amount of orange juice I drank must have put my other love, beer, to jealousy.