The show through the window has been ever changing, from cultivated to desolated, from deserted to snowed on. We didn’t witness much life going on, besides a few goats and some sheep. Once in Yazd, this guy called Ali (seems to be a popular name here) offered to be our taxi driver. I made the point I wanted a “real yellow” taxi, he made the point he had a real GREY taxi.

Driving through the desert, on our way to the caravanserai of Zein o din, with nothing else than “nothing” surrounding us, the most dramatic what-if scenarios were an easy mind trick. What if the car stops here? What if Ali kidnaps us? What if he doesn’t know where the caravanserai is?

The caravanserai of Zein o din is the wow moment of day three, it stands in a desert plain between a far away chain of mountains and a far away motorway.
Like some sacred place, you access the caravanserai through a little door that makes you bow to the beauty of the circular courtyard, the once busy place where merchants would put their camels to rest under one of the arches (I have not figure out yet how the camels would access the place).

We are two “camel days” away from Yazd, says the book, it is freezing cold, we sleep on a thin mattress that lays on a few carpets, every room has only curtains around it and everyone shares the same vaulted ceiling. This is possibly one of the most special places I have slept but it is going to be cold…
The barley soup is my new favorite dish. The starry nights are the most romantic of the nights.
I am wearing my headscarf like a pro.