cakes

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After a great night of laughter and music, I left my friends and the little village of Gorji Mahalle. The sky looked like it didn’t want me to leave:

The highway was roaring as usual, but there was the occasional roadside clothes stand:

And there were people who stopped to take pictures…

…or to have their picture taken:

This gentleman was on his way to Mashhad:

And when I thought about it, Mashhad was a place that seemed very far to me now.

I arrived in the little town of Neka after nightfall.

People were running around buying food for dinner. I stopped for a rest next to this cake shop:

They looked Chinese to me, those cakes. Or American. They seemed to be all about looks. There was much cream, much frosting, much coloring, much decoration.

I preferred simpler things.

There was a small hotel in Neka. The way there led me past a workshop:

And a little shop in a back alley:

And then I was there.

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