Stayed in another motel. It had a very quiet, empty, almost post-Soviet atmosphere to it:
I liked it.
There was a photo at the reception desk that showed a group of French people:
Were they famous? I didn’t know.
What followed was another day on the highway. Again there were people selling clothes:
And again there were advertisements:
And fake shops:
And sometimes the poorer parts would show through the cracks:
One time I passed a mosque with a top that looked charmingly crooked:
The lower part, on the other hand, seemed to be rather politicized:
I had a simple lunch of bread and canned vegetables in a little side street. Iranian bread is very good, especially this naan-style bread they call barbari:
There’s another kind called lavash (remember how I loved the lavash in Kazakhstan?), but it is mostly terrible, resembling flat rubber:
The highway was unbelievably loud, and I was glad to have my earplugs. It was hard to fathom how anyone could be next to the highway all day in order to sell towels:
Or plush toys:
And to me, being next to the highway made the stuffed animals look sad:
I was glad to arrive in Nur:
Saw some people fishing in a small canal:
Saw another mosque in the evening light:
And I passed by restaurants:
And by more plush toys:
They, too, looked sad in the faint electric light.
360 degree video: