Another day with the car. I was going to go to a small village in the mountains. It was called Lahij.
But on the way there, I stopped at this mausoleum:
It was from the early 15th century. There was a stairway to the roof:
I found a few little ribbons in some shrubs, just like the ones I had found near Almaty two years earlier:
The inside of this place called Diri Baba Turbesi was simple and elegant:
There were some ornaments, though not many:
There was a little resting area:
And of course the coffin:
One thing that I thought was particularly interesting were the graffiti. People had come more than half a century ago, and they had made inscriptions on the walls:
I remember visiting the Coliseum in Rome a long time ago, marveling at the graffiti from travelers that had come there two centuries before me.
The question was this:
At what point do individual acts of vandalism become part of our cultural heritage?
Lahij turned out to be very far.
I took the car through a forest:
When I got to Lahij, the sun was still up, and the place was bustling with tourists:
I walked around for a while:
Found some kids playing in front of a mosque:
Found some laundry hung out to dry:
This gentleman invited me into his house to look around:
He showed me a towel hanger, which, he said, his uncle had brought back from Germany, or rather, to be more precise: from Berlin, or rather, to be even more precise: from Hitler’s house. In other words, this was Hitler’s towel hanger:
“Of course I don’t know if that is true”, he said, smiling.
And then the sun set over Lahij:
The little village emptied out:
And there was only the occasional sound of a car passing through:
Which reminded me of the long drive back.