A Grand Day out in the Desert - Tuesday, February 16th

We pulled into Kashan late at night and got a taxi to a place called Ehsan House that had been highly recommended by one of Al’s previous couch surfing guests. It didn’t disappoint.

For the princely sum of £10 we had a twin room with something that could pass quite happily as a mattress. There was a squeaky clean communal shower, fresh towels and even, to our amazement, a sit down loo. They even threw in a breakfast.

The building itself was lovely too. A traditional mud brick guest house with rooms facing into a quiet courtyard with a decorative, blue tiled, rectangular pool. The only noise was the gentle babble of the fountain in the pools’s centre.

I was jittering with joy at all of these comforts. This was the first actual bed I’d had since Thursday. Finally, an opportunity for a full night of sleep. After a lengthy shower, I collapsed into a deep and luxuriant slumber.

In the morning I put on my running gear and hit the town for a morning jog. From the top of the guest house you could see the whole city. It really was a jewel in the middle of a vast desert expanse. Much like Tehran, but it was presided over by an even more forbidding set of looming snow capped mountains. A sight to behold.

The run was one of the more unusual I’ve ever had. Kashan is not a major destination by any stretch and it became clear that few, if any, European guests had gone on a run. Thankfully the main reaction on the street was nearly every bloke downing tools, smiling, waiving and shouting ‘SALEM!’ (Hello).

Not one women, however, made even a single attempt to acknowledge my existence. This wasn’t a surprise. Kashan is a much more conservative town then Tehran. Women are all, without exception, in full black Burkas. Not a headscarf in sight. Public fraternising with a Westerner would, therefore, not be taken well by the men.

Once back at base we settled down to a breakfast of champs. Bread, eggs, orange slices and gallons of tea. It was here that I discovered carrot jam. It’s basically sugar and carrots but it’s a real winner We have seriously missed a trick on the home front with this stuff and I shall be rushing to make batches once home. Brace yourselves.

Roka and I decided to do hit some sights. Kashan is famous for its traditional Iranian houses so we made tracks to its most famous one. On the way we met an bearded, weather beaten older gentleman who spoke excellent English and French. He had lived in Paris for some years, as well as a number of other countries. He pointed over to a large mud dome and said “you should go see the town asshole.” God, I thought, he must be a real dick of they locked him in a giant windowless dome.

It turns out the town asshole was actually an ice hole. Until 50 years ago it was a giant domed pit used as a storage facility for ice during the summer in order to keep everyone’s cocktails refreshed. Back then you could drink, you see. Now it was a giant hole in the ground with a dome on it. It would certainly have made a good spot to keep your town asshole if needs be.

Roka told me that in Lithuania you can tell an area is poor by how many hairdressers and pharmacies there were. The more of them, the shittier the area. I said that sounded a lot like Mayfair in London, just with slightly more niche pharmaceutical products. We scanned the streets and there was only one hairdresser. “Well, clearly Kashan is doing better than Mayfair.”

We wandered around the pretty but not particularly enthralling house and decided one was enough. Especially after we bumped into a particularly obnoxious group of tourists from Shanghai.

I got talking to the kindest looking women of the group and she admitted that China could learn a great deal from Iranian hospitality. I said I’d never been to China, precisely because I’d heard how inhospitable they were there. She nodded in rather hushed agreement.

Roka and I decided to pool our resources and get a private car to take us around Kashan’s peripheral sights for the afternoon. We found a driver called Maddi who would give us a 5 hour private tour for £10 a piece.

We began at the underground city. A 1300 year old network of tunnels that had been built as a way for the men to stash their women and children away during times of war. It was a very impressive bit of engineering. Which is no surprise given that everyone I meet in Iran seems to be one.

Maddi asked us to answer a multitude of questions on the site. Why didn’t it collapse in earthquakes? Why were the floors U shaped? How did they ventilate it? Each time we got it wrong we were greeted with a finger wag and the word “Think!”. 'The tests normally come at the end of the lesson Maddy,’ I very nearly blurted. But he was doing it in such a nice way that I just shut up.

The next stop was a large mosque that had a cemetery next to it. All the the headstones were photos of young men, many a good deal younger than myself. This is a fairly common sight around the country as over 2 million, mostly young men, were killed during the 8 year Iraq/Iran war. It’s a heart rendering sight.

While we were driving I asked Maddi why he didn’t have a wife. He said on $300 a month it was pretty hard to afford one. I told him that he was honestly not missing out and should probably wait till he finds a wife who can support herself. I’d met a number of female teachers and doctors on the trip and felt Maddi could afford to wait. He agreed that essentially hiring someone to nag you seems counter-intuitive. Best to let them earn the right to nag. We all nodded in agreement.

The rest of the day was essentially a road trip around the desert. We mucked about on sand dunes, ambled on a giant salt pan, and tried to feed some roaming camels by hand.

The desert scenery was consistently stunning. There was a guilty pleasure in being chauffeured around a landscape that is so unforgiving to those who end up stuck in them. It was the perfect antidote to Tehran.

Back in Kashan we had a quick turnaround to get our bus to Isfahan, with all its history and beauty awaiting. I had a hot date with a guy called Masoud that I’d met on the couch surfing app. His interests included 007 movies so there was no chance I could refuse. I could only hope that my experience with him would be as good as Al. It would be quite a challenge.

Meanwhile Roka hadn’t managed to secure a couch date and was scouring the app on the bus with the same pained expression that an old flatmate of mine used to default to while scouring Grindr.

I very much enjoyed our day together but I felt the time was right for us to go our separate ways soon.

Sadly for Roka, his couch date stood him up. Thankfully mine was more than accommodating and said he could host us both. Masoud was a real gentleman and, much like everyone else from Iran, keen to make our stay as comfortable as humanly possible.

We were very lucky as Masoud’s parents, two sisters, bother and their respective spouses and children were home to visit. I was thanking my lucky stars for the decent night of sleep as these occasions can require a little energy. I felt I was getting fairly pro at navigating the intricacies of Iranian family politics so it was less of a drain than it might have been.

His family were delightful and full of questions on the trip and thoughts on the Iranian people. His step brother had worked all over the world in the jewelry business so was more keen to talk business. We ate chicken kebabs with a local sauce made of saffron and yogurt. It was a great combination of sweet and bitter. Certainly another one to take home with me.

Once all conversation was exhausted I brought out the trump post cards and watched as they busily discussed pictures of what London looked like 15 years ago. I didn’t want to confuse them by explaining this so hopefully London will be a pleasant surprise when they do ever get the chance to visit.

Mercifully the card with the two hefty bare arsed ladies had been given to Al as a parting gift so there was no chance of horribly offending my lovely hosts.

Masoud, Rokas and myself retired to the apartment upstairs and watched the Champions league on the telly with a thermos of tea and some biscuits. Once again, I was humbled by Iranian hospitality and wish I had more than post cards to thank people. Although they seemed happiest when I told them how much I loved their country.

Another sitting loo at this place was the cherry on top. Utter Bliss!