We enjoyed the underground teahouse we visited yesterday so much that we return today for a bite to eat before we hit to road to Kerman. We eat dizzy, thin soup with chunks of meat, vegetables and potato, in which you can soak pieces of bread. This originally poor people’s food has, for reasons unbeknownst to me, become a very popular traditional dish.

The long drive to Kerman takes us through dry and dusty land with an occasional mountain on the horizon. The only cities of any size are Nain, Yazd and Rafsanjan. During a bathroom break I look at myself in the mirror, in my grungy raincoat and the black maghna-eh snugly around my face, and I suddenly feel pity for all women who have to follow Islamic dress code against their will.

In Yazd we look at the high, round ventilation towers on the old mud-built hoses. They are the ancestors of the air-conditioner. We visit the Zoroastrian temple and arrive late in the evening in Kerman where Mamy, Roshanak and the children are waiting for us. We unload our purchases from Esfahan and fall asleep exhausted.