apricots and pistachios

Maku, Iran

I met a traveler from an antique land
Who said: Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read,
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed,
And on the pedestal these words appear:
"My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings:
Look upon my works, ye Mighty, and despair!"
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away.

apricots and pistachios are what i always imagined iran to be made of. its been an interesting day, not least because of the number of vehicles that i have been in, not one of them owned by me. one official taxi, one unofficial taxi, one mini bus, one big bus, an army truck and a private car. all driven by very bushy mustachioed men (which rhymes with pistachioed hen) at surprisingly low speeds.

this morning was spent climbing to a castle in the snow, a poor armenian fellow built it a while ago, had some trouble at the hands of the turks, and its been left to swirl in the mist since then. It reminded me of something we read at high school- i guess there was a reason for us studying it after all.

and yet another day where kindness comes from everywhere, and a smile continues to get me a long way. oh, and the joke at every single border i cross about me being IRA. these guys are more famous than they think.

more as it happens
rx