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It had to happen. The cocktail of Central Asian viruses with a hint Iranian digital flu, finally floored my SD memory card. Result: the photo's I took between Qom and Yazd have become useless. I wanted to share history, hands and bicycles, but after a week of trying to get the story illustrated, I give up. During my last attempt most of the text was chipped away too.

Typical. Just as hardly anything remains of Parsa (Persepolis), there's hardly anything left of the entry about this grand city I had prepared. This photo made it through. Resilient guys; first they survive Alexander the Great's recklessness, and then they withstand this digital virus epidemic.



Updates:

• First and foremost, a few days back I read that Jamie, the girl that I wrote about before, is no longer in a 'vegetative' state, and is now officially conscious. Good news. Her family describes the recovery process in great detail on a blog. It is wonderful to read how she regains all the skills we take for granted, but that are indispensable for life. I hope her recovery continues at the steady pace that it seems to have.
• I got my second extension today, and I can't complain about the service of the Yazdi police for foreigners. In five days time (clearance fax to Tehran) they managed to get me 30 more days.
  
• Did some repairs in Yazd. Patched about 6 punctures. Start to think my new tubes are crap.
• You can't fix cycle shoes with duct tape. Went looking for new ones. Too expensive, or at least, too expensive for the budget that I am having in Iran. As a foreigner, you cannot take out money from ATM's, so until Quetta I have to make do with what I've got in my pocket. They also have cycle sandals here, which I bargained down to 30 dollars. I am considering to buy them. Must be very comfortable for when it gets (really) warm. The shoes I've been using so far have bits of wet suit sealing off the opening, which is great against cold- and wetness, but gets quite sweaty otherwise. But then again, the holes in my cycle shoes might provide good enough ventilation, so that the sandals would be obsolete. I'll give it some more respite.
• The friends of my Yazdi microlife have moved on, so I am thinking of saying goodbye to the Celtic nard. Initially I planned to cycle in more or less a straight line to Zahedan, close to the border with Pakistan. Now that I've got another 3 weeks time (I have to enter Pakistan before 16 March) I consider to cycle to Bandar Abbas, principal port city of Iran at the Persian Gulf. From there I can continue to Bam, avoid Kerman, which is said to be dull, and go from there to Zahedan. Most probably by bus, as the police thinks it's not safe for tourists to cross this part of Baluchistan by bike.

That the roads aren't all that safe for cars either (or maybe it's not the road that makes cars unsafe, but their drivers), became clear when I stayed the night in one of the Iranian Red Crescent posts two weeks back. When the emergency room called to inform the guys on duty of an accident, I was left alone in the station. A few minutes later the guy who went for food before came back. I told him what had happened as he sat down next to me to have a chai. He must have pitied me that I did not get to see the accident, because he immediately got up to fetch a photo album full of road accidents. I recognised my fellow road users. The blue pick-ups that transport the bulk of the country's fruit and vegetables. The white Paykans - successor of the British Hillman car that was mass produced in the early sixties - that transports the bulk of the country's people. A remarkable amount of police cars. Buses without roof. Trucks without a cabin.. A lot of crashes to deal with all in once.
I've been trying not to think about road accidents, so there's some irony in leafing through a complete account of the last four years.



Time to stop now. But not without a final smile. This woman is married to an incredible grumpy man, who didn't want to open a Zoroastrian temple that is actually open for public. When my Iranian friends finally convinced him that I had come from quite far to see the place, he opened the door. Only to close it again when he thought that we didn't take off our shoes fast enough.
If she can smile, than so can I, although I am still a bit frustrated with the digital ailment that erased so much of what I wanted to remember and share. So: smile, can-did, used to function camera. And next.