After spending some days in Tehran it was time to move on to Masouleh, a small, scenic village some 400 kilometers to the north west of Tehran. It was deserted by the time of year I visited which meant the hotel I stayed at was also the only functioning restaurant in the little town. The mattresses in the rooms felt like blocks of concrete that someone had laid some sheets on top of, but for $5 a night, who’s complaining right?
What makes Masouleh an interesting destination is the rather unique construction of the town. Built against the mountain slopes the roof of one house functions as the street in front of the other. Practically any street you walk on in this village is built upon the roofs of the houses below it. The town center had a couple of tea houses, a couple that was relaxing on a big pile of pillows waved.
The man, like many in Iran, was an engineer, his wife a teacher. They met during one of her classes. The man doesn’t waste much time. After offering some fresh fruits and candies along with tea, he starts to talk. A lot. He tells me the Iranian government are a bunch of donkeys. And the Iranian people? Well they’re almost even worse. They get distracted by small things you see, instead of focussing on the bigger picture. According to him, they’re always bickering over simple things: To whom belongs this chicken? To whom belongs this egg? Nobody ever seems to care about whom owns the damn henhouse. His wife tries to calm her husband down a little. “There there dear, it’s talk like this that’s already got you arrested more than once,” she says as she soothingly strokes his arm. He points at my camera and concludes by saying he thinks I am a reporter. He tells me that once I get home, I should go and report about our conversation.