Back to my home city, I feel strange surrounded by a lot of incoherent and loud noises, huge screens, and so many unrelated people.
When preparing breakfast, I recall the nice crunchy skin of the Nan and her masterful skill of bread making. In the evening, still working in front of my computer, the sound of friendly conversation and epic storytelling rings my ears. The bonfire is flaring in the wind with singing voices before my eyes. In my bed, I think of the moments of watching the journey of the moon and stars with the tinkling sound of goat bells. While riding on a car in my city, I daydream the unforgettable desolate landscape of south-western Iran.
So many memories spring up. The sound of ringing bell from the moving flocks with the shepherd’s voice of calling and guiding them, perfume of rice in the field, cracking sound of the fresh walnut shells and sweet scent of peaches in the villages, clear streams flowing hidden in the magnificent Zagros mountains, cool breezes under the shade of a tree after a tough climbing down.
A true wonder of this trip was meeting nomads people. They pack everything to migrate seasonally with all family and flocks, however keeping all memories and rituals wherever they go. Unlike modern travelers looking for unusual or different sceneries, these nomads are always moving but keeping consistency, deeply connected to the nature and the old flow of life (and death).
When I expressed my gratitude for welcoming, they said, “Thanks for visiting us from a distant place”. My heart is still there. It’ll take time to come back.