A month in Iran: reportage 9: Karkas easy climbing, a tea in the desert and at night in a Persian cemetery

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Easy climbing 
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Atop, Karkas mountains in the background
My foot here, my hand there... It isn't a rock but you can't say it's a mountain. It's a piece of the rocky desert of Natanz, a lower extention of Karkas, and I'm climbing it with a childish enthusiasm. It's very hot but there is a pleasant wind atop! I can see the valley, the oasis, and the black summit so close... 
My friends are sipping their chai in the shadow of the trees, sharing shiriny and watermelon with a local family and waiting for lunch. 
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The oasis
A goat has been killed, its blood spilled from the knife cut, and now it's hanging from a tree, accurately butched. I think I'd like to come back in winter and tourskiing on these slopes, I think the summit shouldn't be so far and in few hours I could reach it even now... 
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In the oasis: women cleaning sabzy
Instead I have to descend. Chai, shiriny and watermelon for me too, and pictures with the local family, very curious and friendly. The women are busy cleaning sabzy (vegetables), the men are smoking, children are playing with a borken tv. Taking off my boots it's one of the pleasure of life... but in the early morning I'm eager to wear them and to go.
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A man smoking
It's our last day in Tar. We go visiting Masoud's family orchard, small enclosed gardens full of fruits, irrigated by flooding with a complex system of drains and sluices. The water follows the terrain natural inclination and is conducted to the main canal from where it's distributed once a week to each orchade. 
We go home carrying heavy baskets. 
The night is aproaching, it's supposed to be starred and stars should be falling. The cemetery of Tar is dark enough. The tombs, scattered at random, emerge like indistinct white patches. 
There is a writing on them: a poem or the dead's eulogy. Sometimes there is the dead's lithography, but only for men. Masoud tells funny stories of grim jokes, Najmeh stands in silence by her mother's grave: "She was from Tehran but she asked to be buried here beside her husband, who was from Tar." 
The village from here looks abandoned, all dark, in ruins. "A falling star!" The only one we'll see, but we remain.   

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Children playing with abroken tv

Have also a look to Part 1Part 2,  Part 3Part 4 Part 5Part 6Part 7 and Part 8

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Burching the gaot
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Sharing chai and shiriny
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Enclosed gardens
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In the orchard
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In Tar cemetery at night

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