I woke to find myself trundling through a huge, bleached white desert stretching out as far as I could see. Only the occasional spectacular rock formation broke up the ocean of sand as it jutted up towards a sky that even this early in the morning, still appeared to be almost surreally blue and bright. To the side of my pillow lay two cans of peach flavoured non-alcoholic lager - a gift from a friendly fellow passenger who had insisted that I take them as I was crawling up into my bunk for the night.
My journey through Iran from the holy city of Mashhad to the desert oasis of ancient Yazd could not have been easier. As soon as I walked into the train station, I had been taken under the wings of the friendly locals and guided up towards my surprisingly comfortable high rise cradle. Soon after lying down between the crisp white sheets - and to the side of a small mountain of sustenance I'd been gifted by my berth mates - I was drawn into a deep, fulfilling sleep by the relentless rhythms of this galloping iron horse.
As our carriage rumbled on though this wide open space, one of the oldest cities in the world began to emerge from out of this brutally beautiful wasteland. Like a mirage set amongst the desert haze, the wind snatching towers and the holy minarets thrust up from the sands towards the unforgiving sun.
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