It's day 50! I'm not sure why this is important but it's kind of like a half century milestone I suppose.

Ali, the guide from yesteday had kindly agreed to pick me up at 8am and take me to the university library in Yazd in order to translate some Iranian books on Caravanserais and the Silk Road. He duly turned up and off we went via motorbike. We didn't have helmets and obviously there is some Iranian system that allows motorcyclists to be alerted when the police are out in force because suddenly we left the main road and made our way through the back streets with the rest of the helmet-less motorcyclists.

We spent some four hours in the library poring over books, with me frantically noting down as much stuff as I could. Re-reading my notes I fear that some were just a natural reaction to anything that Ali said to look as though it was important. But I suppose that is the nature of research and that's what I am supposed to be doing here rather than just enjoying myself!

We got back to the hotel and Ali refused to accept my offer to pay him for his time. This is something that I have come accross before in Iran. For example, you take a taxi, in the middle of the night, halfway accross town and at the end the driver refuses to accept payment. Usually this is not the sign that you should get out without paying, but rather an intriguing system of politness called tara'of. It's an unwritten rule that you should refuse an invitation or payment at least twice if not three times before accepting. Likewise the other person should insist at least three times. If after this payment is still refused, then it is polite to not pay rather than insist. I assumeed that Ali was just using this formal system of politeness, but after the fifth time of my asking I decided that I'd change tack and invited him to lunch instead. I explained that this was European politeness, but again no luck. I left it at that and we said our goodbyes in the traditional Iranian way.

George and Holly (the Brits from the Foreign Office) were having lunch back at the hotel so I joined them before heading off to wander the streets in search of a money changer without success. As is usual here, the shops close around 1pm for a few hours while they have their siesta,leaving the hapless tourist in the lurch and pennyless (or rather Rial-less). Folorn, I returned to the hotel (it's becoming a haven of peace and relaxation) and bumped into an elderly Swiss couple who were driving around Iran. How lovely to meet some Swiss people and eat some Swiss chocolate that they had brought with them - being unable to do without it!

I spent the evening with an overly energetic Norwegian guy, called Evan, and we ate out at another nearby restaurant for want of something different. It wasn't as good and more expensive. On our way back to the hotel we met some Iraqis who had fled Saddam Hussein's regime 26 years ago and had come to live in what had seemed a welcoming Iran. Sadly they are still waiting for papers and have extremely limited rights - in a country where most Iranians have few rights these guys had almost none. Consequently they cannot get decent jobs, buy property or travel out of Iran. Still they were probably a small minority of locals who were openly praining the Americans. Ultimately the conversation turned to the international language of football and didn't descend too heavily into politics.

Kharanaq Caravanserai

Kindly supplied by Panagiotis Botis (as my camera had decided to run out of battery)