Nima, Masuleh Village

Moments after we'd arrived in Masuleh, we met Nima; he led us up through the town, smiling and chatting and sometimes helping to lug Aisling's suitcase up steep, icy stone steps. After a few minutes we arrived at his parent's house, perched above a steep drop down to a ruined house below. After we'd stepped indoors and shed our shoes, Nima's mum led us upstairs via a short, carpeted passage with whitewashed walls and up a steep stone staircase into a large, bright room with high ceilings, no furniture, overlapping Persian rugs on the floor and stunning views over the valley and the town. A kerosene heater kept the room at a snug temperature, despite the gaps in the window frame. It only took us a moment to decide to stay. We curled up on the floor and while Nima's mum prepared us a light lunch of wholemeal naan, chunky deep-red marmalade and chay, Nima pestered us for "game, empee thuree" until I gave him my phone. I only got it back an hour or two later, stone dead, the battery utterly flat. He never got a go of Aisling's phone, but I'm now the happy owner of some great candid snaps of Nima, his family, shots of the town and gurning videos.

Done