IRAN
hen I saw the bush, I could hardly contain my delight. It rose from the grainy sweep of sand before me like a towering will-o’-thewisp, part-fern, part-wishful phantasm. Shade pooled from its roots in delicious, wasteful abandon. Could it be real? For several hours, I’d been cycling north through the exposed desert valleys of Hormozgan Province in southern Iran, searching for shelter. There were no buildings to be found here, no landmarks, houses or trees; nothing to
