The desert around Yazd is the colour of baked bread, and the mud-brick towns that sit on its edge look as though they grew out of it. Anjireh Sangi is one of them, about thirty kilometres from Yazd along the road towards Kharanaq, a village in the dry country where Iran's central plateau stretches out in every direction.
Kharanaq, nearby, is an old mud-brick settlement said to be around a thousand years old, with narrow, vaulted lanes, a ruined citadel and windcatchers, the tall chimneys that scoop the breeze into the houses below to keep them cool. Most families have moved to a newer village next door, and the old one is half empty, but it has a caravanserai and a fine old mosque with a carved wooden door. The ground here is fine dust and clay, and the mud bricks, made with straw, have kept their shape for centuries with a little care. Yazd itself, whose old town is on the World Heritage list, has its own fire temple and a long Zoroastrian tradition.
The whole region depends on qanats, underground channels that carry water from the mountains for kilometres to feed oases and gardens. Digging them was dangerous, specialist work that was passed from father to son, and you can see their shafts as lines of small mounds crossing the plain.
On a motorcycle this is serious desert, with long, straight, empty roads, big skies and sudden gusts. Dust devils sweep across the plain, and in summer the temperature easily exceeds forty degrees, so ride in the morning, drink more than you think you need, and carry extra water. Spring and autumn are better, with cooler nights, and winter days can be clear and mild. Sandstorms can reduce visibility to a few metres.
Yazd, with nearly half a million people, is the place to buy fuel and food, and the services on the desert roads are very limited. Taste the sweets of Yazd, such as baklava and qottab, and drink tea in a courtyard. Check your route and the rules for foreign travellers before you set out.