Stuck in the Outback

Driving a mini-bus through the outback, water in the engine, stuck in a river, waiting, crocodiles sitting on the bank, waiting.
To our luck a local guy was passing, he pulled us out before he went onto run over a dingo and hire a prostitute.
This was the real north-western Australia, and it's people were helpful, charismatic, and a little wild around the edges!

Iranian De-dash

I'd been in Tehran for a week or so and I decided to hop on an overnight train to Mashad. The journey took me trough the bleak desert of central Iran, and onwards to the north-eastern region of the country, close to Turkmenistan.
The moment I found my cabin on the train I greeted my fellow travelers 'salam aleikum'. They soon discovered that my Farsi wasn't great and that I was not Iranian.

We laughed and joked in bits of languages we all had in common and watched the sun set on the minus 18 degree dust rolling past the window.
We arrived in Mashad to heavy snow and yet colder temperatures when Mortezza insisted that I stay at his house. I went home with him, we lit a fire and smoked cigarettes before sleeping.
Little was I to know that we would spend the next two weeks together. We visited some of his friends and he showed me the sights of the city, including an amazing mosque complex covered in mirrors and glass. After constant hospitality and generosity we went back to Tehran.
I stayed with Mortezza and his friends in Tehran for a couple of days, mostly taking high speed tours around the city's icy streets on a motorcycle.
We left each other at the train station as I headed further south. I gave him some gifts and got on the train.

Damit garm de-dash. Khoob-est ti?

Working kids

Downtown Dhaka, the heart and soul of Bangladesh.
On first arrival the sounds were intriguing; car horns, the endless bells of bicycles that glided through the streets by lantern light, and the seemingly never ending sound of electric sewing machines. Homeless children of all ages are gathered from the streets and railway stations of the city and taken to various mini-factories. From here they are comparative to modern slaves, as they are often made to work 15 or more hours a day, making clothing in return for food and shelter.
Waking up to a new day, the sewing machines could be heard until I retired again in the late evening. These children and teenagers in the photograph were just a few amongst the many young workers that produce clothing for western Europe.
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