I love hearing about normal people’s crazy experiences while traveling in strange country. Shiva’s experience sounds pretty harrowing:

I’m boiling with silent rage, but know there’s nothing I can do about the situation. Nobody in the bus appears nervous, or worried; nobody shows anger about our bus being controlled by a bunch of smuggling hooligans, who decided to use our 12-hour ride to carry out their illicit trade. Nobody complains. Other than the three friends in front of us joking with each other the entire trip, all passengers wear a distinct expression of stifled distress, as if they abhor the circumstances, but must endure passively, as they always do. Perhaps it’s fear that creates this tepid attitude; after all, Bonneh is a small town, and people know each other. It’s also a town where the occasional malefactor conveys his message by chopping off a head, or two.

Some interesting information in the article about who is smuggling and how they are doing it in Iran. Read the rest: The Crooked Bus

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