Mount Ararat rose as a broad perfect cone from the Kurdish plains, dominating the featureless landscape. The Black Sea behind them, the Bedford was slowly making its way towards the Iranian border.
Sheep and goats grazed in wide fields surrounding the foothills leading towards the magnificent mountain, where, all manners of religious nutters presumed, Noah’s Ark lay stranded. Literally.
Children periodically waved at the bus. Dan always waved back enthusiastically. Everyone they’d come across since leaving Istanbul had smiled at them. He couldn’t care less about Noah’s Ark.
The bus ran smoothly. It creaked and groaned and made plenty of other noises, but since they’d left Britain, Dan had learned to identify them all as benevolent indicators of forward motion. He wanted to feel connecte
