The stews and the mesmerizing instrumental music took over our senses. We’d talked about it taking such a trip over the years, but covering her head had always been an argument against such an adventure. And yet, on that particular evening, the Persian smells and sounds seemed to convince her to take the leap. „I’m going,” she said. It's a country with beautiful places and open and hospitable people. I have never met anywhere in the world people taking out for a walk their caged birds. Beautiful. Or people asking you over and over again if we are enjoying ourselves, if we are taken good care of, or constantly attempting to feed us or pay for our food, just like that, because we are the guests. Then we spent the afternoon with Mojtaba, a nomad from Hamseh tribe. Slowly, I learned more about the nomads from Iran. The idea to document their changing life came up, of course. After a brief search through local bookstores and the Internet I saw books showing staged nomadic, idyllic pictures, smiling faces. No regime in the world wants to show poor and struggling citizens. Iran is no exception. That is how I came up with the idea and visited Iran four more times. Fifteen thousand kilometers throughout Iran staying with ten tribes, many of them losing their ways or already settled. Still, most nomads are migrating to this day. This is how this book came to be, as an essence of the experiences lived in Iran in search of the black chador: the true nomadic tent from the black wool. There are about one million nomads remaining in Iran, unique in the world. Twice a year one million people load their belongings on cars or donkeys and travel, along with their animals, 300-400 kilometers between summer and winter locations. A life at the limit of survival, at the mercy of nature but also of dictated by climate, technology or education opportunities.