Shiraz, 2-5 August 2008
I arrived in Shiraz at the crack of dawn. Another day in intriguing Iran – new place, new outlook ... and of new adventures I could be certain. The tiredness of the overnight journey vanished as I tumbled down the steps of the luxury bus out into Shiraz’s Carandish Bus Terminal, and freed my bags from its massive double cargo hold. These buses are large, and comfortable as an airplane, and with all the regular logistical details of any type of travel, touring Iran didn’t seem quite so mysterious anymore!
The taxi into central Shiraz was inexpensive, so I did not whip out my Farsi phrasebook to bargain it down anymore. Without much ado I entered and sat in one, and watched as another local person joined, paying a tenth of what I did. I believe I saw that right, but held my peace because I was in Shiraz and all was good with the world.
The taxi drove through the early morning haze – typical in a hot climate after cool nights – and arrived in a city that still hadn’t woken up. Some bits of paper and plastic swirled in the breeze as the city was cleaned by automated washing vehicles, but other than that, most street corners were immaculate. Its wide avenues and planned roads seemed wider in the morning tranquillity. Only a few men could be seen on the roads, but no women anywhere at that time. A week had already passed since I arrived in Iran, and my familiarity with the country manifested in the small things – from counting out money from my pouch without having to read the numbers at the corner of the bills, to knowing which questions my taxi driver was asking me, like name, religion, nationality and marital status. As I only had three days remaining in Iran, I decided to pick a nice hotel – the Shiraz Eram – right on the main thoroughfare called Karim Khan-e Zand or just the ‘Zand’. The Eram had all the amenities of a comfortable hotel in any city, while being completely affordable. But the highlight had to have been 24-hour BBC and Al-Jazeera without any ‘outages’.
Esfahan is picturesque and Tehran is diverse. Shiraz was the only other city that I visited, so I have to limit my touristic opinion between the three. If Iran were a big souvenir bazaar, then Tehran and Esfahan would be in the front row of shops, boasting shiny, colourful artefacts on glassed-off shelves displayed by multilingual well-versed shopkeepers, while Shiraz would be more like a side street shop kept by ancient collectors, offering real antique pieces – in their original condition – to those who know their value. Esfahan and Tehran are recent, Islamic-era cities but Shiraz is not only historic, but has also been a centre of culture, learning and poetry for thousands of years.
Shiraz completed my Iran safar in several ways. It is the capital of Fars province where the ancient Farsi language originated, where Darius and other Achaemenid kings established their empires and left behind the magnificent ruins of Persepolis and Pasargad, where we find the archaeological sites for some of the most significant inventions of mankind including the earliest known samples of wine some seven thousand years old, and the home of Persia’s greatest medieval poets, Hafez and Sa’adi, whose philosophy define the Iranian soul even today. Mini newsprint copies of Hafez, Sa’adi, Omar Khayyam are sold in parks and street corners, while calligraphic verses are widely available on imitation parchment.
I absorbed Shiraz by sitting on the wooden garden benches inside the massive Arg-e Karim Khani fort in the centre of the city, and by walking for hours around the great Bazaar Vakil. The massive square fort has four walls and four towers, one of which lean quite curiously, and the sprawling bazaar has sections for expensive carpet merchants, souvenir depots, silver and gold jewellers, spice vendors, metal workers and coppersmiths, and sweet sellers. The high arched brick ceiling of the bazaar and its natural lighting scheme gives it an edge over bazaars in Tehran or Esfahan. The shops selling cloth are the most eye-catching because rolls of silk, velvet, brocade and organza are offered in dazzling colours – colours that are hard to find people wearing on the streets. Although the cloth market is perfectly legitimate, it is patronized by ‘underground clientele’ who wear the outrageous colours indoors or in very private, almost underground gatherings.
Shiraz was not connected to the great railway network of the Islamic Republic, and that is perhaps why it has a relaxed suburban feel. It had been a capital of the medieval Zand dynasty (sometime between the thirteenth and eighteenth century,) when most of its monuments, boulevards, palaces, formal gardens, bazaars and forts came into existence. Between the eleventh and fourteenth centuries, Shiraz saw the life and works of two of the greatest Persian poets – Hafez and Sa’adi – whose Sufi poetry shaped the Persians’ psyche definitively. Iranians are known to turn to their poetry books for guidance and solace, as often or more than they seek it in the Quran. Among Shiraz’s monuments are these poets’ marble tombs which draw thousands of locals and tourists everyday, usually to sit in the manicured lawns, and occasionally to make a prayer or a wish at the icons’ tomb. Even religiously dressed men and women can be spotted in the mausoleums, paying tribute to poetic Sufism.
The mausoleums of Persian poets give stiff competition to the Islamic monuments in Iran and I too chose the Hafez Mausoleum over the famously spectacular Vakil Masjid in Shiraz. The marble tomb of Hafez, engraved with poetry and set in the middle of a large courtyard with a lawn, fountains and greenery. The dusk hour was very crowded and the air was made festive by the new moon in the sky. I wish I could also have visited the tomb of Omar Khayyam in Nishapur – alas, beyond my itinerary.
The mausoleum resembled the romantic gardens of Iran. Shiraz is famed for its formal gardens, and one afternoon walking the streets of Shiraz … taking photos of its randomly occurring medieval buildings or its sporadic sections of old walls … I came upon the Jahan Nama Gardens without warning. The garden was an enclave hidden inside a high brick-walled, heavy-doored perimeter exclusive from the outside world. As you enter, the sight of the eternal green lawns, paved walkways, gurgling fountains and astoundingly decorative fruit trees is as transformational for the mind as for the eyes. The walls block out the outside noise and the serenity inspires peaceful thoughts. Bagh-e Eram (Eram Gardens) is supposedly the most spectacular in the city with even a small palace hundreds of years old, within its walls.
Shiraz may not offer any connection between the region and contemporary Shiraz wine, but the medieval city has been synonymous with wine that historians presume to have been sweet or dry white. Ubiquitous miniature paintings available in street corners and souvenir stores portray noblemen seated on Persian rugs in rustic settings, gazing amorously at his Saghi who is pouring him wine from a Persian carafe. It is easy to imagine that inspiration for the visual and poetic arts flowed from the same source – like the miniaturists, medieval Sufi poets embraced the culture of harmony to write liberally of love (in this world and the next).
I arrived in Shiraz at the crack of dawn. Another day in intriguing Iran – new place, new outlook ... and of new adventures I could be certain. The tiredness of the overnight journey vanished as I tumbled down the steps of the luxury bus out into Shiraz’s Carandish Bus Terminal, and freed my bags from its massive double cargo hold. These buses are large, and comfortable as an airplane, and with all the regular logistical details of any type of travel, touring Iran didn’t seem quite so mysterious anymore!
The taxi into central Shiraz was inexpensive, so I did not whip out my Farsi phrasebook to bargain it down anymore. Without much ado I entered and sat in one, and watched as another local person joined, paying a tenth of what I did. I believe I saw that right, but held my peace because I was in Shiraz and all was good with the world.
The taxi drove through the early morning haze – typical in a hot climate after cool nights – and arrived in a city that still hadn’t woken up. Some bits of paper and plastic swirled in the breeze as the city was cleaned by automated washing vehicles, but other than that, most street corners were immaculate. Its wide avenues and planned roads seemed wider in the morning tranquillity. Only a few men could be seen on the roads, but no women anywhere at that time. A week had already passed since I arrived in Iran, and my familiarity with the country manifested in the small things – from counting out money from my pouch without having to read the numbers at the corner of the bills, to knowing which questions my taxi driver was asking me, like name, religion, nationality and marital status. As I only had three days remaining in Iran, I decided to pick a nice hotel – the Shiraz Eram – right on the main thoroughfare called Karim Khan-e Zand or just the ‘Zand’. The Eram had all the amenities of a comfortable hotel in any city, while being completely affordable. But the highlight had to have been 24-hour BBC and Al-Jazeera without any ‘outages’.
Esfahan is picturesque and Tehran is diverse. Shiraz was the only other city that I visited, so I have to limit my touristic opinion between the three. If Iran were a big souvenir bazaar, then Tehran and Esfahan would be in the front row of shops, boasting shiny, colourful artefacts on glassed-off shelves displayed by multilingual well-versed shopkeepers, while Shiraz would be more like a side street shop kept by ancient collectors, offering real antique pieces – in their original condition – to those who know their value. Esfahan and Tehran are recent, Islamic-era cities but Shiraz is not only historic, but has also been a centre of culture, learning and poetry for thousands of years.
Shiraz completed my Iran safar in several ways. It is the capital of Fars province where the ancient Farsi language originated, where Darius and other Achaemenid kings established their empires and left behind the magnificent ruins of Persepolis and Pasargad, where we find the archaeological sites for some of the most significant inventions of mankind including the earliest known samples of wine some seven thousand years old, and the home of Persia’s greatest medieval poets, Hafez and Sa’adi, whose philosophy define the Iranian soul even today. Mini newsprint copies of Hafez, Sa’adi, Omar Khayyam are sold in parks and street corners, while calligraphic verses are widely available on imitation parchment.
I absorbed Shiraz by sitting on the wooden garden benches inside the massive Arg-e Karim Khani fort in the centre of the city, and by walking for hours around the great Bazaar Vakil. The massive square fort has four walls and four towers, one of which lean quite curiously, and the sprawling bazaar has sections for expensive carpet merchants, souvenir depots, silver and gold jewellers, spice vendors, metal workers and coppersmiths, and sweet sellers. The high arched brick ceiling of the bazaar and its natural lighting scheme gives it an edge over bazaars in Tehran or Esfahan. The shops selling cloth are the most eye-catching because rolls of silk, velvet, brocade and organza are offered in dazzling colours – colours that are hard to find people wearing on the streets. Although the cloth market is perfectly legitimate, it is patronized by ‘underground clientele’ who wear the outrageous colours indoors or in very private, almost underground gatherings.
Shiraz was not connected to the great railway network of the Islamic Republic, and that is perhaps why it has a relaxed suburban feel. It had been a capital of the medieval Zand dynasty (sometime between the thirteenth and eighteenth century,) when most of its monuments, boulevards, palaces, formal gardens, bazaars and forts came into existence. Between the eleventh and fourteenth centuries, Shiraz saw the life and works of two of the greatest Persian poets – Hafez and Sa’adi – whose Sufi poetry shaped the Persians’ psyche definitively. Iranians are known to turn to their poetry books for guidance and solace, as often or more than they seek it in the Quran. Among Shiraz’s monuments are these poets’ marble tombs which draw thousands of locals and tourists everyday, usually to sit in the manicured lawns, and occasionally to make a prayer or a wish at the icons’ tomb. Even religiously dressed men and women can be spotted in the mausoleums, paying tribute to poetic Sufism.
The mausoleums of Persian poets give stiff competition to the Islamic monuments in Iran and I too chose the Hafez Mausoleum over the famously spectacular Vakil Masjid in Shiraz. The marble tomb of Hafez, engraved with poetry and set in the middle of a large courtyard with a lawn, fountains and greenery. The dusk hour was very crowded and the air was made festive by the new moon in the sky. I wish I could also have visited the tomb of Omar Khayyam in Nishapur – alas, beyond my itinerary.
The mausoleum resembled the romantic gardens of Iran. Shiraz is famed for its formal gardens, and one afternoon walking the streets of Shiraz … taking photos of its randomly occurring medieval buildings or its sporadic sections of old walls … I came upon the Jahan Nama Gardens without warning. The garden was an enclave hidden inside a high brick-walled, heavy-doored perimeter exclusive from the outside world. As you enter, the sight of the eternal green lawns, paved walkways, gurgling fountains and astoundingly decorative fruit trees is as transformational for the mind as for the eyes. The walls block out the outside noise and the serenity inspires peaceful thoughts. Bagh-e Eram (Eram Gardens) is supposedly the most spectacular in the city with even a small palace hundreds of years old, within its walls.
Shiraz may not offer any connection between the region and contemporary Shiraz wine, but the medieval city has been synonymous with wine that historians presume to have been sweet or dry white. Ubiquitous miniature paintings available in street corners and souvenir stores portray noblemen seated on Persian rugs in rustic settings, gazing amorously at his Saghi who is pouring him wine from a Persian carafe. It is easy to imagine that inspiration for the visual and poetic arts flowed from the same source – like the miniaturists, medieval Sufi poets embraced the culture of harmony to write liberally of love (in this world and the next).
Here with a Loaf of Bread beneath the Bough,
A Flask of Wine, a Book of Verse---and Thou
Beside me singing in the Wilderness---
And Wilderness is Paradise enow.
- Omar Khayyam
Hail, Sufis! Lovers of wine, all hail!
For wine is proclaimed to a world athirst
Like a rock your repentance seemed to you;
Behold the marvel! Of what avail
Was your rock, for a goblet has cleft it in two!
- Hafez
A common Sufi theme is allusions to beauty and wine, and of reaching spiritual heights. While most descriptions of fine-looking women, scented flowers, melodious nightingales and heavenly gardens permeating poetry are easy to visualize today, the allusions to wine, taverns, Saghis and the drunken enlightened mystic are a little more obscure. Once in a very unpopular decree wine was prohibited in Shiraz by the Muzaffarids but it was soon repealed, before the present ban was imposed after the Islamic Revolution. There is poetry spurning the ban on wine also.
Shiraz joins the experience of ancient Persia with the modern. Farsi language, thousands of years old, originates in Fars and is spoken in almost its unchanged form. Although invaded and influenced by Byzantines, Turks, Mongols and Afghans, Farsi has prevailed through the resilience of the Aryans. The 2008 August edition of National Geographic features as its cover story a photo documentary of Persia’s ancient soul, nicely connecting many symbols of ancient Persia to modern life – the symbols of the faravahar, the griffin and other ancient Zoroastrian symbols feature clearly in Islamic Iran, whether as business logos, in product branding and hotel names. Shirazis foster intense pride for their Aryan ancestors and find no contradiction between Islam and their Zoroastrian cultural symbols.
Fars is the home of the first Aryan Empire, the ancient capitals of Pasargad and Persepolis can be visited as day tours from Shiraz. The visit to Persepolis in a taxi through the countryside opens up some dry hilly territory – rocky, sandy and unbearably hot. But in the brown horizon, a row of green trees appear abruptly and announce the entrance to Persepolis.
Having studied Darius and Alexander in middle school, the weathered-smoothed ruins of chambers and columns in the deserted enclave feel familiar and appear exactly as they do on postcards. Most of the 2,500 year old structures are in ruins and it takes some imagination to recreate the Hall of Hundred Columns, or the gold-filled treasury which took Alexander of Macedonia two weeks and a caravan of five hundred camels to empty out after his invasion. Looking over entire Persepolis from the adjacent rock faces, are the impressive entrances to the tombs of kings Artaxerxes II and III with colossal stone carvings on the rocky walls to mark it. Persepolis consisted of magnificent marble palaces, conference halls, reception halls, treasury, and gates, which led even the Romans to pay tribute to Achaemenids.
A fascinating aspect of ancient Iran is the claimed civility and sophistication of the Aryan kings. The relief carvings at Persepolis depict great armies and kings, all armed, but none with weapons drawn, and the most fascinating artefact is Emperor Cyrus’ cylinder – an scripted pottery artefact – that is interpreted by some as the foremost declaration of human rights as it claims the return of displaced people in dignity after the Persian capture of Babylon.
Trudging through the sandy grounds of the vast ruins, in insufferable heat and mid afternoon sun, we tried to dodge the sun as much as possible by stopping often under the short shadows of the tall columns, and behind the griffin or bull carvings. I attempted an agonized smile only to pose for a photo … the group continued walking even though the covered clothing landed us on the verge of heat stroke. We even climbed up to the rocky tombs overlooking Persepolis. When our tour was done and the taxi driver became impatient, we were not done … from Persepolis we went to Naqsh-e Rostam and Naqsh-e Rajab, to see more sepulchres carved into ancient rocky hills where five of their greatest emperors had been interred. The crypts were carved into steep rock faces so high above the valley that after trying various angles to capture the rich relief carvings with my point-and-shoot camera, I gave up and sat down to memorize the landscape. These tombs have survived so well because of the desert-like conditions.
It is natural to feel proud in the knowledge that your ancestors created the city of Persepolis and Pasargad, the impression of greatness inspire Iranians even today. Ancient Zoroastrian culture, with their main festival No’ruz, is jubilantly observed nationwide and has been fiercely defended despite repeated attempts by the Islamic theocracy to replace it with an Islamic celebration. The culture of Persia flows deep, perhaps even deeper than their Islamic heritage. What the Persians have given back to Islam instead, is the sophistication of art and architecture that is now loosely described as Islamic, ornate masjids and palaces, advanced practice of Sufism, and for better or worse, the concept of the religious theocracy. Islam’s entities have been enriched by their passage through Persia, while the country continues to maintain its own distinctive culture and character.
In the shaded cool Vakil Bazaar in the centre of Shiraz a young city-dweller befriended me to tell me about present Iran. I listened to Amir and learnt that his dream, articulated by widely gesturing hands and a brilliant smile, was to go to Dubai. Although the only son of a wealthy rug-seller, well-versed in Arabic, Farsi and English, and proficient in sales, electrical works and plumbing, he had no stable job and refused to be constantly on the guard for ‘agents’. He regretted that one needed to have connections to find a good job … he claimed, “Iran is rich, yes, but not its people”. Amir told me in no uncertain terms how much he loved the freedom of Europe, which of course was instilled in his mind by the lack of professional opportunities and social freedom in Iran. Just like Amir in Shiraz, Raziyeh in Esfahan was learning English so that she could make friends, and one day perhaps go live in Europe.
I remember Shiraz also for another friend I made, an adventurous Dutch (The Flying Dutchman?) who was travelling Eurasia overland. He had entered Iran through Turkey, from where he travelled by train on a seventeen-hour ride to cross over to Tehran. We had first met over tea at the chaykhuneh in Esfahan’s Imam Square and then again in Hafez Mausoleum in Shiraz. Very excited to exchange notes about the cities and people, we started walking the hilly roads of Shiraz when I found out that he was going by road to Balochistan, Peshawar and Quetta, and then through the world’s highest road the Karakoram Highway to Xinjiang in China, to arrive in Beijing in time for the second week of the Olympic Games. We walked together towards the edge of Shiraz, near the Ghorran Gate, when he professed being a biker and planned to catch the cycling events at the Beijing Olympics. The thought of Balochistan and Peshawar for a Western traveller rang alarm bells for me, but I can attest that he has made it from China to San Francisco and is safely on facebook.
We ended the walk at a spot near the Ghorran Gate entrance to Shiraz, of which there is an eighteenth century photograph at the fort Arg-e Karim Khani museum. On one of the rocky hills next to the gate is a rocky trail, narrow, stepped and steep, that quickly carries one up to a hill overlooking the traffic and the twinkling lights of Shiraz – a spot which has been brilliantly and predictably been transformed in a chaykhuneh for tea and qalyan. Surrounded by the aroma of sweet tobacco, we had clear amber-coloured tea with many cubes of white sugar.
Travelling is a mixed experience … when I first see a city initial exuberance of discovery and exploration brings an ownership, heightened by the photos and writing about it. But soon after the high, comes a sense of melancholy and loss because as you greet, you also bid farewell. For some of these remote, exotic locations, it is easily likely that I will not see it again in a very long time so the urge is to capture details meticulously. In this sense, Iran has been a sad trip – the more magnificent each sight, the more despondent I felt to leave it. I now have an album of countless photos, pages of journal entries and memories of many acquaintances, all of which make me wish I could start back at the beginning and do it all over again.
Shiraz joins the experience of ancient Persia with the modern. Farsi language, thousands of years old, originates in Fars and is spoken in almost its unchanged form. Although invaded and influenced by Byzantines, Turks, Mongols and Afghans, Farsi has prevailed through the resilience of the Aryans. The 2008 August edition of National Geographic features as its cover story a photo documentary of Persia’s ancient soul, nicely connecting many symbols of ancient Persia to modern life – the symbols of the faravahar, the griffin and other ancient Zoroastrian symbols feature clearly in Islamic Iran, whether as business logos, in product branding and hotel names. Shirazis foster intense pride for their Aryan ancestors and find no contradiction between Islam and their Zoroastrian cultural symbols.
Fars is the home of the first Aryan Empire, the ancient capitals of Pasargad and Persepolis can be visited as day tours from Shiraz. The visit to Persepolis in a taxi through the countryside opens up some dry hilly territory – rocky, sandy and unbearably hot. But in the brown horizon, a row of green trees appear abruptly and announce the entrance to Persepolis.
Having studied Darius and Alexander in middle school, the weathered-smoothed ruins of chambers and columns in the deserted enclave feel familiar and appear exactly as they do on postcards. Most of the 2,500 year old structures are in ruins and it takes some imagination to recreate the Hall of Hundred Columns, or the gold-filled treasury which took Alexander of Macedonia two weeks and a caravan of five hundred camels to empty out after his invasion. Looking over entire Persepolis from the adjacent rock faces, are the impressive entrances to the tombs of kings Artaxerxes II and III with colossal stone carvings on the rocky walls to mark it. Persepolis consisted of magnificent marble palaces, conference halls, reception halls, treasury, and gates, which led even the Romans to pay tribute to Achaemenids.
A fascinating aspect of ancient Iran is the claimed civility and sophistication of the Aryan kings. The relief carvings at Persepolis depict great armies and kings, all armed, but none with weapons drawn, and the most fascinating artefact is Emperor Cyrus’ cylinder – an scripted pottery artefact – that is interpreted by some as the foremost declaration of human rights as it claims the return of displaced people in dignity after the Persian capture of Babylon.
Trudging through the sandy grounds of the vast ruins, in insufferable heat and mid afternoon sun, we tried to dodge the sun as much as possible by stopping often under the short shadows of the tall columns, and behind the griffin or bull carvings. I attempted an agonized smile only to pose for a photo … the group continued walking even though the covered clothing landed us on the verge of heat stroke. We even climbed up to the rocky tombs overlooking Persepolis. When our tour was done and the taxi driver became impatient, we were not done … from Persepolis we went to Naqsh-e Rostam and Naqsh-e Rajab, to see more sepulchres carved into ancient rocky hills where five of their greatest emperors had been interred. The crypts were carved into steep rock faces so high above the valley that after trying various angles to capture the rich relief carvings with my point-and-shoot camera, I gave up and sat down to memorize the landscape. These tombs have survived so well because of the desert-like conditions.
It is natural to feel proud in the knowledge that your ancestors created the city of Persepolis and Pasargad, the impression of greatness inspire Iranians even today. Ancient Zoroastrian culture, with their main festival No’ruz, is jubilantly observed nationwide and has been fiercely defended despite repeated attempts by the Islamic theocracy to replace it with an Islamic celebration. The culture of Persia flows deep, perhaps even deeper than their Islamic heritage. What the Persians have given back to Islam instead, is the sophistication of art and architecture that is now loosely described as Islamic, ornate masjids and palaces, advanced practice of Sufism, and for better or worse, the concept of the religious theocracy. Islam’s entities have been enriched by their passage through Persia, while the country continues to maintain its own distinctive culture and character.
In the shaded cool Vakil Bazaar in the centre of Shiraz a young city-dweller befriended me to tell me about present Iran. I listened to Amir and learnt that his dream, articulated by widely gesturing hands and a brilliant smile, was to go to Dubai. Although the only son of a wealthy rug-seller, well-versed in Arabic, Farsi and English, and proficient in sales, electrical works and plumbing, he had no stable job and refused to be constantly on the guard for ‘agents’. He regretted that one needed to have connections to find a good job … he claimed, “Iran is rich, yes, but not its people”. Amir told me in no uncertain terms how much he loved the freedom of Europe, which of course was instilled in his mind by the lack of professional opportunities and social freedom in Iran. Just like Amir in Shiraz, Raziyeh in Esfahan was learning English so that she could make friends, and one day perhaps go live in Europe.
I remember Shiraz also for another friend I made, an adventurous Dutch (The Flying Dutchman?) who was travelling Eurasia overland. He had entered Iran through Turkey, from where he travelled by train on a seventeen-hour ride to cross over to Tehran. We had first met over tea at the chaykhuneh in Esfahan’s Imam Square and then again in Hafez Mausoleum in Shiraz. Very excited to exchange notes about the cities and people, we started walking the hilly roads of Shiraz when I found out that he was going by road to Balochistan, Peshawar and Quetta, and then through the world’s highest road the Karakoram Highway to Xinjiang in China, to arrive in Beijing in time for the second week of the Olympic Games. We walked together towards the edge of Shiraz, near the Ghorran Gate, when he professed being a biker and planned to catch the cycling events at the Beijing Olympics. The thought of Balochistan and Peshawar for a Western traveller rang alarm bells for me, but I can attest that he has made it from China to San Francisco and is safely on facebook.
We ended the walk at a spot near the Ghorran Gate entrance to Shiraz, of which there is an eighteenth century photograph at the fort Arg-e Karim Khani museum. On one of the rocky hills next to the gate is a rocky trail, narrow, stepped and steep, that quickly carries one up to a hill overlooking the traffic and the twinkling lights of Shiraz – a spot which has been brilliantly and predictably been transformed in a chaykhuneh for tea and qalyan. Surrounded by the aroma of sweet tobacco, we had clear amber-coloured tea with many cubes of white sugar.
Travelling is a mixed experience … when I first see a city initial exuberance of discovery and exploration brings an ownership, heightened by the photos and writing about it. But soon after the high, comes a sense of melancholy and loss because as you greet, you also bid farewell. For some of these remote, exotic locations, it is easily likely that I will not see it again in a very long time so the urge is to capture details meticulously. In this sense, Iran has been a sad trip – the more magnificent each sight, the more despondent I felt to leave it. I now have an album of countless photos, pages of journal entries and memories of many acquaintances, all of which make me wish I could start back at the beginning and do it all over again.
