Axis of evil

[Penta]

A lot of posts, I know. Luckily someone has intervened every time I'm getting to my maximum number of consecutive posts. Just as well, or coldharvest would have my guts for garters.

So it's the 13th day of Nowruz, the sun has blessed us all after the cold and rain, and it's a perfect day for a picnic:




We spent most of the day strolling through the parks on each side of the river, between the Khaju (1650), Chubi (also known as Joui, 1665) and Si-o-seh (1602) Bridges. There's a lot of new building on the south side of the river (Zayande Rud), but wonderfully, they've kept it well back from the bank, to maintain and extend the parks.

Pol-e Khaju, from downstream:







Inside the ground floor:



Here the man on the right was singing to his friends:

[Penta]

Pol-e Khaju from upstream:





Playground. I wanted - but failed - to catch Batman on the way down, he was so excited. Here he is at the top:



The Afghan and his baby girl:

[rickshaw92]

superficial bargaining for pleasure

You like that barganing crap? Really?

[coldharvest]

coldharvest would have my guts for garters

I'll give you a day-pass on this one occasion.

[Penta]

Thank you, sir. But the two of you have done your stuff anyway.
I love it, rickshaw. It's like a stately dance. I have to confess I had a pang of conscience last night: I improved my own line in the telling - what I should have said to him, but didn't. It was lamer. ;)


"The Beautiful Girls", as they described themselves (with lots of hair and tight mantos):





Pedalos (with long queues, otherwise we'd've had a go too):



Lunch. They invited me to join them, very insistently, and I was tempted, but I was quite a long way behind the others, so I had to decline. It was a single family group of at least 20, with a long tablecloth all the way along the path.

[Penta]

Moving on swiftly up the south bank, the Pol-e Chubi from downstream:



And up:





Weir, another good spot for fishing:

[Penta]

Last bridge, the Si-o-seh Pol, which means 33 [arch] Bridge. It was my local one when I lived there, first on one side of it, then on the other. From downstream:





At one end:



And up top:





Enough with the bridges already. I'm an engineer's daughter, I can't help it - I love them. ;)

Last picnic pic, on south side approach:



And martyrs on roundabout on north:

[Penta]

That's the end of Esfahan. The next day we drove to Tehran - another very long day with the stops on the way. First a mud village in the mountains, Abaniyeh, which is another tourist trap for Iranians too. Ridiculously photogenic, though we could have done with better light for stronger shadows.



The men wear very wide-legged black trousers; the women full skirts and floral shawls (you can just see one sitting between the two arches at the back). They had one of the first rural schools, so even the old people are literate; most of the young people have left for the cities. The remaining inhabitants make a living by selling dried apples, apricots, pistachios and almonds from their orchards in the valley to the tourists.



Perilous balconies and great doors and windows:





A "lucky" window grille; people make a wish and tie on scraps of cloth, string or ribbon (not very successfully, since some of them looked as if they'd been there a long time);



The old village water cistern. Inside it was full of rubbish.

[Penta]

The snows on the mountains are fast retreating, as everywhere else. As so much of Iran's water comes from the annual snow melt, they're going to run into serious difficulties soon.



Lovely woman. I bought some bead necklaces from her, so she was very happy to pose outside her shop:



And we got lots of dried fruit from this old boy; this was as close as he came to cracking a smile:



These were Iranian city kids, who'd tried on the local clothes:



Traditionally, they have male and female knockers on their doors, so women inside can tell whether they need to cover up or not before they open:

[Jäeger]

I don't think I'd be hiring many masons from that town, it doesn't seem to be their strong suit.

[coldharvest]

I don't think I'd be hiring many masons from that town, it doesn't seem to be their strong suit.

The Iranian Bricklayers and Masons Local 406 would like a word with you.

[Penta]

I don't think I'd be hiring many masons from that town, it doesn't seem to be their strong suit.

You're right there. I usually take photos crooked (one of my lesser-known failings) and the "straighten" function is a boon. But with these, I couldn't really tell which way to nudge it.

Actually, I think the problem is they barely used stone at all: it's all mud and rough-cut wood, with a few bricks here and there. And you haven't shown me the promised examples of your fancy brickwork yet (or of your dry-stone-walling skills), so I don't know how fair it is of you to judge. ;)

[Jäeger]

penta:

And you haven't shown me the promised examples of your fancy brickwork yet (or of your dry-stone-walling skills), so I don't know how fair it is of you to judge. ;)

Typical woman, with your damned impatience. I'll show you the rubble wall, grotto and brickfront I did for a friend of mine next time I'm in town. But here's a little something to satisfy your curiosity. So, judge away.


The entrance to my basement, Flemish Bond. I also did the interior coat.


The stoop I built for my grandmother, done as a double bricked English Bond.

Maybe I need to open a bricklaying school in Iran. Something like Jäeger's Bricklaying Américain.

[Penta]

OK. You're off the hook for now. Looking forward to seeing your mirror work though. But all that breaking of mirrors - 7 more years of bad luck?

[Penta]

Nearly there. Once we got back from the diversion to Abaniyeh onto the motorway, we were in Natanz land. No pictures, obviously. The guide was eagle-eyed, though he readily agreed that any photos we took would be of less use than all the satellite pics. Lots of anti-aircraft guns, some with rather sweet sunshades (I suppose they might have been camouflage, but looked more like shade). The uranium enrichment plant itself pretty nondescript, but then I assume most of it is underground.

And then Kashan, famous for its carpets (which aren't really to my taste), tiles, silk and roses. It's expanding hugely; lots of opulent mansions under construction on the outskirts and whole new suburbs. Here's the frame of a new mosque or shrine:



Iran has thousands of shrines; it's a bit like the Catholic cult of saints, and one of the things that distinguishes Shi'ism from the Sunnis.

But Kashan's other great claim to frame is its ur-garden, the Bagh-e Fin, which is the standard for all that's best in Persian gardens, based on flowing water in channels, with plenty of trees, especially cypresses and plane trees, and roses or other sweet smelling flowers. The cypresses were a sorry sight, as the coldest winter in living memory a few years ago, with a lot of snow, had done a lot of damage, but the old plane trees were thriving. Roses not out yet, unfortunately. Packed with visitors, again, but westerners are clearly quite unusual these days, since the director himself came out to greet us personally.





There's a beautiful pavilion, with water running everywhere through the ground level, where Shah Abbas used to spend most of his summers (and people now throw in coins for luck as everywhere - don't know where they got the coins, which are in short supply; we didn't see any in the time we were there):





The water comes from a spring in the mountains, brought down by the ancient system of qanats. These are underground water channels, some thousands of years old, built to bring water reliably all year round to the plains, for irrigation and household use. They were neglected by the middle of the 20th century (the Pahlavis were keen to undermine the power of landowners and therefore agriculture, in favour of industrialisation in the cities, which they could control and profit from better) but apparently there's been a big programme of repair and renovation since the revolution. Once it leaves the gardens, it's used in the city's piped water supply.

There's also a hammam in the complex. It's notorious now, because in the 19th century the prime minister under one of the Qajar kings was sent here into exile, and then assassinated in the hammam. All the public hammams have been closed down since the revolution, which is a tragic shame. Some of our party are aficionados, and had really enjoyed the hammam in Damascus, so they were very disappointed not to be able to go to one in Esfahan.





A cafe outside the garden, with the water running through: