Axis of evil

[Penta]

The pics are just my (or Mr P's) usual point and click efforts, but they give some idea, I hope. We had a good amateur photographer with us, but I don't know if I'll have access to his proper photos.


Tea houses in Darband, at the beginning of the mountains in North Tehran, where we went for tea and a smoke at the end of a very long first day:


Second-hand Barbies:


Dried plums, apricots, sour cherries (yum) and that chewy syrupy stuff:

[Penta]

Shiraz. It rained most of the day.

Bagh-e Naranjestan:


Inside the pavilion. When they started importing mirrors from Venice a lot got broken on the way, so someone had the bright idea of using them as mosaic tiles:


Ceramic tile portraits on the outer wall:

[coldharvest]

those are superb

[Penta]

Thank you, sir.

More mirrors, this time in the shrine to Sayyed Mir Ahmad, brother of Emam Reza, died in Shiraz in the 9th century, the Shah-e Cheragh (king of the lamp). The inside is entirely covered in mirror mosaic. They didn't have the green lights last time I was there; plain silver was better, I think.

[Penta]

Hafez's tomb, also Shiraz. Can't imagine so many people going to a 14th century poet's tomb for a family day out on a miserable rainy holiday anywhere else.




They touch the tomb and recite a line or two for luck:



There was a Hafez Scholars' Association room, with some young devotees lounging around in a small library. I asked if one of them would recite a poem for me. They thought I was mad, of course, and at first assumed I must want to hear it in English but I explained I'd studied them in Farsi long before any of them was born. After much deliberation and consultation they picked a poem, and one of them stood and read it beautifully. Our guide was worried that he'd lost me; he was relieved to find me, and sweetly unsurprised.

These guys had a good thing going: fortune-telling, Iranian style. They had budgerigars up their sleeves trained to pick a piece of paper with a verse on it. Notice the big hair on the dude with the budgie:



The big man out of picture on the right is our photographer: his fortune cookie said he was going to have a baby and come into a lot of money. His wife had mixed views about it.

[Penta]

A selection of old stones in the cold and rain in the desert.

A capital in the workshop:


Lion bites bull; trilingual inscription. This lot of bas reliefs were buried under a couple of metres of ash from the fire when Alexander the Great rolled into town, so they're almost perfectly preserved.


Bearing gifts:


Darius the Great enthroned, below Horus motifs. Ahuramazda at the top.


Darius with parasol - or umbrella?


It was much better without the remnants of the Shah's grotesque extravaganza. The bases of his tent city de luxe are still there, but they've planted a wood which mostly covers it now.

We went to Naqsh-e Rustam too, to see the tombs of Darius the Great and three others (Darius II, Artaxerxes I and II? they're not sure), but it was pissing down again, and the photos aren't worth posting.

Tomorrow, Esfahan.

[Stiv]

Great stuff Pen, the mirror stuff I saw in Mashad's haram was amazing (no photos in there though a BIG no no!) so those shots bring back some serious memories.

What the Persians do with fruit excels what I've seen anywhere, I gorged on the stuff.

Best,
Stiv

[Hitoru]

Pretty damn cool pictures comrade.

[Penta]

And here we are, deep in the sweet mire of nostalgia: Esfahan.

First things first, garden of the Abbasi Hotel, formerly known as the Shah Abbas. The scent of the stocks on a warm evening was almost overpowering in its heavenliness. Self-consciously traditional tea house at the far end of the first picture:




View from balcony on the road side. There was a little notice requesting ladies to observe the hejab rules when they went out on to the balcony. I thought, Fuck it. Our room is the only place I can take the wretched headscarf off; I'm damned if I'm putting it back on every time I go out for a fag. If people are going to be offended or inflamed by a distant glimpse of an uncovered female khariji head, they know what they can do. And then one morning, when I was out there smoking in my pyjamas, the smell of the smoke was drifting in so Mr P shut the door without my noticing and went to shave followed by a long soak in the bath. The telly was on in the room (news of G20). The door doesn't open from the outside, natch. One improperly and immodestly dressed khariji woman stuck on the balcony, knuckles sore from bashing on the door. I considered clambering over to the next balcony (the Silver Lady and the American's) but considered that unwise in the circs.

The shopping parade and concrete square replaced the pretty park I remembered looking out on to (rightly or wrongly? Nostalgia plays such tricks) with my hapless rich young suitors in previous visits to the hotel. Oh well, that's progress.

When I told my mother I was going to Iran for a year, she said, "If you must, I don't suppose we can stop you. But for God's sake don't marry some Persian prince who'll lock you away for ever in his hareem." (Though I think she'd have preferred a prince, any prince, even an Iranian one, to the penniless Mr P.) There were no princes in the frame anyway, but the beautiful elder son of a Qashqai clan leader came close, especially with his invitation to accompany the tribe's migration to summer pastures. The Shah stymied that one though, with a renewed clampdown on nomadic movements as part of his forcible settlement programme.




Inside. The miscreant properly attired, baggy coat and all. Haft sin display (seven items beginning with s traditionally displayed for Nowruz - like a Christmas crib?) on the left. One of them used to be wine; the succulent-looking glasses of coloured water were a cruel tease to the oenophiles among us. The American and the Guide sitting below.

[Penta]

So many stunning buildings, so many photos, it's hard to know what to include. So I'll start at the beginning and try not to overload.

The entrance to the Masjed-e Jame' (Friday Mosque) and the best (more workaday) end of the bazaar - my favourite, at least. (No time for that now; everything will be shut tomorrow, the 13th Day, so we have to fit in as much as possible today.)



Seljuk brickwork (part of the inspiration for European Gothic cathedrals):






Plaster mehrab (yes, plaster not carved stone):

[matt5058]

Awesome pictures. I'd love to make it to Iran one day if possible.

[Penta]

Glad you all like them.

Matt: hard to take dull photos when there are so many wonders to point your camera at.


I'd post more pictures of smiling Iranians if I knew how to do flipflop's clever face-masking trick: they always wanted at least one of us (usually the Silver Lady) in the photos with them, whether it was our cameras or theirs.

[nowonmai]

Awesome pictures. I'd love to make it to Iran one day if possible.

I'd rather shit razor blades than peer at the Saga Holiday snaps taken by a gullible old traitor, breathless at the wonder of one of her favourite despotic regimes.

[rickshaw92]

Way cool pics M'Lady.

[Penta]

I'd rather shit razor blades

Pity I can't force him to make the choice.

OK, on we go. Same place.

The Guide: "You see ..." Pay attention to your architectural history lesson. You too, flaggers.


Detail of squinches (look it up). How to move from a square base to a round dome, without it all falling down.



Fancier ones:


The Photographer getting better photos (a different eivan):