برج آزادی Arriving in to Tehran after an overnight bus from Yazd, I was greeted by the Azadi Tower at dawn. Then I had to battle with the Tehrani taxi-drivers… Not easy.

برج آزادی

Arriving in to Tehran after an overnight bus from Yazd, I was greeted by the Azadi Tower at dawn.

Then I had to battle with the Tehrani taxi-drivers… Not easy.

Yazd folk

Wandering the Old Town you meet lots of children playing in the little alleys between the adobe houses, all intrigued by what you’re doing here. A few moments later, the wisp of a woman in a chador turns a corner.

Every now & then, the waft of the Iranian flat-bread wafts out of a bakery, as it is being baked, flattened against the side of one of the clay ovens.

Back in the city, the buzz of people piled onto motorbikes, weaving past the fruit sellers.

Rather than taking a taxi, I walked out of the city, through the suburbs, to the edge of the desert to visit the Zorostrian Towers of Silence. Walking past a row of mechanics’ workshops, I was invited to smoke a chicha by a group of men, none of whom spoke English, and without me speaking any Persian. We somehow managed to communicate, them asking me about my family, was I married, did I have children…

A few blocks later I came accross two guys, heading to the mosque to pray. They walked with me a while, offering me a form of what I presume was qaat, laughing as my eyes betrayed the burning, stabbing sensation of the drug as it was pressed against my gums.

As I’ve already said, Iranians are welcoming folk.

More photos from Yazd here.

Yazd | یزد Following Isfahan, I took a bus 175 miles accross the desert to Yazd, a city with a history going back 3000 years, and which was on the Silk Road. The city has its heart in the Old Town, which hosts one of the largest networks of qanats in the world, and many of the houses are cooled by the wind towers for which the town is known. Outside of town there is the Zorostrian Towers of Silence, where, up until the 1960s, the Zorostrians laid their dead.

Yazd | یزد

Following Isfahan, I took a bus 175 miles accross the desert to Yazd, a city with a history going back 3000 years, and which was on the Silk Road.

The city has its heart in the Old Town, which hosts one of the largest networks of qanats in the world, and many of the houses are cooled by the wind towers for which the town is known.

Outside of town there is the Zorostrian Towers of Silence, where, up until the 1960s, the Zorostrians laid their dead.

Isfahan, Ispahan, Esfahan, اصفهان

My first real experience of Iran was in the streets of Isfahan, which boasts some stunning mosques around the Imam Square.

The friendliness of people here is amazing. Families will invite you to drink tea with them as they pic-nic, people will stop you in the street, not to hassle you, or try to sell you something, but just because they are curious to know what you’re doing here, and more importantly, hwo you perceive their country.

The contrast between the side of Iran that we see in the media, vis-à-vis politics, and the lives that the Iranians lead is large.

More photos from Ispahan here.

Go South Upon arriving in Tehran — bleary eyed, nine hours late — I decided to head straight down to Esfahan. This was the point at which I wish I’d invested the same effort in learning to read the Arabic alphabet, as I had with Cyrillic last year. Trying to find the bus to Esfahan involved a lot of leg-work…

Go South

Upon arriving in Tehran — bleary eyed, nine hours late — I decided to head straight down to Esfahan.

This was the point at which I wish I’d invested the same effort in learning to read the Arabic alphabet, as I had with Cyrillic last year. Trying to find the bus to Esfahan involved a lot of leg-work…