Was that mud village in the middle distance inhabited? Was it a military establishment? We never did find out, but there was the thrill of taking an 'illegal' photograph, and that was all we could desire.
It was late in the afternoon when we finally arrived in Esfahan. Then we set out to explore. Our first stop was Esfahan’s great Jameh Mosque:
Yes, it was marvellous - but where were all the people? This wasn't Damascus, with a warm welcome from everyone we met. Here there were few, and the few seemed to be travellers like ourselves. Cautiously, we approached the mosque. No, we were informed - I could enter, but the Traveller was definitely Not Admitted. So in I went, to find a silent mausoleum, with the faithful snoozing while a cleric intoned:
The enduring memory is the smell of unwashed feet, and of a divine addressing to a sleeping congregation. I reflected that in the Anglican churches they also slept, but did so decently, bolt upright in pews. Or was it my sense of decency that was mildly outraged?
We carried on our exploration. A side alley led to a winter mosque, low and therefore easy to heat:
In a small courtyard just outside the Winter Mosque was one of Islam’s greatest treasures - a stucco mihrab covered in Quranic inscriptions and flowers, dating from the 14th century:
At the northern end of the huge square in front of the Jameh mosque is the Taj al-Malk dome, 900 years old and made entirely of brick, which has survived numerous major earthquakes intact. Inside, the pillars leaned in different directions, making the whole thing look very unstable:
However, parts of the tower had a very church-like feel about them, and it was quite difficult to realise one was NOT in some English cathedral:
All good mosques must come to an end, and we strolled back through the huge souk, getting a good feel for the place over a distance of some 2km. Finally we emerged onto one of Esfahan's glories, a 400m-long converted polo ground, ringed by a beautiful facade of shops, punctuated by amazing mosques. Great fountains jetted in the setting sun, and buggies plied for hire. This was the Imam Square or Naqsh-e Jahan.
We need not have worried - through the door and down a flight of steps we came to a cool courtyard with a tinkling fountain in a pool, and roses, and divans on which one could recline:
Looking down on the courtyard was a spectacular dome, covering the mausoleum of Bogheh-ye Seyed Roknaddin:
A stroll down the dusty street, and we turned a corner, to come face to face with the 50m minarets of the 15th century Jamieh Mosque. The loudspeakers would awake us at 4 a.m. and the sound would continue for at least an hour - that was the greatest disadvantage of touring during Ramazahn, as the period was known locally:
It glistened in the sun, to hide some of the detail, but a close up showed the incredible workmanship:
We wandered through the ancient back streets, too narrow for cars, with mud walls on every side, and dark archways with blind turnings that suddenly led onto small squares where children played. Some houses were open to the public and held surprises:
The tower in the background is a badgir, or "wind-catcher". It draws cool air down into the house, and removes warm air, and has to be the most energy efficient method of air-conditioning ever invented. Add to that the divan sitting above the pool and fountains, and even hot weather can be bearable.
It also boasted a mirrored room with pinups of bosomy ladies in long skirts leaning against penny-farthing bicycles! Nearby, the clean lines and simple decoration of the dome on the school known as Alexander’s Prison (15th Century)were a marked contrast to the exuberance of other domes we encountered:
At length we escaped from the warren of tiny streets and mud buildings onto the main streets of Yazd. Suddenly, towering over all, was the huge Hazireh Mosque towering over us:
An exploration of the local bazaar led down dark alleyways, in one of which a sign said"Mallek-o Tojjar Hotel." A low passage, several bends, a bicycle leaning incongruously against a beautiful old door, and suddenly we were in the courtyard of Yazd’s finest restaurant:
The food was very good - by Persian standards! We were getting rather tired of lamb stew with rice, even when tarted up with pomegranate juice. 
Sadly, the rest of the garden left a lot to be desired, and much had been totally neglected. Our explorations were interrupted by a very officious official who warned us in unmistakeable terms that we should go no further down an open path - for reasons that were not in the least apparent! Defeated, we retreated.
Massive and now headless beasts guarded the gate. Heroic figures stood guard, ready to pounce at the first threat.
The carving on the stone was incredibly detailed and well preserved. We found the imagery striking - these creatures may have lost some of their parts, but they still gave a clear message:
Tall pillars had magnificant capitals, clearly showing where the roof beams had been supported. The height of the spaces created must have been striking:
Down at ground level, bas relief sculture was everywhere. What these fine figures were holding up, we never did discover:
There was also a marvellous museum on the site, housed in a re-creation of some of the palace rooms. One of the joys was being able to photograph the objects. I talked to a curator, who said "They have lasted for 2 700 years. I think they are almost indestructible." This cat was showing some signs of wear and tear, but still magnificent:
While this bird could really show the way on a dark night:
All too soon, our time was up. Our curiosity might be insatiable, but our legs were tired. Darius' lion, minus ears, showed us off!
A pleasant ride back to Shiraz, and a late afternoon bit of retail therapy in the souk, brought an end to the day.
We entered the mausoleum, which was quite busy succouring the faithful, but we received none of the warm welcome that we had found in Damascus and elsewhere in the Arab world. Was this the difference between Sunni liberalism and Shia fundamentalism? Or between Arab and proud Pars? We left, under the watchful eye of armed guards.
In the gardens leading to the Hafez grave, we met a charming Iranian family, with whom we were photographed:
There were great avenues of trees, opening onto secluded glades where the citizens of Shiraz sat in quiet contemplation. Beautiful water features led through the garden, which covered several hectares. The 19th century Eram Palace sat in the garden’s centre. Sadly, visitors were not allowed inside.
