ESFAHAN

We caught the bus for Esfahan. We had been warned never to take photographs of anything in particular - the mullahs are very security conscious - and this view from our bus, about 50km from Esfahan, was about as full of nothingness as one could wish:
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.