48 hours in Esfahan, Iran

Kanishka Lahiri and Ranjita Bhagwan

“Esfahan nesf-e-Jahan”. “Esfahan is half the world”, or so the saying goes. Labeled by
the guidebooks as the finest city in all of Iran, and a jewel of the Islamic world, we had
arrived in Esfahan with high expectations. At the end of day one, Esfahan did not
disappoint. It was perhaps the most memorable day of a fortnight in Iran.

We started with a solid breakfast (consisting of lavaash bread, cheese, sour cherry jam, as
well as scrambled eggs and cereal) at the Suite Hotel in preparation for a long day of
trekking around the old city. Soon after crossing the Se-o-seh, one of Esfahan’s many
footbridges, we headed away from the noise of Chahar Bagh and walked through the 16th
century Beheshti Palace and its manicured garden, one of Esfahan’s more notable sights.
We ambled along feeling gladder by the moment as the sun began to break through the
clouds and create what would turn a gloomy drizzly morning into a dazzling, but chilly
day.

Our route brought us back to the noisy thoroughfare of modern Esfahan, from where we
quickly ducked into a by lane near Takhti Junction. With a little help from some locals,
we made our way through narrow alleys reminiscent of Yazd, the desert city from which
we had arrived the previous night, to the Hakim Mosque, the oldest mosque in Esfahan.
The entrance dates to the 11th century, while the rest of it was rebuilt in the 16th. After a
 few false starts, we were walking
through the captivating Bazar-e-
Bozorgh. Here we peeped into a
Madrassa (the Madraseh-
Nimurvand), with its typical
peaceful setting, and then
continued in search of the path to
Jameh Mosque, the main agenda
item for the morning.

Snaking through the vaulted path

of the traditional bazaar, we ran
into a large crowd standing around
sipping hot tea from little glasses,
which was being made in huge kettles on the side. The first thing we did was to check for
presence of women. That was an affirmative, and before we had time to ask for a cup, a
couple of friendly looking avuncular types offered us cups of delicious saffron-flavored
tea, with beet sugar cubes, and a crunchy sweet accompaniment. We accepted without
hesitation, and sipped the tea, listening enthralled to a loudspeaker over which a religious
sermon was being given with a deep passion – a voice that often broke into tears,
accompanied by appreciative murmurs from the crowd. I tried asking how much the tea
was for. At this one of the gentlemen raised his hands upwards and indicated this was
from Allah, and there was no question of paying. Unfortunately, we were not allowed to
pass through the gathering, so we had to find a different route to the mosque, which we
were able to do quite comfortably.

Jameh Mosque is HUGE. It is the largest mosque in Iran. This was the first of jaw-
dropping Islamic architecture that we would see today. We were too late to catch the
guided tours, so we satisfied ourselves roaming around the courtyard, gaping at the
enormous Iwans (gates) on the four sides. Two girls were sitting near the pool sketching
the interior with utmost concentration. Others were praying. The courtyard was decorated
with dozens of colorful garlanded memorials (or so they seemed). Today was the first day
of Haj, so we put two and two together. A hundred or so pigeons would sit in one place,
and then periodically fly around the courtyard and then settle in the same corner. We sat
in the courtyard for a while, taking in the size and intricacy of the mosque, and then
headed out back to the street. Before hitting the street, we were accosted by a friendly
carpet salesman who took us into his shop, gave us tea, and showed us beautiful carpets
made by nomadic people from far flung places like the Caspian Sea area, Bakhtiyar,
Azerbaijan. A particularly attractive one was a medium-sized red pure silk, for only
$4500. We headed to the square, where Ranjita bought some dry fruits from an avuncular
guy who smattered her with lots of friendly farsi. We quickly ducked into the bazaar for a
short colorful stretch (stopping once to buy some dry pomegranate for a future barberry
rice dish) before reaching Imam Square.
Before we could take in the grandeur of the square, we started chatting with a friendly
guy, Behrooz, who then took us (carrying an edition of the Lonely Planet in hand is a
dead giveaway) to his workshop on miniature art. He proudly showed us pictures of his
dad and uncle who had been featured in current and earlier editions of our book and gave
us a sincere overview of the art in his shop. A lot of the stuff was truly exquisite, and we
ended up buying a miniature on a camel bone piece (he promised that the camel was not
killed for its bone). He then showed us to the Quesariya Tea Shop, which has a terrific
view of Imam Square looking south. We were sitting sipping our teas, admiring the
splendor of the square, when an Indian couple from Mumbai (originally from Bangalore)
joined us. We chatted with them for almost 30-45 minutes, sharing experiences of hijab,
the friendliness of the Iranian people, and the beauty of the country.
 We then headed clockwise around the
square, starting first with the Sheikh
Lotfollah mosque. The entrance is
through a dimly lit corridor very
intricately decorated with mosaics. As
we walked down the corridor and turned
towards the door to the main mosque,
we were dazzled by light from the
setting sun filtering through the filigreed
windows enhancing the beauty of the
already exquisite mosaics. We tried to
get some photographs of the dome, but I
don’t think our little digital camera
could do any sort of justice to the mosque.

We headed towards the main attraction of Imam Square – Imam mosque. If there is one
place one should visit in Esfahan, it is Imam mosque. The courtyard is surrounded by
four gigantic, mosaiced portals. Each portal is decorated finely with blue mosaics and
calligraphy. There are two minarets too that added to the beauty of this mosque. The
mosque is cleverly oriented at an angle from the square, meeting the conflicting needs of
being properly aligned with the direction of Mecca, while maintaining harmony with
Imam Square. The sun was setting and we tried to catch some last photographs.

As we headed towards Ali Qapu palace, we were accosted by a carpet seller who said his
shop was listed in the lonely planet. He made us promise that we would go back to this
store. He said he would catch us after we finished with the palace. We headed up the
palace to a high floor that gave us great
views of the square in the sunset. A zillion
photos later we headed down and wound our
way through the row of shops in the bazaar
lining the square, only to be caught by light-
eyed, long-haired Hamid, the carpet seller.

Hamid gave us tea and told us about his trip

to Goa, and how he was appalled by Mumbai
(“they no respect for people”, is what he felt).
We had already told him we were not going
to buy a carpet, so we did not feel any
pressure from him. But our curiousity got the
better of us as we asked him to just show us
some of his wares. He showed us the most
exquisite silk carpets we had seen, made by
nomads, made in Esfahan, made in Kerman,
Bakhtiar, and Qom. The knot count per
square cm was so high that we could not see
any individual knots at the back of the carpet.
 We never asked him how much they were, but
at the end he slowly let out the minimum price
– $900. So if you have the moola, do contact
Hamid, of Aladdin Carpets in Esfahan. We
were also invited into a miniature gallery by
one Nariman Arya. He was not very pushy at
all, but showed us some exquisite miniatures.
During our conversation, one of the intriguing
comments he said was, “I wish the Arabs had
never invaded us and given us their religion”.

A few more photographs later, we started

walking back to the hotel. We passed the hotel
Abbasi, one of Esfahan’s most opulent hotel.
We headed down Chahar-e-Bagh street and ate
really fantastic street-side Pizza at Hatam
sandwich, close to the northern end of Si-o-Seh
bridge. If only we had known of this place
earlier; we could have told the Indian couple we met at the tea shop (who were armed
with MTR prepared foods) about it.

We came back to the hotel, and after resting for a while, we went down to the lobby for
tea. As we finished our tea, we suddenly found a group of giggly girls standing right next
to us for quite some time. We were trying to
ignore them, concentrating deeply on the
Lonely Planet, when they finally mustered
up the courage to talk to us. Their English
was very broken, but it was clear that they
were very curious to know more about us
and where we were from. Turned out they
were about 20, from a town called Sanandaj
in Khurdestan, and big fans of Shah Rukh
Khan. Soon the whole group came gathered
around us, and started talking about movies
(Baazigar in particular) and Saris. We
exchanged room numbers and took
photographs. One of the prettier girls told
Kanishka “Mai tumse pyar karti hun” and
made his day. The Lonely Planet claimed
that Sanandaj does indeed have a large
population of fashionable students ever-
anxious to try out their English. Our
experience definitely confirmed this.
 The next morning, after breakfast,
we headed away from the old city.
We reached the Armenian quarter
of the city after a 30 minute hike.
First stop was the Church of
Bethlehem, which a caretaker
(who asked if we were Pakistani)
opened for us after a “fee” of 10K
Rial. The church was small, but
impressive, with a curious
combination of Islamic
architecture (high intricate dome,
barren prayer hall) and Christian
frescos. We then continued in
search of the bigger tourist draw,
the Vank Cathedral. This was 6 times more costly to enter, but in the end, worth the
money. The 400 year old cathedral had spectacular biblical frescos, which were as
gruesome as they get. More interesting was the Armenian museum alongside. There we
got to see ancient hand written books dating all the way back to the 9th century, including
what must be the biggest book either of us had ever seen, something called a
Monolagium. Other interesting exhibits included one on the genocide conducted by the
Turks on the Armenians in 1915, metal work from India, and numerous Armenian scrolls
from India, as far back as the 1600s (there were a couple from Calcutta in the 1800s, one
in 1857). Another cool exhibit was a strand of hair with an Armenian inscription on it.

Back in the city, we picked up some tea near the river to keep ourselves warm (it was a
brilliant day but well below freezing).Some pista shopping later, we found ourselves at
the last of the major sights of Esfahan: the Chehel Sotun Palace. We spent a good amount
of time here, lazing around in the now warm sunlight, and examining huge, detailed
frescos depicting war and peace during the Safavid period. Two were of interest from an
Indian standpoint: one shows the defeat of “Sultan Mahsmud/Mohammad of Ghorkani”
of Delhi to Nader Shah, and another shows a Safavid monarch receiving Humayun at his
court after the latter fled Delhi.

Inevitably, we were drawn back to

Imam Square, the jewel of Isfahan. We
had lunch at the magnificent Bashista
Restaurant at one corner of the square.
On the way out we provided some
useless consultation to the owners on
how to computerize his ordering and
billing systems. In any case, they were
very charming, and hospitable, as most
people in Iran are. We spent the next
few hours roaming around Imam
Square, shopping for souvenirs, and
chatting with locals. The most interesting was a Bollywood freak whose favorite film was
“Shakti” (apparently Amitabh’s character and his life have deep parallels in that neither
have talked to their fathers for 10 years). He also claimed to have used Amitabh’s
fighting tactics from Deewar to fend off some bully who was giving him trouble. He also
rattled off dozens of names across Bollywood generations, and their relationships. He
also entertained us with a demonstration of Amitabh’s moves much to the amusement of
another bystander, who was initially trying to sell us T-shirts, but in the end gave up, and
started watching our conversation with much intent and laughter.

A little more roaming around, and we felt the need for …. Tea! So we headed to the
Abbasi Hotel, which had been highly recommended to us by an excitable Iranian lady at
Heathrow Airport. The hotel was Qajar-era opulent, but the tea was so-so. We also paid a
Qajar-era opulent taxi fare to get us from the hotel to the Khaju bridge, the prettiest in
Esfahan. By now it was dark, and bitterly cold. We braved the cold and valiantly tried to
take pictures of the illuminated bridge before calling it a day. The next morning we
watched world reaction to Saddam Hussein’s execution on TV, and then made our way to
the airport, from there on to Tehran, to start the long journey home to Bangalore. It was
sad leaving Iran, and Esfahan in particular, and we vowed to return someday.