Story & photos by Joshua Berida
I left Shiraz wanting to see more of Iran, and yet I was unsure of visiting Yazd, but the consideration of time and the distance made the decision easier.
I took the day bus that traveled between both cities, the night option would’ve been cheaper, but I would’ve missed out on Yazd’s spectacular views of the desert landscape. The towering rock formations and the barren arid region replaced the semi-concrete jungle of the city. The rocks and mountains turned golden as the last rays of the sun shone on them.
As the jagged mountains receded behind us, Yazd beckoned and welcomed us.
Time traveling in the old town
I didn’t have much time on my first day because of my evening arrival. I was too tired to venture far out of the hostel. “I guess time traveling would have to wait for at least a night.”
I woke up to an unassuming and laid-back city; I saw hints of its past as I entered its alleys and narrow streets, its distinct color, a fleshy hue, and the design of the houses and buildings; its mishmash of concrete and adobe, its attempt to make new something old or at least give it a semblance of what it once was. Locals went about their business of moving products, and going to school or work. Amid this every day, normal existence, I entered one of the city’s relics of the past, the Dowlat Abad Garden.
The historic, Unesco Heritage-listed Persian Garden seemed stuck in time. Instead of royalty walking its pathways and admiring its beautiful flowers, local and foreign tourists take their photos and hear stories of its famed past. Its wind tower, the highest in the city at more than 33 meters high, is a reminder of the former. Inside the building are stained glass windows and an elaborate ceiling design reminiscent of the mosques and mansions in other parts of the country.
I stepped outside the garden back into the limbo of past and present. I like long walks as it reveals the city to me bit by bit, but I didn’t want to walk too far to get to the old town. In this slow, laid-back place, I wanted to go hyperdrive to get out of the time warp I was in; I took a taxi.
I followed where my feet led me as I explored the old town. I imagined what Marco Polo must’ve seen when he visited the same city centuries ago; the hustle and bustle of locals carrying silk products, carpets and other items for barter while beasts of burden tethered or wandered about. The Yazd before my eyes may have retained some of its charms; in a ruined, nostalgic state or in various states of repair and reconstruction.
The shopkeepers displayed their wares by hanging them on the façade of their stores or a makeshift stand, while others carefully organized their items inside their premises, with the most expensive, midpriced and the cheap ones grouped separately. I walked into the wormhole-like side alleys, where the bazaars connected to the main streets and nondescript corners and roads, where unused badgirs (wind catchers) and blue domes jutted out of the urban chaos, and the old, adobe houses mingled with cafes and hotels that tried to mimic the former’s ancient charm.
As I went in and out the alleys lined with adobe homes and structures, and crisscrossed main streets, I found my way into another vestige of the city’s glorious past, the Jameh Mosque. The latter’s blue tile work, elaborate façade and towering minarets stood out in the sea of flesh-hued structures. This 12th-century mosque has withstood the test of time with many reconstructions and maintenance work since then. As I walked inside the hall, I couldn’t help but admire its beauty. The ceiling, Mihrab, and the walls were showcases of Islamic and Persian art with their colors, details and patterns.
I left the mosque in search of another road that could lead me to a different perspective of the old town. My feet led me to the Amir Chakhmag Complex, one of the prominent structures in Yazd. Its most striking feature is the symmetrical, sunken alcoves of its façade. Locals gathered in the square to shop, dine, and take pictures and rest. It was a place where people stopped; as the confluence of past and present zigzagged its way through the narrow alleys and corners and main thoroughfares.
Before the day ended, I wanted to see the sunset; a momentary respite before I leave Yazd for another city. I looked for the highest possible and best view point; I found one at a hotel’s rooftop café. I sipped my tea as the last rays of the sun turned the townscape into an orange hue and then into a faint brown.
The sun sunk behind the adobe skyline for the nth time as it had always done even before Marco Polo’s arrival. I took a last sip of tea and made my way back to the hostel. The old town receded behind me as I passed neon signs, shop owners looking to make a final sale, cars zipping by and strangers on their way home. As the night unfolded, I was eager to experience what Iran still has in store for me in the coming days.
Image credits: Joshua Berida