I spent an eventful day in Shiraz: lost and ripped off by a cab driver; explored the town center’s bazaars and its zigzagging, labyrinthine alleys and narrow streets, and their nonchalant shopkeepers used to foreigners just looking around with no intentions of buying anything; and experienced the country’s cultural capital through its mosques, food and friendly locals.
These were the reasons I went to this city, but not the only ones—I also came for Persepolis, the ancient Persian capital.
Former glory
I shared a car with a Turkish guy I met at the guesthouse. Our driver for the day was the manager’s father of the bed and breakfast, who only spoke a handful of English words. We drove out of the city, seemingly out of civilization into an older one, into the countryside. We passed by nondescript small towns with Iranian pop and electronic music, mixed with folk songs, as our soundtrack. As we got closer to the ancient capital, rolling hills and rock formations replaced the clutter of buildings and restaurants. It seemed as if we were going to the middle of nowhere and not the former metropolis.
As the car drove us to the entrance of Persepolis, more and more people arrived in buses, vans and taxis. There was the growing crowd, and the familiar sight of concessionaires and ticket counters. Back to civilization, I thought to myself. Thankfully, the guy I went with knew how to speak Persian, so he talked to the driver and scheduled when to pick us up. We queued, bought tickets and walked to the entrance, ready to straddle the line between past and present.
‘What makes the scene beautiful is not the architect’s intention but its ruin.’ —John Ruskin
There’s something about ruins that stir the imagination, and conjure up feelings of what was and what could be. As I walked up the staircase of this United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization-listed site, I can’t help but feel nostalgia (even for a time and place I haven’t been to). The Iranian visitors outnumbered their foreign counterparts. I could see and sense their eagerness to relive and learn more about their past, compared to us visitors who see the ruinous state of their former capital in a different and detached perspective.
As I went up the last few steps of the Stairway of All Nations, the Gate of All Nations beckoned me to enter. Lamassu, mythical creatures with the head of a man, a bull’s body and lion’s feet, carved onto the stone pillars stood guard as if it was still Xerxes’s reign. The visitors took turns taking selfies and pictures of the pillars and the gate, while others put on the 3D glasses to see a reconstruction of the ruins.
I walked further into the complex and found the Hundred-Column Palace. As its name states, it has a hundred columns standing tall, however, what’s left of them are only the stumps. The site’s carvings depict scenes of bravery and hunting prowess of the former Persian kings. The Apadana Palace displayed a different side of the ancient city. The carvings on its walls and staircases showed the subjects of the empire, paying tribute to their king, Darius I, with all sorts of livestock and treasures.
I continued to walk up a hill to get a bird’s eye view of Persepolis. The ruined columns and gates and stone statues in various states of disrepair and damage were below me. This used to be a great city; subject nations from all over the kingdom came and paid their respects to the kings, soldiers joked with each other, planned future battles or bragged about their bravery, and the king reveled in the thought that his empire would last forever.
What’s left is nostalgia and maybe even melancholy, a yearning for what once was, as Iranians and foreign tourists alike jostled to take the perfect photo, listened to tell stories of a distant past from the guides, and some would wear 3D glasses to get a glimpse of a bygone epoch, a reconstructed version of the city.
I wondered what Xerxes or Darius would feel if they looked into those 3D devices that augmented the state of what was once the Persepolis? Would they feel nostalgic for a city in ruins? Would they tear it down and build a new one? Would they just leave and let the elements level it to the ground? I left these thoughts hanging as I went down and went out the same way I entered.
The Turk and I went riding in the same car and exchanged mundane conversations as we returned to the city where the same playlist played on as the shadow of Persepolis receded behind us.
Image credits: Joshua Berida