Shiraz

Shiraz is touted as a beautiful city. But really, it's not even by the coast. At it's heart it's a city of gardens and tree lined boulevards, in a fertile valley surrounded by arid mountains. But now, it's crawling up the lower mountain slopes and filling the valley with smog. Still, it's a major tourist draw. Occasionally, at one of the big attractions, a grey haired gaggle dressed in desert colours, with zip off trouser legs, will whisper past, en francais. But mostly it's people from all over Iran who flock here. And it feels touristy. I'm asked for directions three times in the week I'm here. It must be time to trim that beard.


The city centres on the Arg e Karim Khan, Built in the mid 18th century when Shiraz briefly became the capital city. Inside, is a courtyard filled with orange trees

The Vakil bazaar is an interesting mix of tourist trinkets and everyday items. But the architecture is just as interesting as what's on sale.


There's a number of famous mosques, The Nasir ol Molk mosque is one of the most photogenic.

And the Vakil Mosque

The two big attractions for Iranian visitors are the tombs of Hafez and Sa'di, poets from the 14th and 13th centuries, though the tombs are nowhere near that old.

It seems to be a popular ritual to touch the tombstones and recite something, presumably either poetry or prayer.

Not being familiar with any of the poetry, it's hard to get too excited, but the gardens are pleasant enough. Actually, my favourite place in Shiraz was this underground teahouse in the grounds of Sa'di's tomb. A hole in the centre looks through to a fishpond a floor below.

But of course the most interesting part is the people. In Shiraz, the chadors have largely given way to headscarves and manteaus. A manteau is basically a housecoat from the 1950's. Normally thigh length, dowdy ones may fall below the knee, and particularly racy versions finish just below the bum. They usually have long sleeves, but there's also short sleeved or sleeveless versions worn with a tight sleeved top underneath. Worn with trousers of course.

In the evening the city comes alive, and there's a distinct asian flavour, with street vendors selling anything they can from blankets lining the footpath.

The traffic has an asian flavour too. Four lanes of traffic use three lanes of road in each direction. To cross the road you have to drift across and let the traffic flow around you, asian style. There's a few perilous differences here. The traffic here is almost entirely cars, and it's flowing enough that the cars are moving fast. The most difficult thing is that every car, private or taxi, stops to pick up passengers, so if you're standing at the roadside, every car comes towards you and toots it's horn. So there's no way you can judge a gap in the traffic. It's like trying to observe an electron. The act of observing it changes everything. It's no wonder the road toll is astronomical.

Shiraz has any number of gardens, parks really, and is famous for them, in Iran. Inside tall walls, they have lawns, trees and flowerbeds. In the shade of orange trees couples sit at angles so acutely inwards they can only be in love. Walking along a gravel path I hear a whistle. Two shrills. A referee. Then again, louder. It's more like a police whistle. The whistle blows keep coming in pairs as a uniformed guard locomotives towards me. I just had my shoes off, walking across the lawn. It was spongey and damp. Fantastic after all that desert. There are small placards staked around the edges, which probably say keep off the grass, but how would I know? I'm ready for the engagement, but his stride doesn't break. The whistles give way to remonstration and arm waving as the guard stops across a flower bed from a young couple sitting against the mudbrick wall. As I had passed there was a whisper. Lips may have brushed a cheek. The couple stand and walk away, the width of the path between them. The park is punctuated with whistles for the rest of the evening, as couples cross some invisible line of demonstrative affection.