When I was a writer for Culture Trip, I was commissioned to write Cultural Reasons to Visit Esfahan Before Tehran. Despite the fact that I love Tehran and actually take PERSONAL offense when someone says anything remotely negative about it, writing that article wasn’t hard. It’s pretty obvious why anyone would (and arguably should) want to visit Esfahan before Tehran. But this post today is a mixture of thoughts I had on my brief trip there in January 2020 and my revisit earlier this month. And I think what made me decide to write it was that after so long, it was Esfahan that inspired me again. Inspired me to take photos, to enjoy exploring, and at long last got the words flowing in my head again. When I met up there with one of my buddies from the TAP Persia crew, he said, “Welcome to the dorost hesâbi (something like “real and right”) part of Iran! Do you FEEL the culture here?” Admittedly, I did.
Writing these words ended up being a sort of love letter to this city so affectionately known as nesf-e jahân (half the world). From the most random observations (and I know it’s exactly those things that you come here to read 😉 ) to the more obvious choices of places I adore here, I have Esfahan to thank for breathing inspiration into me again.
Dear Esfahan,
Your accent
Your distinct, beautiful sing-songy accent. That’s how you initially bewitch your visitors. Some of your people speak more melodically than others, and I have to focus more, especially over the phone. Do you remember when I arrived at the bus station in the early morning hours last year? Let me jog your memory.
I ordered a Snapp, and the driver called me. Now I was still in the daze of sleep, but he may as well have been speaking Greek. I assumed he was telling me his location so I could find him, but I couldn’t spot him among the sea of other white Pride cars. So I just kept telling him where I was in the hopes that he’d find me among the sea of other travelers. Finally, I caught one word- flasher. And I spotted his emergency brake lights flashing. (A big help considering his license plate was muddy and near illegible.) On the ride to the hotel, he kept talking to me and asking directions. Now, I’m usually ok with your accent once I get used to the melody, and then believe it or not, I can even mimic it. But I think I had met what was the most authentic Esfahani in the world because man alive was his accent thick! And I was struggling! He reminded me of a friend my parents had back when I was a kid in Alabama. He was so proud of being Esfahani that not only did he retain your accent in Persian, he couldn’t help but speak English with it as well! Did you ever think that would happen?
At any rate, your accent is music to my ears. If my face were an emoji, it would be a cross between the heart-eyed and star-eyed one where I’m fascinated and beaming, thinking to myself, this is really how you speak, isn’t it?
Your taxi/Snapp drivers and GPS
I get a kick out of your taxi drivers. It seems they are opposed to GPS. My friend tried to warn me and kept telling me to get a taxi on the street and tell the driver where I wanted to go. But apps that minimize the need to talk to strangers are an introvert’s best friend. And I stubbornly insisted on my ride-sharing app. “I’m telling you… a lot of them are new, they don’t know how to use GPS well…”. Now it might have just been my luck. Or it’s quite possible that my friend cheshm-ed me and made me cross paths with every one of your drivers who did not know how to use GPS. Or else they were as stubborn as I was and insisted on not following the perfectly good directions GPS was giving and instead, ask me.
“Do I turn left here?”
“I don’t know. I’m not from here.”
“I’m not from here either. I guess we’ll have to follow the GPS because otherwise we’ll get lost.”
For older drivers who knew you like the palm of their hand (as we say in Persian), GPS only served to find the passenger. They could take it from there. One particular driver on this last trip had me cracking up because he would honk aggressively at any car in his way or appearing to get in his way. Then, he’d send a friendly wave in their direction as he passed them. To my surprise, a couple of times, the other person waved back.
It’s these details that give you so much character.
Is it just me or do you call everyone azizam?
Iranians in general call everyone azizam– animal, vegetable, mineral. But you’re different. It stands out to me a lot more with you. I feel like I get azizam-ed and dokhtaram-ed (my daughter) a LOT, especially by elderly men. Contrary to what some may think, it’s not creepy at all. I actually find it sweet and endearing. This leads me to my next point.
Your friendliness
“You go to Esfahan a lot, don’t you?” my student asked me. Not particularly. I’ve only gone twice in the last year and a half. I could go more often, though. Esfahan never gets old. “Oh, I don’t like it. That’s why I ask.”
Don’t be offended, azizam. (Can I call you that, too?) Like any destination, it’s always the personal experience you have with it. My handful of times with you has been nothing short of positive. I find there to be a particular warmth to your people (don’t let it get to your head- Yazd and the south of Iran also top my list on this one).
I don’t think Tehranis are unfriendly. It’s just a big city, and like any other big city, everyone is doing their own thing. Is it maybe that you’re more used to tourists? Though that could also be a double-edged sword. It’s a hard one to put into words, but there’s a light-heartedness. A quiet confidence. A sense of pride.
Your cleanliness
You are noticeably clean. It’s as simple as that. I’ve only said this about two other places in Iran- Saryazd and a tiny village in Qeshm whose name escapes me. But in both of those places, you could eat off the ground. Granted, I wouldn’t go that far with you, but you’re pretty up there!
Your vegans
In the handful of days I’ve spent with you, I haven’t had a problem finding vegan food, and from the bottom of my heart, I thank you. It’s honestly easier than in Tehran.
Your bazaar
I’m a huge fan of bazaars. They’ve got good energy. I love wandering aimlessly. Getting lost. Finding quiet corners. Old doors. Speculating on their past. And on and on. But your bazaars are a living museum. Yeah, I wrote that in my Culture Trip article, too, because it’s true. And I let my senses take over here. The sights, the smells, the sounds- they inevitably lead me to rooftop views or some hidden nook.
And while we’re on the subject of bazaars, unlike bazaar workers in Tehran who give you a stern bepâ! (look out!) before proceeding to run you over with their carts, your people don’t make a peep. They ever so quietly and politely walk behind you, until perhaps you happen to notice them and let them pass by.
Your Zâyande Rud
The first time I visited you was as a teenager. And I was lucky to see the Zâyande Rud full of water. It was normal back then. It’s only been in recent years where there’s always the question- Is there water in the Zâyande Rud? The last couple of times, there’s been a little. But this time, there were bushes and shrubs. In Chaharmahal and Bakhtiari province, I swam in the Zâyande Rud. But with you, I took a stroll in it. I even came across a sign that said, “No swimming. Danger of death,” and let out an audible sigh. I supposed that might have been true once upon a time. (Can you hear my heart breaking?)
With your spectacular bridges, you will always be more romantic and picturesque with the river. But even without it, locals keep its spirit alive with their tradition of poetry under the bridge archways. Here’s to hoping it’s against the background music of gushing water again one day.
Your Jolfa
Your Armenian neighborhood of Jolfa is a place I find incredibly comforting. After thinking long and hard why, I realized it boils down to this: it represents both of my worlds in a way- the Iranian one and the not-so Iranian one. For someone like me who sits firmly on the hyphen of Iranian-American, there’s always been this issue of identity and a sense of belonging. I’ve always been too American to be Iranian. Too Iranian to be American. I spoke one language at home. Another outside home. I learned about one religion at home. Faced another outside home. I’ve always seemed to teeter between two cultures, never fully identifying with or fitting into either one. And for me, your Jolfa is like a little grey area, too.
Your Chah Haj Mirza
This little corner of your square is a treasure trove. One minute I’m gazing at all the antiques and photos. The next, I’m gawking at the guy at the next table downing something like 16 oz of doogh (the salty yogurt drink) with a side of gushfil (elephant ears, but sort of different from the ones you find in the US- much, much sweeter). And if this combo seems odd to you readers, I’ll never forget the way one of my students explained it to me in much more familiar terms (after I expressed my own initial horror). “Oh what? You can have chicken and waffles in the US, but we can’t have doogh and gushfil!?” Touché.
But seriously, this teahouse charmed the pants right off me. The eye candy. The atmosphere. The menu. The massive sack of onions the size of baseballs they were hauling into the kitchen. The staff- especially the man wearing the ZZ Top shirt that day. I mean ZZ Top… in the middle of all those Persian antiquities. How could you not love it?
Your Meydoon
Meydoon (square) takes on a whole other meaning with you. Naqsh-e Jahân or Imam Square is hands down my favorite spot. Hardly original, I know, because it’s everyone’s favorite. But if there’s a place that quite literally manages to take my breath away, it’s here. I dedicate one day here on every trip and take endless laps around so I can admire it from every angle and at different times of the day. And once I’ve soaked up its beauty, I just sit and people watch. And let’s face it, the fact that it used to be a polo field is beyond cool. Now just imagine sitting on the patio of Ali Qapu Palace and watching the match! That’s what I call box seats!
I could go on about your architecture, your music, your art, your food, your handicrafts (and even your bicyclists!). My friend was right to ask, “Do you FEEL the culture here?” Because it is absolutely palpable. You effortlessly cast a spell on those you draw in. And I know there’s still so much to uncover with you.
Until we meet again.
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