Iran > Local encounters in Shiraz

While the rest of the travel group leaves early for Persepolis, I turn over once more in bed. I have a leisurely breakfast, check my email, and wash some clothes. Afterwards, I stroll into the city at my own pace. I walk through the bazaar of Shiraz, greeting everyone politely in the small shops. A group of schoolboys near the citadel asks me where I’m from. I will have to repeat this several times today. I enter the Arg-e Karim Khan Citadel. Karim Khan had this citadel built during the Zand dynasty.

Iran - Cozy shops in the bazaar of Shiraz

A beautiful flower garden has been laid out in the courtyard. The entrance gate of the citadel reflects in the elongated pool. One of the corner towers has tilted after a bathhouse was constructed beneath it. I enter the bathhouse through the narrow door, trusting that the tower above is adequately supported. Opposite the citadel, I enter the Persian Museum. In the pavilion lies the tomb of Karim Khan. Following the Zand Boulevard, the main street of Shiraz, I reach the Vakil Bathhouse. This old bathhouse is now a museum. I buy a ticket to visit it. An older museum guard explains in Farsi how the hammam was used in the past. Luckily, I had already received an explanation about hammams in Esfahan, so I can follow his story to some extent.

Iran - The citadel of Shiraz the Arge Karim Khan with its leaning corner tower

He is clearly proud that I seem to understand him. Next to it, the Vakil Mosque has a beautiful covered prayer room on the south side. The room is supported by 48 decorated pillars. I sit for a while to enjoy the space and the mosque. The mosque borders the bazaar, so I exit it and wander through the market, moving between carpet sellers and spice stalls. At the caravanserai, I enter a teahouse. I order tea with traditional sweets from Shiraz. I strike up a conversation with a Danish-Iranian man who tells me he hasn’t been back to Iran since 1984. When it comes time to pay, he insists on covering my bill. Despite my repeated polite refusals, I cannot pay. I thank him warmly. In the afternoon, I walk to Hafez Park, home to the mausoleum of Iran’s most famous poet, Hafez.

Iran - A meeting at a teahouse in Shiraz

On the way to the park, I pass a mosque. As I enter the courtyard, I realize it is a mausoleum. In the courtyard, two Iranian boys approach me in Farsi. They give me a bracelet as a token of friendship. I am cautious, unsure whether they expect money or if it is a genuine gesture. I shake their hands politely, deciding I will find out if they have other intentions. With the bracelet on, I continue toward the park. Just as I think the matter is settled, the boys come running after me. I had believed in their sincerity. Again, the interaction is awkward, with many handshakes. A passerby helps translate, explaining that it is simply a “present” with no ulterior motives. I thank them again and head toward the park. At the park entrance, I am stopped and told I need a ticket. A young Iranian couple at the counter hands me a ticket. “For free,” they say—they had bought an extra one. Before I can even thank them, they enter the park and disappear into the mosque, leaving me astonished. What a remarkably hospitable people. I walk to Hafez’s tomb. The stone tomb beneath an octagonal pavilion is truly a pilgrimage site. Especially young people visit the grave, taking photos from various angles. I continue through the park and settle in a corner on a bench at the teahouse. With a cold cola in hand, I take the time to update my travel journal—delightfully shaded. A group of Iranians sits on a bench next to me. They ask where I’m from and offer me Dizi, which I politely decline. They want to know everything about the Netherlands. While I am talking, I see my travel companions entering the park after finishing their excursion to Persepolis. I expect them to come to the teahouse as well, but as quickly as they arrive, they leave again. I do not; I spend more time with my new friends. As the sun leaves the park, I walk back toward the river. Passing a barber with an available chair, I decide to go in. Soon, I am seated and get my haircut. I realize I have never had a haircut abroad before—a first. With my new hairstyle, I walk along the river back to the hotel.