You'll know you're in Hormuz when you see your shoes dyed red. When you are baffled by the pandemonium of tuc-tucs in the port where you have arrived by boat from the nearby island of Qeshm, the biggest of Persian Gulf. When you see groups of young people in a carefree attitude and some of them, even without veil, shouting to the wind songs labeled as forbidden. and the heat, also the heat.
You will know that you are in Hormuz, especially, when you leave behind the prejudices about this strategic enclave and verify that you are not on the militarized island that you expected. It is essential to get rid of any cliché about the country of the ayatollahs and the women stuffed in black, also. Then, and only then, you will know that you are in Hormuz.
the little island, only 40 square kilometers of surface, seems cut off from the world, as if it broke away from the rest of Iran thousands of years ago. Even for the Iranians themselves, the south also exists through enclaves such as Kish, the tourist jewel of the Persian Gulf, o Qeshm, but not by Hormuzd, an ever-vigilant piece of land in one of the most geopolitically relevant straits on the planet. an isolation that is, probably, one of his greatest treasures.
Tehran, point
It all starts in Tehran, from where a flight of just over an hour and a half allows you to reach the island of Qeshm. the iranian capital, where the pedestrian has to get used to facing the confusion of crossing its streets between a legion of cars at odds with traffic lights and zebra crossings, is fractured in two. To the north, the modern Iran of large avenues and westernized shops, paradigm of that global village that McLuhan predicted that leads you to confuse a bar in New York's SoHo or Madrid's Cava Baja with a modern place with an industrial aesthetic in the heart of Tehran. Just the glass of beer, always without alcohol, ends up vanishing the mirage. South, the most popular neighborhoods, traditional shops, the rigorous chador, the money changers with suitcases full of banknotes and the street bookstores.
One and other, go ahead, they are equally safe. The visitor, that before getting on the plane he had to deal with a good string of warnings, admonitions and advice -almost always illuminated in the heat of ignorance-, that inevitably end with a question: But is Iran a safe country??, you can walk its streets, even with a camera on your shoulder, with absolute tranquility. And have a coffee in the ferdos gardens, next to the film museum, or enjoy a kebab in the restaurants of Darband, at the foot of the mountains, or lose yourself in the stopped time of the literary Naderi coffee.
Trying to understand Tehran forces you to travel by metro (always with two carriages reserved for women, However, they can choose to get on any of the other, mostly occupied by men), to get lost in its popular and crowded bazaar (even more so in the days leading up to his Now Ruz festival, the persian new year beginning on 21 March), to approach his story in the National Museum and in the golestan palace. And, also, to enjoy its immaculate parks, no doubt walking by Tabiat bridge, that unites two of the main green areas of the city: Aboatash Garden and Taleghani Park, where the first young people who came to play sports together years ago aroused the astonishment of the Tehranis most attached to traditions and the rigors of sharia, Islamic norms of conduct that pervade social behavior in post-revolutionary Iran.
I laugh: where the heat reigns
After the capital tour, the journey south begins in Qeshm, an island accustomed to extreme heat. To the point that it is only sensible to visit from late December to mid-April (in July and August the temperature reaches 55 degrees, with a wind chill of more than 70 because of the humidity), when the thermometer is more benign with visitors.
Qeshm -who presumes from geopark weighed down in spite of the embargo, that has paralyzed all its projects in the last six years- worth a visit for the Estar Kafte or Valley of the Stars, a landscape worthy of Star Wars in which erosion has drawn whimsical natural sandstone sculptures; the semi-submerged forest of Hara, a mangrove swamp swallowed by brackish water that is traveled by boat among scared herons; and the labyrinthine salt caves of Namakdan.
but there is more. The intricate canyons of chah kuh, patiently shaped by the wind over centuries, hide the wells where the locals get their water and walk through the narrow ramifications gorge -where a countryman quenches the visitor's thirst with a plastic container overflowing with water- It more than justifies spending a little time on it. as to the guran shipyards, where wood craftsmen build traditional leng, o a Laft, the main town on the island, on which stand out the ventilation towers that the natives of the island have used since ancient times to cope with the heat. Here, a special place to enjoy the sunset, el principal aljibe de agua se conoce como el “pozo de oro”. because in Qeshm, in fact, water is gold.
In that maze of dusty unpaved streets, a small miracle emerges. The artist's workshop Ahmad Nadalian, who has trained a group of local women in artisanal painting techniques, overcoming the suspicion of a closed community little used to changes and, even less, a que la mujer trabaje fuera de casa con un artista “crazy”. But there continues Nadalian, straddling Qeshm and Hormuz, where did you start your project, determined to break the mold and give the women of this harsh land a chance.
Hormuz, the whispers of history
And finally, Hormuz, one of the most imperishable memories - along with Persepolis and the majestic Isfahan- of all this unforgettable trip to Iran by the hand of the photo agency (grace Hossein Zali) and with an exceptional guide, Bitar Lead. And not only because of its watercolor beach impregnated with red by the iron oxide of the island, but above all because of the feeling of distance that accompanies you from the moment you set foot in it. Because Hormuz oozes authenticity. In the silence of the valleys of Namake Talai and Mojasame, geological vestiges of overwhelming beauty. In the whispers of your story portuguese castle 16th century, witness to the importance of the enclave on the trade route between the West and the Far East, now crisscrossed by oil tankers and large freighters.
from Hormuz, a ship brings us closer in little more than half an hour to Abbas city, from where to save time by taking a flight to Shiraz, back to Tehran. In Shiraz it smells like poetry - one of the great Iranian bards is buried here, Hafez– and an incipient spring that inaugurates the months in which the capital of the province of Fars exhibits all its splendor to visitors.
Poetry of flowers in Shiraz
Shiraz seduces you through the lattices of her pink mosque (Nasir-al-Molk) with the forcefulness of the castle walls of its main benefactor, Karim Khan, who moved the capital here and spared no efforts or resources to beautify the city.
But although we have traveled the Gardens of Eram, intoned a few verses before the alabaster tomb of the poet Hafez, haunted by the brick labyrinths of the barrio de Sang Siah or visited the mausoleum of Shah Cheragh, with its dome of the thousand and one nights glowing at sunset, we will run the risk of remaining trapped in the narrow margins of stereotypes if we do not also delve into the modern Afif Abad neighborhood. Walking through its wide avenues like Satarkhan Boulevard, lined with gleaming storefronts and avant-garde buildings, we will once again tear down preconceived ideas about the country.
In the city of poets we have, also, the opportunity to stay in the recoleto Hotel Toranjestan, very close to the pink mosque, a haven of tranquility that he runs with affable hospitality Mehruaz Jorsandi, one of the first women to run a hotel establishment in the city and the only one to have a staff made entirely of women. A bet that, in a country where women still have many rights to conquer, In addition to being an example of empowerment, it is a cry for freedom.
A look at the vestiges of the Persian empire
But regardless of their undoubted claims, Shiraz is above all the gateway to Persepolis, the cradle of the persian empire, a look at its millennial history without which any trip to Iran is orphaned. Forget rushing and feel the weight of your 27 centuries of history since Darius I began its construction in the sixth century BC until the great Alexander the Great devastated it and took it in more than 500 camels all their treasures.
To try to comprehend all its magnificence, it is advisable to get a viewer through which we can appreciate the ruined palaces and the impressive stone reliefs in their original splendor. And, especially, you have to make the effort to climb up to the tomb of Artaxerxes I, privileged viewpoint from which one can get an idea of the true dimensions of Persepolis.
The cult of the vestiges of the once mighty Persian empire is not complete, however, without stopping before the impressive funerary monument of Naqsh-e-Rustam, where the Persians excavated in the rock what are believed to be the tombs of Darius I, II and III, Xerxes and Artaxerxes I, some cavities in the shape of a cross crowned by columns and bas-reliefs carved in the stone.
Is, I, one of those places on earth where you have to be, that we finished minutes later in Pasargada, where the lonely tomb of Cyrus the Great, the Achaemenid monarch who conquered Babylonia and pushed the borders of the Persian empire into the Mediterranean, she stands tall as if the prow of her exploits refuses to sink into the depths of history.
Isfahan, the treasure of iran
Isfahan, where we arrived by road after more than four hours by car from Shiraz, it is the last look at Iran before returning to Spain from Tehran. But it should be the first, because nothing is comparable to Isfahan. its grandiose plaza Naqsh-e-Jahan (half a kilometer long) is, by right one of the most renowned in the world. For me, the most beautiful I have ever seen.
And although of course you have to admire the amazing dome of the Mezquita Sheik Lotfollah (resembling the striking tail of a peacock) and the majesty of the imam mosque, nothing like being captivated by the view of the porticoed square from the heights of the balcony of the ali qapu palace the, even better, from the terrace of a café-museum at the northern end of the esplanade. There, before the profusion of daily scenes of a festive day, with people walking, enjoying the square by bike, flying kites or just as a family with a tablecloth on the lawn, you think you are in front of a Renoir painting.
It is not easy to turn your back on this square -which has seduced great travelers like Javier Reverte, who strongly recommended that we visit it-, but Isfahan exists beyond Naqshh-e-Jahan in its beautiful bridges over the Zayandeh river, through which now only the water of the last rains runs: the Puente Khajoo and the one of the 33 arches. Or in the gardens of Chehelsotoon, with his palace of 40 columns. Or in its trendy Armenian neighborhood, where Vank Cathedral still stands. Walk, eg, for the secluded Avenue de Chahar Bagh -between well-kept flower beds and listening to the murmur of the water fountains, until Hash Bheshest park is a delight. On a park bench, a group of old people sing old folk songs by clapping their hands, as if they want to hold on to a world that changes too quickly.
This entire route through Iran was planned by the Iranian agency Fotros, that has a careful service for Spanish-speaking travelers. Without the support of Hossein Zali and Bita Talebi, It would have been very difficult to understand everything we saw and experienced on that journey through ancient Persia. For any questions, contact Bita Zalebi at the email address b.talebi@fotros.travel or through incoming@fotros.travel.
