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Sunday, November 24th – Tehran to Esfahan (bus)
I feel all right after a night of fairly consistent sleep. I woke up hungry at one point but I let it pass. We gather our bags. I didn't unpack mine last night so that doesn't take much effort. We load up out bikes and walk them five blocks to the bus depot, which isn't far from the train station. We buy our tickets for Esfahan. The bus departs in an hour. In the meantime, we visit a café so Coen and Vincent san get some breakfast. It is cold out but not the freezing temperatures we had higher up in Erzurum and Dogubeyazit. There's no snow here. Esfahan is 400 km south of here so it should be a bit warmer.
I dare not eat still but I do buy a ginger ale in the bus depot. Ironically, it is Canada Dry, probably what Iranians associate with Canada. The bus driver stows our bikes, rather roughly, in the storage compartment under the bus, and we take our seats. The coach is mostly full but modern and comfortable. I seem to be fine as long as I do not over exert myself, so I appreciate a bus ride over having to cycle. We plan to stay in Esfahan for three days so I should be recovered by then.
The trip is uneventful. The brown barren fields go on forever, like a sea of buckwheat pancake flour. How a succession of powerful empires emanated from this land over two thousand years I have no idea. It certainly doesn't look fertile. The bus rolls on for a couple hours before we reach the city of Qom, which is half way to Esfahan. It's a large city of close to a million, according to our guide. Our bus stops here for a half an hour. I take a stretch and get a picture of the Qom Mosque after Vincent and Coen have their cigarette break.
The bus continues another three hours on to Esfahan. The great and magical city of Esfahan that was once, during the Middle Ages, one of the largest cities in the world between the 11th and 17th centuries. It has been the capital of Persia two times in history, including some of its most prosperous times, and is chalk-full of astonishingly beautiful tiled mosques. It is the place I want most to see in Iran.
The weather is fine, about 12C when we arrive. Our bikes have survived our driver's rough treatment. We load them up and seek out a nearby hotel. Rashid Ahmed is the manager of the hotel we pick. He tells us he is required by Iranian law to hold onto our passports while we stay there. We deposit our bags in our shared room and set out on a walk towards the main square.
In the first block we run into two Brits who Coen and Vincent had met in their first week in Alexandria, Greece. They are a couple, Stephen and Kate. Vincent introduces them to me. Stephen gives me a nod of acknowledgment but Kate doesn't. She's doing all the talking, telling the Dutch boys about their visit to the city of Bursa while we were in Istanbul. She doesn't ask them anything about what they have done or seen and never once says anything to me.
We continue onto the Nagsh-e Jahan Square, the main square, which our guide says is one of the biggest city squares in the world. It is massive, about the size of four football fields. It is surrounded by coloured-tiled mosques and palaces. Huge portraits of Ayatollah Khomeini and his present successor hang from the Ali-qapu-rooz Palace that stretches along one side of the square.
My queasiness has returned and I am feeling shaky again. I tell the Dutch boys I have to return to the hotel to lie down. They ask if I am OK and I tell them I should be if I get some rest. I leave them there are return the four blocks to our hotel. When I return to my room I find a young man in his late teens working on repairing a faucet in the bathroom, which I did not know was leaking. Perhaps one of the Dutch boys reported it. As soon as he leaves, I lock the door and crawl into bed. I wake briefly when Coen and Vincent return a couple hours later.
PHOTO 1: view from the bus
PHOTO 2: Nagsh-e Jahan Square
PHOTO 3: entrance to the mosque
PHOTO 4: Ali-qapu-rooz Palace
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