Only Connect. Shiraz, May 5, 2015

Admit something:

Everyone you see, you say to them,

"Love me,"

Of course you do not do this out loud;

Otherwise,

Someone would call the cops.

Still, though, think about this,

This great pull in us

To connect.

Why not become the one 

Who lives with a full moon in each eye

That is always saying,

With that sweet moon

language,

What every other eye in this world 

Is dying to 

Hear.

- Hafez

Beautiful blue skies, green palm trees, bright happy flowers and little children on their field trip...and an American having a loud hissy fit about what he thinks everyone should have for lunch: "We just want meat! Potatoes! Why is this so hard for anyone to understand?! That's all we all want to eat! Jesus!" About seven of us just turned around and walked away to tour the grounds on our own. It was barely 9 am.

So anyway. Instead of listening to that, we went and looked at this:

The beautiful Bagh-e Eram is named after one of the four gardens of paradise from the Koran. The palace and gardens were built around 1823. Later on, Shiraz University established a botanical garden here. The appealing symmetry of the place and the families and school children out in the sunshine managed to scrub away the awkward tantrum from before.

  

The Garden was full. A boys' school was having student picture day, and there were art students practicing their architectural drawing.



Pink gangs of jelly beans roamed the grounds and when the pictures start, they seemed to multiply exponentially.





Ariya has promised us a treat, something that I had completely forgotten about. It is a Shiraz specialty called Faludeh (think: fall-u-day). Julie and I had this concoction in the Shiraz Bazaar the last time I had been here. This time, we got it hand delivered on the bus - which wasn't as atmospheric as the bazaar, but who is going to argue with someone giving you ice cream?



Although, technically it is thin vermicelli noodles made from corn starch. These are mixed into a kind of sugar and rose water syrup with a splash of lemon flavor. It makes for a sweet, cold, crunchy sensation. Ariya kept saying it was soothing on the stomach as we all slurped it down. I don't think that was really anyone's main concern, though. Then it was off to see some tombs.



One of the things that I value and find fascinating about Iran is the people's reverence for poets and history. I told people that going to Hafez's tomb is like us going to Jim Morrison's grave (minus the drug use and vandalism of course). These poets from the 12 and 1300's are Iranian rock stars and oracles.

Our first tomb stop is that of Sa'di or Saadi. He was born around 1210 in Shiraz and died there in 1291 or maybe 1292. He traveled extensively, though, through Iraq, Egypt, Jerusalem, and Syria among other areas.

Outside the tomb, there was a group of older short women, all dressed in black with colorful scarves on their head. One of them mimed that she wanted me to take her picture with her cell phone. So I lined her up in front of the door of the tomb and took a snap with the phone. I made her check that it was ok, and she did, then she grabbed my cheek and gave me a healthy pinch and shook my face, "So beautiful!"

The  example of his work that most comes up is a tribute to our connectedness as human beings:

"Humans are the limbs of one/the same body,

and are from the same essence in their creation.

When the conditions of the time hurt one of these parts,

other parts will suffer from discomfort/restlessness, as well.

If you are indifferent about the misery of others,

it is not deserving to call you a human being."

Then it was on to the tomb of Hafez, my particular favorite. I remember coming here with Abdi and Jim. I didn't have a relationship with Hafez the last time I was here, but I remember some very devout women who were making gestures to me about my headscarf. Apparently I wasn't covered enough. Our guide at the time told me that they were from the countryside and were more conservative than other women might be. One woman in particular was picking at my scarf and I was trying to accommodate her, but she would not crack her stern and disapproving glare. She finally backed away from me, and tripped over the little lip that surrounds the tomb, and began to fall backwards down the stairs, until...I caught her arm. I grabbed her and righted her. After that, she was all smiles and hugs. She learned that day that even bad girls aren't all bad.



Khwāja Shams-ud-Dīn Muhammad was a fourteenth century poet. The name he came to be known by, "hafez," literally means someone who has memorized the Koran. Persians use his Divan as a guide for life, a light in times of trouble and sometimes divination.





If you need guidance, simply open up Hafez, pick a verse, and you will have your answer.

I'll wait.

Go do it.

It works.




Did you do it? Let me know.




This visit to Hafez was entirely different. I had read The Gift: Poems by Hafiz The Great Sufi Master translated by Daniel Ladinsky over the past few months and had been delving into other translations. There are some beautiful poems that speak to the spiritual, the earthly, love and God. You just have to  figure out how you want to read it. I know who this poem is about, but what does Hafez say to you?

How

Did the rose

Ever open its heart 

And give to this world

All its

Beauty?

It felt the encouragement of light

Against its

Being,

Otherwise,

We all remain

Too

Frightened.

Ariya asks if we have the energy to make an unscheduled stop - the answer to this question is always "yes" by the way. Always say yes to unscheduled stops.

This particular stop is very important to me. It is the tomb of Emir Ali Ibn Hamzeh. It was built in the 19th century after earthquakes destroyed the original buildings. It was the place where Abdi took this picture of me in 2011, and it was the first Islamic shrine I had ever seen and it was like a glittering, sparkling, mirrored jewel. Like being inside a diamond.

This shrine is a perfect little jewel, with a lovely courtyard full of tombstones. Look closely at the floor of the courtyard and you can see them. You have to walk over them to get to the entrance of the shrine. Men and women have separate entrances and in 2011, you got your chador (or bed sheet) at the front of the shrine. This time, the chador was issued at the entrance to the courtyard.

Men and women still had separate entrances, but now there was also a partition in the shrine itself, keeping the sexes separate. So people can no longer circle the tomb as they could before.

This is a picture of me this time:






For lunch, James and I both had something called Dizi or Abgoosht - which means "water meat." The aptly named dish is served in a little clay pot and consists of meat (lamb), chickpeas, tomato, white beans, or maybe kidney beans. Some turmeric and onion add a little spice. This stew is cooked for awhile, then it comes to the table.

You strain off the liquid into a separate bowl, and tear up some of the yummy naan-like Persian bread and soak it in the liquid. Then you take the mortar and start mashing up the meat and beans into a delicious mixture of thick and tasty meat mush. Then you can either dip it back into the soup, or scoop it up with the bread. Then you eat until that clay pot is empty. It is an amazingly simple, entertaining and hearty meal.

After lunch, we head to another glittering shrine, the most important mausoleum and pilgrimage site in Shiraz. It is called Shah Cheragh "King of the Light." The men entombed here are Ahmad and Muhammad, brothers of the Eighth Shite Imam, Ali ar-Ridha and sons of the Seventh Shite Imam, Musa ibn Jafar. 

Ahmad came to Shiraz around 900 AD, and died here. Now it is a place of sacred pilgrimage. Usually the mausoleum is closed to tourists. Apparently there was a brouhaha with some disrespectful foreigners in 2002 and the visits were shut down. So most guide books say that you might get into the courtyard, but not into the mosque or the tomb. But every once in a while, you might get lucky and get in. 

But if you are a woman, first you have to get your sheet on.

We were led into the tent by a friendly chador-clad woman, who assigned us our sheets (these were handy, they had little cords so you could tie your chador closed around your neck) and dressed us, and then instructed us on how to hold our sheets closed. Then we marched, mismatched flowery blobs, indistinguishable from all the other vaguely female forms, across the courtyard to the tomb. We turned over our shoes to the woman behind the counter and we were handed over to a female guide with perfect English. 

"Ok, ladies! Ladies! Let's go this way. Ok, ladies!"

She explained about the mirrored interior and how important the resident in the tomb was. There were woman touching the tomb, asking that their prayers be heard. There was a tiny woman with her purse slung around her neck, and when I saw her, I smiled and nodded. She looked up at me and just started grinning and then she rubbed my hand and started giggling. She was so incredibly small, and it was like she'd spotted a giraffe in the mausoleum or something, she could not get over it. As we went around the tomb and through the different parts of the mosque, I would see her peeking at me and smiling. Finally we were in a spot where people could take pictures if they had cell phones, and one of my companions took this one. I bent down so our faces were at the same level and she cupped my face and just shook with laughter. It was my second cheek-pinching of the day.

Near the bazaar is my favorite little mosque. Technically called the Masjed-e Nasir al-Molk, it is more popularly known - to me at least - as The Pink Mosque. This mosque has always felt very feminine to me. The pink decorative tiles and the inner winter mosque with the brilliant stained glass and carpets certainly add to that feeling, but I actually think it is the scale of the place. It is intimate. It isn't grand in scale or size with a giant dome or anything. But in the winter mosque portion of the building, it feels warm and comforting. 

This mosque was built from 1876-87 and the tiles are painted in a style that was inspired by Russian sketches. There are miniature pictures of houses, little villages, and flowers everywhere. They aren't identical, so the more you look, the more you see. I love this place.



I need to see it in the morning, when the light is best. Unfortunately, I was here in the late afternoon, so the pink glow was somewhat diminished. But you can still see how delicate and just plain pretty it is.

The indoor winter mosque has lower ceilings than other mosques, with cable-spiral columns - we will see this again in the neighboring mosque in the bazaar. The varied stain glass windows are from the 19th century and they create a soft glow in this intimate, yet grand space.

The odd mix of pink flower painted tiles and symmetric black and teal tiles create a pleasant and eye catching miss mass of pattern. 

From the Pink Mosque, we went to the Masjed-e Vakil the bazaar mosque. Another mosque that is covered in pastel tiles, but a different color scheme. This mosque was constructed around 1773, funded by rents from the attached bazaar.

The columns are stone and carved in spirals. You can see the first pair are twisting outwards, while the next are twisting inward, and the patterns continue throughout the mosque. It is a small detail that makes the mathematical precision of this place even more beautiful. 

Then we were set loose in the bazaar. The first person who took my photography seriously always said that bazaars were the best - you have to get in real close, though. That helps bring something original to the picture, rather than just snapping shots of the bazaar.

After leaving the bazaar, we wandered around near the citadel. This space is a pleasant public one, with people out wandering around in small groups. They were enjoying the mild night, waiting for the sun to go down.

The citadel, Arg-e Karim Khan Zand was constructed around 1767 and has been used for multiple purposes, including a police station and prison in the 1930s.

After the citadel, we endured another temper tantrum that was disruptive and embarrassing. We were waiting for that issue to be resolved, when our driver, Hashmet, motioned to me to follow him. He and I went on a little stroll and he showed me some of those "stick your head in here for a funny picture" stands. He went to take a picture, but a woman standing nearby was shaking her head. She came over and posed me correctly, tipped my head and pushed my head scarf a bit, so the picture would be a good one. I thanked her and she smiled and nodded. Hashmet and I laughed when I showed him the picture he had taken.

Hafez and His Teacher

Our Partner is notoriously difficult to follow,

And even His best musicians are not always easy

To hear.