Isfahan

Arriving at Tehran's south bus terminal around 10:30 pm after catching one of the last metro trains for the day, I arrived to find it as lively as your typical bazaar. There were a selection of about 20 bus companies to choose from, and of course the destinations were written in the Persian alphabet. I started to choose bus companies at random, and asked at several for Isfahan. My enquiries didn't yield any verbal response, or even eye contact for that matter, from the less than enthusiastic staff.

Then I happened to overhear a married couple asking for Isfahan and latched onto them like a limpet as they were ushered outside and toward a waiting, nearly full bus. I acted like I was supposed to be there and walked onto the bus, finding a seat near the rear. I happened to be surrounded by young Iranian guys heading home to Isfahan, many of them doing their compulsory military service. They were so excited to chat to their first ever non-Iranian, and wouldn't leave me alone, not that I minded too much. One joker, sitting in the seat in front of me, offered me an orange, threatening me with his other hand a clenched fist. A little later, he offered me a second orange, this time with a large knife in the other hand, pointed threateningly at me. I think this was some kind of joke about Iranian hospitality, but I laughed and declined the orange anyway.

Soon the bus manager ushered me up to the front seats so that a married couple could have the pair of seats in which I sat alone. I got one of the less comfortable folding seats right in the front door of the bus, but I was offered tea as a kind of compensation. We started rolling with the front door still open and after some animated negotiations with various guys at the entrance gate, were on the road. The door stayed open, and many people standing along the roadside yelled out for the spare seat next to me but were declined for reasons I know not. Finally, a guy was selected and hopped aboard and the door finally shut.

I watched the road for a while, wondering not for the first time how it was I'd not seen a single car accident with the standard of driving on display. Then I kinda dozed off, woke again from the discomfort of the seat and dozed again, a pattern that would repeat all night. I awoke as we arrived at some great big bus and truck stop, literally bustling with lively people buying food and drinking tea at 1 o'clock in the morning.

Arriving in Isfahan around 5 a.m., I left the warmth of the bus and went into the again bustling bus terminal to wait for the sun to come up so that it would be warm enough to venture out. I dozed intermittently in an seat, noting the funny looks I was getting from many people for being such an obvious outsider.

Eventually the sun rose and I set off into the city, relying on my inbuilt GPS to find the neat stuff Isfahan had to offer. I walked a good 5 km, sometimes stopping for a sleep in a park or to eat, and somehow bypassing entirely the centre of the city. I began to wonder if Isfahan was all it was cracked up to be. Then, finally I came across the Hasht Beresht (8 Paradises) palace, and its surrounding park, and reassurance came.

Finding an Internet cafe, I tried to contact my Couchsurfing host, but had major problems with Skype on the computer. Then I asked to use the telephone to call his mobile, but it was switched off. I printed out the WikiTravel pages for Isfahan and some maps and then went out to be a tourist. Everything I had yet seen had not prepared me for the vast Emam square, with its incredible mosques, palace and classic horse carriages. In fact there are few squares I've seen anywhere in the world that could rival it. I walked around a while, just taking it all in, then went in search of food.

I found a nice little restaurant serving Ash (the traditional Iranian soup) and met the very friendly guys there, some of whom spoke English. One of them let me use his phone, and I was finally able to contact my CS host, who came to collect me.

I quickly took a liking to Shahram, and arriving at his house, I got to meet his wife, aunty, mother, father and grandmother, all of whom were very charming. Whilst we sat and drank tea, we conversed in English/Farsi with translations flying around the room. His father sang us some traditional Iranian songs. Then a delicious dinner was served and we all ate together on the mat.

The next day I was better prepared and managed to visit the Jame mosque. I enjoyed walking around the enormous bazaar which surrounded it, the sights and smells tempting me to reach for my wallet at every moment.

After lunch and a nap in the Emam square, I headed to the Ali Qapu palace, enjoying the view over the square from the great terrace where the shahs watched polo being played or horses raced below.

On my way to meet Shahram again I came across some of Isfahan's beautiful bridges, managed to get a bit lost, and finally arrived near our rendezvous point, where Shahram spotted me after I'd been waiting for a while. On the way home he took me to a session of Varzesh-e Pahlavani, the Iranian traditional strength training. To the sound of a drum, and sometimes singing, the young men performed a variety of warm-ups and exercises, combining the exercises with elements of Sufism such as whirling. There was a definite military aspect to the training, and the exercises seemed to target lightness and agility over brute strength. Many older men, presumably former participants and keepers of the tradition, arrived and shook hands with everybody before sitting on the benches which surround the central ring where the action was taking place. They had many interesting variants on push ups and other conventional moves, most of which looked more challenging.

The next day, my last in Isfahan, Shahram took me into town very early and I went to phone a friend of Mehdi with whom there was the possiblity of being hosted for the night. Whilst waiting for the net cafe to open, I was approached by an older English-speaking Iranian man who invited me to walk along the river with him. When I told him I had a call to make he offered me tea and took me to a nearby tea house. He loved having the opportunity to speak with a tourist, and we chatted for several hours.

Later, whilst eating lunch in Emam Square, a few Lebanese guys struck up a conversation, one opening with the well-known greeting 'F**k you' to a round of laughter from the rest. They were actually quite friendly though, and another guy interrupted our conversation to invite me to speak to his English language students on the other side of the square. I was happy to participate, and I told a bit of my story and chatted with the 20 or so 15 year-olds, and answered their questions. Something I've really had a sense of since being in Iran is just how quickly English is spreading through this part of the world. I have met many English speakers in Iran, and been impressed by how well it is spoken here.

I had arranged with a friend of a friend to perhaps stat with him, but I was unable to reach him and so phoned Shahram again, who billeted me at his Uncle's place as it was his last night with his wife before she went back to university in Tehran. Mehdi, the uncle, was a real joker and in spite of the language barrier we really hit it off. He was impressed with my beard, which resembled that of a Hezbollah fighter. We watched some silent comedy on TV and split or sides laughing.

The next morning I caught a bus back to Tehran with Shahram's wife, and finally arrived at my Couchsurfing host for my last night in Iran. He was expecting guests and cooked an enormous quantity of food, but due to a mix-up they didn't stay for dinner so we had something of a feast., then celebrated my birthday with a rather alarming number of candles.