More Shiraz Please - Thursday, February 25th

My final stop was the city of  Shiraz, the home of Persian culture. A number of Iranians have told me that it’s the best city in Iran, so I have high hopes.

The bus from Bander Abbas to Shiraz was 13 hours long. An ambitious schedule dictated that I would need to fly if I wanted any time in Shiraz at all.

Sadly, the bad reputation of internal Iranian flights preceeds them. Sanctions have left the country with an ancient domestic air fleet that is short on spare parts. So short in fact, that I’ve been told they have to make some of the parts themselves.

Thanks to the dropping of sanctions though, the Iranian government have struck a deal with Airbus to begin replenishment of their stock. But this will take some time to  materialise.

Bandar airport itself was a dream. Clean, modern and very small. The plane was also small and propeller powered. But neither clean, nor modern. An ATR 72 prop plane that looked like it hasn’t had any work done on it since the Spice Girls had their first number one single.

My neighbour on board was Amir, and by the look of him I had assumed he was an engineer before we even began talking. And indeed he was.

I wanted reassurance from a professional that internal  Iranian planes are safe. 
“It’s pretty safe flying internally in Iran, isn’t it?” I asked, smiling nervously. 
“Not really. The ATR 72 the propeller engines aren’t very reliable.  Although crashes tend to happen when they land.” He paused, I didn’t have much to say to this. 
“We’re really looking forward to the Airbuses!” He beamed. 
Without noticing, my hands had gently crushed my empty water bottle.

Amir and I got along very well. His academic air reminded me of Ali in the Kaluts. I learnt that there are  some good reasons why Iran’s relationship with the West is on the up. The current president, Rohani, had actually studied at Glasgow uni and the foreign minister was educated in America. I gather they were engineers too.

After a mercifully smooth landing in Shiraz I was off to meet my final host, named Peyman. He had come highly recommended by Assad in Qeshm Island.

You may have noticed that there is a bit of a linked chain of people around the country.  Homestays in Iran are generally a breeze as you are very likely to be picked up by your current host’s contact in the next place you go to and so forth.

Shiraz airport, like Bander, is also very modern and well appointed. It seems only Khomeini international airport is the one that is wanting for a bit of charm and character. Which is a shame, as it’s the only one most foreigners go to.

Driving through Shiraz in the magical early evening light, I already felt that this was quite a special city and one I would get along with. I couldn’t put my finger on why exactly. But I just knew I liked Shiraz and wanted more.

Peyman was meting me at the Shah Chergh mosque, where he was showing around some other guests. It is one of the holiest sites in Iran as it contains the remains of Sayed Mir Ahmad, one of Imam Reza’s (The holiest of the 12 Imams) brothers.

I was greeted at the entrance by a grinning little man called Ali who was part of a uniformed troop of free guides for the mosque. He had a degree in optical and lazer engineering but was struggling to find work so was doing a master’s. He did this job once a week, just out of love of his city and refused any tip whatsoever.

The mausoleum was first erected in the 12th century in is not a bad final resting place. An enormous pillared box made of silver and green glass. You can slip money in through glass slats so the tomb itself is actually hidden under a pile of banknotes.

As we entered we were sprayed with a mist of rose water by one of Ali’s colleagues. Given that it had been some time since my last clothes wash, this was very welcome.

I finally caught up with Pyman at the Bazaar near the mosque. Shirazians were by far the friendliest of all Iranian people. So much so that on walks you have to factor in extra time for people stopping you and asking you questions.

By the time Peyman arrived I had amassed a crowd of about ten Shirazians. All wanting to ask me questions about my trip, my views on Iran and, of course, the EU referendum.

Peyman’s other guests were a group of three Poles. They were all about to qualify as Public Prosecutors so were not to be trifled with. It turned out that they were actually very sweet and were all so short and lithe that but felt like an evening with a gang of hobbits. The Gandalf to  their Sam, Pippin and Merry. Actually Rokas should be Gandalf. I’m sure I’ll bump into him soon.

The Poles had arranged to attend an evening of Dodor. Essentially doing what westerners do in nightclubs, except in traffic. The form is simple. Cars stuffed with single women go in one lane and men in another. Men have their windows down and do the peacocking and women keep theirs up. If a woman likes the cut of your jib then she will lower her window. Then you go have ice cream together.

The whole thing sounded adorable but I opted to go with Peyman and six of his mates and watch other people do the same thing but in a shopping mall. The mall was much the same as any I’d been to before. Except that everyone in this mall looked quite healthy and well turned out.

We had taken the metro there from the old town and I can happily report that it beats the London underground hands down. Spacious, clean and very cheap. I could have sat on it all day. They were so proud of it that the video screens in the trains were showing a documentary film of its own construction.

I had somewhat fallen for Shiraz. It had all the buzz of Tehran but was less busy and polluted. In fact it had certain aura of calm to it. It could easily match the history of Isfahan but it was adourned with public spaces and greenery in a way that no other city here was.

I explained this to Peyman and he said that this wasn’t a surprise. “Shiraz is known as the city of 1000 graves.” The graves were the noblemen, poets and philosophers that had called Shiraz their home for millenia. There was a widespread beleif that their spirits are what imbues Shiraz with its special character.

It also costs $60 a month to rent a decent 70m squared flat. A good place then, for a Brit to escape to if they are on the run from the law. If you can get a visa.

The Poles met us at the mall. Sadly, they had been unsuccessful in their attempts at Dodor. They all looked about 12 so this didn’t come as a huge shock.

We are all a bit knackered so decided to eat hot dogs and play some Iranian card games at Peyman’s place. It was then that I realised that I hadn’t had a lick of alcohol for over a week. That’s probably the longest I’ve gone without a drink since I was 18. Did I miss it? No. Funnily enough, not a bit.