Shiraz, the city of flowers and colors



Dear Diary

Our bus takes all night to bring us to Shiraz, our last destination. The transportation is without any problem, but the comfort could be better and I do not get much of sleep again.

The city of Shiraz is well known. The wine is famous, though officially there is no production anymore.

Its name promises oriental spices. In Iran, it is known as the city of flowers, because of the many orange trees in the city there is always a smell of blossoms, especially in springtime.

A man called Sam hosts us, but not in his home. We stay in a hotel. To be honest, we do not have a luxury room for ourselves, but share a dorm with a few other people. However, we sleep there for free. Sam is the concierge of the hotel and convinced the owner to offer a few beds for travelers. Since he traveled though many countries in the world and had good experiences with Couchsurfing he wanted to share this hospitality.

We will meet him the next day, though, because he is very busy. The hotel is full with western tourists, like the city. We are not used to see so many Westerners anymore and feel that we lost our special position.

Shiraz is full of attractions. One of them is the Nasir-ol-Molk Mosque, better known as the “Pink Mosque”. The shabestan of this place is decorated with extraordinary colorful glass windows. The entire hall is covered in the colors of a rainbow. Many people come to see the place and to make photos.

Inside of the city is the big Khali Khan fortress. Instead of entering it we decide to make a walk up the city mountain to enjoy the view.

Not only the view catches us, but also two girls, who are sitting there and invite us to have lunch with them. And their mothers. We go down and find them in a park on a blanket prepared for picnic. Of course, there is enough food for everyone.

Two very famous poets are buried in Shiraz, Saadi and Hafez. Even Goethe was deeply impressed and influenced by the texts of Hafez.

We have to go and to see the mausoleums ourselves, which, of course, leads to a lot of selfies with visitors, again.

We eat again on the street, this dish is called Halem Obejan – it is dried jogurt, onions, peppermint and eggplant.

I thought our time as superstars is over, but it seems the tourists always stay at the same spots and among each other and the Iranians even in Shiraz enjoy every contact with them.

In the bazar people talk to us and a group of young women has the courage to ask us in public where we are from. Their eyes turn big, when we tell them that we come from Germany.

For a moment we are shocked when a policemen comes to us and asks, where we are from, too. Then he just wants to make a selfie with us.

We walk through the city and pass by a bakery. The old baker calls us and invites us to his shop. He clearly makes gestures to encourage me to make photos of them and their work.

Three bakers work together, taking the dough out of the bowl, let it fly over the fingers and rotate it to let it become flat. The throw it like it is into the oven, which is filled with pebble, and it turns hard and crispy. Just for a moment, and with quick moves they take it out with a peel and sell it directly to the people waiting in front of the shop. We get have a bread free and it is incredibly delicious.

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