Isfahan

Isfahan is half the world — nesf-e jahan, the Persians said, and meant it: Shah Abbas made it his capital in 1598 and laid out around Naqsh-e Jahan, a square five hundred and sixty metres by a hundred and sixty where he watched polo, the buildings that are the summit of Persian architecture — the Shah Mosque with its turquoise dome and its echo, the small Sheikh Lotfollah mosque with its cream dome that turns pink at dusk and a peacock in the tiles inside, the Ali Qapu palace-balcony, and the Qeysarie gate into the Grand Bazaar that runs a kilometre north to the Friday Mosque, itself a thousand years of building. Beyond the square the Chahar Bagh avenue of plane trees runs to the Zayandeh river, and across the river go the bridges — Si-o-se-pol of the thirty-three arches, Khaju with its tea houses and its singers under the vaults — to Jolfa, the Armenian quarter with the Vank cathedral of 1664 and the cafés; the palaces of Chehel Sotoun and Hasht Behesht stand in their gardens; the shaking minarets and the fire temple are at the edge. The river has run dry more years than not lately, which the city grieves; the square is a UNESCO site since 1979 and the Friday Mosque since 2012.

The traveller who has cause to be there comes from Tehran in five hours or by the short flight, sleeps in a restored caravanserai or a courtyard house near the square, and lets the square set the days: a morning of the Shah Mosque, standing under the dome to clap for the echo, then Sheikh Lotfollah for the peacock; the bazaar northward with its coppersmiths and miniaturists to the Friday Mosque; a tea on the Ali Qapu balcony at dusk with the square filling; the second day the palaces and their gardens, and the bridges in the late afternoon — Khaju for the singing, Si-o-se-pol for the walk —; Jolfa's cathedral and a coffee in the quarter; and the third day, the shaking minarets, the fire temple, and the square again, because it is never the same light twice.

The Guide's honesty, gently: Iran's doors have opened and closed with the years and the news, and chancelleries counsel with caution — the prudent traveller checks conditions with their chancellery the week they go, arranges the visa and, where required, the guide ahead, and knows that foreign cards do not work and cash is carried in; the hijab is the law for women in public and the dress code is real for all; the welcome of Isfahan's people is, by universal report, among the warmest on Earth; and Naqsh-e Jahan at dusk from the Ali Qapu, with the domes going gold and blue and the fountains lit, is one of the great human-made sights, which is why the Guide holds this page with the same soft counsel it gave Tehran, and keeps it lit.