Half the World
Florence of Orient, Persia’s masterpiece, the Intrigue of Iran and the half rhymed famous adage “Esfahan Nesf-e Jahan” (Esfahan is half the world) all are to describe the splendour of Esfahan. Beauty, wide open spaces and the wisdom of the ages are steeped into the city.
Esfahan is content, has a rhythm and is not at odds with any extraneous surroundings. While modern amenities exist the ancient is venerated and preserved. Motorcycles weave around a myriad of bicycles and the various eras in history proudly displayed in a myriad of mosques bridges palaces and gardens. In Tehran the crow and pigeon dominate. In Esfahan children are taught to love, appreciate and feed the duck and the wild heron who gracefully bathe and gather in social circles across the vast river.
Never more is all that is Esfahan experienced more than through a conversation with Ahmad Tazee, old bent and wizened. As though sent from the guardians of the ages he asks – ‘are you happy in your life’ and that to him was the single most important thing he needed to know about me as he invited me to share his sack cloth spread across the cement bench to ward off the morning cold. In that moment I felt warmth spread through me realising that this was my first encounter with a keeper of time in this ancient city. This was the first interaction that while completely unscripted and random in its unfolding was one where there was no functional purpose in the exchange occurring. I was acknowledged individually and asked to SEE, REGARD and ACKNOWLEDGE the person in front of me – to be cognisant and conscious of the exchange I was witnessing but was also part of.
And in a shaky voice resolute in the purpose of delivering the message and secrets held by the mosques, palace and fountains n Imam Square he proceeded to explain the historical significance of all around us. He knew the days of old but wizened by way world is now. Spritely with surprising speed stooped over cane tiring after a km of walking and pausing for 3 minutes to catch his breath.
I know not why I was chosen or how – but the 30 minutes transformed much of what I was experiencing. This was no longer a journey of observation where I took in all around me, but became an exploration where all my senses became keenly invested and immersed and involved in all around me. I was not looking at what is Esfahan – I was now part of Esfahan.
This feeling I presume is what leads human beings to seek a way to leave evidence that they have seen have witnessed and have experienced. This is why the sad evidence of humans leaving their mark (with vandalism and graffiti) on the walls of ancient ruins and relics so carefully preserved. It seems it is not enough to just know that we have experienced, something must be left behind. Evidence that we exist and have experienced. For me this is not housed by an ancient ruin in which others before me had etched their names, but in Ahmad. In the memory of our exchange and in the hope that as I will remember him, I have left something with him that is worthwhile to be remembered.
