It was originally called Shahyad Tower — built in honor of the kingly “shahs” of Iran.  So now, since the Islamic Revolution that ousted the last Shah, it’s been renamed Azadi — “Freedom” — Tower.  Built in the 1970s, it doesn’ t have a lot of history, but its design is pretty spectacular.  Notice the blue tile rib vaults underneath the arch — a colorful nod to Persian architecture from earlier eras.

5:32 p.m.

5:35 — looking west toward where the sun had set 29 minutes earlier.

5:38 p.m.

5:23 p.m.

Here’s a photo lesson for big outdoor monuments or buildings that have a little lighting on them. There’s a point in time — about 20 or 30 minutes after sunset just before it really gets dark, when the sky turns a deep blue.  There’ll be a magic few moments when the light in the sky balances just right with the light on the structure. 

Sunset this night was at 5:06.  I put the exact times for each photo in the captions, so you can see how the sky progressed.  The prime time only lasts about 10 minutes, so it’s wise to arrive early and scout out your best locations and angles, then rush back to them to get the images you want when the light is perfect.  The exact timing and exposures depend on the brightness of the lights shining on your foreground structure, and on whether you’re facing the west (the setting sun) or not.   Shutter speeds will probably be rather slow, so remember to (a) get a firm footing, (b) brace your elbows against your body, and (c) hold the camera very still, and (d) take several shots in a row to give you a better chance of having one good, clear one.  One caveat: If you’re hoping for someone or something interesting to wander through your frame, you’ll just need to get lucky because the window is short. 

A warning:  After a pretty sunset and before this magic moment, there’ll be 20 minutes or so that are “blah” and gray.  Don’t give up.  Be patient.  

At this magic moment, everyone can be a master photographer.   Mediocre  locations turn lovely, and already lovely places turn stunning.  Examples are here and here and here and here. 

5:12 p.m. — about six minutes after sunset.  Notice that the monument is still mostly darker than the sky.

5:28 p.m.

5:35

5:46 p.m. , and the blue was turning quickly to black.

(There’s a similar opportunity about 30 minutes before sunrise, of course.  It often requires a little more dedication to be up and in position for that one, if it’s possible at all.  For better or worse, there probably won’t be many other people around.)

In the time period roughly between Christopher Columbus and George Washington, early-day Iranians were on the other side of the world doing some pretty impressive things with blue and yellow tile.  The city of Isfahan was the capital of Persia during the Safavid Dynasty in the early 16^th to 18^th Centuries.  Today it still shows off some of Iran’s greatest architecture.

Domed ceilings of the Lotfallah Mosque (gold, below) and Shah Mosque (blue, above). The Shah Mosque’s blue dome is 150 feet high.

Four hundred years ago, the Lotfallah Mosque was reserved exclusively for the ladies of Shah Abbas’ harem. But today even gawking Americans can go inside and get some pictures of its amazing golden dome. Lotfallah anchors the east side of Naqsh-e Jahan Square (aka Imam Square) in Isfahan — the second largest public square in the world (behind Tienamen in China). Just as it did back then, the square also has a king’s palace on its west side, a grand public mosque on the south end, and the city’s Grand Bazaar to the north, though the 17^th Century polo field has been replaced by sidewalks and fountains. The whole place is a UNESCO World Heritage site, and rightly so. The big Shah Mosque is all blue, and it’s arguably the most impressive piece of architecture in existence from that era.

Isfahan has a population of about 1.5 million.   In the 16^th and 17^th Centuries, it was the capital of Persia and headquarters of the Safavid Dynasty.   It’s been a center for rug making and trading and other elaborate artisans ever since. I bought a couple of smallish rugs myself and hauled them back to America.

 As you’ve probably noticed, a huge portion of the decorative tile in Iran is blue. “Why all the blue?” I asked.  I got three different answers, and I assume each one is partly true. #1: Because minerals were available in the area’s mines (cobalt and arsenic, for example) that were great pigments for making lovely blue and yellow ceramic tile. #2: Because blue is the color of heaven (Apparently they know this somehow). #3: Because water is blue, and when you live in the desert water is a very big obsession.

In that vein, there  were a couple of famous bridges in town I was looking forward to seeing. But it turns out that late October is part of the dry season in the deserts of Iran. The river had not a single drop of water, so the bridges looked a little odd.  Too bad they didn’t cover them with blue tiles.

You can take a carriage ride around Naqsh-e Jahan Square. (And no, that’s not a normal mode of transport in Iran; they seem to mostly just drive small white cars.)

Restoration work on the blue dome of the Shah Mosque.

Lotfallah Mosque at night. It’s unusual because it has no minarets for a “call to prayer.” They weren’t needed because the mosque was private — reserved for the Shah’s family and harem, apparently.

The Jameh Mosque of Isfahan, mostly hidden in the Grand Bazaar and overshadowed by the fancier mosques on the Square.  Jameh was built in bits and pieces over the course of 1200 years.

Allahverdi Khan Bridge (aka the Bridge of 33 Spans) was built in 1600. At other times of year, water flows through all those spans — which would surely make for a better picture!  The bridges are a popular hangout for old and young.  One group of young ladies insisted I join them for tea before I could take their pictures.  I wasn’t sure if the old guy below was responsible for that geometric figuring on the column he was leaning against.  But I doubt it.

Water spigot at an old Isfahan public bath-house.

Spiral stairway in the Ali Qapu Palace on the big square in Isfahan.  Shahs and Sultans have been climbing these stairs (often for a better view of the polo games below) since the late 1500s.

This guy identified himself as Fereydoon.  He’s a Sufi “mystic.”  We found him  philosophizing in front of the tombs of the ancient Persian Kings at Naqsh-e Rustam.

When Alexander the Great conquered Persia and ransacked the palaces of Persepolis in 330BC, it took 20,000 camels and mules to haul off all the looted treasure. His armies then set fires that left the place in ruins – ruins you can still see today just outside the city of Shiraz, Iran.

Persepolis was the ceremonial capital of the Persian Empire.   In the 4^th to 6^th centuries B.C., the empire spanned territory from modern-day Turkey and Iraq in the west to Pakistan and Afghanistan in the east, with ancient Iran right in the middle. If the historians are right, Persepolis was the richest and most luxurious palace complex in the world. One of its palaces was the size of nearly three football fields, with soaring ceilings held up by 65-foot columns, topped with gilded statues.

A school group from Shiraz visits the 2300-year-old ruins at Persepolis.

The most pervasive and iconic image at Persepolis:  A lion attacking a bull.  Supposedly it symbolizes day (lion) attacking and defeating night (bull).  The big ceremonies at Persepolis were on the first day of spring — the time of year when “day” first becomes longer than “night.”

Cyrus the Great founded and expanded the Achaemenid Empire in about 550BC. Notwithstanding his aggressive imperial conquests, he’s mentioned several times in the Old Testament as the heroic, benevolent king who freed the ancient Jews from their enslavement in Babylon. Cyrus’ successors included Xerxes I and II, and Darius I, II, and III, the last of which was in power when Alexander pushed his way eastward from Macedonia.

Cyrus’s 2500-year-old tomb is still standing in Pasagarde, about 25 miles (as crows fly) away from Persepolis. Xerxes I and Darius I & II are buried in hillside tombs at nearby Naqsh-e Rustam.

The Naqsh-e Rustam necropolis, with tombs of ancient Persian kings Darius & Xerxes.

The beige of the hillside sculptures at Naqsh-e Rustam made for relatively bland photography — until a Sufi “mystic” named Fereydoon walked up. Fereydoon was impeccably dressed with a perfect beard, lots of jewelry, and a black and green hat. He apparently travels around the country just sharing his philosophy and wisdom. So he was eager to talk (except that he was also eager to take a minute for another cigarette). A lot was surely lost in translation. Other than a general endorsement of peace and unity and the like, about all I could really understand (I think) was his point that we spend too much of our energy defending and fighting about identities that we did not even choose. That is, groups of people fight because they are of differing religions, nationalities, races, or tribes, but we are all just randomly born into one group or the other. We fight for our team, even though we didn’t even get to choose which team we were on.   Or something like that.

In any event, he was a colorful character and he didn’t mind having his picture taken. At one point he stepped back and paused the conversation, lifted his head, let out a whoop-like shout and then stood motionless for a few seconds. I was sufficiently startled that I failed to get a picture of this happening. He later explained that sometimes he’s just “moved” to do that. I wasn’t sure what it was that moved him. I’m assuming that’s just how you roll when you’re a roving Sufi mystic.