Inside Iran: The City That Opened My Heart. My Journey Through Isfahan 🇮🇷
From the moment I arrived, with the sun rising over domes and minarets, I felt this indescribable pull, like the city itself was gently taking my hand, saying, “Welcome, take your time. There’s something here for you.” And it wasn’t just about the famous architecture or the beauty of the square. It was something deeper, more human. This was the Iran I’d hoped to find, the Iran beyond headlines, full of heart, history, and hospitality.
Stepping into a Living Tapestry
My first stop was Naqsh-e Jahan Square, and honestly, I was speechless. It’s hard to describe what it feels like to walk into one of the largest squares in the world and be surrounded by architecture so intricate it almost looks like it was woven from the sky. On one side, the Shah Mosque, its towering blue dome catching the light like a gem. On another, the Ali Qapu Palace, with its wooden balcony and 400-year-old music hall. Every corner told a story of empires, artisans, and spiritual devotion. I just stood in the middle of the square, camera hanging from my neck, trying to process it all. It wasn’t just beautiful; it was overwhelming.
But what made the experience even more special was how alive it felt. Children played football on the open grass. Families picnicked beneath the porticos. Vendors sold saffron ice cream and pistachios with a smile. There was a heartbeat here - quiet, steady, full of warmth.
The People Who Found Me
I didn’t have to look hard to meet people in Isfahan. They found me.
A group of students stopped me near the entrance to the bazaar. They asked me where I was from, what I thought of Iran so far, if I’d tried ash-e reshteh. Their faces lit up when I told them how kind people had been to me. One of them handed me a small box of nougat and said, “Welcome to Isfahan. Please remember us.”
Later, I wandered down a quiet alley, away from the crowds. An old man invited me into his antique shop - not to sell me anything, but to show me photographs of his grandfather, a calligrapher who once restored the tiles of the Sheikh Lotfollah Mosque. He made me tea, let me sit on a faded carpet, and told me stories of how Isfahan used to be filled with poets and philosophers. “We are still poets,” he said, smiling. “Just not always with words.”
That sentence stuck with me. I’ve met many incredible people in my travels, but Isfahan’s people… they spoke to my soul.
What Isfahan Gave Me
Isfahan didn’t try to impress me. It didn’t need to. It simply existed, unfolding slowly, quietly, like a prayer whispered over centuries.
It gave me people who treated me like family. Strangers who shared tea, stories, laughter, and their love for their city. It gave me architecture that made me believe in beauty again. It gave me space to reflect. To be still. To listen. It reminded me why I travel - not to escape life, but to meet it, more fully, in places that are different, but make me feel more connected than ever.
Final Thoughts
If you ever find yourself in Iran, make time for Isfahan. Not just for its landmarks, but for its spirit. Walk its streets slowly. Sit by the river at dusk. Speak to strangers. Listen to the music of the city, the kind that doesn’t always come from instruments, but from hearts opening in kindness, because Isfahan is not just a city. It’s a conversation. It’s a poem. It’s a hand extended to you with no conditions; just warmth, curiosity, and soul. And I’ll carry it with me, always.