A city struggling to recover from the destruction of the 2003 earthquake that killed over 26, 000 people and destroyed 80% of the buildings…
A city of houses still in ruins whilst new skeleton fingers of iron girded construction claw the air…
A city of one of the worlds most ancient beautiful old citadels, over 2000 years old, dissolved in seconds to a mournful mass of crumbled mud…
Arg-e-Bam citadel before and after the earthquake.
A city where the police must escort tourists everywhere after a tourist was kidnapped last year….
A city where the locals are incredibly friendly and welcoming, women smiling openly to see me on a bike.
With our motorbike police protection, we cycle to the ancient citadel of Bam. Once the city’s glory and main tourist attraction, now a sea of rubble undergoing a painstaking reconstruction.
A city where the locals are incredibly friendly and welcoming, women smiling openly to see me on a bike.
With our motorbike police protection, we cycle to the ancient citadel of Bam. Once the city’s glory and main tourist attraction, now a sea of rubble undergoing a painstaking reconstruction.
Endless rows of identical bricks, differentiated by numbered paper tags will somehow transform this flattened expanse back to its former glory-a city of 38 towers and high mud fortress walls. We wander round in silent awe at both the size, history and devastation of the area. 2000 years of history, 2000 years of cultural heritage, 2000 years lost in seconds…
Who walked these steps of old? What colour the eyes that once gazed through these windows? Did they, like me, trail their fingers along this wall, feeling each lump in the rough mud? And did they, like me, ever cast a thought to those others lost in time? Did they, like me, ever try to catch the old whispers of forgotton conversations or try to catch glimpses of shadowed feet rushing past round corridored corners?
Somehow the clash of police boots stomping on the marble floor clashes with the quiet peace of the mosque...I find a corner in which to find a few moments of silence and get lost in finding myself again...
Cold stones for prayer, pressed tight against warm lips...hot breath of whispered dreams ignites the lifeless rock with the flames of hope....inside his body, still and silent against the wild raging patterns of the carpeted floor, a fire is burning...
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