After the Revolution
There is a cold wind blowing along the long boulevard, as i disembark from the bus which has brought me to the far western suburbs of Mashhad, one of Shia' Islam's holiest cities. The streets are wide, with scattered shops and barred windows. It is a friday, the holy day in Islamic countries, and naturally nost businesses are closed. I stand on the corner and zip my leather jacket closed to the collar, waiting for my friend made from a tenous internet connection to arrive as promised. He soon appears, leading his little brother by the hand. He has invited me for lunch at his parents house, and we make out way through streets populated by undecorated yellow brick buildings, sparse winter trees, and grey skies. I feel that i have somehow entered a different Iran from the bustling city centre of Mashhad, or maybe this is in fact the true face of the city, just as the outer suburbs of Melbourne can give you more perspective on the demographics of a place than it's urban hear...