Yazd, Iran

The clasp to the seam where the desert meets the City, Yazd holds it firmly in place as it has done for Melina. Its history leaks through its Ancient mudbrick walls as does its occupents stories. The simplicity to the engineering is so, that one could assume it Child's play without insult. It contains no pretentious aesthetic as you've begun to expect in present architecture with the simple reason as it isn't needed, it's been built like nature has built us, everything has a purpose with no exception, the beauty comes from acknowledging this.
I made good friends with a young Persian carpet seller and followed by comers and goers of other travellers, it had me stay here for quite some time enjoying what the fringes of the desert offered. Yazd hadn't expected Iran's sudden fickleness in weather with open atrium's and large wind towers confused by the well below zero temperature. In true Iranian fashion they dealt with this by burning large quantities of fuel through steel totem poles. Yazd is a very conservative Muslim City, we were all partaking in shameful sin by worshipping another God every night in a sick, pathetic ritual, our heads were not turned to Mecca but to the all forgiving heater, it was our only saviour and all mighty.
By no deliberate means, I was within the ten day morning period the Muslims celebrate each year to commemorate the death of Hussein, the Husband to the Daughter of the Profit Muhammad. He is a figure of Martyrdom to the Islam world and his death is acknowledged each year in a harrowing and rather intense 10day ritual. The Muslims believe that because Hussein was tortured and injured for his people then his people should injure and torture themselves. Steel chain whips and curved daggers were sold in great abundance during the period for self mutilation on the last few days of mourning. Peoples characters were suddenly resembling that of dogs when free food was offered to everyone for the celebrations. Enormous drums absent of both time and rhythm pulsated throughout the Cities streets, black flags were pushed through the wind and heart wrenching cries of Woman grieving over a man that died 1600 years ago deflated any sense of joy that certainly wasn't welcomed. This ceremony the most miserable celebration I have yet to come across. On the last days the men filled the Mosque's by dawn and chanted along to passionate Islamic music as the Mullah watched gleefully down on his followers beating their chests with such extreme force, pain was sure to be felt. The afternoon I'm sure was the time Islams men were all slightly worried for. the sound of chain metal filled the air for a slight moment as it clinked and rattled against each other before a simultaneous lashing sound broke its tunes as it slashed the backs of its beholders, this went on for hours in a deliberate state of depression. The evenings activities to which I was invited by a local stranger who translated the whole piece. It was basically a passionate preach by another one of the lands limitless Mullahs expounding his distaste for George Bush, Israel and seemingly anything that moves. I felt an unease that I justly wanted to be removed from. This was assura, I was told the Arabs take it further still...