☫ A tale on speculators

Flashbacks  The priceless

A tale on speculators

Isfahan's minarets

Maryam was in Isfahan that day, visiting her brother who had went there some years ago to study.

She lived in Tehran, however sharing her footsteps with the dry -though sacred- ground from Isfahan was something that not even her glances of Tokyo or Singapore had been close to equal.

Pretty likely because there is something between the ancient bridges, which would take one a lot further away than just the other shore of the Zayandeh, and the seven echoes below the Emam mosque's dome, granted even to the most improvised tourist, which simply can't fit into the sensibilities of even the best prepared from those who would be willing to bet their success swearing that we go around continuously evolving and reaching perfection here in the west.

Ahmadinejad and me

Once the Shiite Ashura mourning was over, the Iranians who still haven't got bored from the Islamic Revolution, celebrated yesterday the 27th anniversary since Imam Khomeini officiated the marriage of Islamism and Iranian politics, turning them into one same thing, while also emancipating Iran from the Western ambitions. The words referred by Mahmoud Ahmadinejad, within this context, to the millions of citizens gathered in the Meidan-e Azadi (which, unfortunately, doesn't imply that Iran's vast majority of people trully support the Revolution), betrayed that, besides from having followed the Ashura mourning, Ahmadinejad has also been carefully reading my blog.