Third western

Turkey, outside Istanbul, is a mix between the Third World and the Western World

I arrived at the airport of Izmir at night time. Usually when you exit customs in any major airport, there is an information desk or better yet an official government tourist information office. In the worst case, signs in English directing you to the buses or trains going to the city center. Well, none of that in Izmir airport! Do you know how I got downtown? A Turkish girl sitting with me on the plane saw that I was peeing in my pants and told me I can come with her. Her brother picked us up in his car. On the way to the city center the car goes through the residential neighborhoods which look depressing, sort of like the low-income, crack-smoking dormitory towns in California. Nothing touristy I can assure you. I am dropped off in a downtown street that is uglier than hell>>>


Khuzestan 1958-60

Photo essay: Close links of kinship made a deep impression, certainly expanding my sense of human possibilities

These photos, like the group that was posted here in April [see: Memories of an American boy], were taken by my father Charles Schroeder during the time we lived in Abadan, 1958-60. Many of the background details about our stay there were given with the first set. Since that posting we've received many generous and heartfelt responses that encouraged us to bring this new group forward>>>


Gmelin's Persia & Persians

Young German scientist and explorer's 1770 journey to northern Persia

Further, music is never played if the singers do not sing along. Often a dance is added, but this dance neither represents German nor French taste. Those who perform them only have in mind how they may express the power of the music by the wonderful turns and rotations of their bodies. It is due to this that they then bend backwards and then again fall down headlong with their arms outstretched on the ground, and often also clap their hands together over the head, until they finally get up to again make the most violent movements by another theme of the music, turn around in twirls and yes even tumble with their head over their bodies, all the while hand-clapping>>>


Seeing the “real” Iran

As a naïve kid, I assumed that Persia was a tiny island paradise that rarely made it to maps like my birthplace

19-Jul-2007 (one comment)
A country’s history is much like wine. Considering Shiraz is the birthplace of the seductive grape to which it gave its name, I believe my thought is reasonable. With age, a culture grows more attractive, increases its depth and notes, and heightens in value. Hence, I have concluded that Persia, with its three thousand years of flavor is one of the finest in the world. Having spent majority of my twenty-one years in Australia, I could not avoid becoming a jolly wine follower. We proud Aussies swear by our top quality Shiraz, but will always be haunted by the fact that it originally ain’t really our grape. Bugger.>>>


Paris divided by art

Paris divided by art

Photo essay: Museums, historical buildings, churches ...

by Shaghayegh Ghanbari