Travel mishaps are inevitable.
After a whirlwind dinner where we almost polished off every last drop of sauce, we reclined on the traditional Persian dining beds, savoring saffron ice cream while reminiscing about the tender lamb stew we’d just enjoyed. Having spent a week in Iran, most of our main meals revolved around kebabs, which had started to feel monotonous and even a bit daunting. Yet, this lamb stew turned out to be the highlight of Iranian cuisine. The traditional restaurant also offered hookahs, attracting many foreigners to relax and chat over clouds of smoke. At that moment, all I wanted was to lie there in that utterly relaxing atmosphere, doing absolutely nothing—then it hit me that my exhaustion was tied to how we’d arrived in Yazd.
The night before, we’d left Isfahan and boarded a bus to Yazd. We’d expected to ride the legendary VIP bus, sleep for six hours, and arrive in Yazd by morning. But that plan turned out to be the biggest blunder of the trip. The pre-booked seat wasn’t VIP at all, and the service and seating were no different from a regular bus. Worse, Yazd was only a four-hour ride, not the six hours claimed by Lonely Planet. In the end, we dragged our tired bodies onto the first available bus and only then asked the driver to take us to a decent hotel. Luckily, the one he recommended was reasonably priced, well-located, and in a great setting. Thanks to our miscalculations, we spent the entire morning catching up on sleep.
By the time we woke up, it was noon. With no specific attractions planned for the day, we simply strolled through this ancient millennium-old town. For those short on time, the dilemma often boils down to choosing between Kashan and Yazd. But their charms are quite distinct: Kashan is known for its Persian gardens and roses (details in “The Little Garden of Wild Roses - Kashan”), while Yazd is a desert town that was a crucial Silk Road stop, steeped in millennia of culture. This includes qanats (underground aqueducts), wind towers, ancient ruins, the birthplace of Zoroastrianism (Fire Worship), and related architecture...
An Ancient Religion – Zoroastrianism
We stayed near the Friday Mosque, where climbing to the rooftop at dawn allowed us to watch the soft morning light gradually rise and spread over the golden sandy-hued buildings, transforming the gloomy hues into a golden city. Much like Jaisalmer, one of India’s “Golden Cities,” Yazd uses locally sourced sand as a building material. Under the sunlight, especially during the gentle rays of sunrise and sunset, the entire city glows even more brilliantly.
The mosques, wind towers, and icehouses—masterpieces of Persian ingenuity—slowly took on color. This radiant glow has helped this desert city stand for millennia and gave birth to one of the most influential religions in human history—Zoroastrianism. Ever heard of Zoroastrianism? Know just how profound its impact has been?
Before Islam dominated the Middle East, the region of Persia already had an indigenous religion: Zoroastrianism (hereafter referred to as “Zoroastrianism”). Upon entering China, it was called the Fire Worship, Jingjiao (景教), or Mingjiao (明教, as in Jin Yong’s novels). In Iran, it’s also nicknamed the Fire Religion—a term with derogatory connotations, so its followers are wary of and resentful of the label. But let’s cut to the chase: just how significant was it? Zoroastrianism reveres nature, worshiping the four elements of earth, water, air, and fire—with fire at its core. They hold grand seasonal ceremonies in summer and winter to welcome and bid farewell to the sunniest periods of the year. In Yazd, at the Zoroastrian holy site of Chak Chak, a three-day festival is held. Fire, symbolizing light, is also venerated, including one eternal flame that has burned for over a thousand years—hence the nickname “Fire Worship.”
Because of their reverence for nature, Zoroastrians don’t practice cremation or burial to avoid polluting these sacred elements, leading to the custom of sky burials. But this sky burial is fundamentally different from Tibet’s—both in practice and meaning. Tibetan sky burials are considered the highest form of funeral rites, where vultures (believed to be dakinis carrying the deceased to heaven) consume the body. Tibet also practices cremation, water burial, earth burial, and tree burial, covering all four elements. Clearly, Zoroastrian sky burials differ greatly from Tibetan ones, and the actual procedures are also distinct. Tibetan sky burials involve flesh removal and bone crushing, whereas Zoroastrianism leaves the body for vultures, with bones eventually falling into deep pits. Due to hygiene concerns, this practice was banned decades ago. Now, visiting a Zoroastrian sky burial site in Iran only allows you to see the structures and sense the desolate environment.
From Contract Spirit to Wedding Rings
Zoroastrian reverence for natural elements also influenced the design and construction of Persian gardens—and even mosques. Most mosque minarets represent the four elements.
A key figure in Zoroastrianism—Faravahar—is the epitome of a perfect man, the most iconic symbol of Fire Worship, and a ubiquitous motif in Persia. This humanoid figure has the head of a man and the body of an eagle, with wings symbolizing the religion’s core doctrine: the Threefold Path (thought, word, and deed). The downward-pointing tail represents the Three Evils. The two ribbons extending from the waist symbolize positive energy (forward) and negative energy (backward). The central ring represents the eternity of the universe and the immortality of the soul. Its circular shape signifies the cycle of life and death, repeating endlessly. This symbol appears in many places across Iran, especially in bustling bazaars, as it represents not just religious doctrine but also the spirit of contracts. Legend has it that wedding rings also stem from this.
One origin of the wedding ring traces back to Zoroastrianism. Marriage is a sacred union, embodying a sacred contractual spirit. The wedding ring symbolizes this contract. The origins of wedding rings vary—from ancient Greece to ancient China—but the lesser-known Persian origin is still worth a listen as a story.
The key lies in the ring clutched by Faravahar, representing a contract and promise—the prototype of the wedding ring. In ancient times, emperors sealed treaties by exchanging gold rings, and only those who embodied the Threefold Path were deemed worthy of owning them. Naturally, nations needed symbols of contracts, and so did individuals. People emulated the emperors, using rings as tokens, though naturally on a humbler scale in material and size. Over time, the rings grew smaller and more widespread, eventually becoming symbols of contracts between emperors, individuals, and couples—thus giving rise to the wedding ring.
The Origins and Influence of Zoroastrianism
The symbol of the contract spirit can even be found in faraway Hong Kong, on the exterior wall of a building behind Royal Plaza in Causeway Bay. Its profound influence is evident in how Hong Kong itself bears marks of its followers. For instance, Mody Road was named after one of its adherents, and institutions like Ruttonjee Hospital, Star Ferry, moneylenders (大耳窿), and streets like Temple Street (摩Up街) are all connected to them. These followers hailed from India, and their exceptional business acumen helped establish their influence and status in Hong Kong. There are countless other examples of their lasting impact, but suffice it to say that though Zoroastrianism may seem unfamiliar, it’s deeply intertwined with our lives.
In Yazd, we visited the religion’s birthplace. After a long journey, we arrived at a small temple atop a distant mountain—essentially a cave with a central fire altar. Mountain spring water drips down from the rocks, hence the name Chak Chak (an onomatopoeic name mimicking the sound of dripping water). The site also explains how the religion originated. Frankly, it’s just a dripping cave, so whether it’s worth visiting is subjective.
Human Treasures – Qanats, Wind Towers, and Icehouses
Before heading to Chak Chak, we explored an ancient village with over 2,000 years of history. Miraculously, it has survived in the desert for millennia and still has residents. This is thanks to one of Persia’s greatest inventions—the qanat—along with icehouses and wind towers, which prevented water shortages and lethal heat. Qanats channel groundwater for irrigation and drinking by drilling wells to reach the water table, then constructing underground channels and reservoirs to store rainwater and rising groundwater.
The mother well is usually the deepest, with smaller shafts and maintenance wells spaced along the way. Some of these shafts have wind towers built atop them, functioning as natural air conditioners. The towers draw in air from high ground, which is then cooled as it passes through the underground qanat before being directed into homes. The warmed air is released from the other side of the tower, maintaining livable temperatures in the scorching desert. Combined with icehouses, indoor temperatures can stay around 20°C even when outdoor heat hits 40–50°C. Where does the ice come from? Iran’s high-altitude plateau and continental climate bring cold and snow even to desert cities, allowing Persians to store ice in winter for summer use.
Daily Life in a Desert Ancient City
In Yazd, we mainly visited the key attractions nearby, while the city itself didn’t offer many must-see sites. Even the Zoroastrian Fire Temple and Water Museum failed to lure us in. The most enjoyable part was wandering through the winding alleys, stumbling upon textile shops, a hotel that doubles as a Persian mansion museum, little parks, and traditional restaurants—each discovery delightfully unexpected.
We also passed by the bazaar but didn’t explore it, instead buying fruit from local shops. The sweet lemons were a revelation—they actually tasted sweet, defying our expectations and feeling oddly surreal. We also stocked up on pistachios and dried fruits, two of Iran’s best buys—affordable and high-quality. Then we spotted a century-old candy shop packed with locals. After sampling their treats, we bought a bunch of traditional Persian sweets to take home.
Next to the old shop was a grand square with a monumental arch-style mosque—an architectural rarity. Passing through the arch, we found a traditional sugar shop, where we studied the sugar-making process and tools before sampling a lump of white sugar from a snowy mound. It wasn’t overly sweet but had a delightful flavor. A friend joked about taking a lump of sugar home, but we quickly ushered her away. Further ahead were kebab shops, where a single skewer of lamb was enough to fill anyone up. The meat was so delicious that we ended up having grilled lamb for lunch. In the end, our time in Yazd’s city center turned into a shopping adventure, followed by an evening return to the traditional restaurant for another round of lamb stew, once again soaking in the relaxed Persian ambiance.
Tomorrow, we leave Yazd. It’s actually better than we expected. If forced to choose between Kashan and Yazd, Yazd would win. But ideally, visit both—they each have their unique charm.
Mishaps and Surprises
Our two days in Yazd were sunny and pleasant, with visits to various sites. But on the morning of departure, snow began to fall—first flurries, then a heavy snowstorm. We nearly got stranded in Yazd due to road closures, missing the pinnacle of Persian architecture—Persepolis—and the iconic attractions of Shiraz. Fortunately, luck was on our side, and that story will continue next time.
Wanderlust. Travel Life Memories
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