A night at the bridge of Thirty-Three Spans
After a night serenity in an ancient Iranian caravan serai in the Maranjab desert, Hossein, my driver/guide, drove us 300 kilometers southbound and arrived in the gorgeous city of Isfahan. It was eight in the evening, and we were both hungry and exhausted. However, Hossein insisted on taking me to the Allahverdi Khan Bridge, popularly known as Si-o-se-pol or the bridge of Thirty-Three Spans.
After a few long exposure shots, Hossein was already napping behind me, and I did the right thing to check-in to the hotel asap. He required a night of rest.
After settling everything in the hotel, and performed the photographer’s routines like backup and recharge, it was already eleven in the night. The tiredness had finally caught up with me, while the cozy room and soft bed just amplified it further. But then the night was still young, the urge to capture some candid shots of Iranian people under the atmospheric light finally overcome the seemingly irresistible drowsiness.
Si-o-se-pol, located in Isfahan, is the largest of the eleven historical bridges on the largest river of the Iranian Plateau - Zayanderud. In the early 17th century, King Abbas I ordered the construction under the supervision of Allahverdi Khan Undiladze, the commander-in-chief of the armies. Thus the origin story for the name of the bridge.
The bridge is commonly regarded as one of the most famous examples of the Safavid structure, and also a popular place for social gathering. When I arrived at the location, traffics was very congested in this area, and from afar, I could see layers and layers of people gathered around, over, and even under the bridge. I believed that the party was just started, as there seemed to be as much, if not more, people versus a few hours ago.
Iranian people are super, super friendly to photographers. I lose count of how many times being asked to take photos for them. But tonight, I prefer to hide in a quiet corner, capturing the daily life of Iranian folks. But to do that, I must be able to perform some acrobatic moves — without getting wet.
I had to jump.
To get away from the crowd, I noticed that people would jump to the outer base platform. With the added weight of my camera backpack, it was undoubtedly a fatal attraction for my cameras and lens. Fortunately, seeing this anxious and hesitated photographer wandering underneath the bridge, the locals quickly came to my rescue by showing me to utilize the lampstand in the middle of the river as a midway. Finally, I can reach the inner part underneath the bridge without killing my gears.
With just a layer of rocks and stones apart, this space underneath the bridge was a whole different world to me.
The ambient color reflected from the structure kept flickering as people continued to jump across the platforms. In between light and shadow, I saw friends whispering to each other, teenagers pondering into emptiness, couples performing rituals with faith, people making their calls in a faraway platform, and sending their messages in secrecy.
The place, the people, and the atmosphere blended perfectly together, and I kept hunting for shots as if I was mesmerized by Persian magic.
But then I knew that I still got a long journey ahead in just a few hours, so I guess this is it — until next time, Si-o-se-pol.
