Secrets of Darband
I never expected Tehran’s Darband to be so full of contradictions. On one hand, the mountain air was crisp and the river sang beneath the ancient trees, but on the other, the place was swarming with tourists snapping selfies and leaving trash everywhere. I watched a group of young locals laugh loudly as they hiked, while an old man nearby shook his head in disapproval, muttering about how things used to be quieter, more respectful.
The food stalls tempted me with the smell of grilled kebabs and fresh bread, but I couldn’t ignore the stray cats weaving between tables, begging for scraps. A vendor tried to overcharge me, assuming I was a clueless foreigner, but I called him out in front of everyone. He looked embarrassed, but the crowd cheered me on.
Despite the chaos, the beauty of Darband’s mountain path was undeniable. The sunset painted the rocks gold, and for a moment, I understood why people fought to claim this place as their own. Yet, I left wondering if the real Darband was being lost beneath the noise and commercialization, and if anyone cared enough to save it.
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