Mardovan Mahalla village, in the summer area of Talesh city, Gilan, Iran.
one of the most relaxing and pleasant neighborhoods that we visit from time to time in spring is Mardovan Mahalla, with a muddy, hard-to-pass road, but instead, its pleasant scenery invites the human mind to eternal peace.
Whenever there is talk of going to this neighborhood, I am afraid of the path.
But I know that at the end of the mountainous road, in the heart of the forest, as we have to take our bikes on hand with us to the top, something magical awaits us.
An area with tall and old trees, pristine nature, and pleasant and indescribable tranquility.
I like places with less familiarity among people. So that they won’t contaminate it with their unholy presence, packs of chips, cigarette butts, and the bad habit of lighting the fire next to the gorgeous tress.
Frankly, when humanity hasn’t been invited to the party, the place is way more glorious. And the fate of trees is defined as something beyond burning in the poisonous fire of people’s ignorance.
And it tells the story of lush nature, birds, and other living things with a special warm and pleasant presence. A presence away from Human beings.
A kind old woman who lived with her husband in a small cottage on the heights for spring.
Agriculture and beekeeping were their occupations, and there were no other houses or settlements for several miles. They invited us for fragrant tea made on a wood stove.
