Now is an extraordinary time to be in Iran.

Men and women, babies, teenagers and elderly people, are cloaked head to toe in black. Main roads are blocked off and streets are filled with mourners waving red, green and black flags. 

Brightly coloured alams (metallic ornaments engraved with verses from the Quran or names of the Prophet Muhammad and his children) are twirled by master spinners as rhythmic poems and chants are recited -- sometimes thunderously fervent -- other times subdued and mellow. 

Each verse is recited in perfect sync with the sound of drums and beating chests, and each seems to prompt a new flood of tears.

In the glitzy, dusty desert city of Mecca today, 3 million people are embracing each other with joy, relief and incredulity. Joy that they've completed the exhausting Hajj rituals -- a pilgrimage incumbent on every physically and financially able Muslim once in their lifetime, relief that a towering construction crane or stampede didn't crush them to death in the process, and incredulity that they actually managed to complete it, despite the massive crowds and 110-degree heat.