Even with a ceasefire in place, life along the Strait of Hormuz has barely returned to normal.
Captain Farouq, a 39-year-old ferry captain with 18 years of experience, navigates the waters between Bandar Abbas and Hormuz Island. He told The Guardian that while the crossings have not stopped since the start of the US-Israeli war on Iran on 28 February, the journey has become far more dangerous. Passenger numbers are down, and he hears explosions every night. His own ferry was damaged by shrapnel while docked.
The war has been devastating for the regional economy. According to Iranian government sources, attacks on the southern port of Bandar Abbas have damaged 760 fishing and commercial vessels. Fisherman Anvar Sadat, 38, said boats can no longer venture as far out and movement is heavily restricted. Several of his colleagues in the city have been killed in attacks.
"This place was hell," said Abdul Salam, a 45-year-old garbage collector, describing the beaches near the port during the height of the conflict. He stopped working almost entirely to avoid the risk.
The impacts extend beyond the port. In the first week of October alone, at least 12 attacks were reported against oil, LNG and LPG tankers, sending global oil prices back above $100 a barrel. The instability is putting pressure on US President Donald Trump, who is reportedly considering further strikes.
On Hormuz Island, known as something of a "hippy paradise" by its residents, the experience has been different. The roughly 8,000 people there are trying to preserve their community. "As long as you don't go north, they leave you alone," said Yashar, a 35-year-old surfer, referring to new military restrictions.
The tourism sector has been the hardest hit. "Guesthouses and homestays remain closed, as do restaurants and many cafes," said Omran, a 45-year-old tour guide. Visitors have largely stopped coming, dealing a heavy blow to the island's economy, which relies on fishing and tourism. Yet residents are determined to stay. Khaleh Kaniz, a 67-year-old painter born and raised on the island, laughed when asked if she had considered leaving. "Why should we leave? Where would we go? Our homes and our lives are here," she said.