A Little Distance...

It has been two weeks since our return from Iran. The jetlag is wearing off, and we have had some time to reflect on the whole experience. The one thing of which we are sure is that we sense our hopes, our prayers, and our efforts being called toward Iran at this perilous time, especially as cries for war crescendo.

What that fully means we don't yet know, but will be sure to share as that takes shape.

Into the Arms of Morpheus

Twenty-six hours of busses, airports, and airplanes. It's good to be back home. There's really nothing else left to say for now, except, "Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz."

The Last Goodbye

It's dawning on us that today is our last day. That means that the breakfast is our last breakfast, the bus ride is our last bus ride, the group meeting is our last group meeting. We are trying to cram in everything on our wish lists into the few short hours we have left.

The day was split between some final touring and some transcendent L.S. time. We will leave the hotel at 2:30 am and begin our loooooooong trek back home. We are ready to return and reconnect with family and friends; even so, we will still feel drawn and connected to the people and places of this country where we have spent such a short, blessed time.

Travel mercies for the night (and day) ahead...

A (Pun) Close Shave

Much of today was spent on the bus, traveling from Isfahan back to Tehran. It gave us another chance to see the varied Iranian countryside as well as to get caught up on journals and last-minute postcards.

Our journey took us past the city of Kashan, which among other things is preserved in tradition as the site from which the Magi ventured to see the Christ-child. The word magi is related to the word magic, another English word that has entered our vocabulary from Farsi. It stands alone in Matthew's gospel, apart from some Aramaic, as the only non-Greek word. Early church paintings and drawings represent the Magi as Zoroastrian priests, known for their astrological knowledge, and wearing traditional Persian clothing. There is no monument to this in Kashan, but to drive past it has the feel of a reverse pilgrimage.

Once back in our Tehran hotel, I added another chapter to my curious habit of visiting barbers in foreign countries. In 2001, I had a haircut in Baghdad that left me looking like a grilled mushroom. Here in Tehran, I was curious to try something a little different. The young hipsters have an intriguing array of hairstyles and facial hair; I don't currently have enough hair to try a new look, but my full beard does provide a good pallet for creativity.

The salon is located in the basement, and in a way, the whole scene became a kind of metaphor for our trip: the American tourist lying back in the chair, the young Iranian applying his craft; the television is on in the background, where the Ayatollah leads prayers as the President prostrates with the rest of the congregation. Old meets new, East meets West, pious meets secular.

Bridges

Today is our last full day in Isfahan. We made a quick stop at the Chehel Sotoun Palace built by Shah Abbas II, where exquisite artwork adorns the walls. The artists were a mixture of European and Iranian (Persian), giving a rich texture to the place.

The highlight of the day was our time in the Armenian Quarter. As Shah Abbas was converting the city of Isfahan to the Safavid capital, he brought in artisans from far flung locales. He also brought multitudes of Armenians (some reports say as many as 200,000) and gave them land just outside of the city. As Isfahan grew, New Julfa (named for the old Julfa in present-day Armenia) became part of the city. There are twelve churches and sizable Armenian Orthodox Christian community there.

We visited the Vank Cathedral and Museum of New Julfa. The architecture of the cathedral itself is Islamic in style; one might mistake it for a mosque. However, upon closer inspection, the dome is topped with a cross and the muezzin has been converted to a bell tower.

Coming in the doors, we were greeted by a gaggle of about fifty school girls on a field trip from Tehran. Cameras came flying out and chaos ensued as they swarmed to take pictures of us as well as to have their pictures taken with us. This was not an isolated incident of curiosity, but has happened quite frequently during our travels. Not a lot of foreigners are coming these days, so we are a bit of a novelty; at the same time, there is an Iranian pride ecstatic to have foreigners share in the nation's rich history and culture.

Inside the cathedral, where Biblical murals covered every wall (and photos are forbidden), Armenian sacred chant played over a loud speaker. An Armenian guide answered questions from the curious crowds. They seemed especially interested in a Farsi Bible on display.

Our final stop today was at the popular thirty-three arches bridge. When it was constructed in 1602, part of the intent was for the river to be split into thirty-three separate channels to distribute water equally to different parts of town. This was meant to convey the Islamic ideal of equality for all despite, both symbolically and really.

Standing there, as the crowds walked past and the sun approached the horizon, we couldn't help but wonder: could it be that we, too, are called to build such bridges that demonstrate a symbolic and real equality? It might be a corny thought, but maybe that's the possibility that a group of giggly schoolgirls or a throng of gawking teenagers or even ten foreign tourists offers here in momentary exchanges: that together we can build such bridges giving waters of hope to all who thirst.

Khomeini Square

Tomorrow is the last day of Ramadan, so it somehow seems fitting to spend today exploring Isfahan's Islamic cultural sites. Much of our journey today centered around Imam Khomeini Square, a park at the center of the city ringed by shops and connected to several historic mosques. At the center of the square is a fountain, and you can hire a horse-drawn carriage for a minimal fee to explore the area. It is a fairly big square, the second largest in the world after Tianamen. Built by Shah Abbas, the Safavid king who kicked out the Ottomans in the 16th century (and made Isfahan the capital), the square also contains his palace, which affords spectacular views of the area.

The three mosques we saw come from different eras, but each presents a remarkable feat of architecture and artwork. From the brick of the old 11th century Friday mosque to the mosaic and tile of the Sheikh Lotfallah and Imam mosques, they are simply exquisite buildings. Rather than try to describe them, I've put in extra pictures at the end to let them speak for themselves.

No doubt the name "Imam Khomeini" stirs feelings in Americans. Even so, it is in a place like Khomeini Square that you really get a feel for the famous hospitality of the Iranians. Everywhere we go, we are asked, "Where are you from?" When we reply "America," there is usually a response of surprise (not a lot of our fellow countryfolk venturing here these days), followed by a very warm greeting. We've had the conversation so often that we can predict where it will end; usually with a common agreement that "the problem is between governments, not people." While that may be oversimplified, it certainly seems to point to a hopeful possibility. If ordinary people can find common ground, surely leaders can find common cause in making the world a better place for those ordinary folk.

Iranian Paradise

Today was strange, wonderful, and varied. We stopped at a number of sites very quickly, including a beautifully decorated shrine to an Imam's nephew, a madrase (theological seminary), and a shopping excursion in the Karim Khan. We also made a stop in the city's wax museum, which is filled with local luminaries: poets, academics, royalty, clergy, revolutionaries...imagine Madame Tussaud's without Twiggy or the Beatles.

One other stop was the Eram Botanical Gardens, run by Shiraz University. Iran is not a desert nation, though it is a very dry country. The mountains that surround this city are a distinct brown; the sharp, cloudless blue of the sky and the green of this garden place stand in stark contrast.

Paradise is a Farsi word that has made its way into a number of languages, including English. The original meaning, as I understand, is something akin to a walled garden. Standing here, with the birds singing in the trees and couples sitting on benches in the cool afternoon shade, I begin to get some sense of how such a garden might have been paradise for folks in the ancient world. I also have a sense of how far removed this scene, and so many others from our time here, is from the many anxieties our loved ones have carried throughout our trip. It is impossible to describe the disconnect between these experiences and what we thought we would experience. But if being in Iran can give a window on paradise, then perhaps there's hope for this world.

We took another in-country flight this evening, this time to Isfahan, a city which promises to be more beautiful than even Shiraz. Our arrival was topped by a group of young people who spoke little to no English but insisted on having their pictures taken with us, a scene I can only describe as chaotic, surreal, and infectiously giggly.