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.

Ruins, Graves, and Poems

Today was a varied and rich day. Our first stop was Persepolis. Wow. I have been fortunate enough to see some of the great ruins of the Middle East: Syria's Palmyra, Egypt's Pyramids, Lebanon's Baalbeck, Jordan's Petra, Iraq's Babylon. This place definitely holds its own among those notables.

The building of the city was started by Darius the Great, of the Achaemenid Dynasty (and Old Testament Daniel fame), as his central capital. It was built over the course of 190 years, was never really finished, and ended up being torched by Alexander the Great. As a result of the Macedonian destruction, there is tremendous damage to the place, though some of the bas reliefs were knocked on their faces and, as a result, remain relatively well-preserved. One wall is particularly notable, being the face of the stairwell by which representative subject nations took their gifts of tribute to the king. A parade is carved into the rock of people from many of the 127 provinces in the Persian Empire: from Ethiopians and Libyans in the West to Indians in the East and even parts of Greece as the Persian Empire extended into Europe.

Even though the Achaemenid Empire was an Empire, it seems to have been a relatively enlightened one that encouraged tolerance and plurality. The Old Testament bears witness to this as it speaks of their kings as benevolent rulers who gave the Jews permission to return to Jerusalem to rebuild Temple and city alike. Persepolis represents this tolerance, as the architecture bears the marks of a variety of styles adapted from throughout the Empire.

A brief drive away is another remarkable site, where three different historical periods are carved into the rock. There are four tombs for Achaemenid kings. Darius was buried here, and it is possible (though not certain) that Xerxes, Artaxerxes I, and Darius II were in the other three. Therefore, it is also possible that this place also held the final resting place of Queen Esther, wife of Xerxes! Elamite and Sassanid dynasties are also represented here through bas reliefs and a Zoroastrian temple.

After another tremendous lunch (I'm enjoying our non-hotel meals much more), we made a stop at Hafez' tomb. The 14th century Persian poet is venerated and beloved here in Iran, and is part of the national cultural fabric that makes this place far more interesting than first meets the eye. A Shiite like most Iranians of the 14th century, Hafez could recite the Qur'an from memory (his name in Arabic means he who has memorized). Even so, his poetry was quite subversive. Wine is a frequent topic, as are women and love. He was also subtly satirical of religious authorities, but abstract enough to get away with it.

Now, I'm not a lover of poetry by any stretch. After Dr. Seuss, only e.e. cummings has ever grabbed my attention. But this stuff is exquisite (at least in close enough translation; in Farsi, I understand, it is transcendent). I've put the poem that is printed on his tomb at the end of this entry.

We read a few selections, both in Farsi and English, as we stood around the tomb. Throughout the gardens, families and groups of young people - friends and paramours - found shade and cool breeze. It is, in many ways, a place of pilgrimage. As we left, a darwish (known in the West as "dervish") walked past, dressed all in white with a beard like an Orthodox priest; another man stood at the gate with a bird in his hand, trained to pick out pieces of paper bearing verses from Hafez followed by an interpretation of the verse as a fortune. It doesn't take much to transport one back to the 14th century.

Tomorrow we see the rest of Shiraz before we head off to Isfahan. Rumor has it that it's even more beautiful than this place.

++++++++++++

The Tidings of Union
by Hafez

(English translation by Gertrude Bell)

Where are the tidings of union? that I may arise-

Forth from the dust I will rise up to welcome thee!

My soul, like a homing bird, yearning for paradise,

Shall arise and soar, from the snares of the world set free.

When the voice of thy love shall call me to be thy slave,

I shall rise to a greater far than the mastery

Of life and the living, time and the mortal span.

Pour down, O Lord! from the clouds of thy guiding grace,

The rain of a mercy that quickeneth on my grave,

Before, like dust that the wind bears from place to place,

I arise and flee beyond the knowledge of man.

When to my grave thou turnest thy blessed feet,

Wine and the lute thou shalt bring in thine hand to me;

Thy voice shall ring through the fold of my winding-sheet,

And I will arise and dance to thy minstrelsy.

Though I be old, clasp me one night to thy breast,

And I, when the dawn shall come to awaken me,

With the flush of youth on my cheek from thy bosom will rise.

Rise up! let mine eyes delight in thy stately grace!

Thou art the goal to which all men's endeavor has pressed,

And thou the idol of Hafez's worship; thy face

From the world and life shall bid him come forth and arise!

The Wheels on the Bus...

This is a big country! We spent most of it on the bus, driving from Ahwaz to Shiraz. There's no direct flight, meaning air travel would take close to ten hours. Instead, we opted for the drive, a mere twelve hours (including a few stops and magnificent scenery).

Lunch was a delicious and curious affair. Since travelers are allowed to eat during Ramadan, truck stops are one of the few places which serve food openly (tourist sites and hotels are among the others). Among the male-only trucker crowd, we stood out a bit. We were like a pack of Japanese tourists in a diner in small-town Alabama - a bit exotic and the source of some amusement.

Our one tourist stop on the road was in a place known by the name of Shapur. The name comes from one of the Sassanid kings in the 3rd century; his palace, as well as the river that runs by it, bear the name, too. The story of this place goes that when Shapur defeated the Romans, he took their generals captive. Valerian was held here, where he and his Roman soldiers became the builders of the palaces and Zoroastrian water temple. The place has a distinct Roman touch, with ten foot thick stone walls that still stand (the cement was that good).

Nearby, right along the Shapur River, sit a series of bas reliefs cut into the stone. They commemorate a variety of Sassanid historic events, including the defeat of Valerian, several other battles, and a coronation. Those taking the road into Shapur, or coming down the river, would see these images as they entered. In a sense, these are the ancient equivalent of the Khomeini posters that decorate the countryside, reminding folks who it is that's in charge (oddly enough, it is the photos of the two Ayatollahs that predominate around Iran; I've only noticed Ahmadinejad's image on one billboard; it's as though his importance has been overestimated in the West).

As we drove through the countryside, we saw nomads out in the fields harvesting. The women are colorfully dressed and stand out against the browns and greens of nature's pallet. One particularly striking sight out the window were the Gates of Persia, a narrow passageway between two mountains. Alexander the Great once passed through here; now it stands watch over a major Iranian highway. We were lucky to catch it at sunset.

We finally arrived in Shiraz after dark. Since our two experiences of Iranian cities have been Tehran (huge and polluted) and Ahwaz (not really much to say), Shiraz is a breath of fresh air. It's the city of poets and art, and there is an energy here that is simply different and alive. Elizabeth and I took a brief walk around the hotel to stretch our bus legs, and we look forward to seeing the city in the daytime.

Susa

We had been anticipating today back when we first started planning this trip: Susa. The modern (and I use the term loosely) city of Shush, one of the oldest urban centers in the world, is also home to the ruins of ancient Susa. But more about that in a moment...

Our first stop was Chogha Zanbil, an Elamite ziggurat in the middle of the dusty plains. Ziggurats, for flat ground folk, took the place of mountains, the traditional sites of cultic worship. This particular one is remarkable, having been lost for some 2500 years until around 1936, having been buried when Ashurbanipal conquered the place in the 7th century BCE. The top two "stories" were then lost when Iraqi missles hit it during the Iran-Iraq War of the 1980s. The place is massive, and the central ziggurat for worship was surrounded by smaller temples for other deities of others within the Elamite pantheon. One thing that is hard to imagine is that places like this were once soaked in colors - this one in bright blues and greens, which would have been particularly striking against the cream-colored surroundings.

Then there's Susa. Susa was one of the capitals of the Achaemenid Empire, ruled by the likes of Cyrus, Darius, Xerxes, and Artaxerxes, all of whom make their appearances in the Old Testament. The entire book of Esther is set here, and the prophets Ezra and Nehemiah write about the journey from Persia back to Jerusalem to rebuild the city and the temple, explicitly mentioning this place. Like many ruins, it is difficult to imagine the grandeur as it once stood, but the room that was most striking was the throne room. A forest of columns ran floor to the sixty foot ceiling. Each was topped with a two-headed bull. The beams that held up the wooden roof rested on the bulls' backs, and the stone walls ran floor to ceiling as well. The place flowed with colored fabrics, as is recorded in Esther. Standing in the spot and imagining the transformed surroundings boggles the mind.

We walked down to the city of Shush which contains a curious site: the tomb of the Old Testament prophet Daniel. There's no connecting him with Susa, but much connecting him with Darius; so it's possible. The tomb (the current incarnation of which dates back only to the 19th century) is now a Shiite shrine, replete with murals in the courtyard proclaiming slogans like "A woman modestly dressed is a pearl in its shell." We gathered quite the curious crowd around us as we prepared to leave. Several men approached curious for conversation. Between my non-existent Farsi and their few words of English, we were able to figure out a couple of phrases. One man pantomimed: "Americans and Iranians are friends."

Another greeted me with a question: "German?"

"American."

"American! Very good! I love!"

You never know what to expect...

I'm not going to mention lunches often, but this one was of note. Our hotels have been comfortable and fancy, and the food has been good, but not particularly authentic. Today, however, we had a sampling of good Iranian khoresht - stews. Fantastic.

All in all, a good solid day. Tomorrow, we head for Shiraz; but first, a long bus ride through the Iranian countryside awaits.

IranAir

Today has not been all that exciting. We are recharging our batteries and our bodies, having spent a good, intense two days here already. We checked out of our hotel in Tehran this morning, which has given us a great landing spot for the journey thus far.

Iran is a large enough country (70 million people live here) to warrant a comfortable in-country network of airports. Our flight on IranAir took us from Tehran to Ahwaz. Two cultural curiosities for me were the covered women in the safety booklet and the in-flight meal (it's Ramadan). The latter is most curious, since the Qur'an makes explicit exception for fasting for people who are traveling. However, during our time in Sunni communities, we would never have seen such an exception made. However, this is a Shiite country, and the airline is operated by the Islamic Republic.

The city of Ahwaz is in Khuzestan province. Much of Iran's oil is here. We're probably a good 100 miles from Iraq's southeastern border. A quarter of the population are Arabs (though not Iraqis) who have been here for centuries.

After a good nap, we took a walk along the river. Despite the unfortunate stench of sewage, it was beautiful in the sunset and provided a good place for meetings - families breaking the Ramadan fast, unmarried couples finding a furtive place, young men gathering to enjoy a little hookah.

Tomorrow the itinerary picks up a bit. It should be a good shift!

P.S. As I was sitting here working on this, a couple of young men at the next computer called to me. "We found your picture," they said. I leaned in, somewhat surprised. It was Van Gogh's self-portrait. We shared a good laugh.

Tehran (Part Two)

Our L.S. time this morning took us into the early afternoon, which is a late start for touring during Ramadan.

Today was also Qods Day (Jerusalem Day), the last Friday of Ramadan which Ayatollah Khomeini had declared as a day of solidarity with the Palestinians. Busses were lined up, bringing people in from outlying towns for the demonstrations and marches. We were curious, but kept our distance.

Our major tourist stop today was the Shah's former palace. A place that is both understated and decadent, it is a reminder of a very unpopular bygone era. Despite what people here might think of the current situation, there is a general consensus of gratitude that the days of the Muhammad Reza Shah Pahlavi are gone. His father, Reza Shah Pahlavi, had been brutal, but (much like Ataturk in Turkey), he had also brought Iran into a more modern era. Because of this, people seem willing to forgive some of his excesses. His son, Muhammad Reza Shah, on the other hand, had colluded with the C.I.A. to overthrow Mossadegh, the popularly elected head of the Parliament. Given that inauspicious beginning, it was all down hill from there, culminating in the Revolution of 1979 that transformed the country into its current incarnation as the Islamic Republic.

The statue of the Shah that once stood in grandeur was cut in half by Khomeini. Only his military boots, symbols of his overeager brutality, are visible now.

We managed some light shopping as well, wandering down neon-lit narrow stone streets of a small bazaar. There is something about the Middle Eastern Bazaar - the look, the smell, the feel - that is all too familiar to me from our time in other cities in the region.

Tomorrow we are off to Ahwaz. I don't know what our computer facilities will be like, if any, so the lag of several days will likely continue.

Oh, and these days are the birthday days for the extended Sanders' clan. My sister's is today (don't worry: you'll get something cool when I get back).

Tehran in the Daytime

Exhaustion replaced by excitement - a new city, a new day.

We got a later start than usual, giving our bodies a little time to rest this morning. We are here in the middle of Ramadan, but there are enough foreigners (and enough traveling/non-fasting Iranians) that we are able to take all of our meals. The only difference is that, instead of breakfast in the lobby, it is held on the thirteenth floor, giving fantastic views of Tehran and the Alborz mountains.

Ramadan also means earlier closing hours for many museums, shops, etc., so our sightseeing was a little limited. We spent most of our time at the National Archaeological Museum, which covers Persian pre-Islamic history. That's a mere 3000 years. Once again, the independent Iranian character struck me. The perseverance of the Farsi language through many invasions (Turk, Greek, Mongol, Arab...) is testimony to that.

There was more pottery than we knew what to do with, bas reliefs to great kings and rulers of millenia past (including some of Biblical note, like Darius, Cyrus, and Xerxes), and strange discoveries; the most unique to me was the glass window dating from 2500 B.C.E. Because it was so difficult to stretch glass, they rolled it and placed it in a frame. Ingenious.

On our way to the Museum, we drove by the old U.S. Embassy. For Iranians, the place is a symbol of past unwelcome foreign intervention in local affairs. Its walls also make a convenient place for murals.

Our itinerary also included the Glass Museum, but the key phrase for our trip is "Stay Flexible." The Museum was closed early today due to Ramadan. A needed early nap was our reward, thankfully!

As I found some spare time for the computer, I had yet another in a long line of surreal moments in foreign lands. I glanced out the window to see an Orthodox Jewish family strolling down the street. The boys all wore yarmulkes, the girls simple suits. The father stood out quite dramatically, with his long beard, earlocks, and his large, round fur hat. Of all the things I expected to see in Tehran, this was not one of them! The family was being followed by a camera man, so apparently I was not the only one noticing that this was something out of the ordinary. No one seems to know what the story is, unfortunately, though I did my best to investigate.

After a nap, we had some tea in the lobby and some L.S. time which continued into a traditional dinner nearby. We also got to celebrate Elizabeth's birthday, making yet another in our list of exotic places to mark the passing of another year. Birthday cakes are not a local custom, so we had to improvise.

The Comfort Seat

I never have been able to sleep on long flights - a doze here and there, but mostly just a stiff neck and back.

We had about six hours in the Amsterdam airport, which is like most European airports - faint, stale cigarette smoke; yellow and green neon signs; cold, non-descript tile floors; black, stiff-backed leather chairs.

We did follow the signs to the "Comfort Seats", which are slightly more forgiving black leather chairs. With arms entwined in carry-on luggage, we did manage a decent power nap or two along with travelers of all shapes and sizes (and denominations, apparently).

As we arrived at our departure gate, I noticed the gathering group. There were a handful of Westerners, but the rest were Iranians. I was particularly struck by the fact that none but a few of the older women had any head covering. The rest were in Western dress. As for the men, other than me, only one had a beard.

When we arrived in Tehran, as the plane landed, the physical transformation began as women donned their headscarves (but with plenty of hair showing) and overcoats. It felt like we were all part of an open conspiracy to live as independently as possible as long as possible. It struck me that this was either a sign of the Iranian character, or of at least those who would be traveling through Amsterdam. In any case, it brought my lingering anxieties down to near zero.

Our arrival in Tehran was unremarkable, if long. We nodded through a three hour wait, being fingerprinted, our passports passed from one bureacrat to another in the Repetitive Department of Redundancy. This would not have been so tedious if we hadn't had arrived at 1 am already.

My head hit the hotel pillow at 4:30; but I think I was actually asleep by 4:28.

Come and See...

We started our two-day journey toward Tehran with a late flight from Atlanta. After a brief stop in Detroit, we began making our way to Amsterdam. We won't get there until tomorrow morning, so for now, we're simply en route for the next many, many hours.

As we checked in with Northwest, the ticket agent (who couldn't help but notice our destination) offered to say a prayer with us. As one in our group said, "If we needed any confirmation that we were supposed to be going, I think we just got it!" Amen to that.

Given the political climate, our whole adventure reminds me of Philip's word to Nathanael (John 1:14): "Come and See." Enough people have given us this message, so away we go...