Two Feet of Snow in Qom
Suddenly our desert world has become white. Three men are on the roof of our apartment building tossing heavy snow over the side. The highways are slick with ice and packed snow—in a place that has no snowplows, salt trucks or snow shovels. This, evidently, happens every half century or so. It is gorgeous.
Last week we joined a Mennonite Learning Tour (twelve persons) from N. America for part of their journey through Iran. What a lively bunch of students, academicians, educators, clergy and medical professionals. It was a joy to us to see some new areas of Iran—Qom and Tehran have been our usual hubs of travel.
Kashan (an hour south of Qom) has its own little ziggurat—Tell Sialk – that may predate the larger ziggurats west of here in Mesopotamia. Kashan is a place that claims to be the hometown of the Magi who sought the Christ child in Palestine. If so, their city was already 5500 years old when they left it to follow an unusual star.
Our modest small bus broke down south of Kashan, near Natanz. For two hours we perched by the side of the highway and waited for a replacement (a slightly larger and much newer vehicle). We heard the tinkling of bells. Across the highway and down half a mile was an Afghan man with a herd of sheep and goats. He had five large dogs and an old mule. Darkness was falling and he was herding them toward the pen and his hut and safety for the night. Between my Farsi and his Dari we had a very modest conversation. His wife and children were back in Afghanistan. He saw them every year or so and took them some money. He was very pleased to have Polaroid photos taken by a member of our group, and to be given a bar of European chocolate.
Esfahan was next on the itinerary—a beautiful city along the banks of the Zayandeh River. It was Friday and hundreds of people had gathered along and upon the Khaju Bridge to listen to folk singers. On the bridge’s lower level an older man played a flute while his friend sang a lilting song. Up above a television personality (The “Mr. Bean” of Iran) was entertaining crowds to great applause. People were paddling swan boats up and down the river. Picnics were spread out in sunny spots. We walked through the enormous Imam Square—surrounded by beautiful old mosques and a splendid bazaar. A Sufi man was playing a Tar up on a rooftop – first Verdi, then Mozart, then a Rumi medley. We found a little synagogue preparing for Friday prayers and were welcomed inside for a bit of conversation. People were putting out prayer books and giving the carpet a final vacuuming; soon the Shabbat candles would be lit. We spent the next morning in Jolfa, the Armenian quarter on the far side of the river. Within the church compound Santa was making the rounds as Christmas songs resounded from the loud speakers (including am Armenian, Christmasy version of “Macarena.”)
An hour north of Shiraz we pulled into Pasargadae. On an enormous plateau, ringed by snowcapped peaks, sits the tomb of Cyrus the Great. Among the nearby ruins of three Achaemenid Palaces have been found the cuneiform inscription “ I am Cyrus, the Achaemenic King.” Not too far way four rock tombs are hewn into the hillside, at Naqsh-e Rostam. In relief above each tomb entrance are kings standing at Zoroastrian fire altars; subject nations support them from below. Although still a matter of discussion, these may be the tombs of Darius I and II, Xerxes I and Artaxerxes I. And then, an hour before sundown, we were at Persepolis—the great ritual city begun by Darius I (about 520 BCE) and developed over the next century and a half. Monumental staircases (with tiny steps, perhaps for horses to mount during No Ruz, New Year, celebrations), huge gateways and columns, beautiful reliefs showing representatives of 28 nations bearing their gifts to the king among cedar and cypress trees. Other names and initials are chiseled here and there, including “Stanley, New York Herald, 1870.” Xerxes has an inscription which notes that Ahuramazda (the Zoroastrian deity) created happiness for humanity.
Then beautiful Shiraz itself —the tombs of beloved poets Hafez and Saadi. The weather changed abruptly and became bitterly cold. We heard that snow was descending rapidly in Qom and Tehran. Shiraz is the home of splendid gardens, elegant cyprus trees, orange trees bearing sweet fruit, and date palms. We toured the Affifabad Palace and I noted the gift shop: Native American dolls with headdresses and Shrek bubble gum were available. We walked through Karim Khan’s Citadel where old photos were displayed: people worshiping at the Friday mosque in 1911, a gymnast with two people standing on his outstretched arms, a little boy with a cat on his lap, and the ceremony of the removing of the veils in 1937--- women with bobbed hair and felt hats.
Our evening to return by air to Tehran and then by bus to Qom was a challenge. We arrived at the Shiraz Airport at 5pm and boarded our fight at midnight. It seemed like it was the only plane to leave that night. The sky was clear; those famous Iranian stars were sparkling; the air was arctic cold. We had a fine flight and checked into a hotel in Tehran at 3am. The streets were largely empty and would have made fine skating arenas. By the following afternoon we were back in Qom, where the Learning Tour continued with their busy schedule of lectures and visits.
Deep in true winter, we continue to study Farsi and Quran and theology. We often entertain friends with tea and conversation at night. The world outside is being refreshed by deep moisture as the earth sleeps.
Last week we joined a Mennonite Learning Tour (twelve persons) from N. America for part of their journey through Iran. What a lively bunch of students, academicians, educators, clergy and medical professionals. It was a joy to us to see some new areas of Iran—Qom and Tehran have been our usual hubs of travel.
Kashan (an hour south of Qom) has its own little ziggurat—Tell Sialk – that may predate the larger ziggurats west of here in Mesopotamia. Kashan is a place that claims to be the hometown of the Magi who sought the Christ child in Palestine. If so, their city was already 5500 years old when they left it to follow an unusual star.
Our modest small bus broke down south of Kashan, near Natanz. For two hours we perched by the side of the highway and waited for a replacement (a slightly larger and much newer vehicle). We heard the tinkling of bells. Across the highway and down half a mile was an Afghan man with a herd of sheep and goats. He had five large dogs and an old mule. Darkness was falling and he was herding them toward the pen and his hut and safety for the night. Between my Farsi and his Dari we had a very modest conversation. His wife and children were back in Afghanistan. He saw them every year or so and took them some money. He was very pleased to have Polaroid photos taken by a member of our group, and to be given a bar of European chocolate.
Esfahan was next on the itinerary—a beautiful city along the banks of the Zayandeh River. It was Friday and hundreds of people had gathered along and upon the Khaju Bridge to listen to folk singers. On the bridge’s lower level an older man played a flute while his friend sang a lilting song. Up above a television personality (The “Mr. Bean” of Iran) was entertaining crowds to great applause. People were paddling swan boats up and down the river. Picnics were spread out in sunny spots. We walked through the enormous Imam Square—surrounded by beautiful old mosques and a splendid bazaar. A Sufi man was playing a Tar up on a rooftop – first Verdi, then Mozart, then a Rumi medley. We found a little synagogue preparing for Friday prayers and were welcomed inside for a bit of conversation. People were putting out prayer books and giving the carpet a final vacuuming; soon the Shabbat candles would be lit. We spent the next morning in Jolfa, the Armenian quarter on the far side of the river. Within the church compound Santa was making the rounds as Christmas songs resounded from the loud speakers (including am Armenian, Christmasy version of “Macarena.”)
An hour north of Shiraz we pulled into Pasargadae. On an enormous plateau, ringed by snowcapped peaks, sits the tomb of Cyrus the Great. Among the nearby ruins of three Achaemenid Palaces have been found the cuneiform inscription “ I am Cyrus, the Achaemenic King.” Not too far way four rock tombs are hewn into the hillside, at Naqsh-e Rostam. In relief above each tomb entrance are kings standing at Zoroastrian fire altars; subject nations support them from below. Although still a matter of discussion, these may be the tombs of Darius I and II, Xerxes I and Artaxerxes I. And then, an hour before sundown, we were at Persepolis—the great ritual city begun by Darius I (about 520 BCE) and developed over the next century and a half. Monumental staircases (with tiny steps, perhaps for horses to mount during No Ruz, New Year, celebrations), huge gateways and columns, beautiful reliefs showing representatives of 28 nations bearing their gifts to the king among cedar and cypress trees. Other names and initials are chiseled here and there, including “Stanley, New York Herald, 1870.” Xerxes has an inscription which notes that Ahuramazda (the Zoroastrian deity) created happiness for humanity.
Then beautiful Shiraz itself —the tombs of beloved poets Hafez and Saadi. The weather changed abruptly and became bitterly cold. We heard that snow was descending rapidly in Qom and Tehran. Shiraz is the home of splendid gardens, elegant cyprus trees, orange trees bearing sweet fruit, and date palms. We toured the Affifabad Palace and I noted the gift shop: Native American dolls with headdresses and Shrek bubble gum were available. We walked through Karim Khan’s Citadel where old photos were displayed: people worshiping at the Friday mosque in 1911, a gymnast with two people standing on his outstretched arms, a little boy with a cat on his lap, and the ceremony of the removing of the veils in 1937--- women with bobbed hair and felt hats.
Our evening to return by air to Tehran and then by bus to Qom was a challenge. We arrived at the Shiraz Airport at 5pm and boarded our fight at midnight. It seemed like it was the only plane to leave that night. The sky was clear; those famous Iranian stars were sparkling; the air was arctic cold. We had a fine flight and checked into a hotel in Tehran at 3am. The streets were largely empty and would have made fine skating arenas. By the following afternoon we were back in Qom, where the Learning Tour continued with their busy schedule of lectures and visits.
Deep in true winter, we continue to study Farsi and Quran and theology. We often entertain friends with tea and conversation at night. The world outside is being refreshed by deep moisture as the earth sleeps.
posted by Quakers in Qom at 6:11 AM
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