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| A YOUNG EXPLORER |
The time was 1987 when I had recently joined an American firm undertaking ‘The Iran National Water Plan’, and we had bought a very second hand VW Beetle for us to explore in what free time we had available.
To allow us to explore, we needed to have enough of the language to be able to ask directions – and I had earlier registered at the Iran-American Association for lessons very soon after our arrival.
The trouble was that Mary, my wife, needed to stay at home to look after the children, as we simply could not afford home help, so I took the notes and shared them with Mary who managed to acquire sufficient of the language that she, too, could navigate the local shops. Some years later, she was able to help run an informal health clinic for Afghan refugees in Quetta, so she had retained enough Pharsi that the Dari-speakers in the clinic could understand her.
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*****
The first of our forays out of the capital, Tehran, was to locate what we understood was to be a new ski lift a little to the west of Tehran as we had ideas about learning how to ski. We had been told that the ski lift was being built at a place called Khor in the mountains between Tehran and the Caspian Sea, above the Karaj Dam. It was mid-summer when we decided on this trip and it was hot. Very, very hot.
The car was willing but not very able. It coughed and spluttered and all the while we climbed and climbed with both children and the dog getting progressively hotter and more fractious by the minute. As we crested a rise, we saw a stream with sparkling water running beside an orchard only a few yards from the road. We pulled over and kids and dog poured themselves into the stream. I was delighted just to wade through the stream and settle myself under an apple tree to cool off.
After a short while, a wizened old man who seemed to me to be at least 80 years old, came hobbling through the orchard and I felt that I should observe the customs and I hailed him in the little Pharsi which I had by then gleaned. He greeted me back and we enquired at length of each other’s health and well-being. The weather was briefly examined and we agreed that it was a touch warm.
Now came the really difficult bit. I wanted to find out how much further we had to travel to Khor since I didn’t want to keep the kids in this heat for too long, so I asked how far it was ? He considered and replied, “Three parsangs distant.” Now, having been an industrious student, I knew that one parsang equated to about 6 kilometres; so three parsangs would mean around 18 kilometres. If this were on a flat and wide road, it would take 15 minutes, but in these mountains ? I nodded sagely and thought that it might be worth doing a double-check by asking if the road climbed steeply from where we were so I asked, “Is it much higher in Khor than here ?”
His reply had me totally confused and I assumed that the limits I knew existed on my knowledge of the language, had been exceeded because he said, “It’s a little higher (balatar-e), like ten days higher than here.” Parsangs I could handle, but days-higher ? This was a term with which I was unfamiliar so I inquired exactly what did he mean in metres ? He laughed politely and then said that Khor was definitely ten days higher than here, because when the flowers bloom in the spring here, ten days later they bloom in Khor.
You learn the darndest things from strangers !
*****
MOUNT DAMAVAND, SEEN FROM TEHRAN
From where I was working in Tehran, overlooking the American Embassy where soon afterwards, so much was to happen, we could also see Mount Damavand to the north, at the foot of which was the Lar Valley, fed by snow and a glacier. This valley was where a dam had been designed to provide a more secure water supply to Tehran, and we were fortunate to have been able to stay with friends on the dam site for a day or two, so we could see the area which would shortly be inundated and never seen again.
Humility is hard learned and quick forgot. My education in the ways of rural people and their astute observations of the natural world around them took another quantum leap here.
It was a beautiful area. For those working there, they may not have seen the beauty so easily because they lived just below a permanent glacier and winter temperatures were very low.
At that time, nomads used to migrate from the plains into the Lar valley during summer to escape the searing heat of the Dasht-e-Lut, the desert below, and they would return just before the first snows sealed the passes out of the valley. What was curious about the affair was that they never seemed to have been caught by the snows, always making it out a few days before the first blizzards struck. Iranian friends who knew the nomads indicated that the signal was the appearance of a particular butterfly which was very short-lived and which needed to have the breeding cycle completed before the first severe frosts arrived, which usually came a few days before the first snows. When the nomads saw the first butterflies, they packed and left immediately. Obviously, the butterflies were highly sensitive to the environment and could tell exactly when the time had come.
Anyway, that was what we were told.
While we were walking around the Lar Valley, we came across a game ranger walking out with what appeared to be an antique Lee-Enfield rifle which was thoughtfully plugged with cotton to avoid getting any dust in it. One hopes that if ever he would have to use it, he would remember to remove the cotton wadding or the gun would blow up in his face. We hailed each other and started chatting. He seemed to be quite excited about something and kept talking about the sag-e-rud which he said was in the area. Happily, I had come across this in my studies and gathered that it was an otter (dog-of-the-river). What was so fascinating was that when I showed some interest, he was willing to spend time explaining to me the behaviour patterns of the otter. I was able to compare these with an otter which a brother of mine had been given as a pup and was able to mime the noises which the African otter makes.
I think I made a friend of the game ranger because it seems that few people that he met knew what he was doing, nor cared for it at all. Here was a foreigner who could speak a little Pharsi and could even talk to the otters. . . . . After the turbulent times following the overthrow of the Shah and the arrival of Ayatollah Khomeini, I wonder if the parks ranger service was able to survive; and what would have happened to that ranger who was so obviously fond of his work and the animals in his care.
*****
The car was willing but not very able. It coughed and spluttered and all the while we climbed and climbed with both children and the dog getting progressively hotter and more fractious by the minute. As we crested a rise, we saw a stream with sparkling water running beside an orchard only a few yards from the road. We pulled over and kids and dog poured themselves into the stream. I was delighted just to wade through the stream and settle myself under an apple tree to cool off.
After a short while, a wizened old man who seemed to me to be at least 80 years old, came hobbling through the orchard and I felt that I should observe the customs and I hailed him in the little Pharsi which I had by then gleaned. He greeted me back and we enquired at length of each other’s health and well-being. The weather was briefly examined and we agreed that it was a touch warm.
Now came the really difficult bit. I wanted to find out how much further we had to travel to Khor since I didn’t want to keep the kids in this heat for too long, so I asked how far it was ? He considered and replied, “Three parsangs distant.” Now, having been an industrious student, I knew that one parsang equated to about 6 kilometres; so three parsangs would mean around 18 kilometres. If this were on a flat and wide road, it would take 15 minutes, but in these mountains ? I nodded sagely and thought that it might be worth doing a double-check by asking if the road climbed steeply from where we were so I asked, “Is it much higher in Khor than here ?”
His reply had me totally confused and I assumed that the limits I knew existed on my knowledge of the language, had been exceeded because he said, “It’s a little higher (balatar-e), like ten days higher than here.” Parsangs I could handle, but days-higher ? This was a term with which I was unfamiliar so I inquired exactly what did he mean in metres ? He laughed politely and then said that Khor was definitely ten days higher than here, because when the flowers bloom in the spring here, ten days later they bloom in Khor.
You learn the darndest things from strangers !
*****
MOUNT DAMAVAND, SEEN FROM TEHRAN
From where I was working in Tehran, overlooking the American Embassy where soon afterwards, so much was to happen, we could also see Mount Damavand to the north, at the foot of which was the Lar Valley, fed by snow and a glacier. This valley was where a dam had been designed to provide a more secure water supply to Tehran, and we were fortunate to have been able to stay with friends on the dam site for a day or two, so we could see the area which would shortly be inundated and never seen again.
Humility is hard learned and quick forgot. My education in the ways of rural people and their astute observations of the natural world around them took another quantum leap here.
It was a beautiful area. For those working there, they may not have seen the beauty so easily because they lived just below a permanent glacier and winter temperatures were very low.
At that time, nomads used to migrate from the plains into the Lar valley during summer to escape the searing heat of the Dasht-e-Lut, the desert below, and they would return just before the first snows sealed the passes out of the valley. What was curious about the affair was that they never seemed to have been caught by the snows, always making it out a few days before the first blizzards struck. Iranian friends who knew the nomads indicated that the signal was the appearance of a particular butterfly which was very short-lived and which needed to have the breeding cycle completed before the first severe frosts arrived, which usually came a few days before the first snows. When the nomads saw the first butterflies, they packed and left immediately. Obviously, the butterflies were highly sensitive to the environment and could tell exactly when the time had come.
Anyway, that was what we were told.
While we were walking around the Lar Valley, we came across a game ranger walking out with what appeared to be an antique Lee-Enfield rifle which was thoughtfully plugged with cotton to avoid getting any dust in it. One hopes that if ever he would have to use it, he would remember to remove the cotton wadding or the gun would blow up in his face. We hailed each other and started chatting. He seemed to be quite excited about something and kept talking about the sag-e-rud which he said was in the area. Happily, I had come across this in my studies and gathered that it was an otter (dog-of-the-river). What was so fascinating was that when I showed some interest, he was willing to spend time explaining to me the behaviour patterns of the otter. I was able to compare these with an otter which a brother of mine had been given as a pup and was able to mime the noises which the African otter makes.
I think I made a friend of the game ranger because it seems that few people that he met knew what he was doing, nor cared for it at all. Here was a foreigner who could speak a little Pharsi and could even talk to the otters. . . . . After the turbulent times following the overthrow of the Shah and the arrival of Ayatollah Khomeini, I wonder if the parks ranger service was able to survive; and what would have happened to that ranger who was so obviously fond of his work and the animals in his care.
*****
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