Day 93 Border Territory
SYNOPSIS: I spent the day in five different taxis and saw all kinds of things along the Aras River which forms the Iranian-Armenian-Azerbaijani, perhaps, even some of the Turkish border – I can’t quite figure it out. A wild-goose chase in border territory.The river Aras fairs prominently under a different name in the Bible, and Jolfa is in an area – way at the Northern most tip of Iran – where first century Christians roamed, including St. Bartholomew, who founded the monastery I visited today. That is, he founded a monastery there in honor of St. Stephanus. What you see today comes mostly from the 14th Century; the local brochures claims 10th to 12th Century. Major reconstruction was done in the 18th Century.The remote mountain setting of this church is one of its main attractions. But also, the remarkable preservation of its sculptures on the main tower makes it stand out. Years of restoration work are paying off. It looks like the bell tower is the last remaining part of the exterior to be done. The interior is less attractive with some fading frescos of puff-cheeked putties and a fake Raphael Madonna. A monastic courtyard with cells for 16-32 monks, a vaulted prayer hall and other facilities form the main part of the complex. All is heavily fortressed by a tall stone wall with watch towers at each corner.The Aras River valley is a beautiful area with ever changing mountain formations in a variety of colors. In the distance Armenian snow-capped mountains were visible; reportedly the area where Noah’s ark grounded. I had heard that before in Jordan and I think there are at least three other places in the world that put claim on that event… From a not too distant war dispute in this area some burned out trains are visible and manned military posts punctuate the river valley on both sides. Conspicuous photography was not advised. I got some discreet shots of the scenery.I will probably regret this excursion as it cuts into my visit in Teheran, but every time I think of going to Teheran, I come up with another reason to postpone it, cut it short, or avoid it altogether…I rushed out the door in the morning to catch a taxi to take me to the terminal for the 8:30 AM bus to Jolfa. What I did not know is that the armed forces decided to organize a demonstration today at a roundabout near the terminal, so traffic came nearly at a standstill. 8:30 passed… The next bus to Jolfa was 2.5 hours later. But as it always happens when I think I am at a dead end, we inched along in traffic when a voice shouted outside in the familiar quadruple fashion “Jolfa, Jolfa, Jolfa, Jolfa!” I jumped out of the taxi and followed the shouting man who took me to a shared taxi, ready to go upon me boarding. What could have been easier? At lightning speed – never less than 120 km per hour - we proceeded through majestic rolling hills to the border town of Jolfa.There, barely out of that taxi, I was surrounded by a new hoard of taxi drivers trying to figure out where I wanted to go. A shop keeper nearby helped me to convey the sights on my agenda to one of them and to negotiate a total price. Within minutes I was on the way with my third taxi of the day – two more to go. First, I went 35 km West of Jolfa along the Aras River and then 45 km East of Jolfa, along the same river. First, I was on the well trodden tourist path to see the monastery, a caravanserai and a small road-side church along the way. Then the driver wondered what I wanted out there going East. But the Lonely Planet had a reference to the small town of Siyah Rud that was responsible for the silk production in the area – that’s what I wanted to see.Did the Lonely Planet guys make this up? Did they ever go there? Granted, the LP said that one could see the silk production in May and June and it’s only late April. But you would think that they would at least know what I was talking about once I got there since they are supposedly famous for it. Ha! They thought I was out to lunch! Absolutely nobody in the village spoke a word of English. My taxi driver was useless as well – I had to teach him “stop” and “photo” as I had taught the driver yesterday. The villagers were wonderful but at a loss. Here was a foreign visitor who had come especially to their town – they figured that I was there to see something important. After I had drawn silk worm cocoons into the sand, pulled on everyone’s clothes identifying the varieties of wool, cotton, polyester and… silk, there was still no sign of recognition in their faces of what I had come for. But they phoned somebody who came with a big key and they proudly showed me an old run-down hamam (bath house) hidden behind a big wall! They were disappointed, that I still was not happy. The crowd around me grew. Finally, somebody figured out my drawings and with a big smile on their faces they pointed the driver in a direction North of town. We arrived at a brick ware house… That did not look promising.But we entered the building across, and in a corner of an office, I saw an old display case with some silk worms in it! Yes, we were on the right track after all. The manager of the brick warehouse looked puzzled when the taxi driver explained something to him, but he took me to the warehouse. A big key unlocked the building - it was filled with cement bags! I pulled the man back to his office and pointed to the dusty display case of bugs. That’s what I was looking for. Happily, he pulled a drawer on his desk and there was a bowl full of old cocoons! Yes, I smiled. That’s it. Where are they? Who is growing them? Who is processing them? Three office mates now all got involved, making phone calls and giving good advice but he still looked unsure of what to do with me next. Finally, there seemed to be some promising news over the phone. He rushed out with us and through the village we went from one house to the next – three in all. Nothing, nowhere. But in yet another warehouse he pointed to some old equipment in a corner which looked like it once could have been used for silk production. I was not even sure anymore if we were looking for the same thing. I finally released him of his misery. We drove him back to his office and I went back to Jolfa with my puzzled taxi driver who had no idea why we had made this detour and wasted all of this time. If I get this right, the silk production in this little town is ancient history. But since I don’t speak the language, who knows what I was told today. Lonely Planet, you owe me one!Good night.