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Total eclipse
Encountering Iran on the cusp of change.
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[08/11/99]

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[08/06/99]

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In a Spanish grove, I found an ancient grace.
By Lucy McCauley
[08/05/99]

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Aside from drinking about half the wine available in the city, Omar of Nishipur -- who, despite his near heretical views, enjoyed royal patronage -- realized his dream of building an astronomical observatory; he was accomplished in the arts of astronomy as well as astrology. One of his goals was to measure accurately the length of the solar year. Not only did he succeed, but the system he developed came into use during his own lifetime -- on March 21, 1079. "This officially carried the name of the Sultan," writes Maalouf, "but in the street, and even in certain documents, it was enough to mention 'such and such a year in the era of Omar Khayyam.'" A modification of his calendar remains in use today.

Khayyam's legendary observatory no longer stands; it was destroyed by the invading Mongols, four centuries before Isfahan became the baseline of Persian civilization. It is astonishing to walk along the shaded streets, through the 4-kilometer-long bazaar, in the shadow of the magnificent 17th century Mosque of Emam, and realize that none of this (except for parts of the bazaar) existed during Khayyam's time.

(Speaking of the bazaar: During my morning stroll through the millennia-old labyrinth, I ran into a 16-year-old boy who cornered me as I bargained for the local version of a Dairy Queen cone. Like many young Iranians, he was keen to practice his English. His opening gambit was potentially awkward -- "Excuse me, please, but why does America think it is king of the whole world?" -- but we soon settled into a discussion about the charms of Isfahan. The definitive statement came after I suggested that Isfahan is more beautiful than Shiraz. The boy frowned. "Isfahan," he declared, "is more beautiful than Chicago.")

One thing the Persians of Omar's time had in common with present-day Iranians is a fascination with the heavens. Nine centuries after Khayyam performed his calculations for the Seljuk court, the city of Isfahan has gone eclipse-crazy. Eclipse banners line Chahar Bagh, the main boulevard; posters showing the fabulous blue dome of Emam Mosque surrounded by a solar corona hang in every window. At 10 this morning, with the event only 30 hours away, I wandered into a "madrase" -- an Islamic university, comparable to a yeshiva -- and was immediately surrounded by turbaned clerics who called to me excitedly, "Kusoof! Kusoof!"

It is an expression I've heard a great deal these days. The literal meaning, as clearly as I can tell, is "the union of the sun with the moon."

It's out there somewhere, our moon, moving inexorably toward its Wednesday rendezvous. Totality will occur at 4:40 p.m. This will be the first total solar eclipse to pass over Persia since the 1950s, long before the birth of more than two-thirds of the population. Eclipses are cyclical; they occur in the same places every 35 years or so (the next one to darken the U.S. will occur in 2017). But the fact that this is the last such event of the millennium has given this one special meaning, and tourists from around the world have converged on this ancient caravansary town to witness the spectacle. During the past week we've met groups from Japan, Italy, Spain, France and England, but we seem to be the only Americans. I did, however, hear a strange rumor -- I have no reason to believe it is untrue -- that this afternoon's flight from Tehran to Isfahan will carry a group that includes moon walker Neil Armstrong.

The dire predictions of comet watchers, asteroid phobics and dusty infidels like Nostradamus faze the locals not at all. The imams I spoke with have no qualms about the eclipse. They will, however, recite special prayers, "like when there is an earthquake." So one doesn't quite know what to expect.

I must admit, though, that the high-profile chorus of doomsayers back in the USA has been a bit tiresome. It is true that Nostradamus, who has often been off in his predictions by only a letter or two, predicted that a "King of Terror" will arrive from the skies just about teatime tomorrow. But the slightest error in interpretation could give his words a very different meaning. Both Yeats and Rilke, after all, equated terror with transcendent beauty. As my astrologer friend Rob Breszny prefers to think, this millennial eclipse may deliver a breakthrough in human consciousness. Reason enough, I reckon, to be smack in its path.

The weather, incidentally, is perfect. Not a cloud in the sky. The only question is exactly where to observe the eclipse from. Sanjay, the leader of our Geographic Expeditions group, seems partial to driving out of town, and setting up camp on the mesa of a nearby mountain. He has a point; it would be fantastic to see the shadow of the moon race across the landscape as a 100-second sunset occurs in every direction at once. For my money, though, it could be equally spectacular to watch the phenomenon darken the crowded plaza in front of the city's fantastic 17th century mosque.

In any case, the level of excitement is growing by the hour. Odd, how the sun and moon know nothing of this; to the players themselves, this is no more than the impassive dance of celestial mechanics.

Next page | In the shadow of the moon