—Rumi
I had never been able to resist Astrid Simpson and found it especially hard to turn down her invitation to spend time camped out with her under desert stars in the land of Nod.
So, it was two weeks later when we flew into Tabriz and Astrid had our small expedition totally outfitted and limited to a party of two.
I couldn’t have been happier.
“When are you going to tell me what you’ve discovered?” I asked.
“I’ll do better than tell you—I’ll show you—when we get there.”
We got into our truck, with Astrid at the wheel and started off on our adventure. The legendary Garden of Eden—it had counterparts in every culture—even Hesiod’s depiction of the Golden Age:
Men lived like gods without sorrow of heart, remote and free from toil and grief: miserable age rested not on them; but with legs and arms never failing they made merry with feasting beyond the reach of all devils. When they died, it was as though they were overcome with sleep.
It wasn’t Bible, but it was a nostalgic look back at lost innocence. Maybe paradise could be regained—if not, the worse that could happen would be a month spent alone in the desert with Astrid. Who could ask for more?
We pitched our tent in a remote valley away from several walled gardens we passed en route. I suppose I imagined some type of walled enclosure with a waterfall spilling down a mountain and irrigating a lush oasis below.
Where we were encamped, however, resembled a lunar landscape.
“You’re sure the Garden’s not back by those walled enclosures we passed?”
Her eyes danced. “You’re not afraid of camping out are you, Paul?”
“No, I’m used to roughing it—it just seems unlikely.”
“Perhaps now, but not 5,000 years ago. Archeologists uncovered 3800 year-old graves at the Blue Mosque in Tabriz. There’s history here, Paul—very ancient and very intriguing.”
Intriguing was the word I’d use to describe Astrid—and hopefully also our adventure.
It was dark by the time we unloaded the truck and built a fire. Astrid had brought an iron broiling rack that she placed over several large stones and we had our own barbecued beef strips from the cooler along with foil wrapped baked potatoes and carrots.
I had bought several bottles of Shiraz at the airport and we opened one of these and had our own feast, eating reclined on our sides as in eastern fashion, passing the bottle and admiring the stars.
Virgo was there, of course, which Astrid referred to as Libra—Promising, I thought.
She sighed as looked skyward. “Did I tell you Walker made another discovery on an ancient map: a village called Nodqui?”
“You’re kidding? The place where Cain was exiled after murdering Abel?”
She smiled dreamily. “In the land of Nod, which is east of Eden. Isn’t that romantic?”
I looked at her hair backlit by the fire and her bronzed skin golden from the flames. “It certainly is romantic,” I said.
Shortly afterwards, we unrolled our sleeping bags and curled up beside one another close to the fire.
The last thing I recalled before drifting off to sleep was a line from an ancient Persian song, “Last night I dreamt the sun and moon kissed each other.”
It was good to be here.