An American landscape architect tries to come to grips with his new job—greening a new town in the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia. He meets a Belgian, an old hand familiar with the Arabian Peninsula. Then over glasses of non-alcoholic grape juice,… they talk.
THE SECOND BOTTLE
The Belgian old hand, JeanClaude, began, “When I read your Moroccan writings, I was intrigued by your explanation of human suffering with a unique turn of phrase, ‘…threw the baby out with the alchemical bath water’. In part, that is why I am here, mon ami.
“You are a landscape architect, into ethnobotany and alchemy. You are a rare animal. West Africa. North Africa, Arabian Peninsula. Those all have ancient roots in the landscape.
“Let us stick with your writings for the present. The road to Santiago de Compostela that your good friend was about to follow has an established alchemical history, revealing secrets to Nicolas Flamel. We should not get into too many details.”
I listened. I had never found a professor at university or a professional colleague interested in discussing these topics.
JeanClaude continued, “Why do you think there is so much confusing and contradictory information about alchemists and alchemical research?”
He paused. I sensed that was a rhetorical question. I was right.
“I will tell you, mon ami. Portals. Your portals—you had difficulty describing what actually happened to your consciousness when traversing your plant portals—why? Because they are what alchemists were working with—what they were trying to explain and learn about. Isn’t that in your colloquialism ‘some heavy shit’?”
I said nothing as all he said began sinking in.
“The alchemists’ allegory? Plants changing human perceptions, plants causing human transmutation. And so, here we are. The Arabian Peninsula, rich in everything but soils and water. Rich? You may wonder? I am not talking about sand, oil or minerals.”
He paused, then said, “Before we go further, CJ, let’s open that second bottle of grape juice.”
“I used to drink grape juice as a kid but it was so different, Welch’s, it was called.”
“Concord grapes, Vitis labrusca, CJ—native to North America. That’s what you were drinking. These are European, Vitis vinifera.”
“Let’s get back to the Arabian Peninsula and its landscape.”
“Patience, my friend, we were speaking of millennia of human existential explorations, not one of your project presentations to the Saudi Royal Commission.
“Roots. The roots of this peninsula have traceable linguistic identification including Arabic, Latin, Greek, Persian and Egyptian. They all have been blended and explored by the people of this peninsula. Deep and rich.”
And I thought my time in Morocco got into deep roots. I said, “Do you not blend landscape roots with cultural roots when you define ethnobotany?”
“Exactly, mon ami. Let me tell you about the Emerald Tablet—the link between this peninsula, the Greeks and the Egyptians.”
“Emerald Tablet?” I asked.
“Yes, it is simple, mon ami, and it is non-different from what you learned in Tangier. It is simple—the answers are in the green.”
“Answers?”
“Maybe I should say, the path is in the green. Deep history is riddled with unexplained events, don’t you agree?”
I nodded.
“There is no need to hide from anything—answers and strength are in the green. Just do it. Just follow the path and you will find your strength and answers. Even the Saudi flag is green—why? Where did that come from?”
I asked, “But what about this project, this peninsula…”
He knew this question was coming. “We are getting there, mon ami, we are getting there. This peninsula is old and rich very unusually. It is multi-layered puzzles within the beauty of Bedouin-spoken Arabic. Its written and unwritten contain a deep feeling of intimacy with nature in the Arabian deserts—vivid imagery, exact observation, and shape-shifting unknown sources generating a bottomless… endless… timeless reality.
“You would do well to hold that as the base as you develop a green city amid this desert.”
This was a funny conversation. It was vague, but encouraging.
“So let me say that I have read Alan’s notes about your complaints.”
JeanClaude paused and looked me straight in the eyes before continuing, “…no plants, no nurseries, no horticultural skills—that is your work. What are you thinking is your job? Get a suntan?”
I thought I saw a smug grin forming from the corners of his eyes. He moved ahead saying, “Those are problems for you to solve. Listen, my friend, build a city botanical garden, build a city nursery, start a joint program with a university and a trade school, hunt for and propagate native plants—do not try to tell me nothing grows here—the rare native plants are all drought or salt tolerant—find them, work with them, and start a local irrigation test facility. Set up those programs and I can assure the funds for your company’s operating budget.” Then he paused.
He had quickly opened a bunch of doors I hadn’t even seen. I felt a growing enthusiasm for my work. Then just as quickly, he became socially collegial again.
“We have not finished the grape juice or this conversation yet. You wanted more that related to your projects? Let us look at oases. Tell me what you know.”
“Oases? They are undependable sources of water that can support date palms and minor agriculture when they are fresh. They are geologic/geotechnical phenomena related to slow fluctuations in the water table.”
“Close enough. Now let me enrich that with historical stories from before the mu’allaqaat (sands stories that attach themselves to the heart).
“The mu’allaqaat are written. What I am about to explain are oral only. You know the bible story of Lazarus?”
“I know what I learned in Sunday school… years ago. Tell me.”
“Jesus brought back the dead Lazarus to life. I will say a little more because oases, here in this land so very rich in existential history, are still a magnetic energy. They reach back to a time before our current world—knowledgeable people from the Indian subcontinent speak of those times as the age of truth. But in recent millennia many people speak of oases as scattered places where grievous injuries and diseases can be cured.
“Some say these oases were part of civilisation prior to the whispering sands. Due to bad behaviour, abuse toward others and abuse of the landscape, humans were cursed to become djinns. And the djinns who did malfeasant, if I can translate with flexibility to English, are known as the league of shadows.”
“But most important for your work, mon ami. Listen carefully. The majestic date palms, still found in many oases, are the centres of Bedouin family life. They are the remnants from that prior civilisation. Never take oases or date palms lightly. They are environmental touchstones (baraka) for the Arabian Peninsula people.”
If I wasn’t slack jawed, I sure felt like it. The grape juice was finished and so were our talks.
***
