Articles Bam, a Retrievable Iranian Treasure As concerned architects ponder the ways of restoring the ancient city of Bam in southeastern Iran, some will despair at the extent of the havoc caused by the Dec. 26 earthquake. And yet, on closer inspection, they may derive comfort from the very nature of the structures that crumbled. It could be argued that a unique opportunity has arisen to test our ability at sensitively rehabilitating a site of recognized world importance. The miracle that Bam represented did not lie so much in the detail of the magnificent ramparts enclosing the old town or of its many structures, as in what is the true essence of any architecture - volume, space, proportion and rhythm, site occupation. Add the materials - the nuances of Iranian clay, the pale salmony hue of the flat bricks and, occasionally, the delicate surfacing in off-white fine plaster (gesso, to use the word derived from the Persian "gach" via Arabic and Italian). Not least in the unique make-up of Bam was the fact that it was unpolluted by the savage destruction of the urban environment that came about in the Middle East as a result of 19th- and 20th-century development. Effectively abandoned more than 100 years ago, the old city suffered none of the disfiguring Westernizing additions of which the later Qajar kings were fond and was spared the straight avenues driven through the old urban tissue under their self-proclaimed successor, Shah Reza Pahlavi. In the main, Bam survived as a forgotten time capsule, dominated by its citadel believed to date largely from Safavid times (1501-1722). This stronghold on the international overland road leading from India to the Ottoman Empire remained virtually untouched until its "rediscovery" in the 1950's for the benefit of tourism.Walking through the quadrangular courtyard of its caravansary surrounded on all four sides by archways, or glancing at the small rounded domes crowning square constructions, the traveler caught a uniquely unadulterated vision of an Iranian city from past centuries. Seen from within the city, the scenery in the distance was equally breathtaking. In the late autumn or early spring, the snow-capped mountains rose above layers of cold mists beyond the castellations that topped the city walls. While most of the superstructure is now damaged, what made Bam a gem essentially remains. Much of it can be retrieved. The ground plan is visible, the lower portions of many walls still stand, the space is the same. The scenery is there. If care is taken to put to work traditional brick makers and brick layers, masons and plasterers whose skills are intact in many parts of Iran, the miracle of an acceptable reconstruction is not beyond human reach. Had the disaster hit a major urban center with sophisticated monuments, the chances of successful restoration would be slim. Ambitious repair work has mostly varied from poor to catastrophic in Iran. A disturbing example is the quasi reconstruction of the Gowharshad Mosque in Mashhad, a gem of 15th century architecture. And in Tabriz, the delightful mosque and mausoleum complex of Sayed Hamzeh, dating from the early 14th century, has been hideously tampered with. Yet, where traditional methods are employed, the outcome can be remarkable. In September 2000, I was shown around some of the monuments in Isfahan by a very eminent architect then in charge of them, Ahmad Montazer. As we went through a vaulted passage in fine Safavid style, I asked who had restored it; it was too neat to have come through four centuries in this immaculate condition. With barely a hint of a smile, Montazer said that he had built it in the late 1990's. A covered passage was desirable to link two areas. The architect explained he had used what space was available. Montazer's unique background in part accounts for this stylistic feat. He was first trained in Isfahan as a traditional architect, mastering every required skill including the practice of monumental square Kufic calligraphy. He then studied architecture in the Western curriculum, which had just been introduced. His double formation allowed him to assess the respective merits of both traditions and to avoid misusing methods where irrelevant. What can be achieved in a sophisticated context should be easier to repeat on the more modest level of Bam. It is a question of harnessing the right craftsmen's skills while paying constant attention to the work in progress. The end result might come reasonably close to the appearance of the city before the earthquake; it, too, had been substantially restored. While some monuments require special attention, success to a large extent is conceivable. A world fund should be set up without delay if UNESCO is to retain any credibility. A steering council is a necessity. Iran has already allocated $25 million for the restoration. There is no lack of competence in Iran. Several names spring to mind. A man of the caliber of Montazer, who is now a lecturer in the Art College in Isfahan, is desperately needed. The great scholar Iraj Afshar, who recorded the monuments of Yazd in his three-volume "Yadegarha-ye Yazd," and Chahryar Adle, the historian with the National Center for Scientific Research, in France, who was trained as an architect and is currently overseeing the restoration of a 12th-century mausoleum at Zowzan, would be obvious candidates if available. Restoring old Bam can only be a long haul, if the job is not to be botched. In the mosque only four pillars and the walls still stand. Two years, as some hope in Iran? Ten at the very least, if not twice as long. The reconstruction of modern Bam should make allowances for the slow rehabilitation of this cultural treasure, if only because, ultimately, its success or failure will have a decisive impact on the new city and the welfare of its population. The two undertakings must go together. One without the other is inconceivable. Here, too, is a unique opportunity of expressing world solidarity other than in hollow words. Will that chance be seized? Source: International Herald Tribune