introduction This book is dedicated to Ivan Bonfanti and Paolo Vittone
At first we kept count of the churches, monasteries and houses that hosted us, then we lost it along the way. What is left is Rifugio, the story of an intimate and deep journey. Two years, seven months and ten days have passed since the dawn of June 21st 2011, the day we left Trieste on our bus. We went to Iran, crossing Serbia, Bulgaria and Turkey. It was a slow journey – as slow as our approach to this adventure. During New Year’s evening mass 2011, an explosion destroyed the Saints Church in Alexandria. Twenty-one Christians died. The story appeared in Western newspapers and on television, but after a few days the media’s attention faded. We felt the need to know more. We wanted to get to know these millennial communities and give witness to their experience after the media exit. So we left, to discover stories, families and villages in their everyday lives. We were looking for the heirs of the evangelists and the first pilgrims. In some cases have retraced and followed their steps, crossing the borderlands that divided Paganism from Christianity. Maku in Iran, Deir Abu Hennis in Egypt, and the Turkish Antiochia are tiny points on the atlas, but they are the vestiges of a journey that has reached us after two millennia. We never left the house, we only explored other rooms. We arrived at Qara Kilise church, Iran, thanks to a book we found by chance a few weeks before departure, in Rome, in a library that is now gone. We read about the Armenian pilgrimage to a particular church lost in the mountains between Iran, Turkey and Azerbaijan. We left at night, aboard a bus loaded with people and luggage. On the lawn in front of the church they gave us a tent which was stolen by a storm soon after. So they welcomed us in a room inside the monastery, but the regime’s local officials didn’t want foreigners and Iranians sharing the same accommodation. So we slept in the church that dated back to 60 ad. We laid out some blankets and moved a bench to the side to avoid disturbing the devotees who took turns all night to pray. We spent three nights like this. It was possibly the most truthful beginning for our trip. A few
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introduction This book is dedicated to Ivan Bonfanti and Paolo Vittone
At first we kept count of the churches, monasteries and houses that hosted us, then we lost it along the way. What is left is Rifugio, the story of an intimate and deep journey. Two years, seven months and ten days have passed since the dawn of June 21st 2011, the day we left Trieste on our bus. We went to Iran, crossing Serbia, Bulgaria and Turkey. It was a slow journey – as slow as our approach to this adventure. During New Year’s evening mass 2011, an explosion destroyed the Saints Church in Alexandria. Twenty-one Christians died. The story appeared in Western newspapers and on television, but after a few days the media’s attention faded. We felt the need to know more. We wanted to get to know these millennial communities and give witness to their experience after the media exit. So we left, to discover stories, families and villages in their everyday lives. We were looking for the heirs of the evangelists and the first pilgrims. In some cases have retraced and followed their steps, crossing the borderlands that divided Paganism from Christianity. Maku in Iran, Deir Abu Hennis in Egypt, and the Turkish Antiochia are tiny points on the atlas, but they are the vestiges of a journey that has reached us after two millennia. We never left the house, we only explored other rooms. We arrived at Qara Kilise church, Iran, thanks to a book we found by chance a few weeks before departure, in Rome, in a library that is now gone. We read about the Armenian pilgrimage to a particular church lost in the mountains between Iran, Turkey and Azerbaijan. We left at night, aboard a bus loaded with people and luggage. On the lawn in front of the church they gave us a tent which was stolen by a storm soon after. So they welcomed us in a room inside the monastery, but the regime’s local officials didn’t want foreigners and Iranians sharing the same accommodation. So we slept in the church that dated back to 60 ad. We laid out some blankets and moved a bench to the side to avoid disturbing the devotees who took turns all night to pray. We spent three nights like this. It was possibly the most truthful beginning for our trip. A few
˜ 7˜