Why the climate panic?

Daily we are told that we are wicked to burn fossil fuels.  The carbon dioxide which is inevitably emitted accumulates in the atmosphere and the result is "climate change." If the stories are to believed, large areas of the world will become uninhabitable, either through drought or flood. Crops will wither, rivers will dry up, polar bears will disappear and malaria will become rampant.

You know, it is a big "IF". We could waste zillions for nothing.  Indeed, a zealot called Lord Stern has estimated that it would be worth spending a few trillion dollars each year to avoid a possible disaster in 200 years' time. Because he is associated with the London School of Economics he is believed - by those whose experience of insurance is limited. It is not worth insuring against something that might happen in 200 years time - we will all be dead and beyond caring.

So I decided to examine the hypothesis from first principles. 

1. There are five steps to the hypothesis:The observation that the carbon dioxide (CO₂) content of the atmosphere is rising. 
2. The observation that the rise in CO₂ in the atmosphere is largely paralleled by the increase in fossil fuel combustion. Combustion of fossil fuels clearly results in emission of CO₂, so it is eminently reasonable to link the two increases. 
3. The observation that CO₂ can scatter infra-red over wavelengths primarily at about 15 µm.  Infra-red of that wavelength, which should be carrying energy away from the planet, is scattered back into the lower troposphere, where the added energy input should cause an increase in the temperature. A photon of about 15µm wavelength absorbed by a CO₂ molecule is almost instantaneously re-emitted in a different direction with a slight loss of energy. The CO₂ molecule gains a very small amount of energy in the process, insufficient to raise its temperature significantly. This explanation is somewhat simplistic, because the whole of the troposphere is radiating, and because the temperature drops with altitude, at about 10^oC/km for dry air and 6^oC/km for moist air. The height of thermal equilibrium is about 5km above sea level, which is why the surface is about 6x5 = 30^oC warmer than it would have been if there were no greenhouse effect. 
4.  The expected increase in the energy of the lower troposphere may cause long-term changes in the climate and thermosphere, which will be characterized by increasing frequency and/or magnitude of extreme weather events, an increase in sea temperatures and a reduction in ice cover.
5. These phenomena may make areas of the globe uninhabitable either through extreme drought or flooding in the worst cases, but perhaps more subtly through impacts on the biosphere as a whole to which mankind is unable to adapt.

 Thus in this first post I look at the observations of the carbon dioxide (CO₂) content of the atmosphere; in four subsequent ones I will examine each of the other steps.

The observations of the increase in CO₂ in the atmosphere are incontrovertible. There has been continuous observation from the Mauna Loa observatory since 1958:

 The annual rise and fall is due to deciduous plants growing or resting, depending on the season.  But it is clear that the long-term trend is ever increasing levels of CO2 in the atmosphere.

Before 1958, there were only sporadic measurements of CO2. Nevertheless they give a clear indication that there was minimal change in the atmosphere before about 1850:

 

There was a slight surge in atmospheric levels from about 1910, then a period of near stasis until after 1950, when there was a strong and ongoing increase which has continued to this day.

Remember this pattern - it will re-appear in a different guise in our next post.

THE END OF THE AFFAIR

Late in the evening we headed out of Tehran to the new airport way to the south. We passed a new building, full of gilding and minarets, ablaze with light. "Huh!" said our driver, "Monument to the late Ayatollah. Thought we could forget him!"

All was well until we had passed through the final security check, which required that the men remove their watches, belts, shoes, and anything else metal. There I stood, holding up my trousers and clutching my belongings when a chair hove in view - a normal, stackable plastic chair. With relief I plumped myself down, and started to put on my shoes. One shoe was on, and I was bent double, tieing the laces, when a pair of feet appeared, attached to a man standing in front of me. I paid no attention until one foot moved and kicked my loose shoe away. I reached out to bring it back, when the same foot kicked my arm. This was no accident! I looked up, and there was an Iranian policemen, signalling that I should leave ‘his’ chair. When I indicated that I would soon have my other shoe on, he made as if to loosen his revolver. Apoplectic with rage, I hobbled away to where Angela was sitting. "For two weeks, people have been saying ‘Welcome to Iran’, and we have no sooner left the place than some religious nut comes and ruins it all!"

And that really was the message from Iran. The people were charming, hospitable and friendly. Every one we met loathed the authorities. The authorities treated the people as if they were dirt, and that feeling ran through the entire system until it even reached the police and other functionaries. There was a reaction against the entire system. It showed even in the empty mosques - you only have to compare the scene inside the great mosque in Damascus with that inside the Iman mosque in Esfahan. The one is crowded, the other empty - same time of day, same day of the week, same time of the religious year. One of our Iranain acquaintances said it was due to the religious police driving people into the mosques - so they wouldn't go willingly, but gave those places where the religious police were active a wide berth.

We were also stuck by the relatively lowly place enjoyed by civil authorities. At sunset, there would be a television broadcast ending the fast for the day. One such broadcast was from a large mosque packed with white-turbaned mullahs. Suddenly, several rows back and off-centre, was a familiar face - President Ahmadi Nejad. As far as the religious were concerned, he clearly took a back seat!

And Iran was the only place in the Middle East where the Traveller was required to be "properly" clad - hair completely hidden under a scarf, arms covered to the wrists, legs to the ankle, bum in a bag. One could not help reflecting on what was wrong with these men, that they thought they could be protected from their animal senses by a bit of cloth!

Iranian food was also a bit of a shock. The Arab food of Jordan and Syria was really good. The food of Iran was decidedly monotonous and often downright bad. After a week or so of overcooked stew with rice, we spotted trout on the menu. Relief, we thought. But what was served was a travesty. Some historically excellent fish had been filleted, dipped in a thick batter, deep-fried in old oil, then frozen and half revived in a microwave just before serving.

However, there was a flip side. The cost of living in Iran was really low. An overnight, first-class train ticket from Esfahan to Tehran cost all of $2. A chauffered car for the day cost $130 including lunch and a big tip for the driver.

Then there was the sheer pride of the Iranians - in their people, in their history, and in their culture. Yes, of course we knew that Greek architecture owed everything to the Persians; and naturally the Greeks had been seen as savages when they burst into the Persian world. As for Alexander - he was nothing but a robber baron. It was a rather endearing trait, the strength of the belief in the absolute excellence of all things Persian. And when it found its expression in veneration of 17th century poets, it was all the more admirable. Yet one could not help feeling that isolation caused by sanctions had much to do with fostering these feelings, and that if sanctions were to go, and religion were to take a more normal place in everyday life, Iran could really play a significant role in world affairs.

Homecoming via the hospitable Qatar Air was a pleasure, even if Doha remained awfully hot!

DAMAVAND

We took the overnight train from Esfahan to Tehran. The station, a long way from the centre of Esfahan, was a splendid structure, rather along the lines of a modern airport. We seemed to have 6 tickets, and indeed that was precisely what we had, because a whole carriage had been booked for us. Not only did we get the carriage to ourselves, but we also got 6 sets of bedding, 6 cups of tea, 6 ---. The bedding itself was a pleasure, white linen sheets embroidered with lilac flowers, pillow case to match, and adequate blankets.


When dawn came I rose to see Tehran as we entered. It was your average industrial city. At one point we passed miles of pipeline clearly destined for the oil industry. I was about to photograph it when I noticed watchtowers - obviously military and therefore verboten. Then there were large tracts planted with young trees, much as we had seen around Damascus. Is this the Middle East's answer to global warming?

Arrival at Tehran's main station was uneventful, and we soon found a driver. Why did it seem so quiet? Last night in Esfahan they had been celebrating Eid, the end of Ramazhan. "Oh no!" we were told,"That was just those Saudi's jumping the gun. Our mullahs haven't yet seen the moon." We groaned, for it meant that, yet again, Tehran was closed for the day.

Nothing daunted, we rented a car and driver for the day and headed for the hills. The mountains to the north of Tehran are very high, and about 50km to the east was the highest peak in Iran, Damavand, 5671m above sea level.

But first, there was a problem with petrol. One of the world's primary sources of crude oil has to ration petrol. We were told this arose from two problems - first, Iran's refineries were small and old; and secondly, the mullahs were hogging all the gasoline and selling it cheaply to the Turks, making a killing for themselves. As a result, the average citizen was restricted to a maximum of 100 litres per month. Our driver had to borrow his sister's car, because he had used most of his allowance.


Finally we were off, a broad highway through the suburbs, and eventually over a series of passes in the foothills. Then a run along the southern flank of the mountains, passing through many small towns, before we reached a huge intersection where we turned north over a high pass. On the far side we plunged down towards the Caspian Sea, some 30km away, and there ahead of us was the great mountain:

On we went, with our driver certain that he would find the side road leading to high on the mountain. But no, we went deeper and deeper:

Finally we stopped at a charming mountain stream, with icy water coming from the glaciers high above:There we turned back, and finally found the side road. It led over a high hill, and looking back we had a view almost of Switzerland, with charming houses and snowy peaks away to the south:We dropped down into another valley, where there was a hot spring, and hundreds of Iranian families out enjoying the clear mountain air with their children, and celebrating a religious holiday well away from the prying eyes of the religious police (or so our driver assured us!) On and up we went:

At the highest point we reached, a dirt track was signposted "Base hut - 400m" so up we strolled, definitely feeling the altitude, and equally definitely feeling decidedly cooler than we had been several hours before. The views got better, but we got worse, and all too soon it was time to turn back.

We tried to take a pretty road past some lakes, but the road was only open in summer, and now the military had closed it off. We then found our way over new passes, some with fine houses alongside what were obviously ski runs in winter, and others with very alpine-feeling lodges. Eventually we dropped down to the plains and the heat and the road back to Tehran.

The traffic was thick, and the going slow. The driver of a car stopped next to us pulled out a tape, and stuck it in the deck of his radio. "Oomdah, oomdah, oom-di-di-oom dah" we heard - just audibly, even with the car windows open. A little later there were sirens, and the car was pulled over by uniformed police. "Idiot man!" said our driver, "He should know better than to play that sort of music in public.

ESFAHAN Continued

In the morning we strolled through the streets of Esfahan, and came to the Palace of Hasht Behesht. (Don’t try that when being tested for inebriation!)

It was set in marvellous gardens, green and lush after the desert we had been travelling through. We soon discovered the secret - copious quantites of a very noisome nightsoil fertilized the plants! The roof was wonderfully decorated:Strolling on a little further, we came to the Chehel Soutan palace, dating from 1647. It too sat in a great garden, but somewhat more approachable in this case!It also had a wonderfully decorated roof:While inside there were vast murals celebrating famous victories. This was the Karnal war between Nader Shah and the Indian King Mohammad Goorkani, near Delhi in 1740 AD: We strolled on through the city, which was a very pleasant place, with tree-lined avenues and fountains at many intersections. Eventually we came out into Iman Square. This is a view to the north-east, with the rows of shops and the Sheik Lotfollah mosque on the far side:On the right was the entrance to the great Iman mosque:The entrance was parallel to the south-east side of the square, but just inside the entrance was a great bowl, at which point the whole alignment changed so that the main mosque ran true along the line facing Mecca:Within the mosque, the arches were a delight to the eye, and the tiling was a riot of colour:

One was drawn to look higher and yet higher, and finally, craning almost backwards, the final explosion of colour almost drove one off balance:

The outside was, if anything, even more beautiful:

We strolled across the square to the Sheik Lotfollah mosque, which was on an altogether different scale from the Imam Mosque. The grand portal led into a narrow, twisting passage and so into the mosque itself. The Lotfollah was built around 1620, for the especial use of the Shah’s harem. It showed a far more restrained decoration than the Iman mosque. Was this a reflection of the feminine influence?

Outside in the square, the sun was lowering, and a couple gossiped while the fountains played:At the Si-o-Se (33 arches) bridge over the Zayandeh river, the people of Esfahan strolled, played on boats, and cooled down:

We crossed the bridge. and watched the sunset, before going for a final celebratory dinner to end our visit to Esfahan.

ESFAHAN

We caught the bus for Esfahan. We had been warned never to take photographs of anything in particular - the mullahs are very security conscious - and this view from our bus, about 50km from Esfahan, was about as full of nothingness as one could wish:
Was that mud village in the middle distance inhabited? Was it a military establishment? We never did find out, but there was the thrill of taking an 'illegal' photograph, and that was all we could desire.


It was late in the afternoon when we finally arrived in Esfahan. Then we set out to explore. Our first stop was Esfahan’s great Jameh Mosque:
Yes, it was marvellous - but where were all the people? This wasn't Damascus, with a warm welcome from everyone we met. Here there were few, and the few seemed to be travellers like ourselves. Cautiously, we approached the mosque. No, we were informed - I could enter, but the Traveller was definitely Not Admitted. So in I went, to find a silent mausoleum, with the faithful snoozing while a cleric intoned:
The enduring memory is the smell of unwashed feet, and of a divine addressing to a sleeping congregation. I reflected that in the Anglican churches they also slept, but did so decently, bolt upright in pews. Or was it my sense of decency that was mildly outraged?

We carried on our exploration. A side alley led to a winter mosque, low and therefore easy to heat:
In a small courtyard just outside the Winter Mosque was one of Islam’s greatest treasures - a stucco mihrab covered in Quranic inscriptions and flowers, dating from the 14th century: At the northern end of the huge square in front of the Jameh mosque is the Taj al-Malk dome, 900 years old and made entirely of brick, which has survived numerous major earthquakes intact. Inside, the pillars leaned in different directions, making the whole thing look very unstable:However, parts of the tower had a very church-like feel about them, and it was quite difficult to realise one was NOT in some English cathedral:All good mosques must come to an end, and we strolled back through the huge souk, getting a good feel for the place over a distance of some 2km. Finally we emerged onto one of Esfahan's glories, a 400m-long converted polo ground, ringed by a beautiful facade of shops, punctuated by amazing mosques. Great fountains jetted in the setting sun, and buggies plied for hire. This was the Imam Square or Naqsh-e Jahan.

YAZD

The road from Shiraz to Yazd started along the route to Perspolis, but after half-an-hour we passed that turnoff and were rolling through new territory. We crossed a mountain range, then dropped down to a flat, barren plain. The bus had a built-in DVD player, and if we got too bored we could always watch domestic drama, Persian-style. It was incredibly dated, with acting that owed a lot to silent movie days, so it didn't matter in the least that we couldn't understand a word of Pars.

The bus stopped at a mosque for a comfort break. Because washing in running water is such a feature of Islam, the public toilets are close to the mosques - and, at 'our' mosque, there was even a small shop selling snacks.

We came to a cross roads, and turned west. Soon there were more mountains, and this time with high passes, and signs warning that vehicles should use chains when snow was around. The road was quite narrow, and other buses and lorries rushed past only inches away, and hooted at every bend (of which there were plenty!) Down to a fertile plain, with prosperous farms and extensive irrigation, and very high mountains all round, stark in the clear air. The plain came to an end, and we dropped further down a long valley with views over an interminable desert ahead. At the valley's end, we reached Yazd, home of the Zoroasteran religion.

Our residence was a surprise. The taxi pulled down a dusty side lane, where we passed some collapsed mud houses, and we reached an even dustier square with a yellow notice painted on the red mud wall:We need not have worried - through the door and down a flight of steps we came to a cool courtyard with a tinkling fountain in a pool, and roses, and divans on which one could recline:Looking down on the courtyard was a spectacular dome, covering the mausoleum of Bogheh-ye Seyed Roknaddin:A stroll down the dusty street, and we turned a corner, to come face to face with the 50m minarets of the 15th century Jamieh Mosque. The loudspeakers would awake us at 4 a.m. and the sound would continue for at least an hour - that was the greatest disadvantage of touring during Ramazahn, as the period was known locally:It glistened in the sun, to hide some of the detail, but a close up showed the incredible workmanship:We wandered through the ancient back streets, too narrow for cars, with mud walls on every side, and dark archways with blind turnings that suddenly led onto small squares where children played. Some houses were open to the public and held surprises:The tower in the background is a badgir, or "wind-catcher". It draws cool air down into the house, and removes warm air, and has to be the most energy efficient method of air-conditioning ever invented. Add to that the divan sitting above the pool and fountains, and even hot weather can be bearable.

Another surprise was the house known as Khan-e Lari, with its beautiful stained-glass doors:It also boasted a mirrored room with pinups of bosomy ladies in long skirts leaning against penny-farthing bicycles! Nearby, the clean lines and simple decoration of the dome on the school known as Alexander’s Prison (15th Century)were a marked contrast to the exuberance of other domes we encountered:At length we escaped from the warren of tiny streets and mud buildings onto the main streets of Yazd. Suddenly, towering over all, was the huge Hazireh Mosque towering over us:An exploration of the local bazaar led down dark alleyways, in one of which a sign said"Mallek-o Tojjar Hotel." A low passage, several bends, a bicycle leaning incongruously against a beautiful old door, and suddenly we were in the courtyard of Yazd’s finest restaurant:The food was very good - by Persian standards! We were getting rather tired of lamb stew with rice, even when tarted up with pomegranate juice.

Refreshed, we went in search of the "Water Museum", with a fascinating display of the construction of a qanat, or underground river bringing water from a distant spring to the home. This arch sat above doors leading to the underground wells:

The Bagh-e Doulat Abad garden was described in glowing terms, so the Traveller just had to see it. A wonderful entrance led to a pavilion crowned by the world’s tallest badgir: Sadly, the rest of the garden left a lot to be desired, and much had been totally neglected. Our explorations were interrupted by a very officious official who warned us in unmistakeable terms that we should go no further down an open path - for reasons that were not in the least apparent! Defeated, we retreated.

PERSEPOLIS

Early in the day, we set forth for Persepolis, about 50km north-east of Shiraz, in the car of our guide. We drove over a pass in the hills, and found ourselves on an open plain, extensively irrigated, with fields of maize and rice. Another line of hills, and a broad river crossing; then a thriving village with ramshackle workshops along the road, but ambitious homes built on top of the workshops in a rather surreal way. Our driver dropped us at a barricade, agreeing to meet us in four hours time. Ahead was a high retaining wall built out of massive blocks, with a broad flight of steps. Up we went, and entered another world from another time. Massive and now headless beasts guarded the gate. Heroic figures stood guard, ready to pounce at the first threat.The carving on the stone was incredibly detailed and well preserved. We found the imagery striking - these creatures may have lost some of their parts, but they still gave a clear message:Tall pillars had magnificant capitals, clearly showing where the roof beams had been supported. The height of the spaces created must have been striking:Down at ground level, bas relief sculture was everywhere. What these fine figures were holding up, we never did discover:There was also a marvellous museum on the site, housed in a re-creation of some of the palace rooms. One of the joys was being able to photograph the objects. I talked to a curator, who said "They have lasted for 2 700 years. I think they are almost indestructible." This cat was showing some signs of wear and tear, but still magnificent:

I knew Red Bull was popular, but I had no idea it had been around for so long:While this bird could really show the way on a dark night:

Back on the site, we admired a wonderful staircase, with hundreds of foreign visitors bringing tribute from many lands. The staircase has comparatively recently been discovered, and an archeologist was making detailed drawings of each figure:

Then there was a large collection of halls, where one could imagine Alexander and his merry men laying waste - they evidently took camel loads of gold from the palace when it fell:All too soon, our time was up. Our curiosity might be insatiable, but our legs were tired. Darius' lion, minus ears, showed us off!A pleasant ride back to Shiraz, and a late afternoon bit of retail therapy in the souk, brought an end to the day.