Tomy and the Planet of Lies by Erich von Däniken Page B

called Agri Daği and its 5165-meter high peak is covered in snow the whole year round. This legendary mountain lies at a politically delicate location, where three countries meet: Turkey, Iran, and what was then the Soviet Union, now Armenia. I asked Tomy if he knew the story of Noah’s Ark. Of course, his biblical knowledge encompassed everything I had learned up until the age of twenty-two, he reminded me, so he knew of the supposed relationship between Noah and this mountain. I explained how Noah, in the 601st year and 27th day of his life had stranded his Ark on this very peak.
    â€œAnd?” Tomy and Marc enquired simultaneously, “Have you found his Ark then?”
    â€œIt’s not that simple, not least because the political situation,” I explained. “Every time a group of researchers has believed it has found traces of the Ark, they disappear back into the ice. The Armenians consider the mountain to be a holy site. They tell how a Kurdish shepherd boy once found the Ark while searching for a lost sheep. After hearing what he thought was the sheep’s bell up around the snow line, he had climbed up higher to investigate. Night fell quicker than he was expecting, catching him completely by surprise, so he crawled into a small cave washed round by melted water from the glacier and went to sleep. As day broke, he awoke to find a crack in the glacier a little more than 40 meters from where he had been sleeping. From out of this fissure the frozen faces of many different animals stared out at him, including a camel, two bears, two sheep, two goats, a pair of each one including gazelles and lions. The lad couldn’t believe what he was seeing and was sure this must be some kind of waking dream. He rubbed his eyes and clambered a little way higher up the side of the fissure. There he found large, gray-brown stones arranged in strange patterns. As he got closer to them, he realized that these were not stones but old timbers which resembled the bow of a ship.”
    Marc and Tomy had listened the whole while in rapt silence, but now came the first question: “And why hasn’t someone gone up there to check out the story?”
    â€œMany have tried,” I answered, “but listen to how the story continues. The shepherd boy knew nothing of the story of Noah’s Ark. That evening, as he returned to his village, he excitedly told his story of the ship buried in the ice. The devout Moslems there didn’t laugh at his tale and the village holy man praised Allah, who had given this poor boy the honor of discovering Noah’s Ark. A few weeks later, when the weather had improved, four men from the village took the shepherd boy back up to the glacier, but the lad couldn’t find the spot. The ice had shifted and the position of fissure had changed completely.”
    â€œWhat? That’s it?” Tomy asked, as if he thought I was pulling his leg. “Hasn’t anyone been able to find this Ark since then? Something that is so important for your culture?”
    It was a long story, and I knew it because I had been on the quest myself at one point. And I warned my companions, but they absolutely wanted to know more about Mount Ararat. So be it. We were sitting under the shade of some trees in a Turkish restaurant; the owner and his family turned out to be very willing hosts. Peppers stuffed with rice, raw carrots, and cucumber sticks were all brought to our table. Then came charbroiled lamb, burnt chicken (which I particularly liked), some kind of chopped meat, braised onions, and spicy chilies. From between the trees, we had a wonderful view of Ararat’s snow-capped peak. At this altitude, the land was in bloom; children with wide eyes and dirty aprons watched us while we ate, whispered, giggled, and then scattered, screeching with laughter. I knew from personal experience that children—from Egypt to Turkey—always needed ballpoint pens, so we gave them all we