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For now, the symbolic impact is huge. “Reinventing dairy by removing cows from the equation” was once a science-fiction idea. With Canada’s green light, it’s officially a market reality — and the race to define the future of milk has entered a new phase.

The post Canada gives green light to Remilk’s cloned milk appeared first on Green Prophet.

Two thousand years ago, all roads led to Rome. Now, thanks to modern data science, they finally do again — this time in high resolution. A newly released digital atlas Itiner-e what they call a “Google Maps for Roman roads.”It is being hailed as a kind of “Google Maps for the ancient world”, charting nearly 300,000 kilometres of Roman roads across Europe, the Middle East, and North Africa. The project stitches together countless archaeological and historical datasets into a single interactive network, revealing the sheer scale of the viae Romanae that once bound the empire together.

At its peak around AD 150, the Roman Empire stretched from Britain’s Hadrian’s Wall to the banks of the Euphrates, from the Atlas Mountains to the Black Sea. Its lifeblood was the road — engineered with stone, gravel, and astonishing precision — that carried soldiers, grain, ideas, and empire itself. But despite centuries of scholarship and excavation, our understanding of this network has remained incomplete.

Although the roads are one of the best-known aspects of Roman history, it’s surprising how many details about them we still don’t know. According to the new dataset, the locations of only 3% of Roman roads are known with certainty; the rest have been inferred from satellite imagery, topographical analysis, and fragmentary archaeological evidence.

The map, created through a collaboration of classicists, GIS specialists, and open-data archivists, pulls together previously siloed regional studies — from Britain’s Watling Street to Israel’s Via Maris — into a single digital ecosystem. Each route can be explored interactively, complete with estimated construction dates, trade significance, and terrain context.

For ordinary viewers, it’s a revelation — a chance to visualize how Rome’s engineers carve through deserts, mountains, and marshes to keep an empire alive. It is, quite literally, the skeleton of Western civilization rendered as pixels and coordinates.

But this project isn’t just a nostalgic look backward. It’s also a powerful reminder of what sustainable infrastructure once meant. Roman roads were built to last millennia, with local materials, drainage systems, and low-maintenance stonework that endured centuries of weather and war. Many of today’s highways and rail lines still trace their original foundations. Roman concrete was self-healing and lasts until today.

In an age of asphalt sprawl, potholes, and short-term urban planning, the Roman network offers a strange kind of hope for our future. Ancient engineers designed for permanence and adaptation — concepts that modern infrastructure often neglects. The Romans understood maintenance as a civic duty, with roads meant to connect people, not just move things.

Roman law (Lex Julia Municipalis, 45 BCE) required local communities and landowners to maintain the sections of road passing through their territory. Public funds (the cursus publicus) supported major arteries, showing that upkeep was embedded in governance.

Some sustainability researchers see parallels between the Roman viae and today’s green corridors: both seek to balance movement, resilience, and local ecology.

 

The post Take me home, Roman roads appeared first on Green Prophet.

Remilk, an animal-free cloned milk, hits the market in Israel I once lived on a kibbutz in Israel for a year. The saddest sound I ever heard was a newborn calf crying for its mother. That’s the hidden soundtrack of the dairy industry — cows separated from their calves within hours, udders swollen, pumped with […]

The post Israel’s first cloned milk hits cafés as Remilk and Gad Dairies launch “The New Milk” appeared first on Green Prophet.

Two thousand years ago, all roads led to Rome. Now, thanks to modern data science, they finally do again — this time in high resolution. A newly released digital atlas Itiner-e what they call a “Google Maps for Roman roads.”It is being hailed as a kind of “Google Maps for the ancient world”, charting nearly 300,000 kilometres of Roman roads across Europe, the Middle East, and North Africa. The project stitches together countless archaeological and historical datasets into a single interactive network, revealing the sheer scale of the viae Romanae that once bound the empire together.

At its peak around AD 150, the Roman Empire stretched from Britain’s Hadrian’s Wall to the banks of the Euphrates, from the Atlas Mountains to the Black Sea. Its lifeblood was the road — engineered with stone, gravel, and astonishing precision — that carried soldiers, grain, ideas, and empire itself. But despite centuries of scholarship and excavation, our understanding of this network has remained incomplete.

Although the roads are one of the best-known aspects of Roman history, it’s surprising how many details about them we still don’t know. According to the new dataset, the locations of only 3% of Roman roads are known with certainty; the rest have been inferred from satellite imagery, topographical analysis, and fragmentary archaeological evidence.

The map, created through a collaboration of classicists, GIS specialists, and open-data archivists, pulls together previously siloed regional studies — from Britain’s Watling Street to Israel’s Via Maris — into a single digital ecosystem. Each route can be explored interactively, complete with estimated construction dates, trade significance, and terrain context.

For ordinary viewers, it’s a revelation — a chance to visualize how Rome’s engineers carve through deserts, mountains, and marshes to keep an empire alive. It is, quite literally, the skeleton of Western civilization rendered as pixels and coordinates.

But this project isn’t just a nostalgic look backward. It’s also a powerful reminder of what sustainable infrastructure once meant. Roman roads were built to last millennia, with local materials, drainage systems, and low-maintenance stonework that endured centuries of weather and war. Many of today’s highways and rail lines still trace their original foundations. Roman concrete was self-healing and lasts until today.

In an age of asphalt sprawl, potholes, and short-term urban planning, the Roman network offers a strange kind of hope for our future. Ancient engineers designed for permanence and adaptation — concepts that modern infrastructure often neglects. The Romans understood maintenance as a civic duty, with roads meant to connect people, not just move things.

Roman law (Lex Julia Municipalis, 45 BCE) required local communities and landowners to maintain the sections of road passing through their territory. Public funds (the cursus publicus) supported major arteries, showing that upkeep was embedded in governance.

Some sustainability researchers see parallels between the Roman viae and today’s green corridors: both seek to balance movement, resilience, and local ecology.

 

The post Take me home, Roman roads appeared first on Green Prophet.

Qatar remains a master of doublethink—burning gas by the megaton while selling “sustainability” to a world desperate for clean air. Wake up from your slumber people.

The post Qatar’s climate hypocrisy rides the London Underground appeared first on Green Prophet.

Two thousand years ago, all roads led to Rome. Now, thanks to modern data science, they finally do again — this time in high resolution. A newly released digital atlas Itiner-e what they call a “Google Maps for Roman roads.”It is being hailed as a kind of “Google Maps for the ancient world”, charting nearly 300,000 kilometres of Roman roads across Europe, the Middle East, and North Africa. The project stitches together countless archaeological and historical datasets into a single interactive network, revealing the sheer scale of the viae Romanae that once bound the empire together.

At its peak around AD 150, the Roman Empire stretched from Britain’s Hadrian’s Wall to the banks of the Euphrates, from the Atlas Mountains to the Black Sea. Its lifeblood was the road — engineered with stone, gravel, and astonishing precision — that carried soldiers, grain, ideas, and empire itself. But despite centuries of scholarship and excavation, our understanding of this network has remained incomplete.

Although the roads are one of the best-known aspects of Roman history, it’s surprising how many details about them we still don’t know. According to the new dataset, the locations of only 3% of Roman roads are known with certainty; the rest have been inferred from satellite imagery, topographical analysis, and fragmentary archaeological evidence.

The map, created through a collaboration of classicists, GIS specialists, and open-data archivists, pulls together previously siloed regional studies — from Britain’s Watling Street to Israel’s Via Maris — into a single digital ecosystem. Each route can be explored interactively, complete with estimated construction dates, trade significance, and terrain context.

For ordinary viewers, it’s a revelation — a chance to visualize how Rome’s engineers carve through deserts, mountains, and marshes to keep an empire alive. It is, quite literally, the skeleton of Western civilization rendered as pixels and coordinates.

But this project isn’t just a nostalgic look backward. It’s also a powerful reminder of what sustainable infrastructure once meant. Roman roads were built to last millennia, with local materials, drainage systems, and low-maintenance stonework that endured centuries of weather and war. Many of today’s highways and rail lines still trace their original foundations. Roman concrete was self-healing and lasts until today.

In an age of asphalt sprawl, potholes, and short-term urban planning, the Roman network offers a strange kind of hope for our future. Ancient engineers designed for permanence and adaptation — concepts that modern infrastructure often neglects. The Romans understood maintenance as a civic duty, with roads meant to connect people, not just move things.

Roman law (Lex Julia Municipalis, 45 BCE) required local communities and landowners to maintain the sections of road passing through their territory. Public funds (the cursus publicus) supported major arteries, showing that upkeep was embedded in governance.

Some sustainability researchers see parallels between the Roman viae and today’s green corridors: both seek to balance movement, resilience, and local ecology.

 

The post Take me home, Roman roads appeared first on Green Prophet.

Qatar, the world’s richest LNG exporter, is building its own climate “oversight” system — one that reports to itself. Through its government-run Global Accreditation Bureau and national MRV framework, Doha now claims to monitor, verify, and accredit its own greenhouse-gas emissions. On paper it looks like progress; in reality, it’s self-certified sustainability. With no free press or independent audit, Qatar’s climate watchdog is just another extension of state control. The result is a polished illusion of transparency masking continued gas expansion. As one analyst put it, “Qatar’s climate governance isn’t about measurement — it’s about marketing.”

The post Qatar builds its own oversight mechanism to monitor itself on climate — what could go wrong? appeared first on Green Prophet.

Two thousand years ago, all roads led to Rome. Now, thanks to modern data science, they finally do again — this time in high resolution. A newly released digital atlas Itiner-e what they call a “Google Maps for Roman roads.”It is being hailed as a kind of “Google Maps for the ancient world”, charting nearly 300,000 kilometres of Roman roads across Europe, the Middle East, and North Africa. The project stitches together countless archaeological and historical datasets into a single interactive network, revealing the sheer scale of the viae Romanae that once bound the empire together.

At its peak around AD 150, the Roman Empire stretched from Britain’s Hadrian’s Wall to the banks of the Euphrates, from the Atlas Mountains to the Black Sea. Its lifeblood was the road — engineered with stone, gravel, and astonishing precision — that carried soldiers, grain, ideas, and empire itself. But despite centuries of scholarship and excavation, our understanding of this network has remained incomplete.

Although the roads are one of the best-known aspects of Roman history, it’s surprising how many details about them we still don’t know. According to the new dataset, the locations of only 3% of Roman roads are known with certainty; the rest have been inferred from satellite imagery, topographical analysis, and fragmentary archaeological evidence.

The map, created through a collaboration of classicists, GIS specialists, and open-data archivists, pulls together previously siloed regional studies — from Britain’s Watling Street to Israel’s Via Maris — into a single digital ecosystem. Each route can be explored interactively, complete with estimated construction dates, trade significance, and terrain context.

For ordinary viewers, it’s a revelation — a chance to visualize how Rome’s engineers carve through deserts, mountains, and marshes to keep an empire alive. It is, quite literally, the skeleton of Western civilization rendered as pixels and coordinates.

But this project isn’t just a nostalgic look backward. It’s also a powerful reminder of what sustainable infrastructure once meant. Roman roads were built to last millennia, with local materials, drainage systems, and low-maintenance stonework that endured centuries of weather and war. Many of today’s highways and rail lines still trace their original foundations. Roman concrete was self-healing and lasts until today.

In an age of asphalt sprawl, potholes, and short-term urban planning, the Roman network offers a strange kind of hope for our future. Ancient engineers designed for permanence and adaptation — concepts that modern infrastructure often neglects. The Romans understood maintenance as a civic duty, with roads meant to connect people, not just move things.

Roman law (Lex Julia Municipalis, 45 BCE) required local communities and landowners to maintain the sections of road passing through their territory. Public funds (the cursus publicus) supported major arteries, showing that upkeep was embedded in governance.

Some sustainability researchers see parallels between the Roman viae and today’s green corridors: both seek to balance movement, resilience, and local ecology.

 

The post Take me home, Roman roads appeared first on Green Prophet.

Roshan’s reflection situates the Houston Ismaili Center within a broader discussion about architecture as diplomacy — where aesthetics, faith, and geopolitics intersect. Her words challenge readers to question whether “green” design and grand symbolism can coexist without transparency and accountability.

The post Sustainable Architect Ronak Roshan on the Politics Behind the Houston Ismaili Center appeared first on Green Prophet.

Two thousand years ago, all roads led to Rome. Now, thanks to modern data science, they finally do again — this time in high resolution. A newly released digital atlas Itiner-e what they call a “Google Maps for Roman roads.”It is being hailed as a kind of “Google Maps for the ancient world”, charting nearly 300,000 kilometres of Roman roads across Europe, the Middle East, and North Africa. The project stitches together countless archaeological and historical datasets into a single interactive network, revealing the sheer scale of the viae Romanae that once bound the empire together.

At its peak around AD 150, the Roman Empire stretched from Britain’s Hadrian’s Wall to the banks of the Euphrates, from the Atlas Mountains to the Black Sea. Its lifeblood was the road — engineered with stone, gravel, and astonishing precision — that carried soldiers, grain, ideas, and empire itself. But despite centuries of scholarship and excavation, our understanding of this network has remained incomplete.

Although the roads are one of the best-known aspects of Roman history, it’s surprising how many details about them we still don’t know. According to the new dataset, the locations of only 3% of Roman roads are known with certainty; the rest have been inferred from satellite imagery, topographical analysis, and fragmentary archaeological evidence.

The map, created through a collaboration of classicists, GIS specialists, and open-data archivists, pulls together previously siloed regional studies — from Britain’s Watling Street to Israel’s Via Maris — into a single digital ecosystem. Each route can be explored interactively, complete with estimated construction dates, trade significance, and terrain context.

For ordinary viewers, it’s a revelation — a chance to visualize how Rome’s engineers carve through deserts, mountains, and marshes to keep an empire alive. It is, quite literally, the skeleton of Western civilization rendered as pixels and coordinates.

But this project isn’t just a nostalgic look backward. It’s also a powerful reminder of what sustainable infrastructure once meant. Roman roads were built to last millennia, with local materials, drainage systems, and low-maintenance stonework that endured centuries of weather and war. Many of today’s highways and rail lines still trace their original foundations. Roman concrete was self-healing and lasts until today.

In an age of asphalt sprawl, potholes, and short-term urban planning, the Roman network offers a strange kind of hope for our future. Ancient engineers designed for permanence and adaptation — concepts that modern infrastructure often neglects. The Romans understood maintenance as a civic duty, with roads meant to connect people, not just move things.

Roman law (Lex Julia Municipalis, 45 BCE) required local communities and landowners to maintain the sections of road passing through their territory. Public funds (the cursus publicus) supported major arteries, showing that upkeep was embedded in governance.

Some sustainability researchers see parallels between the Roman viae and today’s green corridors: both seek to balance movement, resilience, and local ecology.

 

The post Take me home, Roman roads appeared first on Green Prophet.

Roman roads of the past Two thousand years ago, all roads led to Rome. Now, thanks to modern data science, they finally do again — this time in high resolution. A newly released digital atlas Itiner-e what they call a “Google Maps for Roman roads.”It is being hailed as a kind of “Google Maps for the […]

The post Take me home, Roman roads appeared first on Green Prophet.

Two thousand years ago, all roads led to Rome. Now, thanks to modern data science, they finally do again — this time in high resolution. A newly released digital atlas Itiner-e what they call a “Google Maps for Roman roads.”It is being hailed as a kind of “Google Maps for the ancient world”, charting nearly 300,000 kilometres of Roman roads across Europe, the Middle East, and North Africa. The project stitches together countless archaeological and historical datasets into a single interactive network, revealing the sheer scale of the viae Romanae that once bound the empire together.

At its peak around AD 150, the Roman Empire stretched from Britain’s Hadrian’s Wall to the banks of the Euphrates, from the Atlas Mountains to the Black Sea. Its lifeblood was the road — engineered with stone, gravel, and astonishing precision — that carried soldiers, grain, ideas, and empire itself. But despite centuries of scholarship and excavation, our understanding of this network has remained incomplete.

Although the roads are one of the best-known aspects of Roman history, it’s surprising how many details about them we still don’t know. According to the new dataset, the locations of only 3% of Roman roads are known with certainty; the rest have been inferred from satellite imagery, topographical analysis, and fragmentary archaeological evidence.

The map, created through a collaboration of classicists, GIS specialists, and open-data archivists, pulls together previously siloed regional studies — from Britain’s Watling Street to Israel’s Via Maris — into a single digital ecosystem. Each route can be explored interactively, complete with estimated construction dates, trade significance, and terrain context.

For ordinary viewers, it’s a revelation — a chance to visualize how Rome’s engineers carve through deserts, mountains, and marshes to keep an empire alive. It is, quite literally, the skeleton of Western civilization rendered as pixels and coordinates.

But this project isn’t just a nostalgic look backward. It’s also a powerful reminder of what sustainable infrastructure once meant. Roman roads were built to last millennia, with local materials, drainage systems, and low-maintenance stonework that endured centuries of weather and war. Many of today’s highways and rail lines still trace their original foundations. Roman concrete was self-healing and lasts until today.

In an age of asphalt sprawl, potholes, and short-term urban planning, the Roman network offers a strange kind of hope for our future. Ancient engineers designed for permanence and adaptation — concepts that modern infrastructure often neglects. The Romans understood maintenance as a civic duty, with roads meant to connect people, not just move things.

Roman law (Lex Julia Municipalis, 45 BCE) required local communities and landowners to maintain the sections of road passing through their territory. Public funds (the cursus publicus) supported major arteries, showing that upkeep was embedded in governance.

Some sustainability researchers see parallels between the Roman viae and today’s green corridors: both seek to balance movement, resilience, and local ecology.

 

The post Take me home, Roman roads appeared first on Green Prophet.

“Life shrinks or expands in proportion to one’s courage.” ~Anaïs Nin

When I think back on my life, shyness feels like an inner prison I carried with me for years. Not a prison with bars and guards, but a quieter kind—made of hesitation, fear, and silence. It kept me standing still while life moved forward around me.

One memory stays with me: my eighth-grade dance. The gym was alive with music, kids moving awkwardly but freely on the floor, laughing, bumping into one another, having fun. And there I was in the corner, figuratively stomping paper cups.

That’s how I …

“Life shrinks or expands in proportion to one’s courage.” ~Anaïs Nin

When I think back on my life, shyness feels like an inner prison I carried with me for years. Not a prison with bars and guards, but a quieter kind—made of hesitation, fear, and silence. It kept me standing still while life moved forward around me.

One memory stays with me: my eighth-grade dance. The gym was alive with music, kids moving awkwardly but freely on the floor, laughing, bumping into one another, having fun. And there I was in the corner, figuratively stomping paper cups.

That’s how I remember it—like I was crushing cardboard instead of stepping into life. I can even smile at the image now, but at the time it wasn’t funny. I noticed another girl across the room, also standing alone. She was beautiful. Maybe she was waiting for someone to walk over. But in my mind, she was “out of reach.” My shyness locked me in place, and I never moved.

It wasn’t a dramatic heartbreak—just another reminder of how many moments slipped by.

The Pattern of Missed Chances

That night was only one of many. Over the years I missed far more opportunities than I embraced: the conversations I didn’t start, the invitations I quietly avoided, the women I admired from a distance but never approached.

Shyness never really served me. I hated it, but it was powerful. I carried it into my adult years, and though I fought hard to loosen its grip, it shaped how I lived and related. Over time I changed; I’d call myself “reserved” now rather than painfully shy. But the shadow is still there.

Shyness as a Prison

Shyness isn’t just being quiet. It’s a whole system of fear and self-consciousness: fear in the body, doubt in the mind, and inaction in the world. It feels like safety, but it’s really confinement. It builds walls between you and the very connections you long for.

I’ve come to see shyness as a kind of “social yips.” Just as an athlete suddenly freezes when overthinking the simplest movement, I froze in moments of connection. I knew what I wanted to do, but my body wouldn’t follow. And like the yips, the more I thought about it, the worse it became. Buddhism later helped me see that the way through wasn’t forcing myself harder but loosening my grip—letting go of self-judgment and stepping into presence.

Zorba and the Choice to Say Yes

As I look back, I know not every missed chance would have been good for me. Sometimes the lure of conquest was more about ego than true connection, and saying no spared me mistakes.

But there’s another kind of moment that still stings. In Zorba the Greek, Kazantzakis has Zorba say, “The worst sin a man can commit is to reject a woman who is beckoning.”

The point isn’t about conquest—it’s about clinging. If you say yes when life beckons, you can walk away later without wondering forever. You’ve lived it, and it’s complete. But if you turn away, you carry the ghost of what might have been. That ghost clings to you.

I know that ghost well—the ache of silence, the memory of walking away when I might have stepped forward. Those are the regrets that linger.

A Buddhist Lens on Shyness

Buddhism has helped me understand this prison in a new way. The Buddha taught that suffering arises not from life itself but from how we cling to it. My shyness was stitched together from craving, aversion, and delusion.

The walls of my prison looked solid, but they weren’t. They were only habits of thought.

Buddhism also teaches dependent origination: everything arises from causes and conditions. My shyness wasn’t my identity. It was the product of temperament, upbringing, culture, and adolescence. If it arose from conditions, it could also fade as conditions changed. It was never “me”—just a pattern I carried.

And at the heart of it all was attachment to self-image. I was afraid of being judged, of looking foolish, of failing. But meditation taught me that the “self” I was defending was never solid. Thoughts pass, feelings change, identity shifts. When there’s no fixed self to protect, the fear loses its grip.

Regret Without Clinging

The memories of shyness still emerge from time to time. They’re not paralyzing anymore—I don’t live locked in that cell—but when they rise, they sting. They make me feel foolish, like a prisoner might feel when looking back on wasted years, replaying choices that can’t be undone.

What I try to do now is not cling to them. I can see them for what they are: moderately unresolved regrets. They will probably always flicker in my memory. But instead of treating them like permanent failures, I let them pass through. They remind me I am human, that I once hesitated when I longed to act, and that I don’t have to make the same choice now.

Regret, I’ve learned, can also be a teacher. It shows me what I value most: presence, intimacy, connection. It reminds me not to keep living behind walls of hesitation.

Buddhism teaches that memory—whether sweet or painful—is something the mind clings to. But the door of the prison has always been unlocked. Freedom comes when we stop pacing the cell and step into the present.

Saying Yes

One memory from later in life stands out. I was in my twenties, still shy but trying to push past it. Someone I admired invited me to join a small group heading out after class. Everything in me wanted to retreat, to say no. But that time, I said yes.

It wasn’t a great romance or life-changing event. We just shared coffee, talked, laughed a little. But what mattered was that I had stepped forward. For once, I wasn’t left haunted by what if. I walked away lighter, without clinging. That small yes gave me a glimpse of freedom.

I’m still not outgoing. But I am no longer the boy in the corner, stomping cups while everyone else dances. I can step forward, even when my voice shakes. I can risk connection without assuming others are out of reach.

Shyness may still whisper in my ear, but it no longer holds the keys.

What I’ve Learned

• Shyness was my inner prison, but the bars were made of thought, not stone.
• Not every conquest would have served me—but turning away from true openness creates the sharpest regret.
• Regret is painful, but it can teach us what matters most.
• Memories of missed chances still surface, but I don’t have to cling to them.
• Freedom doesn’t come from rewriting the past, but from choosing differently now.

I still carry the memory of that eighth-grade dance, the girl across the room, the echo of other missed chances. But I don’t cling to them anymore. They remind me that presence is always possible—because freedom isn’t found in “what if.”

It’s found in saying yes when life beckons and in stepping out of the prison of hesitation, here and now.

To anyone reading this who has ever stood in the corner of their own life: the prison you feel around you was never locked. You can step forward, however awkwardly, and find freedom in the present moment.

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Lebanon’s mountain resorts — from Mzaar Ski Resort Faraya to the Cedars of God in Bsharri — offer rare snow in the Middle East, where you can ski by day and swim in the sea by night. But climate change is shrinking snow seasons fast. Resorts like Zaarour, Laqlouq, Faqra, and the Cedars are adapting, turning toward year-round eco-tourism and mountain conservation.

The post Lebanon ski resorts and when to escape climate change appeared first on Green Prophet.

Iran’s second-largest city, Mashhad, is facing an acute water emergency after dam reservoirs feeding the city fell below three percent capacity, according to Iranian state and local media. Officials warn that without rainfall or improved inflows from neighboring Afghanistan, the city’s supply could soon collapse.

“The water storage in Mashhad’s dams has now fallen to less than three percent,” Hossein Esmaeilian, the chief executive of the water company in Iran’s second largest city by population, tells ISNA news agency. He adds that “the current situation shows that managing water use is no longer merely a recommendation — it has become a necessity.”

Mashhad lies in Razavi Khorasan Province in northeastern Iran, a semi-arid region dependent on a small network of dams for drinking water, agriculture, and limited power generation. The most critical of these are the Doosti (Friendship) Dam, built jointly by Iran and Turkmenistan on the Hari (Harirud) River; and the smaller Kardeh and Torogh dams that directly supply the urban network.

The Doosti Dam, completed in 2004 near the Turkmen border, was designed to provide up to 60 % of Mashhad’s potable water. But its inflows have plummeted after Afghanistan’s Taliban government inaugurated the Pashdan Dam upstream on the Hari River near Herat earlier this year. Iranian officials accuse Kabul of violating cross-border water agreements and cutting off critical flows. The Iranian daily Jomhouri-e Eslami warned this week that the new Afghan dam “threatens the very survival” of Mashhad’s reservoirs.

The Hari River — about 1,000 kilometers long — originates in Afghanistan’s central highlands, flows west through Herat into Iran, and ends in Turkmenistan’s Karakum Desert. Historically, its seasonal floods recharged aquifers and sustained farming along the Iranian border. But with multiple new Afghan dams under Taliban control, less water is reaching Iran’s northeastern provinces, even as rising temperatures and a prolonged regional drought accelerate evaporation.

Related: The Taliban kills Japanese water hero

Within Iran, years of poor water management compound the crisis. Kardeh and Torogh dams, both built in the 1970s, are now near “dead storage,” with barely enough volume for municipal use. Over-extraction of groundwater around Mashhad — home to more than three million people and millions of pilgrims annually — has further destabilized the system, causing land subsidence and salinization of wells.

Iran has also been spending billions normalizing terror by finding Palestinians to join Hamas, Lebanese to join the Hezbollah and for the Yemenites to become Houthis. Paying for conflict and not supporting your own people, comes with a high cost. The Iranian regime hates Saudi Arabia, the UAE and Israel so much that it will sacrifice anything in its global jihad.

Experts say the situation underscores both climate vulnerability and political risk in transboundary basins. Iran’s government is pressing for negotiations with the Taliban over shared water rights, as Afghanistan pulls the plug on its water by creating its own dams, but cooperation remains uncertain amid border skirmishes and mistrust.

If inflows from Afghanistan remain restricted and rainfall fails again this winter, Mashhad could face mandatory rationing and long-term aquifer collapse — a warning sign for the entire region as climate change and geopolitics converge in Iran’s drying east. Could we see a bigger conflict between Iran and Afghanistan? A good possibility. Similar tensions have been brewing for years between Ethiopia building the GERD dam and Egypt which is being denied water upstream.

If you’ve ever travelled to cities like Amman, Jordan, the water-stressed city shows how life goes on with water stress. Some city folks get water piped in once a week, but because municipal supply is so limited, many households, businesses, and institutions buy extra water from private tanker trucks and store this in private reservoirs so they never run out.

The post Iran’s holiest city about to run dry as terror chosen over water management appeared first on Green Prophet.

apan’s winters reveal a quieter magic far from the cherry blossoms — a landscape of deep snow, mountain silence, and steaming hot springs. From Niseko’s legendary powder in Hokkaido to the Olympic slopes of Hakuba and the ancient baths of Nozawa Onsen, Japan offers some of the world’s most sustainable and culturally rich ski experiences. With efficient bullet-train access, renewable-powered resorts, and geothermal onsens under falling snow, this is how to ski Japan responsibly — where tradition, technology, and climate awareness meet on the same mountain.

The post Ski Japan and skip the cherry blossoms appeared first on Green Prophet.

Iran’s second-largest city, Mashhad, is facing an acute water emergency after dam reservoirs feeding the city fell below three percent capacity, according to Iranian state and local media. Officials warn that without rainfall or improved inflows from neighboring Afghanistan, the city’s supply could soon collapse.

“The water storage in Mashhad’s dams has now fallen to less than three percent,” Hossein Esmaeilian, the chief executive of the water company in Iran’s second largest city by population, tells ISNA news agency. He adds that “the current situation shows that managing water use is no longer merely a recommendation — it has become a necessity.”

Mashhad lies in Razavi Khorasan Province in northeastern Iran, a semi-arid region dependent on a small network of dams for drinking water, agriculture, and limited power generation. The most critical of these are the Doosti (Friendship) Dam, built jointly by Iran and Turkmenistan on the Hari (Harirud) River; and the smaller Kardeh and Torogh dams that directly supply the urban network.

The Doosti Dam, completed in 2004 near the Turkmen border, was designed to provide up to 60 % of Mashhad’s potable water. But its inflows have plummeted after Afghanistan’s Taliban government inaugurated the Pashdan Dam upstream on the Hari River near Herat earlier this year. Iranian officials accuse Kabul of violating cross-border water agreements and cutting off critical flows. The Iranian daily Jomhouri-e Eslami warned this week that the new Afghan dam “threatens the very survival” of Mashhad’s reservoirs.

The Hari River — about 1,000 kilometers long — originates in Afghanistan’s central highlands, flows west through Herat into Iran, and ends in Turkmenistan’s Karakum Desert. Historically, its seasonal floods recharged aquifers and sustained farming along the Iranian border. But with multiple new Afghan dams under Taliban control, less water is reaching Iran’s northeastern provinces, even as rising temperatures and a prolonged regional drought accelerate evaporation.

Related: The Taliban kills Japanese water hero

Within Iran, years of poor water management compound the crisis. Kardeh and Torogh dams, both built in the 1970s, are now near “dead storage,” with barely enough volume for municipal use. Over-extraction of groundwater around Mashhad — home to more than three million people and millions of pilgrims annually — has further destabilized the system, causing land subsidence and salinization of wells.

Iran has also been spending billions normalizing terror by finding Palestinians to join Hamas, Lebanese to join the Hezbollah and for the Yemenites to become Houthis. Paying for conflict and not supporting your own people, comes with a high cost. The Iranian regime hates Saudi Arabia, the UAE and Israel so much that it will sacrifice anything in its global jihad.

Experts say the situation underscores both climate vulnerability and political risk in transboundary basins. Iran’s government is pressing for negotiations with the Taliban over shared water rights, as Afghanistan pulls the plug on its water by creating its own dams, but cooperation remains uncertain amid border skirmishes and mistrust.

If inflows from Afghanistan remain restricted and rainfall fails again this winter, Mashhad could face mandatory rationing and long-term aquifer collapse — a warning sign for the entire region as climate change and geopolitics converge in Iran’s drying east. Could we see a bigger conflict between Iran and Afghanistan? A good possibility. Similar tensions have been brewing for years between Ethiopia building the GERD dam and Egypt which is being denied water upstream.

If you’ve ever travelled to cities like Amman, Jordan, the water-stressed city shows how life goes on with water stress. Some city folks get water piped in once a week, but because municipal supply is so limited, many households, businesses, and institutions buy extra water from private tanker trucks and store this in private reservoirs so they never run out.

The post Iran’s holiest city about to run dry as terror chosen over water management appeared first on Green Prophet.

Iran’s second-largest city, Mashhad, is facing an acute water emergency after dam reservoirs feeding the city fell below three percent capacity, according to Iranian state and local media. Officials warn that without rainfall or improved inflows from neighboring Afghanistan, the city’s supply could soon collapse.

The post Iran’s holiest city about to run dry as terror chosen over water management appeared first on Green Prophet.

Iran’s second-largest city, Mashhad, is facing an acute water emergency after dam reservoirs feeding the city fell below three percent capacity, according to Iranian state and local media. Officials warn that without rainfall or improved inflows from neighboring Afghanistan, the city’s supply could soon collapse.

“The water storage in Mashhad’s dams has now fallen to less than three percent,” Hossein Esmaeilian, the chief executive of the water company in Iran’s second largest city by population, tells ISNA news agency. He adds that “the current situation shows that managing water use is no longer merely a recommendation — it has become a necessity.”

Mashhad lies in Razavi Khorasan Province in northeastern Iran, a semi-arid region dependent on a small network of dams for drinking water, agriculture, and limited power generation. The most critical of these are the Doosti (Friendship) Dam, built jointly by Iran and Turkmenistan on the Hari (Harirud) River; and the smaller Kardeh and Torogh dams that directly supply the urban network.

The Doosti Dam, completed in 2004 near the Turkmen border, was designed to provide up to 60 % of Mashhad’s potable water. But its inflows have plummeted after Afghanistan’s Taliban government inaugurated the Pashdan Dam upstream on the Hari River near Herat earlier this year. Iranian officials accuse Kabul of violating cross-border water agreements and cutting off critical flows. The Iranian daily Jomhouri-e Eslami warned this week that the new Afghan dam “threatens the very survival” of Mashhad’s reservoirs.

The Hari River — about 1,000 kilometers long — originates in Afghanistan’s central highlands, flows west through Herat into Iran, and ends in Turkmenistan’s Karakum Desert. Historically, its seasonal floods recharged aquifers and sustained farming along the Iranian border. But with multiple new Afghan dams under Taliban control, less water is reaching Iran’s northeastern provinces, even as rising temperatures and a prolonged regional drought accelerate evaporation.

Related: The Taliban kills Japanese water hero

Within Iran, years of poor water management compound the crisis. Kardeh and Torogh dams, both built in the 1970s, are now near “dead storage,” with barely enough volume for municipal use. Over-extraction of groundwater around Mashhad — home to more than three million people and millions of pilgrims annually — has further destabilized the system, causing land subsidence and salinization of wells.

Iran has also been spending billions normalizing terror by finding Palestinians to join Hamas, Lebanese to join the Hezbollah and for the Yemenites to become Houthis. Paying for conflict and not supporting your own people, comes with a high cost. The Iranian regime hates Saudi Arabia, the UAE and Israel so much that it will sacrifice anything in its global jihad.

Experts say the situation underscores both climate vulnerability and political risk in transboundary basins. Iran’s government is pressing for negotiations with the Taliban over shared water rights, as Afghanistan pulls the plug on its water by creating its own dams, but cooperation remains uncertain amid border skirmishes and mistrust.

If inflows from Afghanistan remain restricted and rainfall fails again this winter, Mashhad could face mandatory rationing and long-term aquifer collapse — a warning sign for the entire region as climate change and geopolitics converge in Iran’s drying east. Could we see a bigger conflict between Iran and Afghanistan? A good possibility. Similar tensions have been brewing for years between Ethiopia building the GERD dam and Egypt which is being denied water upstream.

If you’ve ever travelled to cities like Amman, Jordan, the water-stressed city shows how life goes on with water stress. Some city folks get water piped in once a week, but because municipal supply is so limited, many households, businesses, and institutions buy extra water from private tanker trucks and store this in private reservoirs so they never run out.

The post Iran’s holiest city about to run dry as terror chosen over water management appeared first on Green Prophet.