On my first solo venture to the Middle-east 2 years ago, I met an Aussie girl on my first night at the 3-dollar hostel I was staying at in downtown Cairo. Her name was Maria, and whether it was due to a lack of other travelers around at the time (smack-dab-in the middle of the so-called 'Arab Spring), or owing to some shared comraderie of the grotesque subtle sexual harassment of Egyptian men, we bonded instantly and became travelmates, meeting again later on in Jordan. There we spent 2 weeks together camping with the Bedouin (aka nearly getting kidnapped by the Bedouin), getting lost in Petra, eating a lot of street Falafel, singing along to songs with "Habbibi" in the chorus, and exploring every corner of every single mall in Amman, as we somehow spent way too long holed up in the capital, with her acting as protective sister when I would inevitably accept random invitations for tea from attractive Jordanian dudes on the street. Even though it has been 2 years now since we last saw each other, we still stay in touch, and I know that should our paths ever cross again, we will reunite with a hug and a laugh, as though we had never said goodbye that day I got into my Taxi headed for Damascus. Had she not been open to my brilliant suggestions of couchsurfing with the Bedouin (slight sarcasm), or stuck to her original plan of staying longer in Israel, we might never have had the riotous time we did. Had I not been open to having someone join me for my desert misadventures, I might have had much less fun (in fact, the prospect of that whole Bedouin lark as a solo female, becomes more frightening than harmless absurdity, when you figure most nights involved sleeping on a rock in the middle of nowhere, with a group of Arab desert men - I know, I know, the situations I find myself in!!). She was the first person to really teach me the beauty of traveling without a fixed plan or a guidebook - no plan means you are open to anything, and all the rich experience that the chaos of travel provides you.
The same could be said of my chance meeting with the semi-senior citizen Italian brigade in Ethiopia. One obscenely early morning in Addis Ababa, while milling about in the dark outside the bus station waiting to head to the North, I spotted what appeared to be an actual middle-aged tourist, also standing awkwardly and on guard against thieves, stray dogs and persistent touts. I immediately said hello, in a rather in-your-face manner (which turned out to be fine, seeing as he was Italian), introducing myself, revealing important info (Julia, from Canada, going to Bahir Dar, would you like to sit with me please and maybe ensure I don't get robbed?), but alas he was booked on another bus -going to the same place however. When I later saw him and his other 2 Italian travelmates at one of the few "rest stops" along the way, I began again the conversing, they bought me a coffee, and it was decided that I would stay in the same crap hotel as them in once we reached our destination. I ended up basically tagging along with them for most of my Ethiopia trip, taking flights together, eating endless plates of "fish goulash" (I have no idea what this is or why its so prevalent in Ethiopia but it was a reliable choice ), even convincing one of them in the end to join me for the Harar adventure in the East, to watch me feed a Hyena and recite Rimbaud to myself. To this day my friend Cesar sends me the occasional hilarious email from Italy, with questions on my whereabouts, jokes about the time he took me to the doctor in downtown Addis for a malaria test, and general banter about life.
In the same vein, when something unlikely happens allowing you to carry on in one direction, you ought to briskly take that exit and forge a new path even if it means coming up with a half-fhazard plan- and quickly. Such was the case when I managed to snag an Iranian visa in Lebanon this past spring. I applied on a whim, unsure of my next move - and because of this decision to just try and get the visa, without even knowing the cost of a flight from Beirut to Iran or without any sort of guidebook, I ended up spending nearly 2 months in that country and having what can only be described as "the experience of a lifetime".
Now I find myself having been told I have to move out of my beloved Istanbul Ghetto villa within a month, and also the serendipity of this coinciding with some relatively cheap flights back to Canada, as well as the Halloween season. (Yes, Halloween in Canada is an actual incentive for me to come home. As well as the general autumn vibe. My favourite time of year in Calgary, with or without the Starbucks pumpkin spice lattes). My job here, and the fact I am yet again, sick with a cold due to the germy hands of 3 year olds, is wearing rather thin. The "rough Istanbul week" has turned more into a general observation that I am not meant to live long term in a place so at odds with my feminist opinions (or lack of cheddar cheese). I want to see my friends and family again. I want to have my OWN apartment again, and hang up all my wonderful worldly relics I have collected in all these trips on the walls, and go to the library and sign out books on these places and daydream about traveling from the comfort of home. I want to eat bacon, regularly. I want to hear English being spoken around me again. I want to feel connected to the people around me, not be the token yabangee who gets laughed at when she tries to speak Turkish.
I also want to visit Israel before I come home, to complete this 2 year long on/off journey of the Middle east, as well as finish off my passport which has only one blank page left in it. I need to see where Jesus was born, and where he was crucified, and I really don't think anyone can argue that this is important. Traveling and living in Muslim places has been amazing and taught me many things, but the conclusion I have come to is that while I may not be a practising Christian, as such, and Catholicism may have a lot of crap to answer for (though the new pope seems kind of groovy) Christianity, as it is practised by the minorities in the "east", kind of rules. The Christian quarters of any Middle eastern city is where you can buy alcohol and not worry about wearing a headscarf, or being stared at. The existence of Syriac/Armenian/Greek Christian minorities in places like Syria, Israel and Lebanon has kept a sort of balance and moderation for years over countries that might well have become extremist otherwise (Saudi Arabia, Bahrain, Iran yadda ya). Its funny that so many people think of Christianity as a western religion and Islam as eastern - they come from the exact same place. And Jerusalem is the heart of it. Not to mention the whole Jewish angle, which I havent yet really experienced anywhere. I think seeing there will be the final chapter in what has been an incredible quasi-spiritual journey.
The fact that a return flight from Istanbul to Tel Aviv can be had in early October for less than 200 dollars, as well as the fact I wont have a place to live around then (save for Emily's couch, thank you Emily!), and all the rest of things conspiring in my favour to go back to Canada, leads me to believe that this is yet another one of fates chance happenings, opening the door to go this way. The door back home.
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| Me and Maria, brought together by fate, stuck in the Jordanian desert for 5 days. |
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