What if there were no tomorrow,
And our eyes would never lock,
And I never got to hug you,
No more flights left to book,
Have I not known this before?
Have I not almost lost?
All the promises that we give
Excuses not to live
Then we sail far away.
Chasing ports we cannot dock.
All we do is stall the call
But we can’t stop the clock
Sometimes I consider myself the luckiest person on earth. But if you follow my blog, you also know that my life is full of “events”. A few hours ago, I found myself in another situation that made me think, “That might be it.”
I am now in Bogotá, Colombia. I have been traveling this beautiful for exactly 5 weeks now. During this time, I heard about various tourists being robbed and one being stabbed on a street where I spent a lot of time. So, there’s some context to the story.
Today at 3:00 am, after a nice party, I wanted to head home. My friends from the party have successfully booked a taxi after a long waiting time. Out on the street when I walked them to their taxi, the streets were packed with taxis and other cars. Just a regular busy Saturday night. I found a vacant taxi and jumped in after he offered a reasonable price.
He drove off, I followed the trip on Google Maps to make sure that the path was right. He took small side streets, so I felt a bit dubious. Soon enough, he slowed down on a ramp, where I thought the car might be a bit too weak, suddenly two young thugs jumped into the car, sandwiching me in the back seat, waving knives, and shouting at me in Spanish, including the driver. It was clear, I was being mugged.
I used my basic Spanish to tell them that I would give them everything. No time for bravery in a small taxi with three thugs in a dark street in Bogotá. They took my phone, watch, the cash I had, and my wallet. I had around 4 bank cards! I usually don’t carry all the cards with me, but today was my lucky day, I guess. They asked me which one had money, so I pointed at the one debit card that had the least amount (around 400 Euros). They somehow believed me and forced me to unlock my phone and open my banking app. They put a cap on my head and kept saying “close eyes” so that I don’t see them and I don’t see the road etc. I kept my head down.
While all of this was happening, the complicit driver was driving around. Then they pulled over where another car came and they exchanged one member of the gang. The one with my credit cards went in the other car, and a new thug came in to help watch me. Then we started driving the streets in what, I assume, was in circles until the other guy withdrew the cash from my card. They communicated back and forth discussing the amount that they would make and which ATM machine would have the least limit on cash withdrawal. They asked me many questions and sometimes with Google Translate when I didn’t understand.
I was there, with a dry mouth, thinking about all the possibilities. I had zero chance of overtaking the three in the taxi with their knives. They can have the money. I just hoped I wouldn’t be harmed. I was trying to prepare to fight if they attempted any physical violence. They drove to a quiet place, where someone started to wash the car. Here, a thousand other scenarios started playing in my head. Will they color the car? Was it a fake taxi? Just a yellow car that I didn’t notice? Is this escalating to a bigger crime? Will they kill me? Stab me? What are the possible lives I could be living? If any.
I kept myself together and stayed mostly calm. I cracked a few jokes, hoping that making them laugh would earn me a few credits of survival. I told them that I was an Egyptian dancer and that they could keep the watch because it was a gift from my Ex. They laughed and even put on one of my favorite songs. I was not sure if this was a good sign or if they were sarcastic. One comforting thing was that they insisted that I look down and don’t see their faces. I hoped it was because they would release me later. One of them told me, “Sleep if you’d like, we will release you in a bit”. They were waiting for the guy who had my debit card to squeeze all that was inside.
After a while, they drove to a dark road and told me that they would release me, and if I looked back, they would stab me. I told them that I understood and that I was not stupid enough to do this. Released in the random darkness of Bogotá, I ran away from that spot. I stopped another taxi (I had nothing more to lose), and went to my hostel, and immediately called the other banks to block the cards. Afterward, I went to the nearest small police station where they said that they couldn’t help me. I should make a report online.
It was a long night. I have lost some material things, but I am glad that I am unharmed. Now, don’t wonder if I am not reachable for the next couple of weeks. I still have access to my Instagram and WhatsApp, but I am not sure how long the WhatsApp on the computer will continue working. I wrote this to share with you my experience, partly because of emotions, but also so that you avoid making my mistake.
Later, while writing this post in the lobby of the hostel, an American girl came crying because she was robbed a couple of weeks ago and her only remaining credit card was blocked, and has no money for food or to go to the airport. She sat beside me and we exchanged stories, and later found solutions to our financial crises, thanks to great family and friends.
I still love Colombia 🙂
You, Love!
Inside the walls you’ve built,
So tight,
Impermeably sealed.
Occasionally,
you climb to take fleeting peeks at those without,
then retreat,
far and deep.
A dance: now seen, now concealed,
now claiming a heart, or two, in your sweep,
Only to abandon, unfulfilled, and unhealed.
You withdraw, timid and untouched,
into a realm where light pervades yet smothers.
What purpose do you serve, Love?
If your flame lights no path?
It merely consumes your essence, entirely.
This land is mine,
my vibrant playground.
With the other ten thousand children of the neighbourhood,
We used to run about.
We’d tease Mr. Ali at his old shop,
He’d pretend to chase us with a broom.
We had no fear.
School was fun, with friends and games,
Our teacher Fatima knew all our names.
Chalk, and dreams,
of a world beyond conflict,
beyond the suffering and screams.
Today, the sky was sunny,
I was on the balcony admiring our olive tree.
But in a flash,
the sky roared.
I felt really scared.
I have already lost half of my friends.
Maryam, Peter and Mahmoud.
Under the rubbles of their homes.
Maryam, the little artist, with colors in her heart,
Her canvas remains blank, torn apart.
Peter, was going to be the next priest,
of our 800 years old church, now he lies under the altar.
Mahmoud, the future doctor, who promised to heal,
now, is just remains.
Maryam is killed.
Peter is killed.
Mahmoud is killed,
The olive tree is killed,
and the church is shattered.
It was all just too much.
Now I am also gone.
Five thousand dreams,
now whisper in the wind.
In what world is this fine?
Why don’t they care about me?
Peter was actually blond,
They say his great-grandmother was French,
with sky-blue eyes.
Would it have helped,
if we had shown the world Peter’s face,
instead of mine?
I guess it is too late now.
We are all playing in heaven.
Mom, it is so nice here.
Serene, no cries.
Nobody hates us for no reason,
and nobody is discriminated.
We are all loved and cared for.
Equally.
Before coming to Morocco, I had more negative than positive experiences with Moroccans in Europe. This trip flipped my perception 180 degrees, turning me into a fan of the country and the countrymen (including countrywomen for our feminist readers among you). They were mostly kind and sincere people. Compared to Egypt, I found more quality services in Morocco. I always felt very welcomed, especially when people came to know that I am Egyptian. The two countries share a history rich in culture. I also noticed that the rate of obesity is not as high as in many other Arab countries (and definitely less than in Germany and England, for example). To my surprise, the local cuisine does not have a lot of carbohydrates. It is hard to find a dish that is served with rice, and the cuisine in general had lots of meat and vegetables.
I arrived in Rabat on a Saturday, just in time for the Liverpool vs. Tottenham football game. A local taxi driver guided me to a rooftop terrace crowning a fancy-looking hotel, where a simple espresso costs 5$. The other clients were mostly couples enjoying romantic dates. Joining me in a non-romantic way were Mirjam, a new local friend she had made, Sufian, and two fellow young travelers from Ireland and Colorado that she had met at the hostel. We exchanged travel impressions and suggestions, a great way to refine your trip-plan on the fly.
The Colorado traveler, Braeden, had taken the opposite route, starting in the north. He visited Chefchaouen, the famous blue mountain village known for its reputation in weed production. Surprisingly, he was disappointed by the quality of the weed in comparison to Colorado, where marijuana had been legalized around a decade ago. It seems they’ve likely perfected the art of growing weed using scientific methods, research, and development.
I left the crowd after the game and headed to my accommodation in a local riad in the old town. Moroccan riads are traditional, elegant residences with distinctive architecture, often centered around a courtyard or garden. They are renowned for their intricate tilework and Islamic decorations.
***
Rabat showed me a different side of Morocco. Its clean, wide streets were lined with perfectly aligned palm trees and featured many beauiful architectural constructions. I went to meet Sarah, a Moroccan architect who had spent six years in the United States pursuing her MBA and managing some exciting projects in DC. We had a lengthy walk in the suburbs of Rabat, near the king’s palace and a golf course.
The highly intelligent and talkative Sarah shared valuable insights about Moroccan society, the economy, and politics. A significant portion of the economy is based on mining, particularly phosphate mining, with Morocco holding the world’s largest phosphate deposits, comprising 75% of global reserves. I was charmed by her liveliness and her fluency in four languages. She expressed her intention to leave Morocco after a few months to explore new life perspectives.
Following our walk, we enjoyed a cozy lunch with more conversations. Then, Sarah volunteered to drive me around Rabat in her white Fiat 500. We drove through the streets of Rabat as she pointed out different landmarks, including the new, under-construction Hassan VI’s tower and the soon-to-be-operational magnificent Grand Theatre of Rabat, designed by the late, great British-Iraqi power woman and renowned architect, Zaha Hadid. I made a promise to myself to come back to Rabat.
After saying goodbye to Sarah, I attended a local afternoon Latin party for some social dancing, where I was impressed by the excellent local salsa dancers, surpassing those in other cities. Soon after, I had to depart after nearly 24 hours in Rabat to catch my train to the historic town of Fes. At the train station, I discovered that the train was delayed by 2 hours. I hummed some thankful prayers for the taken-for-granted Swiss railways company, and spent my waiting-time reading.
After a bus journey to Marrakesh , it was time to split the company. David stayed in Marrakesh while Mirjam and I took the train for Casablanca. The almost 3 hours of discomfort in the second class was not my most favorite experience, and the train was packed with locals with no significant air conditioning so that by the end of the ride, I felt myself drained of all manifestations of life, like a deflated balloon!
But Casablanca was a significant stop on my trip. Many travelers would say that Casablanca is just a big jungle of concrete not interesting to visit. For me, big cities are homes for many smart and professional people, which is a big focus of mine in my trips.
***
On the first day in Casablanca, I had a local breakfast and then headed to meet Mirjam to visit the remarkable Hassan II Mosque. It is the largest functioning mosque in Africa, and its minaret ranks as the second tallest in the world. When we arrived, the 60-story minaret was almost disappearing in the fog that surrounded the mosque. It was nearly prayer time, making it clear that Mirjam wouldn’t be going inside. I decided to attend the Friday prayer, while Mirjam waited in a café, and we met again after the prayer.
The mosque is immense, and its decorations exude majesty. Intricate patterns in marble, wood, and other materials, the nature of which I couldn’t identify, contributed to a certain atmosphere of peace and serenity.
During the “Khutbah,” the imam’s sermon, the topic was the earthquake, highlighting how Moroccans were united in managing the aftermath. The absence of differences between Arabs and Berbers hinted at underlying sensitivities in the region. Throughout my trip, I encountered many Moroccans who took immense pride in their nation’s earthquake response, recounting stories of how they proudly declined assistance from France. France was not amused.
After visiting the mosque, I met Mirjam again, who had managed to make a random new friend, Faisal, a local young guy in his thirties. I also got to know Faisal while observing surfers ride the high ocean waves just outside the mosque. Faisal didn’t hide the fact that he was deported from Germany after living there for 5 years. He was then trying to build his startup, specializing in various crimes like stealing and selling drugs. He traveled around many European countries in the process of finding a new home. After his deportation, he decided to start a new life and switch to the side of the angels by visiting Mecca. He currently works as a taxi driver, and today was his day off. We all went to the “Medina” together, where we had a quiet, fancy lunch with even better food than usual. Afterwards, we joined a Couchsurfing meeting where many young Moroccans and travelers gathered for chatting and later for a party. At some point, I detached to visit a Latin party, only to find that it was canceled because of the prophet’s birthday (which is not as important for Muslims as Christmas is for Christians). I called it a night.
***
The next day I went again for a local breakfast and decided to have a Moroccan hammam experience. Who could imagine, that there is a big colossal hammam underneath the big Hassan II mosque?
I decided to go all-in, and took the deluxe package with all the features, which costed me around 60 euros.
First, I found myself in a jacuzzi filled with sea water, where I tortured my body with a hydraulic massage. After around 30 min, they took me to a steam room, where my hammam-man (?, I don’t name of this job, maybe hammamist?) soaped up my body, and I stayed there for eternity, I think to open the pores of the skin to receive the next mystery.
Then came the main event – the hammam table. The hammamist got to work, scrubbing away at my skin like it was his enemy. As I sat down, I noticed some dark thingies on the floor. With an embarrassment, I asked him if that was what he had just exfoliated from my skin. He grinned and confirmed it was indeed my “dead skin.” I thought I was Mr. Clean with my daily showers, but this was next-level cleanliness. I had to ask my hammamist how often he subjected himself to this ritual, and he proudly said that he did it once a month. From that moment on, I became a believer that Morocco must be the cleanest nation on Earth. Sorry, other “hammamistans” out there.
After the epic scrubbing session, he slapped on a mask made of coffee and chocolate, claiming it was a treat for my skin. I felt like a piece of fruit dipped in chocolate in a Christmas market. I didn’t have any erotic thoughts at all 😀
Then, he unleashed a full-body massage and some moves that looked like he was a chiropractor. Following the mask’s wash-off, I received another round of massage, this time with argan oil.
Leaving the hammam, I looked at my skin in disbelief. Somehow I didn’t recognise my own skin. I felt new and I promised myself that I shall offer my body this love regularly. I went straight to the beautiful Casablanca train station and took the train to Rabat, the capital.
Although surfing with Adam in Marrakesh was a nice experience, I decided that it was enough for this trip. I guess at my age, I prefer a certain minimum amount of comfort. On the other hand, hostels are great places to meet people. I decided to continue the trip sleeping in private rooms in hostels or hotels. I grew to appreciate good privacy and alone-time at the end of a socially packed day.
***
The bus from Marrakesh to Essaouira took around 3 hours with a short break. Beside me was a French girl with whom I started chatting in the second half of the trip. Upon arriving in Essaouira, I immediately felt pleasant vibes, the complete opposite of the chaotic vibes in Marrakesh. Already from the bus, you could see countless kites of surfers in the famously windy city. I went straight to the hostel where I booked a room and was greeted by a German young man with one arm. He volunteers working there in exchange for surfing lessons and accommodation! I immediately climbed to the roof terrace with my book to have a read while observing the sun setting in the Atlantic Ocean. Around me were groups of young people who seemed to be traveling together, mainly French or German. I thought about putting on my noise-cancellation headphones since young people in general intimidate me👴🏼. In parallel, I checked out “couchsurfing hangouts,” which is a section of the Couchsurfing app to find other solo travelers to meet up. There, I found Wouter, a Dutch gentleman, and we agreed to go for dinner. Soon enough, a young European lady entered the terrace, saw me, and directly came to me, saying “you were on the bus from Marrakesh.” I said yes and invited her to have a seat nearby, and we started chatting and getting to know each other. Mirjam, a Norwegian 27-year-old traveling solo around Morocco. Mirjam, Wouter, and I went for dinner in a tiny family-run restaurant in the old town of Essaouira. The cook was a Moroccan lady, assisted by two others who looked really old, while the son waited on the tables. We ordered Tajines while discussing life, love, and Morocco. After dinner and the homemade cream caramel, we wandered around the “medina,” charmed by all the handcrafted goods, the small alleys, and passing by the fish market where fishermen prepared their fish of the day for the market the next day, I assume. Mirjam is a janitor, and Wouter is an animation artist. The conversation was very engaging and went much deeper than the casual customary fact-based chit-chat, to include childhood traumas and matters of the heart.
***
On the next day, Wednesday, I started the day with breakfast in the hostel. A modest breakfast that included my new favorite Moroccan almond spread “Amlou.” It consists of argan oil, almonds, and honey. The almonds are toasted, then crushed and kneaded with honey and argan oil. I enjoy it with some freshly made pancakes despite the flies hovering over the whole breakfast!
I then went to the medina, met Wouter, where we bought a chess set and went to a local cafe for some games of chess and more conversations. On the second floor of the cafe, we sat separated by the chess set, the early morning sun rays sneaked from the window and shone directly on the chessboard as well as on Wouter’s stressed face 😅. While playing, we discussed differences between Morocco and Europe and mainly topics which one can’t discuss in Europe since they are tabooed. Wouter’s lack of political correctness was refreshing, and I enjoyed the time we spent together a lot. We exchanged contacts and decided to try to meet later in our trips in another city.
***
Mirjam has a talent to know random people on the street; I met her later in the afternoon with her new friend, Hicham, a Moroccan French young man passionate about Salsa and working in tourism around the world. We spent some beach time where we built a sandcastle like a group of kindergarten children. The sea is relatively dangerous for swimming since the waves can be very high. This is why Essaouira is a good place for wind-surfing, kite-surfing, and etc-rfing. In the evening, we went for dinner accompanied by two new travelers that Mirjam recruited from the hostel, David, from the Canary Islands, traveling the world and speaking 5 languages, and Bartly (fake name), a Chinese electric cars engineer. Bartly barely spoke English but had a radioactive enthusiasm and positivity. We all went for dinner and had funny x-rated conversations, where Bartly was the protagonist translating everything we say with some efficient Chinese app. David and I laughed till tears when Bartly referred to oral sex as “sea-food” 😂😂😂. I hope no children are reading these lines. After another great meal, we went for some dancing in a local bar that was also filled with tourists. On the way back to the hostel, in the windy night of cute Essaouira, David said, “First and last time in f***ing Essaouira.” Mirjam and I will head to Casablanca tomorrow, while David will join us halfway and then stay in Marrakesh.
A couple of weeks ago, I was looking at the world map and pondering where I want to go for my two weeks off. It was Africa calling me and I was also thinking about some dance festival in Barcelona at the end of the two weeks. So why not fly to Marrakesh and hitchhike your way up to Spain? I booked a very cheap one-way flight to Marrakesh and decided to do it the old way, Couchsurfing 🙂 at least start this way. I have been spoiling myself with hotels and resorts for sometime now that I don’t even know if can do hostels. I thought I go for it anyway. Two days after booking my flight, an earthquake happened in Marrakesh leaving a couple of thousand people dead 🙁
I felt like going anyway. Somehow, irresponsible decisions usually bring a lot of fun 😀 my mom was wondering, why I keep making such decisions. A certain fatalism, that we all have in a way or another? Maybe!
I landed in the nice Marrakesh airport which appealed to me with its beautiful design. My host, Adam, said I could take a taxi for 15-20$ or the local bus that costs less than 0.5$. I said let’s try the bus. But when the bus pulled off and I saw the people stacked inside like a sardine tin, I decided I am still a spoiled p**** and backed off. A random local with one tooth approached me and asked if I needed a ride. I told him my destination and he asked for a funny amount of 200$ 😀 despite mostly not understanding each other, we managed to agree on 10$
I reached Adam’s place and we immediately started a long conversation getting to know each other. This conversation stretched over a few hours and partly took place on his motorbike where only he wore a helmet (for the police) and I was constantly anticipating getting one of my knees (or both) smashed while he squeezed in between cars. We talked about everything. Adam is a very smart guy with excellent English and works as a freelancer graphics designer. We bought seeds (eating them is a usual activity in the Middle East, you usually spit the peel on the floor) and went to a small park to chill, watching local families chill and lots of children play on the street. This reminded me of my childhood with all the adventures of our children/teenage gang back then (it was named: “strip and run naked in the darkness”).
After making a mess with the seed peels on the ground, while Adam assured me that it will be cleaned in the early morning and me feeling guilty, we went for dinner in a local restaurant that offers “Tanjia”, a Marrakesh speciality of meat that is made in a clay pot. This was the beginning of my culinary adventure in Morocco. The meat was so soft, it breaks before you even touch it 😀 melts in your mouth like a Swiss chocolate, and its taste triggers senses you didn’t know you had.
***
The next two days, Sunday and Monday, my schedule was the same, have breakfast in a local breakfast place near Adam’s place, trying different options. Impressive was the local avocado-and-nuts smoothie which seemed like an aphrodisiac bomb, inappropriate for my trip. After breakfast I would go to the “Medina”, the old town, where I get lost in its alleys full of exotic handcrafts, leather goods, copper lamps and souvenirs. A lot of beautiful things I would like to buy. Here and there I stop to bargain and mostly have a funny conversation when the local sellers discover my Egyptian dialect. Due to the decades of spread of Egyptian movies and music, the whole Arab world understands our dialect and mostly have some appreciation for Egyptians. The market is huge and I enjoyed it immensely. Outside there was a huge square named “Jema elfnaa” which might mean “The assembly of death”! Now for me, this square was THE MARRAKESH! Full of unbelievable chaos of people, juice sellers, cobra charmers, monkeys, singers, darwishs, musicians, more fresh juice sellers, food stalls and many other things. Many things to see, many sounds and noises that penetrate your ear drums, and many smells (mostly seductive smell of a tajine). An overload of sensory input that amazes you shortly but could also give you a nervous breakdown if the exposure time slips unattended. At night, a lot of locals come and gather around the local musicians that played mostly drums and oud. I confess I didn’t like this music at all. I observed the locals swaying with these awful tunes and wondered, what could have led to this affinity? But then, there is also “heavy metal” and other kinds of horrible music tastes out there in the world.
The evening was usually slow meeting with Klaudia from Poland and going to a Latin party where I met some locals and some Latinos.
***
One of the things I like to do during travelling is to learn cooking. I only succeeded in doing this in Mexico a few years ago but I also don’t insist on this experience in all countries. But in Morocco it was a must. I booked one cooking class for Monday where I met a british gentleman, an australian couple, an american nurse with her holywood-director aunt as well as three gorgeous and obviously intelligent Austrian ladies with their not-so-gorgeous and not-so-bright fourth friend!
We were picked up by Kauter, our host, at the meeting point and took to the market where we bought the ingredients for the tajine. We then arrived to the house where “Khamisa” was waiting for us. We learned how to prepare Moroccan tea with mint, which I would describe even as a spiritual drink. We then started cooking all together. Cut this vegetable, put this Safran, smash those garlics, stir this mixture. We cooked and exchanged jokes and stories until the food was ready to enjoy. It was quite surreal to me that the process seamed easy but produced a delicious taste!
Happy with my Marrakesh experience, I went back to Adam’s please and where he give me tips and tricks for the rest of my trip. This conversation continued in the morning when I joined him for his daily morning routine, including rolling a joint, taking a coffee from the coffee stall and having a short walk to enjoy his coffee and joint in the nearby park. Adam advised me to go to the nearby city called Essaouira. So I packed my stuff, booked a bus ticket and went!
I thought I saw you the other day.
It took me a few seconds to remember that you are no more among us. Reincarnation?
Or probably in some other dimension? Shining your timid smile in another universe. While slightly tilting your head.
Ahh, your smile, your weapon, your fishing net, a gatherer of obsessed hearts.
Yet, you departed. With this exquisite collection of trophies
Leaving a multitude of men:
Incapable of love
Three nights in Okinawa. Sometimes you go to a tropical island hoping for sun and enjoying the white sands and transparent turquoise water but find a clouded sky and a strong wind. This was the case in Okinawa. I was already warned by Kate, that a cyclone is approaching and that a typhoon is possible. The predictions said that it is approaching on the day I leave the island. I hesitated only a little before flying to Okinawa, since most of our fears are exaggerated, and since it is a regular event in the region. I assumed that the island is prepared to face such events. It is Japan after all and what I have seen so far makes me trust this country in many things. Things simply work here.
Sometimes when I see organised societies, it seems all natural and self-explanatory: There is no garbage in the street because there is a garbage man whose job is to collect the garbage, and people don’t throw garbage in the street. Why would anyone throw garbage on the street? This all sounds very logical but most of the world does not function like this. Most of the world is dirty and dysfunctional, or at least does not function using the same logic.
The check-in process in most of the Japanese hotels I stayed in was done by a machine and a hotel employee is hovering around the machines to assist those with less digital competence. The machine scans your passport, finds your reservation, collects your payment and then spits out your room key along with a small paper with your room number.
I checked in to the nice room and rushed to explore the features of the toilet 🤣. This is a thing here. This toilette would open the toilet lid once you approach it. By a click of a button you can also control the toilet seat. The usual other functions include controlling water flow to clean you, control water temperature, a funny function oscillates the water so that you increase the area covered 😁. A button for music covers up for the auditory pollution that you might create, and sometimes there is even a button for drying your sparkling clean rear. Most of Europe still needs this kind of evolution, instead of this strange habit of wiping with papers!
Living in Europe, one can sense the feeling of “superiority” of the west. Because of the industrial and economic dominance of western countries, as well as the higher quality of life, many people there assume that they are the top of human civilisation and that this welfare is an indicator of an advanced society. Unfortunately, some people generalise this into thinking that the western way of living is the best and the rest of the world has just to “catch up”. Specially in topics like social interactions and morality. A lot of this is justified by its affiliation to science, which is also mostly coming from the west. Here I borrow Tanizaki’s question: how would the world have looked like, given that Japan (I add: or other non-western societies), were at the front of scientific and industrial innovation? Let’s remember that science is the product of scientists, which are always biased human beings. Humanity would have probably advanced in a different way, other than changing the last name of women after marriage or just wiping our rears with papers, and other countless examples of things that don’t make sense to me.
The trip to Japan was a milestone for me. Here I saw a top society with totally different culture than the west. An example of how things can be done differently and still function with excellence. Specially on the social level. This gives me hope that globalisation does not necessarily mean westernisation or Americanisation of all countries, but rather on taking the best feature from each culture around the globe.
I spent my time in Okinawa chilling, eating, getting massages daily and dancing. I visited one beach but that was below average. The best Hawaii-like beaches are either more than an hour drive or an hour of ferry ride. Since my driving license is suspended at the moment and I didn’t want to get stranded on a remote Japanese island while the typhoon hits shortly before my return-flight, I relaxed myself by meeting travellers and locals on the island and enjoy lazy and schedule-free 2 days.
At the end of my trip, I will take back with me a new affection for Japan and Japanese people. The way they bowed to welcome you or to bid you farewell was always heart warming. Sometimes a business owner or worker will come and bid you farewell and wait until you take the lift. Their smile can be felt behind their masks. Always polite, always courteous and always eager to help you. I observed that this is how they treat each other in general. When the flight from Okinawa to Tokyo landed in the rain, and the airport bus came to pick us up, there were two meters from the stairs till the bus where you could get some rain on you. But no! two gentlemen stood there carrying two umbrellas so that the passengers don’t get uncomfortable. The flight attendant came down the stairs of the plane and kept on waving bye-bye to passengers and specially children. I ask myself, is this a job? Is this in the job description? or do they add an extra humane touch? or is it the ”natural” thing to do for them?
So, that’s it. My time in this trip has come to an end and it is time to go back and serve. Thankful and privileged I am to have the time and means to go on this trip. I appreciate your time reading my words and sharing the trip with me. This is one way of fighting the traveler’s loneliness. I am now excited to see how this trip will influence me in the future. I am also excited to come back to Japan one day.
A few friends that followed this trip expressed that it would be nice to travel with me. I would gladly disappoint you 😄 having a companion changes the dynamics completely and strips your time of the priceless freedom. Then there is often he conflict of interests and the need of compromise. Unless you are immensely lucky to have the perfect travel partner, I would mostly choose to travel solo. I guess an exception of that would be going to nature-filled destinations like Iceland or camping, then i believe that a loved and like-minded soul is essential to share what you see and what you feel with. Until the next trip, I give you a kiss and a hug.
