Travelling: incongruities #2

I love to discover incongruities when I travel, as I told you. Like the coffee-seller using a shiny Italian espresso machine in Aleppo's medieval souq, I like this image of two guys working a Turkish doner kebap stand in Beijing. It wasn't something I expected to see in downtown Beijing. For me, it was out of context, that's all. And there lies its disarming charm. For me, food is another source of joy when I travel. And I enjoy eating 'foreign' foods in countries to find out how that culture has adapted and reinterpreted another culture's dish to suit its taste. Although nothing beats trying food that's typical of a country's cuisine, those dishes that are representative of a culture and identity, that its people are proud of, that are served with love. I'll never forget my first time in Paris. My friend Sandrine invited us to stay at her place and we arrived to a breakfast of warm croissants, fresh from the bakery. Sure we'd had croissants in Sydney, even in Abu Dhabi, before. But these were Parisian croissants our French friend was proudly serving us in Paris. And to us they were the most delicious, flaky, buttery croissants we'd ever eaten. I can smell them now.

Travelling: incongruities #1

One of travel's delights for me is discovering wonderful incongruities. Like this coffee-seller in Aleppo Souq. While there's nothing unusual about finding coffee-sellers in Syrian souqs, they're usually armed with a traditional coffeepot or thermos, tiny ceramic or plastic cups, and a container of fresh water to wash them in. What's so incongruous about this image is that this young entrepreneur is operating a shiny Italian espresso machine. It's somehow misplaced in a souq that's almost medieval. But why should it seem out of context? It's 2007 after all. And maybe it's not so incongruous to you? Perhaps it's only me. Because while I've been to souqs and bazaars all across the Middle East, I can't recall seeing one with an espresso stand. (I'm discounting Istanbul's Grand Bazaar where there are several contemporary cafés under its vaulted ceilings and other modernities all around.) So while this scene makes me smile, perhaps it's not of any interest to you. The guy's coffee is great, by the way.

Travelling: textures

There are a few reasons as to why I keep thinking about that turtle crossing the road in Syria: one, as I said, was because I'd been reading about Freya Stark's 'virtues of travelling'; I've also been thinking about the things that make travel exciting (unexpected events, the element of surprise, those serendipitous moments, incongruities); and I've been thinking about textures. Since that moment with the turtle, I've not been able to get an image out of my mind... more often than the picture of the turtle slowing crossing that Syrian country road, another image persistently enters my mind. It's a close-up of the turtle's shell, and the extraordinarily beautiful texture of the thing. And like a slide show screening in my head, a whole array of memories of textures in close-up follow... sculpted desert sands (Liwa, Mhmed), seashells on a beach (Ajman, Essaouira, Monkey Mia), and the shiny slippery white of marble rocks polished by the steps of time (Dubrovnik, Hvar, and a host of archaeological sites that have blurred in my mind).

Travelling: virtues put to the test, example 1

Our 'travellers' virtues' were put to the test on our recent road trip in Syria. We'd hired a driver as my partner and I were both busy researching and shooting pics and had enough to do (although my partner reluctantly ended up driving a few days anyway). We were cruising along a remote country road in the northern Kurdish region of Syria - the scenery was spectacular. We'd just dropped off a kindly, craggy-faced old Bedouin man to whom we'd given a ride, when we spotted a small turtle crossing the road. We asked our driver to stop the car and we scrambled out to take a look at the little guy. The three of us stood and watched the turtle ever-so-slowly crawl across the road to seek cover in the undergrowth. Our driver said: "I wish I knew what turtles ate. I'd take him home." We had a few ideas as to what turtles might eat but, as fond as we'd become of our driver, we weren't about to share them.

Travelling: virtues of a traveller

I'm reading the biography of the great female traveller Freya Stark, 'Passionate Nomad: the life of Freya Stark', because I'm writing a book on Syria and Freya spent time there. I'm up to an enlightening chapter about Freya's time in Yemen when she was the leader of an archaeological expedition. She intensely disliked her two British women travelling companions because they weren't interested in the locals and learning about their culture; they were only interested in the piles of rocks they were there to dig up. As a result, Freya formed a list of 'seven cardinal virtues for a traveller' which still strike me as being relevant: "1) To admit standards that are not one's own standards and discriminate the values that are not one's own values; 2) to know how to use stupid men and inadequate tools with equanimity; 3) to be able to dissociate oneself from one's bodily sensations; 4) to be able to take rest and nourishment as and when they come; 5) to love not only nature but human nature also; 6) to have an unpreoccupied, observant, and uncensorious mind - in other words, to be unselfish; and 7) to be as calmly good-tempered at the end of the day as at the beginning." What do you think? Is Freya missing anything?

What happened to the the journey?

I asked: what happened to 'the journey'? Is the process of getting 'there' no longer as important as it once was? My friend Greg says: "Get me there as painlessly as possible. That is still important, but airports are airports, and other than the quality of food, and perhaps the entertainment system, planes are planes. Once landed, then the journey becomes, or can become, important... land and sea travel afford many more 'memory' possibilities. Running around Saigon in a 1968 Honda 90cc motorcycle with two duffle bags hanging off each arm (passenger). Taking a small long tail to go to Ko Lanta Island in South Thailand. Taking the train from Kuala Lumpur up through Malaysia and into Thailand. Trekking across 6 countries in Africa in the back of a Bedford truck. Taking the subway from Charles De Gaulle into Paris. Taking any TGV fast train in France. Riding around Melbourne in a Tram. Hitching to the step pyramids of Sakarah (Egypt) in old diesel lorry, sitting on a crate of dates, a chicken on my lap. I think ground transportation has elements of excitement, adventure, and most importantly a closer look at people and their culture in a 'real' every-day environment." I found this photo I took on a road trip in Morocco. Greg, is this what you mean?

It's the people you meet

It's the people you meet that makes travel cool for you. Not star sights or great restaurants or lively bars, but it's the people you meet at those places, the people you meet on your moves, that makes travel so great. These were the results of my 'what makes travel cool for you?' poll: 80% said it was the people they met; 65% said it was the things they saw; 50% said it was the places they went, stuff they did and what they ate; 45% said it was where they drank; and 25% said it was the stuff they took home and how they moved. If people are so important to our travels, why don't guidebooks tell us more about the people of the places we're going to? If we knew more about the kinds of people we might expect to meet in a place, I wonder if it would inspire and excite us more about that destination? Maybe because there's less written about the 'people factor', because our meetings are 'serendipitous', because there's that element of surprise... maybe that's why our encounters with people on our travels are so memorable. Like this water-seller we met in Alexandria. Would the impact of his surprising warmth and smile been lessened had I have read that I might meet friendly water-sellers in the backstreets of Alexandria?