Richard Burton’s Journeys to Arabia is the frontispiece of Richard Burton dressed as an Arab. One of my friends typically teases me about my passion for traveling by saying that most probable, as a child, my daughter stuck a helicopter solution instead of a baby in my mouth! Almost certainly, this is true. Some of my fondest and most revolutionary memories from childhood happened when my mother took me with her to diverse cities, towns, and remote villages in Iraq. I learned so much from the way she interacted with people in various languages, as well as the way individuals shared their thoughts in stories with her. Another instance from my youth that sticks in my mind is when an elderly neighbor is sipping coffee with my mother over traveling. She said,” Well, the old Arab saying goes that even travelers really see locations, even travelers really see locations. Tourists only see what they go to see.'” When I left Iraq and began to explore the world, I realized the stark distinction between being a traveller who lets life occur to him, who always knows what, who may encounter some of the most fascinating, upsetting, painful, or difficult situations, and being a traveler whose desire is to visit the Eiffel or Pisa towers, Big Ben, or some renowned church, dome, or temple. Tourists only see what they go to see. In a peculiar feeling, visitors may miss seeing all except what they go to see. Many tourists do so in the same way as the wise words of English philosopher John Ruskin, who says that “modern traveling is not traveling at all; it is just being sent to a place, and nothing else is becoming a parcel. There is so much life on the sides, the margins, in dark alleys, in parks, and remote villages that most tourists never get to see, and thus never get to feel and capture the real spirit of the places they visit. Dear Readers, I ask: Can we travel without being tourists. Indeed, can we stop being tourists altogether? Can we begin to master the art of getting lost, the art of finding hidden gems, beauty, or simple experiences after which life is never the same? As I have traveled extensively across the globe over the years, I have sat down with both travelers and tourists to talk a lot. I have learned so much from all, and I’m deeply grateful for what I have learned, but I ca n’t help sharing a pattern I have observed about tourists: they often come across as not only individuals who were n’t profoundly altered by their travel experiences, but also, in many cases, I find them to be more narrow- minded and sticking to their old beliefs and values as if what they already know is and remains the only truth in the universe. Many of the tourists ‘ encounters have demonstrated to me that many people prefer to confirm their prejudices and worldviews over challenging, expanding, disrupting, and turning their worlds around. It is like people who only watch TV news channels or read books that confirm their prejudices and beliefs of being from the “best, most wonderful, most civilized country in the world”, or such nonsense. Many tourists I have observed project the boring image of a couple walking hand in hand, dressed up in typical sporty Western clothes and gear that are supposed to make them look simple and humble, but such clothes and gear are not only more expensive than they look, but they also are carefully selected to make them look like they are from wealthier and more “privileged” countries – i. e. typical tourists. Regardless of the country they are visiting, you frequently see them hopping from one souvenir store to another to purchase items made in China and India. You see such tourists on prearranged tours led by carefully selected tour guides that each country chooses and even monitors to ensure that the version of the knowledge and information they provide about the country’s history, culture, and politics are completely aligned with that of the elites and political leaders of that country. One would always hear about how, in the past, the country suffered from dictators, poverty, and a lack of freedoms, and such superficial propaganda, but now everything is wonderful, so you, the tourists, are able to come here and tour around safely. For instance, if the country is Westernized, embraces capitalism, or has a political elite that is supported or appointed by Western countries. And, by the way, there is a Starbucks and KFC nearby, if you get hungry. And, of course, western tourists can never visit a place as tourists, unless that country is “liberated”, embraces capitalism and the “free market” model, and is rid of any political leaders that are considered adversaries to western elites. Otherwise, no matter how safe the nation is, it would be listed on every western government’s website with red “do not travel” warnings, and the reasons are always “violence, terrorism, and crime.” No country is safe for western tourists until it is liberated by western elites, and until it is full of Starbucks, McDonald’s, KFC, and other dominant western brands. This may be an explanation for why many tourists ‘ perspectives and worldviews are not only broadened after traveling, but also arguably narrower after visiting different countries. A good example that comes to mind is a conversation with an American tourist, who I consider a typical tourist. This gentleman told me that he loves the beaches and the weather in some Central American and Caribbean countries, “despite the fact that many such places are known for violence, theft, and crime”. He continued,” Well, I kinda do n’t care about safety as long as I stay in safe, gated areas and hotels.” So, in such an example one might ask: what can this tourist really see and learn about any country he visits with this mindset? What does he actually notice in hotels and apartment buildings close to beautiful beaches and that are heavily fortified and gated? It is clear that such tourists not only do n’t see anything, but clearly they do n’t even want to see, reminding us of the old Persian proverb that goes” A blind person who sees is better than a seeing person who is blind”. Such tourists also remind us of the insightful words from the English poet, Thomas Hood, who wrote” Some minds improve by travel, others, rather, resemble copper wire, or brass, which get narrower by going farther”. Going to a father is not enough; what matters is how well we develop our ability to see, understand, and sense the world as we advance. Perhaps only travelers who know how to get lost and even be vulnerable can get close to seeing? Dear Friends, on the other hand, traveling is not only the art of getting lost; in some ways, true travelers never go home. If they do return, they never see home the same way they did before leaving. They begin to see the foreignness of home after experiencing being at home in other foreign lands. As I worked toward becoming a better and more adventurous traveler, I was fortunate to meet and learn from many travelers who were genuinely interested in experiencing places as they are and how they change, challenging and dissipating the idea that avoiding strangers, depressing neighborhoods, or sketchy parts of town is not necessary when we travel to other places. This is frequently about getting to live as locals as they can. I believe it is no coincidence that many great writers and poets around the world did not only master the art of traveling, but also made sure to impart their experiences and insights about what it means to be a good traveler. Over the years, I have discovered a lot of insights that, in my opinion, profoundly illustrate the value of traveling and the attitude we must embrace to master the art of traveling. The first example that comes to mind is Leo Tolstoy’s beautiful words,” All great literature is one of two stories, a man goes on a journey, or a stranger comes to town”. Aldous Huxley reminds us that the more we know other places, the more we are humbled about what we thought about ourselves and our own countries. To discover that everyone is wrong about other countries is to travel, Huxley says. The Chinese writer, Lin Yutang reminds us that a good traveler is one who does n’t know where they are going, but the perfect traveler is one who forgets where they came from. Ghada al-Samman, a Syrian author, claims that “vision is more transparent at airport transits covered with gray dawns, drowsiness, exhaustion, and the smoke of departing planes.” The Palestinian poet, Naomi Shihab Nye, captures a feeling that I frequently experienced at airports as she writes,” I realized that I travel too much on the day I began tidying an airport as if it were my bedroom”. I, too, have come to feel “at home” in airports. I can see myself making sure to keep things tidy and organized as though they were my own home. Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn from Russia goes further by insisting that everything we own should be packable! He advises,” Own only what you can always carry with you: know languages, know countries, know people.” Let your memory be your travel bag”. Solzhenitsyn’s words strongly resonate with me not only as a traveler, but as someone who lost his country and everything dear after the Iraq occupation. I literally left my country with only the languages I could speak when I was young, my knowledge of world geography, which has always been one of my favorite pastimes since I was a child, the lovely people I met while traveling, and my memories of everything I learned in Iraq that many oppressive forces insist on erasing but ca n’t forget. Perhaps this explains why my travels to different countries did n’t prove that Iraq is the greatest country in the world just because I was born in it. Instead, I witnessed stunning remnants of Iraq everywhere, and Iraq taught me that I am a person of all kinds. The Brazilian novelist, Paulo Coelho, shows the ultimate benefit of traveling as he writes:” Sometimes you have to travel a long way to find what is near”. This is akin to Socrates ‘ “know thyself”. Can we become as knowledgeable about ourselves as possible about everyone and everyone else? Can we really find what is near – often right under our nose – without going as far away as we can from home and all the familiar parts of life that disguise and even bury what we need to see most? They left in order to return, according to Polish author Olga Tokarczuk, who says,” Traveling is not all about the touristy and the beautiful places as we see them in tourist guides.” Traveling can be frightening in many ways, most important of which is the realization of how much sadness, pain, impoverishment, and despair exist next to, behind, under, over, and above the mountains, the blue lakes, the pristine beaches, the highly rated hotels and restaurants, the well- designed museums and historic and cultural sites, the fancy shops that, in many places, most locals can neither access nor afford. There are places so sad that the fanciest building one can see there is the airport! There are other locations where the airports are filthy and depressing, but once you leave the airport, you find that these locations are full of life, meaning, and physical and spiritual nourishment. There are countries, namely the developed countries, where everything looks shiny and perfect, yet as soon as you enter, you encounter so much loneliness, depression, hate, racism, and lifelessness. Things never seem to be as they seem at first glance. Traveling leaves us with more questions than answers – it is so bittersweet. There is something sad about traveling, because as you discover the enormous amount of life and living that exist in all these places and hidden corners, you are left with two contradictory feelings: first, traveling strongly confirms the idea that one can only see what one is intellectually, spiritually, and physically prepared to see. The Portuguese poet Fernando Pessoa says,” Travel is the traveler. What we see is n’t what we see but what we are”. In the same way that food and palate are both dependent on each other, everything we encounter depends on our palate. Second, there is something excruciatingly painful about leaving a place as soon as you begin to feel at home. There is a deep sorrow in knowing that all the things, places, lakes, wildflowers, animals, and people that we encounter will continue their lives without us. The realization that there are many more lives and much more beauty that we will never get to experience is even more agonizing. It is a feeling akin to what many writers experience when they write a story or a poem in which they feel fully alive, yet they also know that as soon the piece of writing is finished and the work is out in the world, they will feel that painful void and loneliness as if they have just lost a very dear friend. Their only hope is that readers ‘ hearts and minds will continue to be filled with their cherished work of writing. The reader’s bodies and minds become like a shelter that protects the life and the meaning they have put on paper. With all that, dear Readers, is it fair to say that traveling is life itself? It is like seeing endless beauty, pain, desolation, beautiful hearts and minds, beautiful hearts and minds, and nature through the windows of a fast-moving train, where everything is fleeting and impossible to capture. So, what remains as travelers travel to all these distant places around the world, you may wonder? What, in my opinion, are those unforeseen events and encounters that tourists may never be able to capture. They are encounters where the people, places, and things in them remain alive in your head, always leaving you with the question of: what happened after I left? With that, I’d like to leave you all with some – out of many – such encounters that I have experienced in different places, which, to this day, remain fully alive in my memory. On my first rainy and cold night in Liverpool, I still wonder what happened to that elderly English couple at the traffic light. I simply asked them for directions to my accommodation, and they ended up taking me to a coffee shop, had a very touching conversation about the atrocities of the Iraq war and how they stood against it, and then drove me all the way to my accommodation. I’m still curious about what happened to the incredibly kind Tajik man. I simply asked for directions to the bazaar, and he insisted on inviting me for a meal with his family. He took me with him to the bazaar where I saw him pick all the ingredients, then went home and peeled all the veggies, and spent hours cooking me a Tajik meal from scratch. I’m still in shock about what happened to the young, kind German couple who met me while hiking in Kyrgyzstan and who suddenly caused me to feel like I would n’t be able to descend the mountain. They sat with me for more than an hour, wrapped my leg, and gave me a drink with electrolytes to ease the muscle pain, and then came with me all the way back to the starting point of the hike. I met a beautiful Ukrainian woman on a bus ride, and she is stunningly beautiful with beautiful eyes and sorrow. After a short chat, I could n’t help sharing with her that I see many sad stories in her eyes, so I was wondering where she is from. She said,” I see the same in yours and I was wondering the same”. She said,” We both have sad stories in our eyes for the same reason, and it is the same people who have destroyed our countries and lives,” as we told each other where we both come from. I still wonder what happened to the woman who got on the train from Kaluga to Moscow in Russia selling socks and underwear, while beautifully singing a melancholy Russian folk song. I wonder what happened to the middle-aged Romanian sex worker who I bumped into while using the side mirror of a random car in the street to change makeup and adjust hair in a poor Bucharest neighborhood. I still wonder what happened to the elderly and incredibly kind Bulgarian woman whom I met when I got lost as I was dropped off very far from the intended destination in a little town out of nowhere in the mountains. This kind woman did n’t understand any English as I do n’t speak any Bulgarian. She ran inside the bus station in search of a translator to assist her in communicating with me. Once she found a young couple and understood where I was heading, she got me a taxi and insisted on paying him a big amount, even though she clearly could n’t afford it. I had to make every effort to prevent her from taking the taxi. As I was about to get into the taxi, I will never forget how she embraced me and teared up – I, the stranger, whom she knew nothing about. I still wonder what happened to the young man I met randomly at a park in Paraguay and, as I asked him which neighborhoods and areas I should check out if I wanted to get a real taste of how locals live. He informed me that some of these locations would be risky for visitors who did n’t know the location or the language. He offered to show me around on his motorcycle. I had the opportunity to see some of the most miserable parts of town that I would never be able to see otherwise. It was a heart-wrenching ride. I still wonder what happened to the Venezuelan refugee and the flower lady I met on a refreshing spring evening while roaming the streets of Arequipa in Peru. While walking, I came upon a young Venezuelan man in the city center. From his eyes, his greetings, and his tender soul, I knew he would always be displaced like I am. I sensed he is from a country they had destroyed as they did to Iraq, Syria, Libya, Yemen, and the list goes on. We stopped by a Peruvian woman selling flowers on a worn-out mat on a sidewalk after talking about how colonizers try to plunder other countries, how they try to displace and destroy its people. She was a woman in her late 40s, or perhaps younger as time is harsher on people struggling to earn every single morsel and cup of water to stay alive. I greeted her in Spanish and said jokingly, after picking up a bunch of flowers:” Can you charge me a local, not a tourist price for this”? She responded,” Flowers are priceless, Dear Visitor!” as my new Venezuelan friend put it. And if it was n’t for poverty and unfairness in my country, I would n’t have sold them at all! I would have provided them to each visitor for free! And for this reason, I sell them at the lowest price, not because they are cheap, but because I believe every single human being deserves a bunch of flowers”! Her deep words touched my heart. I questioned her about flowers. She said:” Flowers make me sad as much as they make me happy. They make me sad because I am aware that the majority of people on earth are merely buds that grow inert and never bloom. They make me happy because they do n’t stop smelling good even after they are cut by our cruel hands! And like everything dear and precious in life, flowers are perishable. From them, I discovered that nature and beauty must first be perishable. Before leaving the kind and warm flowers lady, she, too, asked me what flowers mean to me. I said to her,” I am indebted to flowers for all I know. For every step of my life. As an Iraqi, my wish has always been that we plant flowers not landmines for each other”! She gave my new Venezuelan friend a bouquet of flowers, which I gave her. Deep inside, I damned everyone responsible for impoverishing and displacing millions upon millions of humans in this world. I also thanked God for these priceless human encounters, which would n’t have been possible without the love of flowers. I still wonder what happened to the Syrian shawarma guy I met on a summer evening in Iraq. While walking the street one night, I saw a starving street cat that kept following me crying for food. I asked the employee at the shawarma shop if he could give the starving street cat some meat when I came across it. I mentioned that I’d pay him for it. He did and refused to accept my check. When I asked why he refused, since I am simply giving the food he needs to sell to a street cat, he said in a heartbreaking tone:” I am a refugee from Syria, and I know what it means to be hungry in the streets”. I will always wonder what happened to the Moroccan fisherman who I met by chance one evening while walking along the Rabat marina, where many men and their friends go fishing. Out of all the people present, I introduced this fisherman, and after a brief exchange, he revealed that he was an ex-singer. His voice and music talent were incredibly beautiful. We sat on rocks for hours, singing, and waiting for fish he never caught. When I looked at the time, I was shocked to see that it was 2 am! So many are the encounters, Dear Readers, but I have already taken from you more time and space than I deserve. As I get closer to completing this journey with you, it is important to note that many of the most profound travel tales occur on airplanes, when we are hanging in between the land and the sky. One recent memorable story that sticks in my head is the young American guy who told me he was a bartender, but his biggest passion is writing song lyrics and singing. When I discovered that he loved poetry, he gave me a lot of time to recite and sing a few of his lyrics in a most beautiful, gentle voice. ” My dream is to make it one day, but until then, I will continue writing lyrics and saving money as a bartender. I live with my mom because we both need each other. She’s been experiencing loneliness and depression since my dad passed away, and I ca n’t afford to live on my own. We are getting through this together”, he told me in a hopeful tone. When we travel, we run into many faces who simply need to know “how are you doing?” ” Is everything okay”? We, too, need to be asked these two simple yet important questions that, when asked genuinely and sincerely, make us feel that we belong, that someone cares about us, that we are still connected with an otherwise cruel world full of atrocities. Never forget that there are millions and millions of lonely hearts on this planet who are asking how they are doing and whether everything is alright. During one of my travels, I once encountered an American woman and felt that she was in need to be asked if everything was alright. I did. She responded,” No it is not alright. My partner committed suicide yesterday and I do n’t know what to do. I feel so bad about myself. That simple question led to long and difficult conversation and authentic human connection. And so, Dear Friends, if there is anything we can learn from traveling, it might be that we should never stop acting in kind and compassionate ways, which have the potential to have a profound and long-lasting impact on our communities wherever we are. We learn from traveling that it makes a huge difference to simply acknowledge and greet each other, to ask whenever possible or appropriate, whether someone is alright, and most importantly to foil the plans and intentions of fear and warmongers using every medium and platform to get us to distrust, hate, and be afraid of each other, or to beware of strangers. The American poet, John Berryman, reminds us to reject our fear both literally and metaphorically speaking, which is a product of everything we’ve ever been exposed to and shaped by. Like many other writers and poets who preceded him, Berryman frequently reminds us to” travel in the direction of our fear.” When I was a kid in Iraq, people used to say one could travel the entire world just by sitting in a library and reading books. Unfortunately, I do n’t think this is still true in the age of billionaire-controlled social media and governing bodies and minds based on carefully engineered algorithms. The saying should be revised in our times to be “one could hate the entire world and see everyone as a villain or an enemy just by browsing through reels and social posts carefully selected to confirm one’s limited knowledge, perspective, and prejudices”. With that in mind, we need more than ever to master the art of traveling, whether we go near or far. We must stop perpetuating our unreasonable, amplified, and exaggerated fear of strangers. Thus, I’d like to close by sharing with you the English translation of a poem titled” Beware of Strangers”, which was originally written in Arabic and first published on October 29, 2022: Beware of StrangersAs children, they teach usTo beware of strangers, To refrain from approaching them. We learn that no one is stranger than those we thought we’d known all our lives as we get older. As we grow older we learnThat a stranger may carry more empathy, And may understand us more deeply. Even feelings of affection from a strangerMay be more sincere. And so I ask: Are humanity and strangeness synonymous terms? Could we say: I am a stranger, therefore I am? Without strangers or strange encounters, can we truly feel alive? Do we need to remember that our hearts and minds are still beating? They teach us to avoid strangers, And life teaches usthat human awareness can only be borne outOf the dagger of strangeness…That life is tastelessWhen we do n’t mix it with strangers…That familiarity is opposed to life! And thus, I loudly declare: A stranger I was born. A total stranger to be around. And I ask that you issue my death certificateThe day I become familiar.
