tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-68753125205558135172024-03-13T22:33:56.191+00:00Down to EgyptWalking from Portugal to Egypt for Peace and CommunityKenneth Schroederhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12200902890049634707noreply@blogger.comBlogger252125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6875312520555813517.post-34798985905453414422013-06-19T19:56:00.002+01:002013-06-19T20:04:47.820+01:00Final Post<br />
<br />
I want to thank everyone who has supported me for the past 20 months. When I left Portugal in November 2011 with 235 euros, I never really expected to get to Egypt. Your contributions amounted to well over 3000 euros; your offers of hospitality along the way probably double that amount. So here I am.<br />
Though I reached the pyramids, walking for Masterpeace, I was unable to deliver my peace petitions. Nevertheless, the subject of peace in the Middle East was discussed and argued from Portugal to Egypt, and awareness of the problem in Israel and Palestine is the first step to a solution.<br />
I may have inspired a few people as I walked, and they may become better peacemakers than I have been.<br />
In any case, I hope I have achieved something for the good of humanity. Most certainly, those of you who supported me have done some good for humanity, not because you supported me<i>, but because you supported someone in need, and because you shared a belief in the possibility of world peace.</i><br />
My Buddhist friends would call that good karma.<br />
<br />
I would say to anyone who is led by God to do something, or to anyone who feels compelled to live authentically-- whether that leading or compulsion is to walk for peace, or to cycle to China, or to volunteer at a homeless shelter, or to devote oneself to raising a family in a peaceful and loving environment-- I would say to that person to follow that leading. If work gets in the way, find another job. If cynical people get in the way, go around them. If fear gets in the way, face that fear. Whatever the obstacles, try to overcome them, or put them aside to live your life abundantly. <br />
<br />
I am taking a car to Sharm al Sheik in a few hours, then flying to Milan in the morning.<br />
I hope to find work in Italy; possibly picking fruit, as suggested by Italian freediving friend Crista.<br />
With what I earn I hope to buy a second hand touring bike, and to cycle from Germany to Syria to raise money for Syrian refugees. When I was in Antakya, Turkey, near the Syrian border, I felt I had unfinished business there. This fundraiser will probably be done through International Rescue Committee. <cite style="background-color: white; color: #009933; display: inline-block; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px !important; font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 1px; white-space: nowrap;"><a href="http://www.rescue.org/">www.<b>rescue</b>.org</a></cite><span style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 15px; white-space: nowrap;"></span><br />
My new blog, which is under construction, is<a href="http://cyclingtosyria.blogspot.com/"> cyclingtosyria.blogspot.com</a>.<br />
<br />
<br />
Finally, St. Francis' Prayer, which I picked up in a church in the French Alps.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i>Lord, make me your instrument of peace.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i>Where there is hatred, may I bring love.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i>Where there is offense, may I bring forgiveness.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i>Where there is dissension, may I bring union.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i>Where there is error, may I bring Truth.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i>Where there is doubt, may I bring faith.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i>Where there is despair, may I bring hope.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i>Where there is darkness, may I bring light.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i>Where there is sadness, may I bring joy.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i>Lord, may I not seek comfort, but give comfort;</i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i>try, not to be understood, but to understand;</i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i>try, not to be loved, but to love.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i>For it is in giving, that we receive;</i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i>in forgetting ourselves that we find ourselves;</i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i>in forgiving, that we obtain forgiveness;</i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i>and in dying, that we live for eternal life.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i><br /></i></div>
Thank you again, friends.<br />
Peace!<br />
<br />
<br />Kenneth Schroederhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12200902890049634707noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6875312520555813517.post-82093393226088715272013-06-18T16:59:00.001+01:002013-06-18T17:10:44.012+01:00Healing in DahabBeing in the sleepy town of Dahab, Sinai, on the Gulf of Aqaba, has been a healing experience.<br />
I've been here almost a month, though I've had to check the calendar to confirm that fact, as time loses significance here. The other day I was lounging around with some free diving friends, and when someone asked what day it was, we were all at a loss for an answer.<br />
I stayed for some time with Couchsurfing hosts, my last on this journey for peace. I'm not sure for how long I stayed with them. The rest of the time I've spent at Sindbad Camp, living in a cabana by the sea. At times I sleep outside, under the stars. Bedouins are employed at the camp, which is sleepier than Dahab itself, and I've made some friends among them. The people who stay at the camp are varied; a few SCUBA divers, quite a few free divers, several travelers; some taking a low budget, relaxing holiday, others passing through on their perpetual world journeys.<br />
One Japanese woman has been traveling for five years, and lived in Nepal for a time. An Austrian woman, Karin Gebauer, is here for a free diving competition at Blue Hole. She's Austria's leading female free diver. A Catalan man is here for his free diving instructor's certificate. He got most of his free diving experience before he knew what free diving was, as a spear fisherman. None of them are what I would call tourists.<br />
<br />
While walking with Inge from Slovenia to Turkey, she talked a lot about free diving. She had been in Bali a few years before, overcoming her fear of the water by learning to free dive. This is something like overcoming a fear of heights by learning to skydive.<br />
In Serbia we had a host who was a free diving instructor, and the two of them talked. In Bulgaria we had another free diving host, and they talked about free diving as well. At the time I wasn't very interested.<br />
Now for the past three or four weeks I've been in Dahab, almost by accident, and surrounded by free divers.<br />
Edward and Andreas stop by Sinbad Camp on occasion for something to eat, or to talk about free diving. They're sometimes accompanied by other free divers. They're all from the 'non-competitive' school of free diving, which seems a bit zen, without the negative, New Age connotation. Andreas, a free diving instructor, had offered me an introductory course at a discount, but not having the money for this, his friend, Edward, offered to get me in the water with a few pointers. <br />
A Bedouin has loaned me his extra long free diving fins and mask, and I've been making elementary free dives ever since. I haven't gone very deep, but even at 10 meters, it's nice to glide past the SCUBA divers, who like herds of camels seem to plod along with their humps. "Eat your heart out!" I'm thinking, as I dolphin kick past them on my back. <br />
So after all that free diving talk from Inge-- through Slovenia, Croatia, Bosnia, Serbia, Bulgaria and Turkey-- three and a half months-- "Blah, blah, blah, free diving, blah, blah, blah" -- I am <i>by accident </i>experiencing in the warm, cerulean sea what she had related to me in the cold, landlocked Balkans. And now it's my turn to "Blah" about free diving.<br />
Here's something nice to watch about free diving in Dahab, so I won't have to "blah" about it anymore. <br />
<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hrXQbucZUDA%E2%80%8E">www.youtube.com/watch?v=hrXQbucZUDA</a><br />
<br />
I said, "by accident", because Dahab was a last thought; an alternative to Cairo should I be refused entry again in Israel. I wasn't looking for Dahab, I just wanted anything but that hellhole Cairo. And Dahab was the nearest place to retreat to from Taba Border crossing. And Dahab turns out to be a bit of a paradise.<br />
<br />
<br />
There is a German woman here who has heard the story of my walk for peace, about it's highs and lows, and about the final disappointment in not being able to deliver the petitions, or even being able to get into Israel. She believes the peace process on this journey is only now beginning for me, right here in Dahab. <br />
<br />
While waiting for the final donations to fly me back to Europe, I looked for work. I worked with a metal smith for a day, but we mostly drank tea and philosophized about life. He didn't really need a helper, but was trying to make his friend, Barbara, happy. She'd asked him to give me a job. She also asked a carpenter to give me a job, but we drank tea as well. He didn't need any help either.<br />
Though I am a Quaker, I looked for work as a bartender. I haven't seen anyone drunk here; you'll find the heavy drinkers down the coast at Sharm al Sheik, which is a resort for tourists, and not travelers. The drug of choice here is hashish rather than alcohol, so I feel tending bar in Dahab would be akin to hosting a quiet gathering of friends. But the bars weren't hiring; business has been slow for a few years.<br />
The rest of the world believes Egypt in general, and Sinai in particular to be dangerous places. We all laugh about that here, at least regarding Dahab. Two bombs went off here in 2006, but bombs seem to be going off everywhere at one time or another these days. A few people have been kidnapped by Bedouins recently-- the bad Bedouins, my Bedouin friends tell me-- but even they were treated as guests rather than as hostages.<br />
Free diving friend Edward has come down with typhoid fever, probably from the water, but it's treatable. He should be fine in a week. But the drinking water may be the most dangerous thing here. <br />
I also answered advertisements to volunteer at a couple of small hotels-- I would be paid with room and board-- but they said no. I imagine I may not be young or pretty enough. <br />
And there are no English schools in Dahab open in the summer, so my EFL experience was of no use.<br />
<br />
Thanks to some very generous donations, however, I now have my ticket out of here. In Cairo, a ticket out would have filled me with joy, but in Dahab I am filled with trepidation at the prospect of stepping off the plane in Milan. The pace will be double or triple what it is here. There will be rules to follow everywhere I go. I'll have some hosts waiting to take me in for a day or for a few weeks, but I am literally homeless now, and the money that goes so far in Dahab will go quickly there. It will be intimidating.<br />
<br />
But I am confident I'll find work to earn the money I need for my next 'mission'. <br />
I'll talk about that on my next, and final "Down to Egypt' blog post.<br />
<br />
<br />Kenneth Schroederhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12200902890049634707noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6875312520555813517.post-43920177309588954872013-06-04T11:34:00.001+01:002013-06-04T11:34:02.971+01:00Making Wishes in the DesertEline and Wilhelm come from Holland every year to spend their holiday in Dahab. They enter their sanctuary, a five star hotel on the sea, and they never leave it. They go from their room to the swimming pool to the restaurant. Eline also visits Barbara on the hotel grounds to watch her make her ceramic pottery. Eline envies Barbara in a way; Barbara is an artist, and a permanent resident of Dahab, something Eline imagines she would like to be. But Barbara goes to her small home every day, located in the Bedouin part of Dahab, and she routinely deals with that part of being an expat here that Eline probably wouldn't like so much. For example, water is supposed to come once a week, through a hose, when Barbara fills her water tanks and 5 liter water bottles to water the plants. At times, though, the water never arrives, and the plants go dry, and a shower becomes a matter of great concern. <br />
This year Eline and Wilhelm have decided to venture out of the hotel for the first time. It is Eline's birthday, and she has invited Barbara and I to go for a Bedouin meal in the desert mountains. Selim arrives in a pick-up truck to take the four of us out of Dahab. After a fifteen minute ride, we're turning onto a sandy road leading into a wide ravine between cliffs. But for a few, sparse desert plants, there is nothing but rock and sand. The pickup truck moves slowly around boulders and nearly gets stuck in the sand once or twice before we arrive at a palm grove in a narrow ravine. There are other Bedouins there, sitting barefoot on blankets, and we stop for tea before helping to load the truck with everything we'll need for the meal. Selim's helper joins him in the front seat, Wilhelm and I sit in the back seat, and Eline and Barbara sit on stools in the pick-up's bed.<br />
"This is a great experience," says Wilhelm. "I'm glad to be sharing it with you." He pats my shoulder firmly while saying this.<br />
"I'm glad to be sharing it with you too, Wilhelm," I say. He offers his hand and I shake it.<br />
"Thanks for inviting me, " I say.<br />
"Thanks for being here with us," he replies. <br />
Selim drives us deeper into the ravine, which he tells us can become a raging, torrential river when it rains here, three or four times a year. At our destination, at the farthest part of the ravine navigable by a pick-up truck, we stop and unload. I am excited to be out here; Wilhelm and Eline are trying to be excited, but they seem a little uncomfortable; Barbara is nonchalant about the whole thing. She's lived in Sinai for a long time.<br />
When Selim tells us to keep an eye out for snakes and scorpions, Wilhelm and Eline get a little more nervous.<br />
They scan the sandy ground.<br />
After the blankets have been spread we're served more tea by Selim's helper, who remains silent and detached. The two of them squat to start a fire with wood and charcoal they've brought along, then they begin cooking. Barbara has brought candles, and she places them among the cliffs, more for ambiance than for lighting.<br />
"It's so quiet out here," says Wilhelm. He's right, when no one is speaking, the silence is absolute. <br />
"It's so beautiful," says Eline.<br />
There's a bit of chatting, and Eline explains to us that she has burned all her metaphors. There's some silence after this, then I ask her what that means. She doesn't know how to answer, other than to say that burning her metaphors has helped to free her.<br />
"Cool," I say, nodding. <br />
After a bit we're all lying on our backs on the blanket, waiting for the first stars to come out.<br />
"It's so quiet out here," says Wilhelm.<br />
When the food is served, the four of us eat quietly. It doesn't seem right to make noise out here. Selim and his helper hang back, and Wilhelm and Eline invite them to eat with us.<br />
"Later'" says Selim.<br />
The food is fantastic; roast chicken, rice, vegetables, and flat bread baked on the fire, but I am the only one who is eating ravenously. I check myself and force myself to slow down.<br />
Eventually Selim joins us on the opposite side of the low table, but his helper still hangs back, smoking.<br />
While Eline and Wilhelm sit quietly, and Barbara lies on her back looking for shooting stars, I talk with Selim. I tell him about my journey, and he says I'm a Bedouin. He tells me all about life in Sinai in the time of his father and grandfather, when there were no cars or roads, and when camel caravans were common. He tells me all about camels, how they are spirited in the winter, and lazy in the summer. He tells me about the weak camels that populate Sinai now. They come from Sudan, and hang around doing nothing all day. The Sinai camel, which he says was far more robust, is almost extinct now. I think of Nietzsche's criticism of Darwin's theory, in which Nietzsche says the fat and lazy survive, and not the fittest. Selim talks also about how the Bedouins import their Toyota pick-up trucks. They're cut in half, just behind the cab, at the exporting port, then welded together again in Sinai. This is to avoid paying taxes for a vehicle. They're shipped as junk.<br />
I ask Selim about the time of Israel's occupation of Sinai. He says his mother took him and his brothers and sisters to hide in the mountains, but then he surprises me by saying it was an awakening for the Bedouins. They had cars and TV's for the first time when the Israelis came. Now the Israelis are gone, and business is bad. He also explains how the Bedouins are not Egyptians, but of Saudi descent. Before the establishment of the state of Israel, their camel caravans regularly traded with the Saudis via Aqaba. I tell him I'd wanted to walk, or at least hitchhike through Sinai, but the Egyptian military at the Sinai border would have prevented me from doing this.<br />
"F***ing Egyptians," he says. But I know he has many Egyptian friends.<br />
Barbara has brought a paper, hot air 'wish balloon' for Eline's birthday, and she opens it while Wilhelm lights the wick under it. After a few minutes, it inflates, and rises tentatively into the black, starry sky like a cosmic fire ship.<br />
"Happy birthday," we say to Eline, quietly. We watch, making our wishes as the illuminated balloon wavers, then rises higher. On reaching the height of the surrounding mountain's summits, the wind catches it and it sails away for a bit before descending behind another mountain.<br />
"So beautiful," Wilhelm says.<br />
When Selim and I begin talking again in low voices so as not to disturb the desert, Wilhelm says it's time to leave, but that I can stay with the Bedouins if I like. He's joking, but I know I'll be back out here for a night or two in my tent. I reveal my thoughts to Selim.<br />
"You don't need tent," he says. "Bedouins sleep outside in summer. Just look for snakes and scorpions." <br />
It's very dark, so I can only imagine our Dutch friends straining to see the ground at this reminder. <br />
Afterwards we silently pack everything into the truck, and Selim drives it at a swaying crawl through the dark ravine. On the way the headlights catch a small owl perched on a rock. It rotates its head to have a look before flying away into the darkness. Then we're back on the sand covered road to the hotel, where we say our goodbyes, and where Eline and Wilhelm return to their refuge before flying back to Holland. But having had this wonderful experience in the desert, and having made their wishes, when they come back next year I am sure they will see Sinai, and not just the hotel. <br />
<br />Kenneth Schroederhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12200902890049634707noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6875312520555813517.post-84731206855297372452013-05-30T10:44:00.000+01:002013-05-30T10:44:36.100+01:00Denied entry... sigh... againGetting off the ramshackle bus from Dahab, an Italian man and his girlfriend asked if I'd like to share a taxi to the Israeli border. I told them the border crossing was only 800 meters away, but I would take the number 15 bus with them to Eilat once we were through. <br />
As we walked the 800 meters together, we chatted a bit. They had recently come from Jordan, which they had enjoyed much more than Egypt. I told them about the incredible hospitality I'd enjoyed when in the north of Italy, where they were from, and like all the Italians I'd met from the north, they couldn't believe it; only the south of Italy was able to produce real hospitality, they said.<br />
Then I told them I'd been denied entry into Israel once before, in Haifa. I explained what I thought were the reasons why. I suggested that maybe we should go through the border crossing separately, so no one would think we were going to be together in Israel.<br />
After getting through the Egyptian side of the crossing, they took my advice by speeding ahead of a large Korean tourist group. I fell behind, and that was the last I saw of them.<br />
<br />
Getting into Israel through Taba seemed like it would be a pleasant experience, compared to the shipboard experience I had in Haifa. The security people at Taba all seem to have been selected for their appearance and social skills. There were lots of smiles as I was asked to show my passport or have my bag x-rayed. The border control building was cool, air conditioned perhaps, and I drank water from a cold water fountain, which is something I haven't done in ages.<br />
My passport had already been stamped to enter Israel when I had one more desk to check in at. The same question I'd answered several times was asked by a somewhat less pleasant woman.<br />
"Why are you coming to Israel?"<br />
I gave the same answer.<br />
"To work for an NGO in Negev, and to visit Eilat and Be'er Sheva."<br />
But this time, instead of being moved on, the woman picked up a phone and called her superior. Her superior turned out to be a very pleasant woman. She had a look at my e-mailed letter of invitation from the NGO, then did a little searching on the computer.<br />
"What happened in Haifa?" she asked.<br />
"Here we go," I thought.<br />
"It was implied that I didn't have enough money," I said.<br />
"How much did you have?"<br />
"About 300 dollars."<br />
"How much do you have now?"<br />
"A little less than 300 dollars."<br />
We both laughed.<br />
"But," I added, "last time I wanted to stay for three months. This time only for three weeks and I'm being hosted the entire time by this NGO."<br />
Surely she would accept this.<br />
"Please sit down here," she said, not accepting it, and indicating a chair near a closed door. But she smiled, the way a mother smiles at a naughty child. I took this as a good sign. Sympathy.<br />
As I waited I watched as the last of the Korean group passed through the last obstacle and through the gate into Israel. I was so close. A security man near the gate told me I could go get something to eat if I liked, or go have a smoke in the smoking area on the balcony. With so much hospitality, I didn't mind waiting for the interrogation soon to come. At the balcony a sliding glass door opened automatically, and I stepped on to a deck overlooking the Gulf of Aqaba. A catamaran full of tourists glided by. I almost expected a waiter to step out for my order. Then the supervisor came to fetch me. It was time.<br />
The questioning was a pleasant affair, despite the denial that I felt was coming. Only the man sitting behind the supervisor was unpleasant. He stared with cold, blue eyes.<br />
Most of the questioning had to do with my lack of money, but I was asked about my walk for peace.<br />
"And how will helping to renovate a Bedouin children's center make peace?" I was asked.<br />
I explained as if to a child.<br />
"Helping those at the bottom of a social structure is the foundation for peacemaking..."<br />
Then, a pause, and the supervisor gently began to tell me the bad news.<br />
"If I came into your country without any money, they wouldn't like it, would they?"<br />
"But I'm only staying three weeks, and being hosted by this NGO..."<br />
The man with the glaring eyes interjected. "You can't just wander around Israel for three months without money," he said.<br />
"But, I have hosts, and this NGO, and only three weeks..."<br />
"I'll check with my supervisor, but don't expect much," said the pleasant lady. She gazed at me sorrowfuly.<br />
"Okay," I said, pouting.<br />
While waiting in my chair outside the office, the pleasant supervisor came out to ask another question.<br />
"How long have you spent in Egypt?"<br />
"About two months."<br />
Back into the office she went. A few minutes later she called me back in.<br />
"I'm sorry, " she said. "I have to refuse you."<br />
She was very apologetic, and while escorting me back through the building, she explained that because of Haifa, she couldn't let me into Israel. As she opened the blue iron gate, she wished me the best of luck, again with the sorrowful face, or perhaps with the face of a kind woman who's putting the puppy outdoors after it's pooed on the rug. I could have hugged her. Then she slammed the gate. Ahead of me was a sign, "Welcome to Egypt."<br />
I sighed heavily and plodded forward. <br />
<br />Kenneth Schroederhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12200902890049634707noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6875312520555813517.post-8426510965134666072013-05-26T11:36:00.002+01:002013-05-26T16:31:21.606+01:00At the Sinai Border; Dahab; Plans; Thanks; Reaching the PyramidsAt the Sinai border, the East Delta bus I was on came to a halt. We were ordered off, told to remove our luggage, and to place our bags in a line. Our passports were checked by a plain clothes policeman, and a German shepherd was brought in to sniff the bags. Soldiers in desert camouflage stood around, some of them in bulletproof vests. When the policeman saw my American passport, he shook his head and asked me my name. I gave him the short version. I thought there might be a problem-- I'd heard of an American being refused a ticket for a bus through Sinai recently-- but in the end he handed the passport back, and I was again on the bus to Dahab.<br />
The Sinai border was a military zone, and I don't think I could have walked or hitchhiked through Sinai, even if I'd had logistical support to get through the desert. There have been too many kidnappings at the expense of the Egyptian government, and Westerners are prohibited from traveling the peninsula on their own. <br />
<br />
Meanwhile, Dahab is a sleepy Bedouin village turned tourist town on the Gulf of Aqaba. It's famous for it's diving and backpacker atmosphere. Dive shops, restaurants, bungalows and shops line the shore. Across the Gulf of Aqaba, Saudi Arabia's desert mountains are visible some 25 kilometers away. The gulf itself is cerulean blue, and Dahab's backdrop is like Saudi on the other side of the gulf; more tan desert mountains. Tourists here confine themselves to the shoreline; go just one block inland and the town belongs to the Bedouins.<br />
My two hosts here are expats, both living in the Bedouin districts. They've been very hospitable and helpful in showing me around. I've been enjoying the peace and quiet here after six trying weeks in chaotic Cairo.<br />
<br />
On the 28th I'll take a bus to Taba, then enter Israel. I have an invitation from an NGO near Beer Sheva which, among other things, helps Bedouins in Israel's Negev Desert. I'll be living with a Bedouin family in an unofficial village, helping to renovate a children's center. Before getting there I'll visit Kibbutz Samar for a day or two.<br />
<br />
I'd like to thank some people in Cairo. First of all Shanna, from New Zealand, who was supposed to host me for two days but hosted me instead for six weeks. Without Shanna I don't know what I would have done. Triona, her friend, was also of great help. They were both incredibly hospitable, they bought me some clothes, and before I left they and another friend, Sarah, made a donation. <br />
Masterpeace also made a donation, and I am very grateful for the help of Raghda, in particular, who also helped to organize my stay with the NGO near Beer Sheva.<br />
A former host of mine, Jose, in Gandia, Spain, and an old friend, Salome, also sent me some money while I was in Cairo.<br />
Without these contributions I couldn't have survived there, and I'd be in trouble now. I am very grateful for this help. <br />
<br />
While my journey for peace continues, my walk 'down to Egypt' has come to an end. I walked the final distance from Tahrir Square to the pyramids a week ago. I'd always imagined my arrival at the Giza pyramids would be an emotional moment. Instead, still outside the gates, I had a smoke, then walked back the other way.Kenneth Schroederhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12200902890049634707noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6875312520555813517.post-9038620977831988092013-05-18T15:56:00.003+01:002014-02-28T08:58:57.652+00:00Engulfed in a Burst of Violence in Tahrir Square, or, "I had it Coming to Me!"After reading about demonstrations planned to protest President Mursi today, I take the metro to Tahrir Square. At 5pm the demonstration is well underway, and though it is by far the largest demonstration I've seen here, it hasn't yet reached the 'mass demonstration' proportion the news had reported it would be. Nevertheless, traffic has been completely cut off, and there is great tension in the crowd, which is a mixture of anti-Mursi demonstrators and Mursi supporters. As with all the demonstrations I've observed here, there isn't a policeman in sight.<br />
<br />
At the edge of the crowd I talk briefly to a man carrying a large Egyptian flag with a cross and crescent perched on its pole. He confirms that it is a symbol of peace between Coptic Christians and Muslims. Another man, Mohammed, approaches to ask lots of questions about me. He wants to know where I am from and what I'm doing here. I explain I am an American, and that I am walking for peace. He seems incredulous that an American could be walking for peace. The conversation turns to Israel and Palestine, and though he says he believes in peace, he also believes the Palestinians have no choice but to offer armed resistance against Israel. I explain my belief in non-violent resistance, as I have done so many times here, but he shakes his head.<br />
<br />
"Who do you hate?" he asks. "Israel or Palestine?"<br />
I tell him that though I believe the Palestinians are suffering injustice at the hands of the Israeli government, I don't hate either. Mohammed shakes his head again.<br />
The subject turns to God, and now Mohammed wants to know which book I believe comes from God. I respond that they have all been inspired by God, but one has to know God; the books aren't the ultimate authority. Again, he is incredulous. <br />
When I ask what Mohammed is doing here, he says he is an anti-Mursi demonstrator. I ask him if he thinks there will be any violence today.<br />
"I don't think there will be violence," he says.<br />
I ask if the anti-Mursi demonstrators will react with violence if Mursi supporters use violence against them.<br />
"There will be no violence, " he responds.<br />
A few people have gathered around us to hear the conversation, and as I walk away, a man holds my arm.<br />
"Be careful," he says.<br />
<br />
Tahrir Square is actually an enormous traffic circle, and I move to the center of the circle, which is elevated above the greatest part of the crowd, to take some photos and videos. The crowd has grown to occupy half of the circle, and there is growing tension as Mursi supporters yell angrily at the demonstrators. I photograph a man straddling the horizontal part of a lamp post draped with a banner high above. I switch my camera to video mode and pan the crowd below: large banners with the faces of people killed last January are being waved, as well as dozens of large Egyptian flags. Demonstrators are shaking their fists in the air, and Mursi supporters next to me yell at them and angrily flick their hands to dismiss them. Some Mursi supporters close to the stage begin to throw things at the demonstration's leaders, and some scuffling breaks out. I decide to move in closer. As I push my way forward I want to catch the anger in the crowd on video, and I notice some of that anger seems directed at me, especially on the part of Salafist Mursi supporters. Nevertheless, I keep filming and pushing my way closer to the stage. An isolated fight breaks out; a young demonstrator pursues a Mursi supporter through the crowd. His friends are trying to stop him. The chanting becomes angrier, inciting the crowd and prompting counter chanting by Mursi supporters. A few more isolated fights break out around me, then in an instant, the whole crowd is fighting; a sudden, violent squall on a sea of angry, shouting faces. As I'm being jostled, I'm focused on getting this all on my camera, with one hand held high to film, while I use the other to fend off blows. I'm doing all I can to keep from being knocked over; the rioting crowd is now moving like a slow but powerful current, and I'm being swept along with it. One man has pulled out what looks like a riding crop to beat someone with. Another man goes to the ground a few meters away. I want to help, but I'm occupied with keeping myself from going to the ground, and with this strange compulsion to film it all. While I'm scared, I keep my Nokia above me in video mode, trying to keep it aimed on the crowd while I'm being knocked around.<br />
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Then my camera is snatched out of my hand. Because I'm trying to keep from being punched or knocked down, I don't see who has taken it. I react by grabbing the shoulder of the man in front of me. The look on his face tells me I've got the wrong guy, and now I notice men who appear to be salafists giving me hard looks. One of them is yelling at me. I release the man's shoulder and see another man clicking away at <i>me</i> with <i>his</i> mobile phone camera. Though he's also being shoved around, he's smiling; perhaps the only smiling face in the mob. He apparently senses the irony in the situation. I then push my way towards where I'd seen the man on the ground, but he's gone. At this point I decide I've had enough, and I wrestle myself out of the crowd. By the time I've reached the edge of the thickest part of it, the fighting has stopped. The squall has gone as quickly as it appeared.<br />
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I get back to the elevated center circle, dazed by the party atmosphere here. The people who are watching the crowd seem only mildly interested in what seemed like a major riot to me. A group is gathered, beating on traditional drums, singing, and having a good time. I walk to the farthest part of the circle to smoke a cigarette. I notice I am shaking.<br />
Before I leave, another group sets an American flag on fire, chanting in Arabic. I'm trying to determine whether they are Mursi supporters or anti-Mursi demonstrators. Maybe both are involved. Maybe this is one thing they can do together peacefully. <br />
<br />Kenneth Schroederhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12200902890049634707noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6875312520555813517.post-46290536516038227492013-05-14T13:07:00.000+01:002013-05-14T13:07:20.573+01:00If You Sit, You do not ProceedLast summer, near Aix en Provence in the south of France, I was walking through a village to get some food before finding a place to camp for the night. I was called over by a man at a cafe, who subsequently invited me to stay at his house for a couple of days. The man had been a pilgrim himself, once walking to Rome. He and the friends who lived with him treated me like a king while I was there, then loaded me up with gifts when I left, one of which was a pilgrim's staff. This staff had many ancient symbols and palindromes burnt into it; most of them from the 'Alchemy Gate' of Piazza Vittorio in Rome. I wasn't very interested in the symbols or most of the palindromes, but one in particular I thought to be a practical motto for any pilgrim: SI SEDES NON IS, or, in reverse, SI NON SEDES IS. In Latin this means, IF YOU SIT YOU DO NOT PROCEED, or, in reverse, IF YOU DO NOT SIT YOU PROCEED. This may have some hidden meaning, as it came from a mystical medieval group called the Rosicrucian Order, but it's obvious meaning is simple and encouraging: 'Start walking, and you'll get to where you're going.'<br />
I proceeded through the Alps with that staff, then left it with a host (and friend) in Torino as it had worn down from a staff to a very short stick. But I carried the words with me, proceeding to Bosnia where I carved that same palindrome onto a new staff.<br />
That staff was left behind in Sarajevo, but again, the words remained, and I proceeded to Istanbul. However, by the time I'd reached Istanbul, the words had been left behind as well. I sat there without proceeding for a long time.<br />
Now in Cairo, I'm again sitting without proceeding, trying to get what I <i>think</i> I need to proceed but without many results. The end result I'm hoping for is to get across Sinai, into Israel and Palestine to deliver my 'peace books', then out to reestablish a 'normal' life for a while. What I <i>think</i> I need to accomplish this is money for day to day living, new shoes, logistical help across Sinai, and an exit plan that will also require money. I've already got hosts in Israel, and an NGO in Negev, AJEEC-NISPED <a href="http://www.nisped.org.il/">http://www.nisped.org.il/</a>, has invited me to help Bedouins renovate a childhood center near Beer Sheva (thanks to a connection to Masterpeace in Cairo). But crossing the desert and getting out of Israel and Palestine will require help.<br />
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However, if I sit, I will not proceed. So I'll stop sitting and proceed eastward on the 27th of May, come what may. If the help I'm hoping for doesn't arrive by then, I'll find it as I go. Inshallah.<br />
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<br />Kenneth Schroederhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12200902890049634707noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6875312520555813517.post-59047275020363710042013-05-04T15:22:00.001+01:002013-05-04T15:22:38.380+01:00On Forgetting the Burden of ClarityI visited Maadi Community Church yesterday. The minister, Amy, spoke about vision; about the necessity of vision to continue in our lives. What was most interesting though, was how she contrasted this necessity for vision with our supposed necessity for 'clarity'. Many in her congregation come to her to help them find clarity. But Amy believes clarity is too much to ask for: even Mother Teresa lacked clarity. But she didn't lack vision.<br />
Vision is faith, the stand on hope I spoke of before. I've also wanted clarity these past 18 months, not only for myself but to answer the cynics, but I have never found clarity. I've never had a clearly defined reason for doing this. I've only ever had vision, faith, a stand on hope. I was close to losing vision at one point, but I've found it again.<br />
What is this vision? This Faith? This stand on hope?<br />
It is the Kingdom of God, here and now. And what is the Kingdom of God? A world in which we live in simplicity, peace, a strong sense of community, and equality; <i>not enforced</i>, but desired and acted out with integrity. It's a world in which love and kindness are not exclusive, but all inclusive. It is a world of compassion and empathy.<br />
Clarity? Quakers have said the same to me, in different words; 'Just follow the Leading', but maybe it's only now sunk in with Amy's words, '<i>Forget about clarity</i>, just keep the vision.'<br />
<br />Kenneth Schroederhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12200902890049634707noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6875312520555813517.post-69355325107662316772013-05-02T15:21:00.003+01:002013-05-04T14:44:09.488+01:00"Hope is a Stand", My Plans Now, the Help I'll Need, and Thanks againI saw on the news this morning an Italian Jesuit priest named Paolo Dall' Aglio. He's been trying to stop the violence in Syria. On the topic of hope, he said, 'Hope is a stand.' It isn't wishful thinking, or delusion, but a commitment. This kind of hope, which is the only real hope, can change the world for the better.<br />
I tried to convey my stand on hope to the children of a school last week. My host, Shanna, and her friend Triona, both teachers at the school, organized a full day of speaking for me. I talked to six classes of English-speaking kids, and I tried to emphasize to them that the world isn't as bad as it looks on the news. I am in Egypt after 18 months on the road because of the generosity and kindness of strangers, for the most part. Depending on strangers to walk across a continent requires a stand on hope. I also wanted them to see photos of life on the road; the hard photos, of living in abandoned houses, or in a tent in freezing weather, or in the rain, and I wanted to make it clear to them that this kind of life isn't a trekking adventure for a weekend, only to return to the comforts of home. It's often a life of exposure to the elements, 24 hours a day, often for many days before finding temporary shelter. Then you move on again. You often feel that you are utterly alone, and doing what you are doing in vain. I wanted to emphasize to them that I am homeless... by choice, but homeless. Literally everything I own is in my backpack. I wanted to emphasize that a walk for peace is not always 'la dulce vita' people imagine it to be. There have been many days on this journey when a 'stand on Hope' was the only thing that has kept me going. <br />
And now a firm stand on hope will be required to deliver these petitions I'm carrying. Echoing the cynics, I often ask myself what the point is in delivering them. Surely nothing will change even if I can deliver them! But my Faith, my Hope, is that something will change for the better. I know that some things have already changed for the better because of this walk, and I know that some things, and at least one terrible thing, has changed for the worse. But even that one, terrible thing strengthens, rather than weakens my stand on Hope. So I'll deliver the petitions.<br />
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Masterpeace is organizing the walk from Tahrir Square, where I left off, to the pyramids for May 15th. Again, the pyramids were originally the end of the road for me. But I'll be setting off to cross Sinai just a few days afterwards, and I'll try to get into Israel and Palestine again. Depending on the route I take, I may need some logistical help along the way, so if anyone would like to help me on a ten to fifteen day walk across the desert, let me know. I'll also need money. I've got a little less than 50 US dollars now, so if anyone would like to contribute to this leg of my journey, you can e-mail me at: <a href="mailto:la_peripherie@yahoo.com">la_peripherie@yahoo.com</a>. Type in as the subject, 'Donation', and I'll let you know how to get your contribution to me. As always, I am careful with the money you send; I get by on about 200 US dollars a month now to pay for the bare essentials. There is an exception, however; I smoke, so some of that money goes for tobacco.<br />
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Meanwhile, after 18 months on the road for peace, I have to thank the hundreds of people who have helped me along the way. That help has come in the form of money, food, lodging, guidance, encouragement and companionship. Clearly there has been a commitment to Hope among all of you, and this stand has made my own commitment all the stronger. I thank you again and again. Salaam, shalom, peace.Kenneth Schroederhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12200902890049634707noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6875312520555813517.post-28902604655485922022013-05-01T15:03:00.001+01:002013-05-01T15:03:31.820+01:00Good Samaritans, May Day Demonstration, Mutilation for Thieves, and the Walk to Tahrir SquareI heard a story from a friend here in Cairo.<br />
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In a very poor neighborhood here, three Salafist Muslim men were riding in a small three-wheeled taxi called a 'tuck-tuck'. The tuck-tuck passed by a Christian woman whose hair was uncovered, and one of the men shouted, 'Atheist!', and grabbed her by the hair. The woman was dragged down the street until a group of veiled Muslim women held her and pulled her away from the men in the tuck-tuck.<br />
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Three Muslim men claiming to know God were, at that moment anyway, the atheists. The Muslim women who rescued the victim, on the other hand, knew the will of God. They were the 'Good Samaritans'. They helped who they saw as a fellow human being. They were able to transcend the tension here between Muslims and Coptic Christians.<br />
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As for you Muslims and Coptic Christians who commit acts of violence on one another, quit dragging others into your hell. You can still pull yourselves out of hell by finding God within yourselves, and in everybody else.<br />
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I'm presently in an internet cafe near Tahrir Square, which became world famous with the recent revolution here. I came here to see if there was a May Day demonstration, but saw only two middle-aged men holding flimsy signs in Arabic. A bystander explained that the signs demanded justice for people imprisoned by the current regime, calling for non-violent resistance to free them. I admire these two men, who were being ridiculed by some bystanders, for protesting on their own.<br />
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* * * * * * * * *<br />
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I met a young man from Cairo recently, a recent law school graduate, who believed not only in the death penalty for those who have committed murder, but in mutilation for those who repeatedly steal. I asked him if stealing included the theft by government officials through corruption, or the theft by deceit that seems to be prevalent here. Who would cut off the hands of those thieves? I asked him if there was some similar punishment for those who refuse to help those in poverty, which condition, fueled by a sense of hopelessness, creates an incentive to steal. After all, half the population of Egypt lives on 2 US dollars a day. A friend I was with added that dismembering those who steal would hinder, rather than help to create a productive society. Of course. While our friend conceded that social change was necessary he also said that social change would take too long.<br />
In the end he was not convinced by our arguments.<br />
He was a really nice guy otherwise. I hope he doesn't get his way.<br />
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Last week I did the walk from where I left off at the outskirts of Cairo to Tahrir Square. I walked with Taqwa, Olfat and Shehab, who were good walking companions and guides. We stopped at a mosque where Taqwa and Olfat prayed, and where Shehab and I took refuge from the heat and traffic. Later, as we approached Tahrir Square I had a conversation with Shehab about the revolution. He conceded that there was some violence on the part of the demonstrators in reaction to the much greater level of violence on the part of Mubarak's people.<br />
"So the demonstrators weren't fully committed to non-violent resistance?"<br />
"They were," he said. "Whatever violence was on the part of the demonstrators was only self-defense. They came to demonstrate peacefully."<br />
"But if they reacted with any sort of violence, they weren't really committed to non-violent resistance."<br />
I explained Martin Luther King's precepts for non-violent resistance: first, to ascertain that there is real injustice, second, to address that injustice through conventional legal channels, third, when that fails, purification, and finally, non-violent resistance.<br />
"An important step in this is purification; the individual's inner preparation not to react with violence in any way."<br />
"Like Gandhi?"<br />
"Like Gandhi."<br />
"Our culture isn't prepared for that," he said.<br />
"Yeah, maybe I'm not prepared for that either. But if I have the opportunity to take part in a planned act of non-violent resistance, I'd better try to purify myself. Otherwise I just become part of an angry, violent mob."<br />
We also talked about the one-sided loss of life that can result from non-violent resistance.<br />
"It's not a quick fix," I said. "Anyone who's committed to non-violent resistance has to be prepared to take a beating over and over. But it's more effective than violent resistance in the long run. Syria began as non-violent resistance, and some 5000 people were killed. Then the rebels took up arms. Now over 60 000 people have been killed. In the long run there is far more death and suffering in violent resistance. And non-violent resistance is more likely to convert your enemies."<br />
I pointed out the building that Mubarak's political party used to be housed in. It is now burnt and abandoned. I asked Shehab what the story was. Some anti-Mubarak people had set fire to the building, but many more had formed a human circle around it, and around the Egyptian museum to protect the buildings.<i> That</i> was <i>truly</i> non-violent resistance.<br />
We also spoke about the situation in Israel and Palestine, and how the IDF knows exactly how to respond to violence, but is afraid of non-violent resistance. A small violent reaction on the part of Palestinians gives the Israeli military the justification it needs to respond with tanks and airstrikes, at least in the eyes of many in the world. Non-violent resistance gives no such justification.<br />
Shehab agreed, but mentioned that maybe I shouldn't refer to Israel in Cairo. The word, 'Israel', seems to be taboo. Better just to say 'Palestine.'<br />
"They're both here to stay," I said. "Trying to delete one or the other, even if only by avoiding any reference to them, helps to perpetuate the conflict there."<br />
Once we'd reached Tahrir Square, there was a small demonstration going on by the socialist party. Shehab had said there was no longer any unity among demonstrators anymore; that every party or interest group acts on its own. The week before there had been a demonstration in Tahrir Square where gunshots had been fired, so my three companions didn't relish the thought of hanging around.<br />
But the demonstration remained peaceful, and I left satisfied that it had been a good day.<br />
<br />Kenneth Schroederhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12200902890049634707noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6875312520555813517.post-47915508955218585302013-04-15T01:16:00.001+01:002013-04-15T01:24:46.788+01:00On Being an AlchemistI was a little nervous going to the Masterpeace office in Cairo today. I've been a relatively low profile pilgrim for Masterpeace; any publicity I've had has found me, and not the other way around, so I haven't had much of it. And without publicity for myself, I haven't generated much publicity for Masterpeace either. But my destination had always been Cairo because of Masterpeace, so I paid a visit. <br />
My Masterpeace contact these past eighteen months has been Raghda, and she knew I had arrived in Cairo, but if she wasn't in the office I thought I might just introduce myself, then leave again when everyone wondered who I was and why I was there. When I couldn't find the building where Masterpeace is located, I phoned the office.<br />
"Hello, is this the Masterpeace office?" I asked.<br />
"Yes."<br />
"This is Ken... Ken Schroeder..."<br />
There was a pause, and I was ready to explain what I explained to everyone; that I was walking for peace, and I'd walked also for Masterpeace, etc, when the woman on the phone said, "You're the Alchemist!"<br />
I was glad she knew who I was, though I had never called myself an alchemist, and certainly not 'The Alchemist.'<br />
She was referring to Masterpeace Alchemist Alive, which is a part of Masterpeace that encourages journeys for peace, and comes from Paolo Coelho's book 'The Alchemist,' (with his permission.) But the fact that she had said, "You're the Alchemist!" rather than, "You're the guy that walked from Portugal!" had me feeling pretty important at that moment. Hmmm, I thought. I am The Alchemist. <br />
So once The Alchemist had fumbled around to find the right building, I took the elevator to the 13th floor where I found the office. Before long I was getting nervous again, not because no one knew who I was, but because of all the attention I was getting.<br />
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After I'd walked into the outskirts of Cairo, and gotten the news from Inge that we had lost our friend Sofia in a bus crash in Thailand, I 'd made my way to Maadi to find my host and hole up for a few days. My host, Shanna, allowed me to do just that. Shanna is from New Zealand, and teaches in Cairo. She had once cycled the length of New Zealand's south island for diabetes, so she was sympathetic to my cause. Maadi is on the south end of Cairo, and has a large expat community, and through Shanna I've met many of her colleagues from Ireland, England, and the US. But most of my time here has been spent in isolation. So despite having been in Cairo now for several days, I haven't seen much of it or met many of the people who are from here. Nor had I visited the Masterpeace office until today. <br />
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I hope to extend my visa here, something I've been assured is much easier and cheaper to do than in Turkey, and to help Masterpeace in planning and doing a walk through Cairo to the pyramids. As in Coelho's book, the pyramids had been the final destination for my walk for peace. Masterpeace is planning a peace concert at the pyramids in September of 2014. However, the pyramids have now become another leg of my journey; an <i>important</i> leg of my journey, but not the final destination.<br />
I completely support Masterpeace for its philosophy that the individual can change the world for the better, even if only in a very small way. Too many 'professional' peacemaking organizations disregard personal initiative as being ineffective or naive, but I believe that anyone's sincere initiative to create peace will have positive results, even if those results are never seen by that person. <br />
So now after walking from Portugal to Istanbul, hitchhiking from there to Iskenderun, taking a ship from there to Port Said and then walking from there to Cairo, I'll continue walking with others to the pyramids for Masterpeace, and for peace in Egypt and in the world. But once we've gotten to the pyramids, I'll have more walking to do.<br />
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Meanwhile there are other alchemists walking or making a journey for peace; '<i>The</i> Alchemist' for me just may be Wijnand Boon, now in Italy, who helped to inspire me to make this journey. There are alchemists who are planning to start their walks for peace very soon, and there are alchemists who are just thinking about making a journey for peace, and alchemists who don't even know yet that they'll be making a journey for peace. Some will be going to the pyramids while others have other destinations, like Stephan Meurisch who is now in Turkey and walking to Tibet. I'll still be walking with them, and with all of those I have come to know on this journey. <br />
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But for now, on to the pyramids! Peace!<br />
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<i>Look up Masterpeace at Masterpeace.org to start your own initiative for peace</i>Kenneth Schroederhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12200902890049634707noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6875312520555813517.post-7285844669160870392013-04-13T23:10:00.000+01:002013-04-14T09:40:03.142+01:00The Desert Highway from Ismailia to CairoI'm on my way again down the desert highway from Ismailia to Cairo. It's hot, but not as hot as the south of France was last summer, so I am a bit fooled by the sun. By the next day I am trying to cover my arms and face to keep from getting any more sunburned. <br />
I am walking on the shoulder of the highway against traffic, and I frequently have to move onto the desert sand as the shoulder is often used as a lane. I also have to be careful of cars coming up from behind, as the shoulder is also sometimes used as a lane to drive against the flow of traffic. There are no rules here.<br />
Up ahead I see a group of soldiers trying to wave someone down. Their jeep has broken down . Two cars pull over at the same time to help them, and sideswipe each other. They careen a bit, both cars out of control, and my eyes widen as I am in their path. I jump off of the road, just in case, but I am a good 20 meters away from where the cars come to a stop. The car owners exit their vehicles and yell and scream at each other while the soldiers run to them. I saunter past the scene, turn back when I see a fight is about to break out, then continue again down the highway. The soldiers are doing a good job of holding back the two drivers without me. <br />
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After camping in an olive grove by the highway, my plan of the day is to cover 25 or 30 kilometers, find a place to get food and water, to recharge my phone battery, and to find tea. Later in the day, I find some shade in an orchard. When I get to my tree, I notice there are people in the shade of many of the trees, sleeping, smoking, chatting, and drinking tea from a little roadside tea stand. I've only been sitting for a few seconds when a kid yells from a neighboring tree. I yell back. Then the man he is with beckons me over. I move my bags to the blanket they're sitting on. The man, Mohammed, offers tea, and I accept. He sends the kid to fetch it. Mohammed's friend comes over, and we try to communicate. I manage to communicate that I am walking for peace to Cairo. They're happy to hear it and give me their phone numbers, and I give them mine.<br />
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Later in the day I finally find a 'supermarket' at the end of a long line of factories, which, other than army bases, are the only buildings out here on this stretch of desert highway. The supermarket is dusty, and nearly empty. Its two workers are sleepily sitting on the steps, swatting flies. I've already been given water from a guy on a motorbike, and from a soldier who filled my bottle from an earthen jar, but I'm empty again so I buy more. I also buy a can of beans, a little cake, and what I think is a bag of peanuts but is a bag of dried beans. (The next day I'll give this to a woman rummaging through the rubbish along the highway.) I find an outlet to recharge the battery of my phone, and as I wait I buy some potato chips to eat as there isn't much else in this supermarket. I find a spot of shade and sit in the dust with my back to the wall, eating potato chips on a desert highway. It isn't what I had imagined it would be.<br />
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By the end of the day I'm camped in the desert sand. Looking in one direction, it's endless North African desert, but it's not the desert camping that tourists sign up for. There's also a factory a kilometer away, and the highway just half a kilometer away. I'm hoping for a call from Selda, but instead get a call from Mohammed, the man in the orchard who'd invited me for tea.<br />
"Ken!" he says.<br />
"Mohammed!"<br />
"Ken!"<br />
"Mohammed!"<br />
Mohammed then chats away in Arabic for a few seconds.<br />
"I don't understand!"<br />
"Goodbye!" shouts Mohammed.<br />
"Goodbye!"<br />
Just before I fall asleep I hear footsteps approaching the tent. The footsteps slow down, then speed up, then break into a run. No telling who could be in that tent in the desert!<br />
<br />
The next morning I walk past more factories with roadside food stands. The food stands are filthy, but so am I, and I'm hungry. In any case, 'filthy' doesn't bother me. I stop at two of them, having breakfast twice. I eat: lots of pita bread, something like refried beans, lettuce and tomato, onions, hard boiled egg and fries along with tea. I take my shoes off and sit on a blanket with factory workers, who are all very friendly. The food is good, and I feel better. The two breakfasts together cost me something like one euro.<br />
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Later in the day, Arda calls. He's been calling regularly since I left Ismailia to know exactly where I am on the highway, and to make sure I'm all right. But today he calls because I'm near his factory, in 10th of Ramadan City. He picks me up off the highway to take me to lunch, then to a machine shop where he's doing business. While there I get some time on the internet to communicate with friends and my extended family from Montana to Iran. Then Arda drops me off where he picked me up. It's nice to have Arda looking after me. <br />
That night I'm camped again in a desert olive grove, but the trees don't seem to be doing very well here. Selda calls all the way from Turkey. It's nice to have Selda looking after me too.<br />
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The next day the plan is to get to Heliopolis, a part of Cairo not far from the airport to stay with a Couchsurfing host there. As I get to the outskirts of the city I walk through chaotic markets set up under the highway. Then I find the internet cafe where I get Inge's heartwrenching message about Sofia , and the world stops turning. <br />
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<br />Kenneth Schroederhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12200902890049634707noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6875312520555813517.post-37713334931467037262013-04-13T20:25:00.000+01:002013-04-19T14:50:01.229+01:00Egyptian and Turkish Hospitality in Ismailia and Cairo, and Just a Little Song I wrote<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I am on the balcony of my room in the 4-star Mercure
Hotel, overlooking a lake that links two parts of the Suez Canal. Below is an
inviting swimming pool flanked by palm trees. In the distance, ships are
passing northbound through the canal. I’ve had a long, hot shower to wash off
the sweat and dust accumulated after my three day walk from Port Said. I feel a
bit out of place, and I’m wondering whether I should have insisted on lesser
accommodation when Sherio put me up here. Then I stretch out on the bed and
decide to take advantage of a little luxury and privacy. Sherio has said he’ll
return later to take me out somewhere, and I’m also waiting for a call from
someone named Arda. It’s all a bit of a mystery to me, how I came to find
myself in this hotel when I thought I’d be passing through Ismailia and
sleeping in my tent again. But Selda has managed to arrange something for me
from her home in Ankara. She has become like family for me, and I lie on the bed
thinking about how grateful I am for her help.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Earlier
in the day, as I approached Ismailia, I’d been in touch with Sherio after Arda
had given me his number. I had no idea who either of these guys were. Sherio
phoned me a few times to monitor my progress, then once I’d gotten into
Ismailia, he picked me up in his car. He is an Egyptian lawyer, but he wanted
to talk about the Blues and Rock and Roll and Nietzsche. He spoke a bit about
politics, and about how he wanted to help me or anyone else walking for peace. He
seemed far too kind to be a lawyer. Meanwhile, I still didn’t know what had
been arranged.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“Will
I have a place to stay here?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“Yes, a nice place to stay,” he said.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Now
in this nice place, Arda called to say he was on his way. I was to meet him in
the lobby. I would recognize him because of his casual clothing and long hair.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Arda,
as it turns out, is a Turkish businessman, though he in no way resembles one.
He takes me to a restaurant for a Turkish kebab in his very modest, well used
car. While we’re eating (and I’m doing most of the eating) he explains that the
restaurant was almost burned down during the Arab Spring uprising. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“Why?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“One guy had it in his head to burn the restaurant,
so everybody else followed.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I discover from Arda that he has a plastics factory
near Cairo. His factory produces, among other things, plastic pieces for the
batteries that power the little three wheeled taxis now prevalent in Egypt. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">After
dinner he takes me to a café where we smoke shisha pipes and have a long
conversation about everything from politics to Egyptian versus Turkish culture to the ways he
might be able to help me to deliver one of my petitions. He has a lot of
connections. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">He explains to me that everything belongs to God,
and this is why he’s happy to help me out. Because he dresses as simply as I
do, and drives a shabby old car, and lives with and takes care of his father,
and comes across without the slightest trace of arrogance (though possessing a
keen sense of business savvy), I realize Arda is a giver, not a taker. I
believe Arda must give away most of what he makes from his factory.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The next day I check out of the Mercure despite
Sherio’s having deposited enough money to keep me there another night. Arda
says he’ll help me find someplace else to stay. He arrives in the early
afternoon to pick me up for a car trip to Cairo. This gives me a chance to have
a look at the desert highway I’ll be crossing. We meet two Turkish friends of
his, who host us for lunch, then the four of us go into the center of Cairo for
coffee or tea before taking a night boat ride on the Nile. On the way, Arda
points out the burned building that had been Mubarak’s party headquarters. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">On our dhow on the Nile, powered by a primitive
lateen sail, I have a hard time believing I am here. ‘Down to Egypt’ has become
reality, not just some distant, unattainable fantasy. I think about a tune I’d
made up in the first months of the walk; a tune a few people have heard me sing
over the months, whether they liked it or not. Of course, the written word is less invasive than music can be, so the reader may skip over the lyrics to this little tune. However, it does explain my peculiar Quaker perspective for making this 18 month journey...</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I
was sittin on a mountain, just lookin at the sky,</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">When
God came down from heaven, and He looked me in the eye.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">He
said, “Time you started walkin, headin to the East,</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Time you started walkin, and thinkin ‘bout makin
peace.”</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“Get on down to Egypt… now get on down to Egypt!</span></div>
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Kenneth Schroederhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12200902890049634707noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6875312520555813517.post-31480469768136089322013-04-12T14:58:00.001+01:002013-04-13T07:27:55.257+01:00Along the Suez Canal, Then and Now<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">In
December of 1979 the USS Tattnall, a guided missile destroyer of the US Navy,
anchored off of Port Said, Egypt, waiting to pass through the Suez Canal. The
Tattnall was on its way to the Persian Gulf. The revolution was underway in
Iran, American hostages were being held in Tehran, and the USS Tattnall was
going to save the day. At least, that’s how I saw it at the age of nineteen. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I
was a signalman on the Tattnall, and I was excited to have a look at the famous
canal. From our radio, exotic strains of Arabic music were heard across the
signal bridge. Vendors in boats tried to approach the ship but were waved away.
There was a stiff, cold breeze, and I remember thinking it odd that it could
ever be cold in North Africa. We had a long wait at anchor before entering the
canal, and I remember being impatient. I wanted to see this canal, the Red Sea,
the Persian Gulf; all places that had intrigued me since I had heard childhood
stories of Aladdin or seen the film ‘Lawrence of Arabia’. I couldn’t wait to
leave the Western world behind and to enter this intriguing world of the Middle
East.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Two
weeks ago, walking out of Port Said, I pass through several military or police
checkpoints. The general rule seems to be that if the checkpoint is an army
checkpoint, the soldiers just smile and say “Welcome!" If the checkpoint is a state police one, several policemen in
black uniforms rush out to me before I reach the checkpoint to see my passport
and to ask if I speak Arabic. After showing my passport and replying “No,” to
their question, they wave me on, also saying, “Welcome!”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">So
as I approach a checkpoint and toll station on the highway leading to Ismailia,
I take note that all I can see are soldiers in tan uniforms. I won’t have to
dig out my passport. However, as I walk past a young soldier, ready for my welcome, he demands to see my passport. As I dig it out of my bag, two men in
civilian clothes run over to me. They are smiling, and waving something at me;
something they want to sell me in a clear plastic bag. They ask where I am from
and I don't reply. One of them tells me to open the plastic bag to have a
better look at what he’s selling.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“La,”
I say.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I
hand the soldier my passport and one of the vendors snatches it out of his hand
to have a look. I then snatch the passport out of the vendor’s hand to hand it
back to the soldier. The vendor pierces me with a hard look, and the soldier
stands smiling. The other vendor says, “Police.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“Ah!
Sorry. Didn’t know.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The
‘vendor’ accepts my apology. The soldier and the ‘vendor’ have a good look at
my passport, then direct me to the other side of the checkpoint. I walk to the
other side where several soldiers are hanging around with another man in
civilian clothes. They wave me over, take my passport, and tell me to open my
bag and backpack. They all seem to keep a distance as I do so. Then they tell
me to empty the contents. I start to do this when the man in civilian clothes
gets his own hands into my bag to have a look for himself. He finds a knife that Inge had given me
back in Bosnia. It has etched into the wooden handle the words, “Let the
unexpected guide you”. The man indicates to me that I cannot carry this knife,
it is forbidden. He examines the knife, opening and closing it, then he puts it
into his pocket. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“Hmmmm,”
I think. But I allow him the knife, wishing him many unexpected events in his
life to help guide him. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then a soldier
asks for my mobile phone. I pull it out of my pocket, still not savvy to what’s
happening, but I draw back when he tries to snatch it from me. The man in
civilian clothes has some words for the soldier. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“Can
I go?” I ask. There is more conversation between them in Arabic. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“My
knife?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“La,”
says the man.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“Can
I go?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“Yes,
yes.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I
repack my things and start down the road again, oblivious to shouts behind me.
As I pass the toll station, one of the civilian-clothed police, or vendors, or whatever
they are, runs to me, trying to sell whatever it is he has in this plastic bag.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“La!”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“You
must pay 20 dollars to pass!” he shouts at me.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I stop, get close to him, and give him a good,
solid, “LA!” to his face, then continue walking down the highway. No one comes
to arrest me. Of course.</span><br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">As the USS Tattnall passed through the Suez Canal, I
stood on the signal bridge, mesmerized by my surroundings. On the right bank,
Egyptian soldiers in earth trenches waved and cheered. Jimmy Carter had
recently helped to make peace between Israel and Egypt, and we were apparently
seen as friends. I was surprised by this friendliness; even back then we had
all been programmed to believe the entire 'Arab' world was alien and
hostile.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On the left bank of the canal
was the barren Sinai desert. Bombed ruins and charred army vehicles and tanks
remained on the Sinai side of the canal as monuments to the war between Israel and
Egypt only a few years before.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I’d had my first lesson in Arabic when we were
at anchor off Port Said, having been required to know numbers in Arabic to help
identify markers as we passed through the canal. Now I searched for every
marker I could find just to test myself on how well I’d learned. The right bank
of the canal was the edge of the Nile delta, so there were palm trees and
fertile fields on that side in contrast to the miles of lifeless sand on the
Sinai side. I heard the muezzin’s call to prayer for the first time passing
through the canal, and I am still as enthralled by it now as I was then. </span><br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">On
my three day walk from Port Said to Ismailia I quickly learn that Egyptian
hospitality is not what Turkish hospitality had been. Though I am occasionally
invited for tea along the road by truck drivers reclining in the shade of their
trucks, or by a teahouse owner here or there, I am more often having to demand
the ‘Egyptian price’ when I am overcharged for a glass of tea. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“Are
you Egyptian?” asks one man in response to my demand.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">And
though many people question me about why I’m walking down this highway and
where I’m from and where I’m going, many others put their questions in the form
of an interrogation, even demanding to see my passport. There is more suspicion
than friendly curiosity in these ‘interrogations’.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">At
the end of my first day I camp behind some reeds, with the highway just a few
meters behind my tent and the Suez Canal not half a kilometer from my front
door. As I sit in my tent eating pita bread filled with fried eggplant, and
watching ships pass through the canal, a man comes and sits near the tent. He
speaks no English, but manages to interrogate me anyhow. He may own the field I
am in, but I am not sure. I offer him some food, he declines. I try to explain
that I am walking for peace, for salaam. He asks if I am Muslim.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Again,
the very useful word, “La.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Then
he marks a cross on his chest.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I
nod yes.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">He
asks again, almost angrily, forcefully marking a cross on his wrist with his
finger. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">How
can I explain my unorthodox Christianity to him? How can I explain that I am
not a Coptic Christian? That Christianity as I know it is from within, and not from
dogma? That I believe in peace, that my faith rejects violence? But I simply
nod yes.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Then
I say what so many Moroccan Muslims had said to me over a year ago.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“But
Allah is for everybody!” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I
say this smiling, pointing upward then stretching my hands out to form an arch across
the sky. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">He gets up and leaves without a word.</span><br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I
spend one more night in my tent before reaching Ismailia. It is getting dark,
and I duck into a fruit orchard, trying to find a discreet place to pitch the
tent. There are footpaths all around though, and from inside the tent I hear
voices everywhere. After nightfall I hear many angry voices approaching the
tent, and a bright light shines in my face through the opening. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">In
English, “Who are you? Where are you from?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I
can’t see anyone because of the light in my face. I reach to the back of the
tent for the only food I have, pita bread and jam. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“Something
to eat?” I ask.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“Give
me your passport!”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“Are
you the police?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“No
police, give me your passport!”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">By
this time I can see a little as the light is now being held to the side. These
are definitely not the police, unless the police are recruiting 12- year- old
kids. Apparently several of<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>the males of
the area have shown up to deal with me, and most of them are carrying sticks,
including the 12- year- olds. Inge and I had been through this twice in Bosnia,
and we’d learned that everything would be fine once we’d explained. They’re
afraid, that’s all.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The
leader of this group, a middle aged man, carries a white plastic bucket for
some reason. He bangs on it. Is it his weapon?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“Your passport!”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I
show him my passport.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“No
visa? Where is the visa?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I
find the visa for him. Then things calm down, and the men and boys lower their
sticks. I look at one kid and he looks disappointed. He may have been hoping for a little action. As the man in
charge questions me in a friendlier manner now, some of the others crouch down
to have a better look at me.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Before
leaving, the man in charge assures me that I am his guest, and that he will see
me in the morning. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Soon
afterwards, my peace mentor, Selda, phones from Ankara. She is worried about
me. As I am assuring her that everything is okay, I hear more voices
approaching. Another bright light shines into the tent. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“What’s
happening?” Selda asks.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“Don’t
worry, I’m their guest now.” <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Another
man has come with his son, without sticks, to see what the guest in the orchard
is all about. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Early the next morning, as I pack up, the
middle-aged man from the night before appears to give me breakfast; three pita
bread sandwiches.</span><br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The USS Tattnall passed through the canal, through
the Red Sea, into the Indian Ocean, through the Straits of Hormuz and into the
Persian Gulf, where she passed back and forth on a straight line for some two
or three months. The day was saved through diplomacy in the end, not by the USS
Tattnall or any other military means. I am glad now that I never saw a shot
fired in anger.</span></div>
Kenneth Schroederhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12200902890049634707noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6875312520555813517.post-81955781225022394822013-04-11T07:48:00.001+01:002013-04-11T09:17:37.023+01:00Goodbye SofiaWhen I arrived at the outskirts of Cairo, in the early afternoon, I was exhausted. I'd walked from Ismailia down the desert highway, dealing not only with the heat and dust, but also with the heavy traffic. I was sunburned and filthy, and I was looking forward to reaching Heliopolis later in the day to stay with a host; to have some company, a shower, and a bed with a roof and four walls. Upon entering the city I found an internet cafe, and on checking my e mail I received the worst news imaginable from Inge in Iran. Her best friend, and my friend Sofia, whom we had spent a month with in Istanbul, had been killed in a bus crash in Thailand. I was in shock, and I was unable to hold back the tears. Sofia, so full of life, living out her dream in Southeast Asia, was gone.<br />
<br />
Back in Banja Luka, in Bosnia, Inge had said we had to be in Istanbul by mid-January. Sofia was going to fly in to Istanbul at that time to see Inge before going to Thailand. For the next three months Inge did the navigating, making sure we covered the appropriate distance every day to be Istanbul on time. This created some tension between us as the walk seemed like a forced march for me at times, but Inge was determined not to miss her friend. As it turned out, we arrived in Istanbul just two days before Sofia flew in. I had assumed that Inge and I would part at that point, but the three of us remained together for a month in Istanbul. For that month I got to know Sofia quite well, and I finally understood Inge's resolve to be in Istanbul to meet her. <br />
<br />
What struck me most about Sofia was her passion for life. Inge was busy during that month working through the bureaucratic mess involved in getting visas for her journey, I was pining for renewed vigor to continue my journey, but Sofia was ready to see everything, go everywhere. Istanbul was much more exciting for her than for travel weary Inge and I. Sofia also wanted to visit the surrounding area; islands in the Sea of Marmora, various organic farms to work on. She never got to the islands but she did get to an organic farm near the Black Sea. I met up with her there and found her to be in her element. She was as happy as I had ever seen her when she was living the communal life at the organic farm; slogging through the mud and getting her hands dirty planting and weeding in the greenhouse, she was always brimming with joy. Everybody there loved her, and she loved everybody, caring for them as though they were little brothers or sisters. And she was happy also because her flight to Thailand was coming up soon.<br />
<br />
When Sofia left the farm, she was so busy with saying goodbye to everybody that our own goodbye was brief, as though we would see each other again the next day.<br />
<br />
We communicated a bit once Sofia was in SE Asia, through Facebook, and she was truly living her dream. The last time we communicated she had just finished an intensive Vipassana meditation course, and she was ready to get out and about once again after sitting still for ten days.<br />
<br />
At 22, I believe Sofia had already lived an abundant life. Her excitement at seeing a small strawberry growing on an organic farm, at feeling the breeze on the ferry across the Bosporus, at sharing her discoveries with others, testified to her high appreciation of life. She had also traveled a great deal, having been to Spain and South America. While so many of us mope around, living long arduous lives, Sofia flew like a bird in springtime.<br />
<br />
I was shocked, and I was angry when I read Inge's e-mail on the outskirts of Cairo. There was a great cosmic injustice at work. I was also numb. When I left the internet cafe I knew I'd better focus on getting to a host or I'd be wandering the streets all day and night. I decided on a host at the south side of Cairo, in Maadi, whom I could meet with sooner than the one in Heliopolis. I caught a bus to get to the metro, and as the bus charged through clogged, narrow streets, or took shortcuts by going the wrong way on a four lane road, all I could think about were two people; Sofia, gone now, most likely because of this same kind of driving, and Inge, Sofia's best friend and my adopted little sister, in the middle of nowhere in Iran having to deal with the terrible news.<br />
<br />
I'm safe and sound now in Maadi with my very kind host from New Zealand. The Masterpeace office is also in Maadi, and they want to have a little celebration for my arrival in Cairo, but that will have to wait a bit. Inge, meanwhile, will probably be flying home. She wants to be there for Sofia, and she needs to be with her family and friends. Getting through Iran has been hard enough for her without the loss of her best friend; with Sofia's loss it's more than she can bear. But if I know Inge, her journey is far from being over.<br />
<br />
<br />
Sofia's journey may be over, or it may be just beginning; while traveling we meet so many people who become family to us, then we part, convincing ourselves we will meet again. This parting seems final, but all of us who know Sofia will meet her again and we'll continue our journey together. <br />
<br />
Meanwhile, in Turkey, where I last saw Sofia, the ney plays for her and for us. Kenneth Schroederhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12200902890049634707noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6875312520555813517.post-28696470217505308862013-04-01T20:19:00.003+01:002013-04-01T20:19:53.287+01:00Adventure at the Internet Cafe; Port Said; and 'Where are the tourists?'I've had a lot of work to do online here in Port Suez, my unexpected port of entry into Egypt. As such, I have spent almost as much time in internet cafes as out. The first internet cafe I found had a sign on the wall: <i>Foreigners price, 3 dollars an hour</i>. The last time I'd had to pay such an exorbitant price for internet was in France.<br />
"Foreigners price 3 dollars an hour?" I asked.<br />
"Three bucks an hour. I am honest. I tell people before they use the internet. Where are you from?"<br />
" The USA, but lived in Portugal the last 15 years, and living on the road now."<br />
It's always difficult for me to answer this question.<br />
"Where in USA? I have family in Brooklyn."<br />
"California, Florida..."<br />
Also hard for me to answer.<br />
"California! So 3 bucks no problem!"<br />
I wanted to go, but I was desperate to communicate to family, friends and supporters that I was in Egypt, and not in Israel.<br />
"Three bucks <i>is </i>a problem. I've been living on the road for a year and a half. Walking mostly, for salaam."<br />
"Okay okay, I make you a discount, 2 bucks! Ha ha! Bucks, you know bucks! You're American! Bucks!"<br />
<br />
After an hour of internet for two bucks, about 14 Egyptian pounds, I searched for another place. The emergency communication was done. Though the 2 buck internet didn't function well (no Facebook, no Couchsurfing) my friend Selda in Ankara had got the word out that I was in Egypt.<br />
When I found the next place I was relieved, it was 3 Egyptian pounds an hour (not even half a buck), and everything worked. Until the blackout. It may have been a city block, or the entire city, but there was no power and no lights anywhere for 45 minutes. Kids in the internet cafe went wild in the dark. Oddly, the chaos that is Port Said calmed down in the dark. The owner of the cafe had to chase the kids out, they were so wild. I waited because I had been in the middle of an important message. The owner chatted with me a bit in the darkened cafe. He told me the blackouts never lasted more than an hour.<br />
Yesterday, back at work in the same place, a fight broke out inside the internet cafe. I was hastily writing my blog about not getting into Israel, so I wasn't very motivated to make peace. The two antagonists moved out onto the street, with everyone else in the cafe following and shouting. The owner was carrying a stick. I heard glass break outside, and car horns honking. There was a lot of aggression out there, but like a piano player in a saloon during a fight in an old Western, I just kept hitting the keys on the keyboard. In time, everything calmed down, and the owner quietly put his stick away.<br />
<br />
As I said, Port said is pure Chaos, but it seems to work. In Morocco there were crosswalks that everyone ignored, the same in Turkey. In Egypt there are no crosswalks, so there is no false sense of security. You just dodge and run for it with car horns honking away. They may not be honking at you though. They honk all the time. Everyone honks. Get out of my way.<br />
I've seen remarkable feats of driving. Drivers who fly down narrow streets (actually every street is narrow, or made narrow as any road space is filled with vendors, motorcycles, bicycles, pedestrians who can't walk on garbage filled sidewalks or cars making a new lane) missing obstacles by centimeters. I've seen boldness; drivers running red lights as if they weren't there, drivers disobeying signals in one intersection controlled by three non-chalant traffic cops, drivers driving against traffic. They honk, get out of my way!<br />
Over a year ago I thought Moroccan city traffic was about the worst I'd seen. The Egyptians are much better at being the worst. Everytime I step outside I take a deep breath and start dodging traffic. I think it must be something like being under fire in a combat zone. When I reach my destination I duck inside and take another deep breath. The other pedestrians are very calm though. While I'm looking in all directions, ducking and bobbing, running a serpentine pattern, they just walk on, oblivious to all the near misses.<br />
Anyway, I'm enjoying it here. Food is ridiculously cheap once you've found the right places. You have to learn very quickly where the foreigner prices apply.<br />
<br />
Also, there are military armoured vehicles with manned 50 caliber machine guns standing by on certain streets. The soldiers manning them are very relaxed though, and return your greetings. They're there because Port Said is presently under military control, the result of the recent riots. My Masterpeace friend in Cairo, Raghda, says Port Said is very safe, and I believe it. Except for the cars, motorcycles and bicycles.<br />
<br />
I haven't seen but two or three foreigners here. I met a German couple, stranded here because their ship went to a destination other than the one they had booked for. Their destination? Iskenderun. The ship's? Haifa. The ship? None other than the 'Nissos Rodos.' Apparantly our ship goes to where the money is, wherever the greatest number of trucks sit waiting. The truck drivers in Port Said who were going to Iskenderun have been left stranded as well, their loads of fresh fruit rotting. I understand now why I couldn't get a straight answer as to when the ship was going to Haifa while I was in Iskenderun. The Captain doesn't even know until the last hour.<br />
Anyway, Rudyard Kipling said,<br />
<i>If you truly wish to find someone you have known and who travels, there are two points on the globe you have but to sit and wait, sooner or later your man will come there: the docks of London and Port Said.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
The times have changed though, and I think most foreigners are avoiding Port Said these days. But I love it here. I love the chaos.<br />
<br />
Nevertheless, as I've done all the damage control I can do after being cast ashore here, tomorrow I'll start walking again, towards Cairo across the Masr-Al Ismaileya Desert. It sounds intimidating, but it's only April; not so hot; and the distance to Cairo isn't so far, just some 200k, about 8 days of walking. There is also a city in between, Ismailia, and I'll be walking along a highway. I crossed a bit of desert in Morocco, and I enjoyed it but for the escort by the Gendarme Royale. I'm looking forward to being in my tent again after nearly three months with a roof over my head. After the storm comes the calm. (Or is it the other way around?) Once in Cairo, Raghda has said there will be a little Masterpeace party, which is nice. And I've got three hosts arranged, all near the pyramids, which is the official end point of my 'Down to Egypt' walk for peace.<br />
But I think my walk will unofficially continue for a bit longer. I've still got some walking and work to do in Israel and Palestine. <br />
'Into the Promised Land,' maybe.Kenneth Schroederhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12200902890049634707noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6875312520555813517.post-36426943166512488792013-04-01T00:08:00.003+01:002013-04-01T00:08:59.574+01:00Last week, in AntakyaI skipped this post because I was denied entry into Israel a few days ago, so I thought I'd write about that first. But Antakya was important so I'll write about it now.<br />
Also, an apology for the unedited last post. I'm in a sudden hurry to find new hosts here in Egypt and get ready to make the walk to Cairo, what with my new sudden plans. I've also got a lot of hosts to cancel in Israel, so I'm too busy to edit anything. Thanks Haifa security team. Ahem. By the way guys, if you're interested and reading (I doubt that of course) I'm going to try again.<br />
<br />
So back in Antakya a week ago I stayed in the Catholic Church guest house for pilgrims and at Sister Barbara's guest house as well. sister Barbara has been there for some thirty years preaching and praying for peace. Her chapel is non-denominational, and all are welcome, Muslims and Quakers included. She's got a beautiful peace wall with peace written in dozens of languages, and the windows in the chapel each represent a religion or group of religions: the first represents Buddhism and the Eastern religions, the others represent Islam, Judaism and Christianity. Her service is a mixture of music enhanced with her guitar playing and the angelic voices of two people who work there. There are poetry readings and readings from Sufism and any other spiritual voice on peace. There is a five minute silent prayer time for world peace. I really enjoyed attending.<br />
Another regular attender while I was there was a young woman from Poland named Dominika. The NGO she works for goes "inside" (meaning Syria) to do their work. You would never know from Dominika's cheerful countenance that she works literally on the front line to help people in need. She was a model to me and she is also a model to the world for what the humanitarian aid worker should be. Unlike some of the journalists and other NGO workers I met there, she has no cynicism regarding an individual's efforts at peacemaking. She offered me great encouragement. After Easter she'll be back "inside" doing the same work.<br />
Before the meal at Sister Barbara's there is breaking of bread, also for peace, and an opportunity for visitors to share a peace poem or song. Selda, my peace mentor from Ankara, sang a nice Native American song for us. She had come down hoping to find some work for us with one of the many NGO's in the area working to help Syrian refugees.<br />
Unfortunately, finding such work on such short notice was difficult, though 'Save the Children' may have been able to put us to work had we been there longer. Instead, we decided to try to help the refugees on our own. We visited the small city of Reyhanli, just a kilometer or two from the Syrian border to see if there was anything we could do to help in a very small way. We saw no people in any desperate need there, though there were many Syrians living in poverty. Selda bought some bread to feed a few hungry ducks in a pond and some children approached with their grandfather. We gave them some bread to feed the ducks but they ate it instead. Selda then played with the children without any reserve; the image I have of the children giggling with delight at her tickling them, and in the background a flock of sheep crossing the road is etched into my mind. Selda is a peacemaker in every way, and I think her selfless gift community manner is more a model of peacemaking than the businesslike way of some of the professional peacemakers. Selda brings people happiness.<br />
The next day Selda decided to buy some educational toys for these same children. Selda had collected some money from her friends for this 'mission' of ours, and we went back to Reyhanli to find our kids. Once we found their house we were invited in, and of course their Arabic family wanted us to stay for dinner, but we had to go as the last bus back was going very soon. They gave us some hot bread, and arranged for a man to give us a ride to the bus stop on his motorcycle. We caught the last bus and felt happy that we had done what we had.<br />
<br />
That night Selda took the bus back to Ankara, and the next day Shu and I hitchhiked to Iskenderun. Our hosts there were kind and generous, as is normally the case, and they gave us a home until my ship came in. Kenneth Schroederhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12200902890049634707noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6875312520555813517.post-44376575128198381082013-03-31T13:40:00.001+01:002013-03-31T13:40:09.325+01:00"You are refused"; or, Down to EgyptOn the 'Nissos Rodos' bound for Haifa from Iskenderun, the primary cargo consisted of trucks and their Turkish drivers bound for Saudi Arabia. The ferry from Iskenderun to Haifa is recent; the war in Syria has cut off the old trucking route. The only other passengers onboard were two tourists tucked away in their first-class cabins, and myself. As I was the only in third class, I had a third of the 7th deck all to myself. While there were hundreds of comfortable seats, there was no bunk, but sleeping on the deck was comfortable (unlike the ferry from Nador to Almeria a little over a year ago, jammed with Moroccans spread out all over the deck).<br />
The truck drivers congregated in the lounge, playing cards or backgammon, watching films, drinking tea or praying in a little makeshift mosque in the corner. I sat around in third class or topside doing a lot of thinking. Over the past year I've had a lot of advice on how to enter Israel; don't volunteer any information, send my peace books (better word than petitions) to Israel so I don't carry them through, have a specific date for leaving, a detailed itinerary, simply say I'm a tourist, or a strictly religious pilgrim visiting the Holy Land. Don't imply any connection with Islam or Islamic countries. Don't get angry.<br />
In the end I disregarded every piece of advice but the last. I didn't get angry.<br />
I disregarded this advice because if I am going to call myself a Quaker I'd better think about integrity as much as peace.<br />
As the ship moored in Haifa I was already thinking ahead, about how I would contact my first hosts and how I would get to them, when I was called to reception. I was then directed onto the mess deck where an Israeli security man was already waiting for me with my passport in his hand. Another man stood next to him.<br />
"Why are you coming to Israel?" he asked.<br />
"I'm a peace pilgrim."<br />
The man sighed just a little.<br />
"How long are you planning to stay?"<br />
"One to three months."<br />
A bigger sigh. I knew I was in for a grilling.<br />
He then asked where I was going, and I replied that my only concrete plans were to attend a Vipassana meditation course near the Sea of Galilee, and to visit and possibly volunteer to help fellow Quakers at the Friends International Center in Ramallah. There was a line of questioning regarding these answers.<br />
"Quakers?" for example. Unfortunately, as I was soon to learn, long explanations were impossible. I don't think they know what Quakers are even now, other than some pacifist group in Ramallah.<br />
At this point I was still trying to keep my answers as simple as possible, so I didn't talk about delivering a peace book to Dani Dayan, as I didn't know for a fact that I would do this. But I would raise the issue myself.<br />
Eventually he wanted to know about the people I was going to stay with, and I told him I had their names on a list. I also mentioned that they came from a website called Couchsurfing, and that such hosts had got me all the way from Portugal to Iskenderun.<br />
As I went to my bag for the list of names (it sounds bad, I know) I also pulled out my peace books to show the security men. When I was called back in, I handed over the list of names and my peace books.<br />
"These are peace books I've carried since Portugal. One is for Israeli settlers to stop building settlements in Palestinian Territory, and to respect the autonomy of the Palestinians, the other is for Hamas to resist with non-violence, and to recognize the state of Israel. I have to tell you now that I believe in a Palestinian state, as the only way to peace."<br />
Both guys gave me a concerned look and leaned forward a little to make sure they heard every word.<br />
Now the reader may imagine boldness on my part, and may imagine that I said these words with a firm voice, standing tall, unwavering. But my voice wavered, I was shaking, and I may have appeared to be cringing a bit. No George Fox here.<br />
Nevertheless, all was out, I thought. But for the next two hours or so, I was very courteously and professionally interrogated with tag team rapid fire examination and cross examination. I was impressed, I have to admit. But I was also disappointed. I wanted to tell the truth about myself and my journey and my intentions, but I don't feel the truth really came out. I don't think they wanted the truth. I think they wanted answers that their training has taught them are green, yellow or red flags. "Peace pilgrim" , for example, a yellow flag. "I believe in a Palestinian State", for example, a red flag. And the money I had, or the lack of it, an easy way to justify a refusal to enter Israel.<br />
The interrogation remains a bit of a blurry memory, but they asked me why walk? (It's a peace walk, you know, walking for peace) Why one to three months in Israel? (depends on hosts, money, being able to get into Palestinian Territory or not, possible changes in plans)<br />
what other possible possible plans? (might go after a month in Israel, might stay with Quakers in Ramallah for a while) Why walk? (walking for peace, uh, but did some hitchhiking in Turkey) Did you walk with anyone else? (Uh, with a few people, with my daughter to Morocco...) Where is she now? (Lexington, Kentucky) Anyone else? (A few, but there was this woman who walked with me for three months) Where is she now?(In Iran... RED FLAG... but she's cycling, see, Belgium to China, just passing through...) Why were you in Turkey? (It's uh, on the way to Israel) Why come on a ship from Iskenderun? Why not fly? (I want to get as close to Syria as possible... RED FLAG) Why Syria? (my original intention was to walk through Syria) Why not walk through Syria? (Uh, well, there's a war, and the visa...) Who did you stay with in Iskenderun? (uh, uh, a Couchsurfing host...) Did anyone in Turkey give you any presents to bring to Israel? (Uh, well... no)(I interpreted present to mean something to harm Israelis)(Of course there were presents! A tambourine, for example) Do you have friends in Morocco? (yes I have friends in Morocco) Do you know what this Arabic comment means in your book? (It's, uh, about peace... I, uh, someone always translated what was written) You had it translated? (Uh, it says things about peace in Israel and Palestine. Uh, not everyone wanted to sign, so the people who signed said only good things) What did the people who didn't sign say? (Uh, they didn't always think Hamas should resist non-violently) What did you tell them? (That Israel has a right to exist, and...) Why Egypt? (I'm also walking for an NGO... YELLOW FLAG... called Masterpeace, they're going to have a peace concert in 2014 there) You're staying in Egypt until 2014? (No, I'll only have a month there) Who are you staying with? (Well, I don't know yet, haven't Couchsurfed there yet) Where are you going after Egypt? (No idea, heh heh, uh, well, I'd like to see my daughter in America, but...) Do you know anyone in Israel? (I, uh, there's this Israeli guy I met and his friend's mother, I met her, and...) Do you know any of the people you'll be staying with? (Just, uh, this guys friend's mother in Negev) What's the name of your contact in Ramallah? (It's just a second, it's here in my book) Are there Quakers in Israel? (I, uh, don't think so, I don't know) What did you do in Portugal? (I was an English teacher, also I sold hot dogs, see, I made more money selling...) It doesn't seem like that would earn you enough money to walk from Portugal to Egypt. ( I get donations) From who? (From people who support my peace walk) How do you get donations? (Mostly by asking on my blog... look, I'll give you my blog address, I'll write it down...) Find it on this (his smart phone)<br />
"Okay", I say, but I'm really terrified now. I'm shaking, and two or three of them are observing me carefully. Why am I terrified? Because I know they're watching me tremble, and because I am so inept with tiny smart phones or any modern technology for that matter. Even the computer I'm writing on now intimidates me.<br />
So shaking badly, I fumble with his tiny phone with its tiny keys, pressing the wrong keys because only a little monkey could possibly hit one key at a time. I somehow lose the search page, and I hand it to him. He refinds the search page and hands it back. Then I lose the page again. He hands it back again, but is now distracted by another security man's questions. As no one seems to be observing my fumbling, I calm down a bit and find my blog. I hand the phone to him. "Here it is!" I say triumphantly.<br />
He scrolls down.<br />
"Where does it talk about donations?"<br />
I look. My blog looks different on a tiny smart phone.<br />
"It's, uh, on a regular computer it looks different. The donation part is off to the side, and on this there is no side, but..."<br />
"Okay, wait." he says. I wait, scratching something on my back. I've been scratching this thing on my back probably throughout the whole interrogation. I see the security man at the door watching me scratch my back. I stop scratching my back.<br />
Then, a new line of questioning, surely based on what they've seen on my blog.<br />
Why doesn't your family support you with money? (Uh, well, my brother sent me some money when I was in Morocco, see, he's with a big company...) Why doesn't he support you now? (He, uh, I don't want to ask him, I'd ask in an emergency) Why doesn't you daughter help? (She's offered, I don't want to take money from my daughter) I have to ask you a personal question, I'm sorry but it's necessary (I completely understand) Why did your wife leave you? (Well, uh, pfff, you know, maybe she thought I'd left her, I didn't see it that way...) Wait. (okay)<br />
In the interval I am given a chair to sit in. I fidget in the chair. I am observed fidgeting in the chair. I force myself to stop fidgeting. It's very difficult. Facial muscles start contracting involuntarily.<br />
Another man begins asking questions.<br />
What are you going to do after you get to Egypt? (Uh, maybe go to Spain or Greece to work to get money to visit my daughter, get back to a normal life, I think I already answered that)<br />
What's a normal life? (Well, you know, a house, a regular job, I mean I'm working now for peace but...)<br />
Why Israel? (Huh?) Why Israel? How long have you been planning on coming to Israel? (Well, I decided on the walk just six weeks before I left, but I've wanted to come to Israel for a long time) Why? ( I love Israel. I love Judaism. Thirty years ago I wanted to convert to Judaism but a rabbi talked me out of it)<br />
I'm chuckling now but he isn't. Also, another security guy nearby is leaning to hear better.<br />
"Why Judaism?"<br />
"I'm a spiritual person. I was dissatisfied with the Christianity I encountered at the time. I wanted to work on a kibbutz..."<br />
"Are you going to convert to Judaism now? Or to Islam?"<br />
"No, " I say, surprising myself with the first words I've said with a little firmness. "I'm a Christian, a Quaker now."<br />
"Wait," he says, and walks to an unidentifiable briefcase sized silver technological device manned by a woman in the back where the other security guys have congregated. All but the guy near the door. He's observing me. Nice guy, no hard looks, but observing.<br />
The second man returns.<br />
"You said you have maps of your walk?"<br />
"Yes, but only since Italy because I was sending them back to my daughter because of weight, you know"<br />
But he doesn't know or care about weight in a backpack.<br />
"Show me your maps."<br />
I give him the map of Turkey. I show him where I walked with Buddhists for three days.<br />
"Where did you meet them?"<br />
I show him where the village was that I met Thomas.<br />
I show him my route, which leads to Gaziantep, Antakya, and Iskenderun, all around the Syrian border.<br />
"I was only in Gaziantep because of this Japanese guy I was travelling with, he investigates sweets and the baklava there..."<br />
"Okay, wait."<br />
<br />
Of course there were many, many other questions, and I did have a few chances to clarify, but I never really had a chance to coherently explain what I was doing. Answers were followed by more questions that led to other answers in a different direction. Many questions were asked in a different way, but I sometimes answered differently because I heard a different question. Real clarification was impossible. The truth was never discovered by these guys. I am certain of that.<br />
<br />
I was later told by the man who'd asked the most questions that I would now have to pass a security interview (What had I just gone through?) by a uniformed woman who had been chatting with her colleagues for most of the time I'd been there.Then, if I passed the security interview, I'd have my bag searched, then I'd be in Haifa once the bag had been checked. I saw this as a positive sign. I'd satisfactorily gotten through the most difficult part. I was in!<br />
As I sat waiting for the next security interview, the other passenger couple that had been hidden away in first class was having its interrogation. They sat at a table. Their interrogator was laughing with them, then after a few more minutes of amiable chatting, off they went to Haifa.<br />
The uniformed woman then approached. My interrogators had been firm and a bit scary with their questions that implied the worst of me, but they'd also had amiable qualities. This woman, however, was a block of ice.<br />
"How much many have you got?" she asked.<br />
"Three hundred dollars."<br />
"That doesn't sound like enough for three months in Israel, does it?"<br />
"Well, as I've explained, I've had donations and hosts get me this far, and...."<br />
"I'll ask."<br />
And off she walked. She chatted and laughed with her colleagues. After some twenty minutes, she said from a distance, "You're refused."<br />
I thought I was going to collapse.<br />
"Sorry?"<br />
"Refused. You're refused."<br />
I sat for awhile, trying to think. She chatted and laughed with her colleagues.<br />
"I really didn't have a chance to explain about money..."<br />
"You explained enough, I'm sorry, you're refused."<br />
More chatting and laughing.<br />
"Isn't there anything else I can do?"<br />
One of her colleagues shook his head, 'no'. I appreciated the look of sympathy on his face.<br />
"Nothing, sorry," said the uniformed woman. No sympathy there.<br />
<br />
What never really came out was that kind, peace oriented people have taken me into their homes for the past year and a half, and that the same kinds of people were going to do the same in Israel; that people continued to send donations, and these donations, ranging from less than a euro to 400 euros, kept supporting me; that I was getting by on a tight budget and that the 300 dollars I had would last me for a month; that my Vipassana course was free and that in itself gave me two weeks in Israel.<br />
I personally know two Catholic religious pilgrims who walked through Syria and Jordan, and into Palestine and Israel, with absolutely no money.<br />
So, money? No. I believe I was just too much of a naive peace freak wanderer for the Israeli authorities. "One to three months, depending..." Too much time to wander around finding trouble, joining undesireable NGO's or worse, they must have thought.<br />
<br />
I was very surprised they had no interest in who my peace books were addressed to, and what I intended to do with them. It was only the comments inside that they took an interest in.<br />
<br />
I wish I could have had an audience with them; twenty minutes of uninterrupted speaking, followed by questions. I know that isn't the way it is, but they would have learned the truth that way; that Quakers are not their enemy, but worked to save persecuted Jews during the Second World War. They would have heard that in my talks about my peace books, I have much more often spoken the case for Israel than otherwise. Nearly all of those who have signed only one petition have signed for Israelis to stop building settlements, but not for Hamas to use non violent resistance. I have repeatedly argued for non violence on the part of those Palestinians fighting for justice in the Palestinian Territories. I have repeatedly argued that Israel has a right to exist, and that choosing sides has nothing to do with peace. They would have learned that I stay with all people who give me a sincere invitation; that I do not choose sides, and that I believe peaceful dialogue is an important step in peacemaking. Indeed, one of my Israeli hosts was a settler in Palestinian Territory. My time from Portugal to Morocco, Spain, France, Italy, Slovenia, Croatia, Bosnia, Serbia, Bulgaria, Greece, Turkey and now Egypt (where I disembarked) hasn't been spent nodding yes to anti-Israeli sentiment or anti-Muslim sentiment. I know about the Inner Light in all of us, and I<i> do </i>love Judaism, and Islam, and Buddhism. I understand the better part of communism and anarchism. I understand the better part of capitalism.<br />
<br />
Accepting hospitality from, and having dialogue with those who oppose Israel doesn't make me Israel's enemy. In Egypt, I will often find myself trying to convince people that Israel is not their enemy, just as, I suppose, I would have been trying to convince many Israelis that Palestinians and Muslims are not their enemy. The enemy is fear.<br />
Shalom, salaam , peace.<br />
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<br />Kenneth Schroederhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12200902890049634707noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6875312520555813517.post-30872513871742384642013-03-25T15:18:00.000+00:002013-03-25T15:18:16.091+00:00Our Arrival in AntakyaIn Hatay,or Antakya (ancient Antioch) Shu and I are at the home of our hosts, Ozgur and Muhammad, who are working for a humanitarian organisation that gives assistance to Syrian refugees. It is twenty past one in the morning, and they are still doing the paperwork that is required of them after a day in the field. Muhammad crumples a piece of paper and throws it in an arc towards a little basketball hoop on the wall. The paper ball hits the rim of the hoop and falls to the floor where other paper balls are scattered. Though the two of them work in the field distributing things like coal, blankets, diapers and food coupons during the day, and though they work sixdays a week doing paperwork until late at night, (Sundays being reserved for paperwork only) they keep their spirits up with the knowledge that what they are doing is essential. They also have a good sense of humor. When a nagging colleague who only speaks Turkish phones them repeatedly during their `off` hours, they have me answer the phone in English, then later they have Shu answer the phone speaking Japanese. Finally, the phone calls stop.<br />
The organization that Ozgur and Muhammad work for isn't allowed to work inside the refugee camps, as this work is reserved for government employees inTurkey. But there are many unregistered refugees outside the camps, and NGO`s, which are not really legal here, are tolerated by the goverment to deal with these unregistered refugees.<br />
<br />
Shu and I spent the first part of our last night in Gaziantep at the bus terminal, as we were unable to find a host. While there, a spontaneous Kurdish celebration broke out in the parking lot, with traditional music and dancing. A Western man with a backpack and long hair joined the dance to the amusement of bystanders. I spoke to him afterwards and discovered that he was a Slovenian who was on a journey for peace. He had tried to get into Israel and was denied entry. When we met him he was on his way to Iraq, and he was going without a visa. Somehow I believe his journey will succeed, even if he doesn`t get to where he wants to go.<br />
At 2am we presented a bus driver with a paper written by Baris, from the guest house in Antep, which explained what we are doing. The bus driver took us onboard and we rode to Hatay free of charge.<br />
<br />
Arriving at 5am in Hatay, the first man I saw was in Saudi Arabian garb. Hatay itself has a Middle Eastern atmosphere, and I felt that I had almost arrived at my destination after 16 months on the road. I overcame the emotion I felt and Shu and I made our way to Hatay`s center. At noon we collapsed outside a mosque on benches and slept until the muezzin woke us up a few hours later.<br />
<br />
In Hatay I spoke about non-violent resistance with Ozgur, who is from Istanbul, and Mohammad, from Aleppo in Syria. Both of them are personally committed to peacemaking, but Muhammed is skeptical about non-violent resistance. The resistance in Syria began as a non-violent movement, he reminds me, but after 8 months of heavy losses in a one sided battle, the Syrian people took up arms. Though he agrees that violence begets violence, how could he ask his people to resist without arms?<br />
The situation in Palestine is not the same, but I remain silent. Though Muhammad says nothing about what he has witnessed and suffered in Syria, I know that he left Aleppo only five months ago, and that his brothers are still there. I find it impossible to preach to him.<br />
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<br />Kenneth Schroederhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12200902890049634707noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6875312520555813517.post-44152524965683401742013-03-19T13:09:00.002+00:002013-03-20T23:12:49.119+00:00Adana and GaziantepIn Gaziantep, Shu and I have arrived without any idea of where we'll sleep. He's here for serious confectionay research; Antep is known for its quality baklava. I'm here hoping to find a way to volunteer to help Syrian refugees. But after an interesting day of hitchhiking from Adana, we're homeless. At the police station we're directed to a mesafir hane, or guest house, and there we're immediately treated to a hot meal of chickpeas and rice. Later Abdullah, a teacher of Koran at a nearby mosque, invites us to stay with his family after he has given lessons at the guest house. While waiting for him to finish, I meet one of his students, Bariş. <br />
Bariş hears about my story, then tells me he was named Bariş, or Peace, because he was born during the First Gulf War in Adana, where the US air base there flew sorties into northern Iraq.<br />
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In Adana we stayed at the house of a former US Air Force aircraft mechanic, Eric, and his Turkish wife Emine. Eric served in many places around the world, including the airbase in Adana. We spoke as two US military veterans might be expected to speak, about what we did and where we served, but we also spoke a great deal about the prospects for peace, and we both agreed that there are better alternatives to military action. We both have faith that people are basically good, and this faith leads to the conclusion that peace is possible. Eric and Emine were hospitable people and good company. I think we'll meet again.<br />
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Bariş has a German friend who is involved in helping Syrian refugees here, thousands of them restricted to camps apart from the city. She is in Istanbul, though, so I'll have to wait for Hatay to do my part. Even there I may not have any access to the refugees, and only be helping from backstage. But I am looking forward to meeting Sister Barbara, also from Germany, once I get there. My friend Selda from Ankara has arranged for me to help out alongside Amnesty International and other volunteers with Sister Barbara. Meanwhile, Shu and I are again looking for a place to stay tonight in Antep, and tomorrow we'll hitchhike towards Hatay.Kenneth Schroederhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12200902890049634707noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6875312520555813517.post-50412400277752780922013-03-15T09:41:00.002+00:002013-03-15T09:41:26.485+00:00Shusaku Hayashi and the Traditional Confectionary Research Company<b>Looking for Rumi, Finding Shu</b><br />
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Before going to Konya, I did a lot of ruminating on Rumi, or Mewlana as he's known in Turkey. I thought I might find more than his tomb there; I thought I might find a Sufi master to guide me with a word or a gesture before I moved on towards Iskenderun.<br />
While my host in Konya, Huseyin, was indeed a student of Sufism, and while he did give a little insight into Rumi's wisdom, it wasn't Sufism that I discovered in Konya, but another guest of Huseyin's named Shusaku Hayashi, or Shu, as he calls himself.<br />
Shu and I are now hitchhiking together towards our respective immediate goals; Iskenderun for me, where I'll be catching a ferry to Haifa, and Gaziantep for Shu, where he'll be immersed in confectionary research.<br />
One common goal we have is the city of Hatay, where I'll help with other volunteers to aid Syrian refugees, and where Shu will, again, be doing lots of confectionary research.<br />
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<b>Every Step is a Step for Confectionary Research</b><br />
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While my aim is peace, there are many places I have gone that are mere waystations to my ultimate destinations of Palestine and Egypt. But for Shu, no matter where he is, confectionary research is the goal.<br />
An example of this is the middle-of-nowhere town of Ereğli, located some 50 or 60 kilometers east of Konya (not to be confused with another town of the same name on the Black Sea). I managed to find a host in Ereğli for the sole purpose of breaking the haul from Konya to Mersin into two parts. Ereğli meant a bed and a shower rather than a tent should we be unable to get a ride all the way to Mersin from Konya; pure logistics. For Shu though, anyplace that he finds himself he's at work for his Traditional Confectionary Research Company. I suspect that if we did end our day wilderness camping someplace, Shu might find the nearest habitation to continue his work.<br />
So in the middle-of-nowhere, dusty town of Ereğli, while I thought about finding a cheap kebab to fill my belly, or took the occasional photo, Shu popped into every sweets shop he came across to investigate the possibility of finding something he hadn't found before in the confectionary world.<br />
He hadn't found much success in dusty Ereğli when our host there, an English teacher named Buğra, suggested he look into Ereğli's confectionary specialty, Köpüklü Helva, which is a white semi-liquid substance that tastes a bit like liquid marshmallows. We went together to a small confectionary shop where the stuff was produced, and I watched as Shu asked questions, took photos, tasted samples and took notes for the better part of an hour. He had hit the jackpot after investigating several other shops and finding what he had already photographed, tasted and took notes on in other parts of Turkey.<br />
As Shu put it, "I can find something new everywhere."<br />
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<b>Two Different Approaches to Peacemaking</b><br />
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In the end I did manage to do a little peacemaking in Ereğli. A fight nearly broke out on the street between a motorist and a man on a scooter. A nearby street vendor and I got between the two antagonists, but the man who had been on his scooter was especially determined to whack the offending motorist when I demanded from each of them whether they weren't both Muslims, and therefore brothers (actually, the idea was communicated with sign language and the question "Müslüman?" posed to each of them). They paused, then went their own ways, the angrier of the two muttering under his breath.<br />
In one conversation with Shu, I told him about a time when I was 11 years old that three older kids wanted to beat me up. When they came to the apartments where we lived at the time, in Hawaii, I cowered by the window, pointing them out to my mother. She promptly brought out a tray of chocolate chip cookies and milk to serve them, and they never bothered me again. Shu embraced the idea, and he is now Hayashi Sensei, Master of a non-martial art based on serving pastries and sweets to those who would harm you. The attacker is completely disabled, and quickly becomes your friend.<br />
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<b>The Quest, and How it Came About</b><br />
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Shu, who is from Kyoto, had a successful confectionary business going in Tokyo when the disastrous earthquake hit in 2011. Business dropped dramatically as a result of the earthquake and the following after- shocks, so Shu packed up and went to France with the idea of doing research on sweets and pastries there before returning to Japan to re-start his business. But in Mulhouse, after working as a grape picker and in a kitchen for 8 months, he decided his 6-day-per-week schedule left him with little time to do the confectionary reasearch he had wanted to do. Though Shu had never been an avid cyclist, he purchased a touring bike with an ambitious idea; cycle from Paris to Shanghai, researching local sweets along the way. Then, once back in Japan, his plan is to start a new sweets shop featuring sweets and pastries that he discovers on his quest.<br />
Shu's quest has so far taken him from France to Switzerland, Germany, Croatia, Bosnia and Herzegovina, Serbia, Romania, Ukraine, Georgia, Azerbaijan, Armenia and now Turkey. In Turkey Shu has been backpacking and hitchhiking rather than cycling, the country too vast and rich in a culture of sweets to pedal through it. His bicycle awaits him in Georgia, where he will continue The Quest through Iran, Turkmenistan, Kazakhstan, Uzbekistan, Kyrgyzstan and China. In Japan he will arrive with tales of baklava to enthrall his listeners (and customers).<br />
Shu also writes a newspaper of his own creation, 'The Pastry Times', which can be found online and in print in Japan (circulation: 2000 copies per month). He created the paper while in France; after running out of money in Georgia he used newspaper subscriptions and advertising fees to help fund his journey, along with donations and funding from sponsors. He expects to complete his mission this autumn, launching his new business when back in Japan. Shu has also been contacted by publishers who have seen his newspaper to write a novel.<br />
At 24, Shusaku Hayashi is well on his way.<br />
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<i>For more on Shu through Facebook:</i><br />
<a href="http://www.facebook.com/kyodogashi.kenkyusha.paris.shanghai">www.facebook.com/kyodogashi.kenkyusha.paris.shanghai</a><br />
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<br />Kenneth Schroederhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12200902890049634707noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6875312520555813517.post-17564372600787579392013-03-14T22:08:00.001+00:002013-03-14T23:40:09.349+00:00Hitchhiking, Examples of Peace, and Thanks<b>The Camaraderie of Hitchhiking</b><br />
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In Konya, home of Mawlana Rumi and the Whirling Dervishes, it is getting too late in the day to think about hitchhiking back to Ankara. It is also unlikely that four of us will get a ride, but we climb with our Konya host, Huseyin, over a few small hills to take a shortcut to the highway. I'm not at all worried though, because I am happy to be travelling with three friends, regardless of the outcome.<br />
The day before I had hitchhiked with my second Ankara host, Selda, to Konya. The plan had been that I would go on towards Iskenderun from there while Selda caught a bus in time to go back to her job as a teacher the next day. Selda had felt that I would discover something important in Konya, and she wanted to be there with me when it happened. But Konya had been a bit of a disappointment; just another city full of featureless apartment blocks and shopping centers one might find in Cleveland. The central feature of Konya, Rumi's tomb, had been swarming with tourists, and while there was no apparent sign of Sufism but for the Sufi or Rumi themed tourist traps, a hard fundamentalist streak does run through the city. What did become important for me in Konya, however, was the cameraderie I found in the hitchhiking trip itself.<br />
Instead of remaining in Konya, then, I had decided to hitchhike back to Ankara with Selda. Huseyin, who is a student of Sufism, then decided to join us as we ate at a small diner before setting off. Shu, a guest of Huseyin who is on a journey from Paris to Shanghai to sample and collect local pastry recipes, also decided to join us at the last minute. The idea of four of us on the road with such reckless spontaneity had me giggling over my food.<br />
So the four of us are standing on the highway surrounded by the bleak landscape of central Turkey with our thumbs out, and the sun is getting low. But before long we catch the first of three rides that will take us all to Ankara. Our last ride, which we catch in the dark, has us all crammed into the driver's cab of a lorry. At a weigh station the driver tells us we all have to get out to walk the 100 meters to get to the other side of the weigh station as he is at his maximum legal weight. It is all great fun.<br />
He then takes us to Ankara where Huseyin goes his own way and Selda, Shu and I catch a minibus to her flat. Two days later Shu and I hitchhike back to Konya again to pick up his bags, which he left at Huseyin's. Once again we have started late in the day, and just as it is getting dark, a coach stops on the highway for us. Selda, who is seeing us off (and helping us to catch a ride) tells the driver we haven't got the bus fare, but Shu and I are invited to ride the bus to Konya at no charge. We say our goodbyes to Selda and ride in comfort to Konya, with complimentary crackers and coffee served along the way.<br />
I can't imagine any coach in the US or Europe stopping on the highway to pick up hitchhikers. Turkey is truly a hospitable country.<br />
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<b>My Hosts in Ankara; Two Different Examples to Follow</b><br />
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While in Ankara I stayed with two hosts, Serdar and his family, and my now very close friend Selda.<br />
Serdar is a Blackhawk pilot in the Turkish army, and one of the gentlest and kindest men I've ever met. While he is prepared to fly in possible combat situations, what he enjoys the most as a Blackhawk pilot is flying rescue missions. I asked him what he thought about the possibility of military action in southeastern Turkey against Kurds or Syria, and he replied he wouldn't volunteer to fly such missions, but he would do what was expected of him. Nevertheless, he agreed with me that war was never a good solution, and he listened carefully to my argument that many non-combatants suffer from any military action. I argued that if I were an Iraqi father who had hated the regime of Sadam Hussein, but whose family had been killed as a result of 'collateral damage' by those who would rescue me from that regime, I might just decide to take up arms against my rescuers. Serdar is married and has an 8 month old son, and he could only nod in agreement. He and Buğu, his wife, were more than happy to sign the petitions I am carrying. Ultimately, I see Serdar as a man of peace, especially because of his gentle nature. We may both have difficult jobs, but I have learned from Serdar that a hard job in no way requires a hard exterior.<br />
Selda is a 25 year old teacher, and the most selfless and peace oriented person I know. She is a vegan for ethical reasons, and in everything that she does, she considers the possible negative effects of her actions. As we rode to Konya the first time with a truck driver, she pulled out all of the food she had packed for the trip to share with him along the way. Then she pulled out her Turkish copy of 'The Little Prince' as a gift for his daughter. The truck driver, in turn, gave me his prayer beads, and I frantically searched for a gift to give him; I finally decided to give him the big coat that had been given to me by a host in Italy. This coat had gotten me through Bulgaria, but I no longer had any use for it. Selda lives according to the philosophy of a gift economy, and her actions motivate others to follow suit. When we parted, she loaded me up with gifts and food, and I now share all of what she gave me with hosts and drivers who give Shu and I a ride. How can I do otherwise with Selda's example? Since I left Ankara, Selda has arranged for me to work with volunteers helping Syrian refugees in Hatay. After several months of self-doubt, she has re-motivated me to do what I set out to do 16 months ago. Selda is the perfect example of what a peacemaker should be, and I'm eager to follow her example.<br />
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<b>Thanks Again</b><br />
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Just one more thing: once again, many thanks to all of you who have encouraged me and helped me through your generosity, hospitality, and financial support, especially when you have been aware of the self-doubt that I have gone through recently. I am again committed to peacemaking.Kenneth Schroederhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12200902890049634707noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6875312520555813517.post-61342245449865794012013-03-06T17:13:00.001+00:002013-03-06T17:13:42.081+00:00On Fear, Courage, Quiet Desperation and Shangri-laBack in early December, in the frozen, dreary, town of Ihtiman, Bulgaria, I bargained with the hotel clerk for a room. I had just spent the previous night with a dog in a tent at -20 degrees Centigrade. The dog almost hadn't made it, and one of my toes was still numb and purple at the tip. I was going to splurge a bit on this day to keep warm.<br />
The bargaining got me a room for cheap, and included the dog. The carpet was badly stained, the TV didn't work, and I was thrilled to be out of the cold.<br />
Inge had called me earlier in the day to see if I was still alive. She had also gone through a hard subzero night with her own dog in a tent some 30k ahead of me. Now I phoned her to see what her situation would be on yet another frozen night. She was camped again, under a highway overpass, and it was warmer, she said. Maybe only a low of -5 or -10 degrees this time, as she had got to a lower altitude. She was concerned that there were men walking around nearby, but felt sure that the worst case scenario would amount to robbery and not rape. I told her I'd call her again later, but she later SMS'd me to tell me not to call her; the men were near her tent and she wanted to be as quıet and discreet as possible.<br />
I spent the night warm but unable to sleep. Between the cold Inge was exposed to, the guys creeping around her tent and my inability to communicate with her, I was too worried to sleep.<br />
But Inge got through the night and cycled on the next day.<br />
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Inge had clearly been afraid that night, but she'd camped while I'd found a hotel.<br />
Inge had revealed many fears to me the many months we'd travelled together.<br />
She revealed her fear of water, and how she overcame it by learning free diving; her fear of her life in Antwerp going in a bad direction, and how she'd overcome that by travelling. She revealed her fear, her <i>terror</i>, even, of loneliness, and how she was still overcoming that by travelling alone, on a bicycle, in Bulgaria, Turkey and later in Iran and Pakistan. She revealed her fear of failure and how she overcame that by always moving forward. She revealed her fear of the unknown and of danger and how she overcomes those fears with in-depth research and, again, by simply moving forward and facing those dangers when they are unavoidable. Inge also does rock climbing, so, though she has never mentioned it, I am absolutely sure she is afraid of heights. Inge is afraid of spiders, and camps among them, and with them.<br />
An aside: curiously, Inge has no fear of scorpions.<br />
I share many of the same fears that Inge has, but I believe I am generally not as afraid on my journey as she is on hers. For example, spiders don't scare me. Much. Or at least I am not as willing to confess it. Maybe I have less to fear.<br />
I will confess I am terrified of spilling a drink filled to the brim of the glass, and I shake and do in fact spill the drink because of this fear. Inge has no such fear. She can carry all kinds of drinks filled to the brim and not spill a drop.<br />
But I digress.<br />
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Nevertheless, it should be obvious by now, despite my digressions, that I am writing about <i>courage</i>, and not about fear.<br />
It should be obvious because while Inge is terrified of the water, she managed to face that fear, and she learned to freedive, and <i>this</i> is courage.<br />
And the greater the fear, the greater the courage required to overcome it.<br />
So let me translate this sentence: "I believe I am generally not as afraid as Inge", to this, "I believe Inge is more courageous than I am."<br />
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Along with much encouragement, there is sometimes the discouraging word that is shot at the pilgrim, the traveller, the seeker of Shangri-la. Let me now address those authors of discouragement; all the caged, comfortable masses of men living in quiet desperation, and let me ask them not to impart their cautious wisdom on the travelling seekers of the world. Let those men not accuse the seekers of the world of running away from responsibility when 'responsibility' is merely a synonym for 'quiet desperation'. Let them not accuse the seekers of running headlong into danger when it is in facing and overcoming fears that Shangri-la is found.<br />
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Abandon quiet desperation and seek Shangri-la, ye masses of men! Begin by acknowledging your fears. Then learn how to face them. And let my friend Inge, the travelling seeker, show you how. <a href="http://bikenomadism.wordpress.com/">bikenomadism.wordpress.com</a><br />
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Onward!<br />
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<br />Kenneth Schroederhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12200902890049634707noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6875312520555813517.post-65114532921589278302013-03-03T13:58:00.002+00:002013-03-03T17:54:06.377+00:00On Strangers<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11.333333015441895px; line-height: 9.333333015441895px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11.333333015441895px; line-height: 9.333333015441895px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11.333333015441895px; line-height: 9.333333015441895px;">“Most travel, and certainly the rewarding kind, involves depending on the kindness of strangers, putting yourself into the hands of people you don't know and trusting them with your life.” </span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11.333333015441895px; line-height: 9.333333015441895px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11.333333015441895px; line-height: 9.333333015441895px;">― Paul Theroux, Ghost Train to the Eastern Star </span><br />
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Way back in November 2011, when my daughter and I had been walking for about a month, we looked for a host through Couchsurfing in Seville. A young man named Mohammed was unable to host us because he was too busy studying there, but he said his family would host us once we got to Tangier.<br />
Sure enough, in Tangier we stayed with his family for a week. In that time we all became very close friends, communicating in very poor Spanish, comparing our faiths (Islam and Quakerism), and exchanging cultural ideas. Said, the father of the family, taught me how to read and write in Arabic ( I have forgotten it all!). Olivia had some lessons in cooking. We both had lessons in humility. We were perfect strangers to these people, and not only did they take us in, they treated us like family. I know that any time I am in Tangier, I can go to this family.<br />
There is something about certain strangers you meet on the road, whose kindness and trust in you create a bond that rivals or even surpasses the natural bond among families.<br />
In fact, many of the strangers I have met on the road these past 16 months have become family to me.<br />
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But the story with Mohammed is not finished.<br />
When my daughter returned to Portugal from Fes in January 2012, she first visited Mohammed in Seville.<br />
Then, almost a year later, as I entered Turkey, Olivia told me that Mohammed was now studying in Izmir, and that if I should go there, I had a place to stay for as long as I liked. Instead I went to Istanbul. While in Istanbul I decided to visit nearby Izmit as there was another Masterpeace pilgrim named Leanne there. Once in Izmit, Leanne told me that a guy named Mohammed had passed through, and that he was hithhiking around Turkey. Mohammed, the very same Mohammed from Seville and Izmir, somehow knew I was coming to Izmit, and he left a little money for me. So the young man who couldn't help us in Seville has helped me out again over a year later in Turkey. While I know Mohammed's family in Tangier, I still haven't even met Mohammed.<br />
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I was given a lecture through e-mail not long ago that strangers will always be strangers, and that family is all we have in this lifetime. But the irony is that strangers have become very close friends of mine on this walk, while family, for the most part, has become more distant. This may have something to do with the old adage that familiarity breeds contempt, or it may be that my American family sees walking and surviving on the kindness of strangers as irresponsible or degrading. Most likely, however, is the fact that family has expectations on other family members that strangers do not have. The strangers who have become my friends have helped out from a simple desire to help.<br />
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Meanwhile, I have left the organic farm near Kandira, visited Leanne and two very kind hosts in Izmit, and moved on to Ankara.<br />
I have heard from everyone that Turkey is a hitchhiker's paradise. Indeed, when hitchhiking to Kandira a week ago, I believed this to be true, as I had several rides on a quiet country road. Naturally, I thought, hitchhiking the busy route from Izmit to Ankara would be a cinch.<br />
It wasn't a cinch. I did get halfway to Ankara on a single ride, complete with free lunch from a perfect stranger, but I had to wait for several hours to get the ride. I also walked a good 10 or 15 k that day, and finally had to catch a bus to get the rest of the way to Ankara.<br />
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I'm now here in Ankara with a stranger turned good friend and a wonderful family of strangers fast becoming friends. I'll soon try hitchhiking again towards Konya, the home of the ancient Sufi mystic, Rumi.<br />
As always, I will be depending on the kindness of strangers.<br />
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<br />Kenneth Schroederhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12200902890049634707noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6875312520555813517.post-25853844673974257072013-02-24T14:39:00.001+00:002013-02-24T17:37:21.907+00:00Walking with Buddhists, Hitchhiking for Peace, Lessons from a Monk, On the Farm<b>Walking with Thomas, Andrew, and Phap Khi</b><br />
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It is the second day of our walk from Istanbul. The four of us walk silently in single file. Andrew, an Englishman now living in Switzerland, is in the lead. He comes to a curve in the road, and points to a path through the wood that leads up and over a hill. We all pause, then nod affirmatively, though I am thinking that the path may not be a good idea. We make our way up the path, then take a break in the woods. We don't speak much during the break. After a few minutes we continue down the other side of the path, through the woods, and straight into a high fence. We then wind our way back, sliding down a steep embankment to get back to the road, nearly to the point where we'd started on the path. <br />
In my unenlightened mind I am a bit exasperated. Our detour has cost us three kilometers and wasted energy. I am impatient to make some progress, not only to get closer to my ultimate destination, but also to leave behind the pain of separation from my friend. But for the other three, what the detour has 'cost' us is not an issue. We are simply where we are. <br />
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By the end of the second day we are in a tourist area, in a village called Polonez. Thomas has presented a leaflet he's had printed to the manager of a nice restaurant. The leaflet explains that we are walking for peace, and that any help the reader can offer, such as food and lodging, would be appreciated. The manager converses with his peers in Turkish. There is some laughter among them, some shoulder shrugging, some arguing. Then we are invited to have dinner in the restaurant.<br />
Afterwards we are told to see the mayor of the village to find lodging, but when we get to his office, it is closed. It is now dusk, and we go into the teahouse and have tea. We sit silently waiting for someone to offer us a place to sleep. I explain to my friends that on my walk, having failed to find a room to sleep in, I would have already gotten through the village and found a place to camp. Instead, on this walk, we sit and sip tea, waiting.<br />
Then a young man approaches our table and says hello in English. Phap Khi asks, "Can you help us?"<br />
The young man just happens to manage a tourist lodge and restaurant, and we are soon in luxury rooms complete with jacuzzi. But first we are shuttled to the resaurant where we have another huge meal and lots of good conversation with our host.As we sleep in our luxurious rooms that night , it rains.<br />
On <i>my </i>walk, I would have been in my tent, in the rain, eating cold bread and cheese.<br />
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<b>Hitchhiking for Peace?</b><br />
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I left my Buddhist friends yesterday, and officially ended, or suspended my <i>walk</i>. I walked from Portugal to the village of Karakiraz, some 30 kilometers NE of Istanbul. It took me 15 months. Yesterday I hitchhiked and took a bus to Kandira, where I am volunteering to work on a farm for a week or so. My plans are to continue hitchhiking to Izmit, then Ankara, then to the south coast of Turkey to catch the ferry to Haifa. In Israel I hope to resume my walk. But for now, my walk is suspended.<br />
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<b>Lessons from Phap Khi</b><br />
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I had spoken to Phap Khi, the Plum Village monk, about leaving the group, about giving up my walk (though not the journey), and about a dream I'd had the week before my walk began. <br />
Regarding the first point, Phap Khi didn't think I should leave them, and that running away would never bring me to myself.<br />
"Okay, but I have to get down the road anyway. Istanbul has been a black hole, and I have to keep moving to keep from being sucked back into it."<br />
By this time, Phap Khi knew what I meant; he'd heard me break down when we all shared our thoughts after meditation. He knew I had been gripped by indecision in Istanbul; that I had wanted to keep moving but couldn't bring myself to leave.<br />
Phap Khi accepted this.<br />
I also told Phap Khi that giving up my walk by hitchhiking through the rest of Turkey was a big disappointment. Insisting on walking every kilometer was a source of pride for me. But Phap Khi pointed out that I would free myself from this pride by suspending my walk for a while. A Quaker friend in Ohio had also suggested that my insistence on walking every kilometer may simply be stubborness on my part. My excuse for hitchhiking now? That my visa expires in some 30 days, and that I cannot walk the 1000 kilometers to Iskenderun in 30 days. But I could have left Istanbul sooner. The fact is that I am tired of walking. I need a break from walking. I will walk from Haifa to Cairo. But I am tired of walking now. So there goes my pride and stubborness.<br />
Finally, I told Phap Khi about a disturbing dream I'd had a week or so before I began this walk, back in October of 2011.<br />
In the dream I was entering a house I'd lived in when growing up. I was entering the house with Linda, my wife, and with Olivia, my daughter. In the dream Olivia was only 5 or 6 years old. I had a bad feeling entering the house.<br />
Inside, written on the wall, was the message, "No future." The message sent me into a panic, but Linda and Olivia thought nothing of it. They went out back to go for a swim in the swimming pool. I tried to warn them that something terrible was about to happen, but they disregarded my own fear and jumped into the pool, splashing and laughing.. In the meantime I went to the front window, watching for the terrible something that was coming. I watched the driveway with dread. A car pulled up, I was terrified, and then I awoke from the dream.<br />
At the time I believed this dream was a bad omen and that I shouldn't make the walk. Making the walk would destroy everything we had together. But I soon came to my senses, believing the dream simply to be a manifestation of the anxiety I felt at that time.<br />
Now as I explained the dream to Phap Khi, I also explained to him that Linda had moved on to a better life in Ireland, running a bed and breakfast. Such a life had always been a dream of Linda's, but she hadn't realized that dream while we had lived together. I explained that Olivia was now in university in the US, and that time and distance had seemed to weaken our relationship. I told him that Olivia seems to be happy with her new life.<br />
"So I've lost everything I had," I said angrily. " I am really homeless now; literally everything I own I carry on my back. Once I reach Cairo, I don't know where to go. The dream was a warning, and there really is no future."<br />
"But I think you have misinterpreted the dream," he said calmly. "First of all, Linda and Olivia were happy swimming in the pool. This is the happiness they have now, not because they are free of you, but because they are living their dreams. And the message, 'No future', was not a warning, but simply a fact. There is no future. There is only the present moment. Do not dwell on the past or what you think will be the future. Stay in the present moment. Come back to yourself."<br />
<br />
<b>Down on the Farm</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
Today at the farm where I'll be volunteering for a week or so, I am trying to enjoy the present moment. Sofia is here, and several other young travellers. The atmosphere is good; I've heard no complaints from anyone. Some representatives arrived from a group called, 'Only Peace', and we had a meeting in the sunshine with Turkish coffee. Vedat, the founder of the group, said that peacebuilders tend to find one another the way birds going the same way flock together. I agreed, and told him the story of how Inge and I had found Thomas, the founder of <a href="http://steppps.net/">steppps.net</a>, by what seemed to be a random meeting in a village near Istanbul. We'd met again in Istanbul, walked for peace there, then I'd joined his walk with Andrew and Phap Khi. I told Vedat that Thomas and his group may be at this farm in a few more days.<br />
<br />
Peacebuilders find one another.<br />
Live in the present moment.<br />
Having faith in the first statement and living the second may be all that is necessary to move forward.<br />
I may be hitchhiking now but I'm still taking steps for peace.<br />
Let's all take our steps for peace!<br />
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<br />Kenneth Schroederhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12200902890049634707noreply@blogger.com1