On 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).
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.
In the end I disregarded every piece of advice but the last. I didn't get angry.
I disregarded this advice because if I am going to call myself a Quaker I'd better think about integrity as much as peace.
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.
"Why are you coming to Israel?" he asked.
"I'm a peace pilgrim."
The man sighed just a little.
"How long are you planning to stay?"
"One to three months."
A bigger sigh. I knew I was in for a grilling.
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.
"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.
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.
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.
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.
"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."
Both guys gave me a concerned look and leaned forward a little to make sure they heard every word.
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.
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.
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)
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)
"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.
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.
He scrolls down.
"Where does it talk about donations?"
I look. My blog looks different on a tiny smart phone.
"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..."
"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.
Then, a new line of questioning, surely based on what they've seen on my blog.
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)
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.
Another man begins asking questions.
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)
What's a normal life? (Well, you know, a house, a regular job, I mean I'm working now for peace but...)
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)
I'm chuckling now but he isn't. Also, another security guy nearby is leaning to hear better.
"Why Judaism?"
"I'm a spiritual person. I was dissatisfied with the Christianity I encountered at the time. I wanted to work on a kibbutz..."
"Are you going to convert to Judaism now? Or to Islam?"
"No, " I say, surprising myself with the first words I've said with a little firmness. "I'm a Christian, a Quaker now."
"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.
The second man returns.
"You said you have maps of your walk?"
"Yes, but only since Italy because I was sending them back to my daughter because of weight, you know"
But he doesn't know or care about weight in a backpack.
"Show me your maps."
I give him the map of Turkey. I show him where I walked with Buddhists for three days.
"Where did you meet them?"
I show him where the village was that I met Thomas.
I show him my route, which leads to Gaziantep, Antakya, and Iskenderun, all around the Syrian border.
"I was only in Gaziantep because of this Japanese guy I was travelling with, he investigates sweets and the baklava there..."
"Okay, wait."
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.
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!
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.
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.
"How much many have you got?" she asked.
"Three hundred dollars."
"That doesn't sound like enough for three months in Israel, does it?"
"Well, as I've explained, I've had donations and hosts get me this far, and...."
"I'll ask."
And off she walked. She chatted and laughed with her colleagues. After some twenty minutes, she said from a distance, "You're refused."
I thought I was going to collapse.
"Sorry?"
"Refused. You're refused."
I sat for awhile, trying to think. She chatted and laughed with her colleagues.
"I really didn't have a chance to explain about money..."
"You explained enough, I'm sorry, you're refused."
More chatting and laughing.
"Isn't there anything else I can do?"
One of her colleagues shook his head, 'no'. I appreciated the look of sympathy on his face.
"Nothing, sorry," said the uniformed woman. No sympathy there.
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.
I personally know two Catholic religious pilgrims who walked through Syria and Jordan, and into Palestine and Israel, with absolutely no money.
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.
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.
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 do love Judaism, and Islam, and Buddhism. I understand the better part of communism and anarchism. I understand the better part of capitalism.
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.
Shalom, salaam , peace.
Sunday, March 31, 2013
Monday, March 25, 2013
Our Arrival in Antakya
In 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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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?
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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?
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.
Tuesday, March 19, 2013
Adana and Gaziantep
In 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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
Friday, March 15, 2013
Shusaku Hayashi and the Traditional Confectionary Research Company
Looking for Rumi, Finding Shu
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.
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.
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.
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.
Every Step is a Step for Confectionary Research
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.
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.
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.
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.
As Shu put it, "I can find something new everywhere."
Two Different Approaches to Peacemaking
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.
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.
The Quest, and How it Came About
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.
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).
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.
At 24, Shusaku Hayashi is well on his way.
For more on Shu through Facebook:
www.facebook.com/kyodogashi.kenkyusha.paris.shanghai
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.
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.
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.
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.
Every Step is a Step for Confectionary Research
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.
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.
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.
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.
As Shu put it, "I can find something new everywhere."
Two Different Approaches to Peacemaking
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.
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.
The Quest, and How it Came About
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.
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).
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.
At 24, Shusaku Hayashi is well on his way.
For more on Shu through Facebook:
www.facebook.com/kyodogashi.kenkyusha.paris.shanghai
Thursday, March 14, 2013
Hitchhiking, Examples of Peace, and Thanks
The Camaraderie of Hitchhiking
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
My Hosts in Ankara; Two Different Examples to Follow
While in Ankara I stayed with two hosts, Serdar and his family, and my now very close friend Selda.
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.
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.
Thanks Again
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
My Hosts in Ankara; Two Different Examples to Follow
While in Ankara I stayed with two hosts, Serdar and his family, and my now very close friend Selda.
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.
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.
Thanks Again
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.
Wednesday, March 6, 2013
On Fear, Courage, Quiet Desperation and Shangri-la
Back 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.
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.
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.
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.
But Inge got through the night and cycled on the next day.
Inge had clearly been afraid that night, but she'd camped while I'd found a hotel.
Inge had revealed many fears to me the many months we'd travelled together.
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 terror, 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.
An aside: curiously, Inge has no fear of scorpions.
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.
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.
But I digress.
Nevertheless, it should be obvious by now, despite my digressions, that I am writing about courage, and not about fear.
It should be obvious because while Inge is terrified of the water, she managed to face that fear, and she learned to freedive, and this is courage.
And the greater the fear, the greater the courage required to overcome it.
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."
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.
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. bikenomadism.wordpress.com
Onward!
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.
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.
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.
But Inge got through the night and cycled on the next day.
Inge had clearly been afraid that night, but she'd camped while I'd found a hotel.
Inge had revealed many fears to me the many months we'd travelled together.
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 terror, 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.
An aside: curiously, Inge has no fear of scorpions.
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.
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.
But I digress.
Nevertheless, it should be obvious by now, despite my digressions, that I am writing about courage, and not about fear.
It should be obvious because while Inge is terrified of the water, she managed to face that fear, and she learned to freedive, and this is courage.
And the greater the fear, the greater the courage required to overcome it.
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."
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.
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. bikenomadism.wordpress.com
Onward!
Sunday, March 3, 2013
On Strangers
“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.”
― Paul Theroux, Ghost Train to the Eastern Star
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.
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.
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.
In fact, many of the strangers I have met on the road these past 16 months have become family to me.
But the story with Mohammed is not finished.
When my daughter returned to Portugal from Fes in January 2012, she first visited Mohammed in Seville.
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.
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.
Meanwhile, I have left the organic farm near Kandira, visited Leanne and two very kind hosts in Izmit, and moved on to Ankara.
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.
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.
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.
As always, I will be depending on the kindness of strangers.
Sunday, February 24, 2013
Walking with Buddhists, Hitchhiking for Peace, Lessons from a Monk, On the Farm
Walking with Thomas, Andrew, and Phap Khi
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.
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.
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.
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.
Then a young man approaches our table and says hello in English. Phap Khi asks, "Can you help us?"
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.
On my walk, I would have been in my tent, in the rain, eating cold bread and cheese.
Hitchhiking for Peace?
I left my Buddhist friends yesterday, and officially ended, or suspended my walk. 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.
Lessons from Phap Khi
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.
Regarding the first point, Phap Khi didn't think I should leave them, and that running away would never bring me to myself.
"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."
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.
Phap Khi accepted this.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
"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."
"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."
Down on the Farm
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 steppps.net, 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.
Peacebuilders find one another.
Live in the present moment.
Having faith in the first statement and living the second may be all that is necessary to move forward.
I may be hitchhiking now but I'm still taking steps for peace.
Let's all take our steps for peace!
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.
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.
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.
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.
Then a young man approaches our table and says hello in English. Phap Khi asks, "Can you help us?"
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.
On my walk, I would have been in my tent, in the rain, eating cold bread and cheese.
Hitchhiking for Peace?
I left my Buddhist friends yesterday, and officially ended, or suspended my walk. 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.
Lessons from Phap Khi
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.
Regarding the first point, Phap Khi didn't think I should leave them, and that running away would never bring me to myself.
"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."
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.
Phap Khi accepted this.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
"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."
"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."
Down on the Farm
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 steppps.net, 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.
Peacebuilders find one another.
Live in the present moment.
Having faith in the first statement and living the second may be all that is necessary to move forward.
I may be hitchhiking now but I'm still taking steps for peace.
Let's all take our steps for peace!
Wednesday, February 20, 2013
Walking Again
On the hectic main shopping thoroughfare of Taksim, in the center of Istanbul yesterday, five people walked slowly and quietly, practicing mindfulness.
Thomas, who is on a peace pilgrimage to Southeast Asia, led the way. Andrew, an Englishman living in Switzerland, and Phap Khi, a French Buddhist monk, have recently joined Thomas on his pilgrimage, and they followed him along with Inge and myself. The five of us snaked our way through the hasty throngs of people; past buskers, hawkers and protesters.
We finished our peace walk near Blue Mosque, and returned to the flat where Thomas has been hosted by two joyful Turkish brothers. There we enjoyed an enormous meal with the brothers and their friends.
It was there that I finally made the decision to join the peace pilgrimage with Thomas, Andrew and Phap Khi.
We'll be on our way in about an hour from now.
Goodbye Istanbul!
Inge, see you down the road!
Thomas, who is on a peace pilgrimage to Southeast Asia, led the way. Andrew, an Englishman living in Switzerland, and Phap Khi, a French Buddhist monk, have recently joined Thomas on his pilgrimage, and they followed him along with Inge and myself. The five of us snaked our way through the hasty throngs of people; past buskers, hawkers and protesters.
We finished our peace walk near Blue Mosque, and returned to the flat where Thomas has been hosted by two joyful Turkish brothers. There we enjoyed an enormous meal with the brothers and their friends.
It was there that I finally made the decision to join the peace pilgrimage with Thomas, Andrew and Phap Khi.
We'll be on our way in about an hour from now.
Goodbye Istanbul!
Inge, see you down the road!
Wednesday, February 6, 2013
Cabin Fever, or, Waiting for Godot?
Three days ago...
I am walking from Etiler, the neighborhood where I've been living, to Beşiktaş, down by the Bosporus. The backpack is once again in its proper place, my staff is in my right hand, and I am moving along the busy road at a good pace in spite of having to weave and dodge around other people and cars parked on the sidewalk.
The weather is good, and I have yet another host waiting for me just 6 kilometers from where I've started, then another the next day on the Asian side of Istanbul, and more in Izmit, a few more day's walking eastward.
I have a new destination and a new plan; I will march to Iskenderun, very close to the Syrian border, where a new ferry line has begun from Turkey to Haifa. The new ferry was created for lorries to bypass war-torn Syria on their way to Jordan, and I will only have to pay 100 euros to catch it. This is far better than my previous options had been; either to walk through Syria or take a ferry to Cyprus and a flight to Israel. The first option was costly, a bureaucratic nightmare and possibly a bit tricky what with the shooting; the second option was simply costly.
So now I am rested after weeks of sedentary living and eating well (thanks to my host, Bigem ), and I have a plan after weeks of inertia and indecision. But I will have to hurry if I am to get to Iskenderun before my visa expires. I have over 1000 kilometers to cover in about seven weeks, and I will have to get through mountainous central Turkey. It has been spring-like here in Istanbul, but I am faced with winter again as I climb in elevation. But I can do it.
After walking the 6 k to Beşiktaş, I find I am too early to meet my host, having overestimated the distance and underestimated my walking speed. I sit in a square by the Bosporus to kill time, watching skateboarders perform their art. Then I start thinking.
Cabin Fever
I have been doing far too much thinking lately as a result of cabin fever.
From Wikipedia:
Cabin fever is a term for a claustrophobic reaction that takes place when a person or group is isolated and/or shut in a small space, with nothing to do for an extended period. Cabin fever describes the extreme irritability and restlessness a person may feel in these situations.
Meanwhile, all the thinking I have been doing has made me stir crazy.
From the McGraw-Hill Dictionary:
Stir crazy to be upset and nervous because you have been in one place for too long.
So now that I have taken action and cured my cabin fever and stir craziness, I am thinking by the Bosporus, and I am thinking I would like to go back to the apartment where Inge, Sofia and I have been suffering from cabin fever together. By seven o'clock that evening I have apologised to my host and walked back to the apartment. I have more thinking to do, more fever to sweat out.
Just What Have I Been doing These Past Three weeks?
I have not been completely idle these past few weeks.
-I have been resting and eating, which I feel I should do after 15 months on the road. Lying around and reading are far more economical than running around Istanbul like a tourist, so I feel this creative idleness is justified to an extent.
And I have been eating regularly. I started the walk weighing in at about 180 lbs. When I arrived here I was at 150 lbs., which is what I weighed when I was something like 15 or 16 years old. In the time I've been here I've regained about 4 or 5 lbs, and I have also done this economically. Having a kitchen to cook in is cheaper than eating on the road. The apartment with a kitchen and much of the food, I must add, has been a gift from our host, Bigem.
Thanks again, Bigem.
-I've also been looking for work. I must confess I haven't been trying very hard. So far, neither an English language school, handing out leaflets, or labor have worked out.
-I have been 'waiting' for money.
This may sound rather weak, well , it is weak, but money through donations can get me a residence visa and transportation to Israel, and solidify my plans before I go charging down the road again. And the waiting may be necessary to continue with my work.
I applied for a 'scholarship' and delegation in Palestine with Christain Peacemaker Teams while I was in Edirne, and I got both, but the 'scholarship' means I pay 725 dollars to work with CPT rather than 1450 dollars, and it does not include transportation to Israel. Instead, I hope to pay them a short visit.
I am grateful to them for their confidence in me.
And I am, of course, grateful to those who believe in what I am doing and are providing my daily living expenses, and have been doing so for over a year.
-I have been establishing contacts in Israel. As I hope to be there for three months, not idling at all but working for peace, these contacts are important to establish now.
-I have been looking for a farm to volunteer on, through Help Exchange, but I have not found one that needs my help.
-I have been visiting people, and introducing my petitions, though not with the same vigor as prevıously on this walk.
-I have been devising alternative plans, and weighing the merits of both solicited and unsolicited opinions.
I have been advised:
...and in slowing down, to accept whatever penalty I receive for overstaying my visa with equanimity
...This last piece of advice coming when I mentioned that one of the options I have considered is to get to Iskenderun before my visa expires by hitchhiking or cycling with a cheap or donated bicycle. Aren't Israel/Palestine and Egypt the real goals of this journey? Isn't insistence on walking just vanity? Most of the time, no one knows whether I am walking or not; what difference does it make?
Of course, I have always said I would walk until I was physically unable to continue, so this last piece of advice is sound, even if it does mean overstaying my visa and taking my lumps for it.
Yet, maybe I am being hard headed about this. I've also been advised not to take too much stock in the opinions of others. Hitchiking will save me the trouble of an extension on my visa, or the trouble from the authorities when I've overstayed my visa. Furthermore, if I hitchhike from Istanbul to Iskenderun, I should be able to get to Iskenderun with the money I've got now, and possibly even have money remaining for the ferry to Israel.
What I Am Going to Do Now
All of the above, and more, I hope.
For example I may busk. I can play two or three tunes on my harmonica and sing a bit; ten minutes worth of entertainment. The entertainment may be of the sort that makes people laugh. Any coins tossed to me may be from pity.
And today I am going to visit Thomas, the peace pilgrim I wrote about recently.
Thomas is one of those who have advised that I slow down, and I am hoping he can advise me in other ways. As I've said before, he seems to radiate peace. I just seem to annoy my flatmates.
Anyway, I have now made the decision that I will not march to Iskenderun to beat the visa date.
I will either walk slowly and somehow get an extension on my visa, or I will walk slowly and deal with the authorities when the time comes.
Or I may hitchhike, or cycle to Iskenderun, then continue walking through Israel, Palestine and Egypt, where I will have lots of time to do so.
Meanwhile, I wait a bit more; for conviction, for epiphany, for renewed zeal; maybe to put on another pound or two.
I won't waste time waiting for Godot, however.
I am walking from Etiler, the neighborhood where I've been living, to Beşiktaş, down by the Bosporus. The backpack is once again in its proper place, my staff is in my right hand, and I am moving along the busy road at a good pace in spite of having to weave and dodge around other people and cars parked on the sidewalk.
The weather is good, and I have yet another host waiting for me just 6 kilometers from where I've started, then another the next day on the Asian side of Istanbul, and more in Izmit, a few more day's walking eastward.
I have a new destination and a new plan; I will march to Iskenderun, very close to the Syrian border, where a new ferry line has begun from Turkey to Haifa. The new ferry was created for lorries to bypass war-torn Syria on their way to Jordan, and I will only have to pay 100 euros to catch it. This is far better than my previous options had been; either to walk through Syria or take a ferry to Cyprus and a flight to Israel. The first option was costly, a bureaucratic nightmare and possibly a bit tricky what with the shooting; the second option was simply costly.
So now I am rested after weeks of sedentary living and eating well (thanks to my host, Bigem ), and I have a plan after weeks of inertia and indecision. But I will have to hurry if I am to get to Iskenderun before my visa expires. I have over 1000 kilometers to cover in about seven weeks, and I will have to get through mountainous central Turkey. It has been spring-like here in Istanbul, but I am faced with winter again as I climb in elevation. But I can do it.
After walking the 6 k to Beşiktaş, I find I am too early to meet my host, having overestimated the distance and underestimated my walking speed. I sit in a square by the Bosporus to kill time, watching skateboarders perform their art. Then I start thinking.
Cabin Fever
I have been doing far too much thinking lately as a result of cabin fever.
From Wikipedia:
Cabin fever is a term for a claustrophobic reaction that takes place when a person or group is isolated and/or shut in a small space, with nothing to do for an extended period. Cabin fever describes the extreme irritability and restlessness a person may feel in these situations.
Meanwhile, all the thinking I have been doing has made me stir crazy.
From the McGraw-Hill Dictionary:
Stir crazy to be upset and nervous because you have been in one place for too long.
So now that I have taken action and cured my cabin fever and stir craziness, I am thinking by the Bosporus, and I am thinking I would like to go back to the apartment where Inge, Sofia and I have been suffering from cabin fever together. By seven o'clock that evening I have apologised to my host and walked back to the apartment. I have more thinking to do, more fever to sweat out.
Just What Have I Been doing These Past Three weeks?
I have not been completely idle these past few weeks.
-I have been resting and eating, which I feel I should do after 15 months on the road. Lying around and reading are far more economical than running around Istanbul like a tourist, so I feel this creative idleness is justified to an extent.
And I have been eating regularly. I started the walk weighing in at about 180 lbs. When I arrived here I was at 150 lbs., which is what I weighed when I was something like 15 or 16 years old. In the time I've been here I've regained about 4 or 5 lbs, and I have also done this economically. Having a kitchen to cook in is cheaper than eating on the road. The apartment with a kitchen and much of the food, I must add, has been a gift from our host, Bigem.
Thanks again, Bigem.
-I've also been looking for work. I must confess I haven't been trying very hard. So far, neither an English language school, handing out leaflets, or labor have worked out.
-I have been 'waiting' for money.
This may sound rather weak, well , it is weak, but money through donations can get me a residence visa and transportation to Israel, and solidify my plans before I go charging down the road again. And the waiting may be necessary to continue with my work.
I applied for a 'scholarship' and delegation in Palestine with Christain Peacemaker Teams while I was in Edirne, and I got both, but the 'scholarship' means I pay 725 dollars to work with CPT rather than 1450 dollars, and it does not include transportation to Israel. Instead, I hope to pay them a short visit.
I am grateful to them for their confidence in me.
And I am, of course, grateful to those who believe in what I am doing and are providing my daily living expenses, and have been doing so for over a year.
-I have been establishing contacts in Israel. As I hope to be there for three months, not idling at all but working for peace, these contacts are important to establish now.
-I have been looking for a farm to volunteer on, through Help Exchange, but I have not found one that needs my help.
-I have been visiting people, and introducing my petitions, though not with the same vigor as prevıously on this walk.
-I have been devising alternative plans, and weighing the merits of both solicited and unsolicited opinions.
I have been advised:
- to slow down; I will never find peace if I continue to march...
...and in slowing down, to accept whatever penalty I receive for overstaying my visa with equanimity
- to hurry up because I cannot overstay my visa
- to take care of my family before trying to save the world, and to be a better father to my daughter
- to make more friends to help me along the way
- to find a job
- to maintain the integrity of my walk by continuing the walk...
...This last piece of advice coming when I mentioned that one of the options I have considered is to get to Iskenderun before my visa expires by hitchhiking or cycling with a cheap or donated bicycle. Aren't Israel/Palestine and Egypt the real goals of this journey? Isn't insistence on walking just vanity? Most of the time, no one knows whether I am walking or not; what difference does it make?
Of course, I have always said I would walk until I was physically unable to continue, so this last piece of advice is sound, even if it does mean overstaying my visa and taking my lumps for it.
Yet, maybe I am being hard headed about this. I've also been advised not to take too much stock in the opinions of others. Hitchiking will save me the trouble of an extension on my visa, or the trouble from the authorities when I've overstayed my visa. Furthermore, if I hitchhike from Istanbul to Iskenderun, I should be able to get to Iskenderun with the money I've got now, and possibly even have money remaining for the ferry to Israel.
What I Am Going to Do Now
All of the above, and more, I hope.
For example I may busk. I can play two or three tunes on my harmonica and sing a bit; ten minutes worth of entertainment. The entertainment may be of the sort that makes people laugh. Any coins tossed to me may be from pity.
And today I am going to visit Thomas, the peace pilgrim I wrote about recently.
Thomas is one of those who have advised that I slow down, and I am hoping he can advise me in other ways. As I've said before, he seems to radiate peace. I just seem to annoy my flatmates.
Anyway, I have now made the decision that I will not march to Iskenderun to beat the visa date.
I will either walk slowly and somehow get an extension on my visa, or I will walk slowly and deal with the authorities when the time comes.
Or I may hitchhike, or cycle to Iskenderun, then continue walking through Israel, Palestine and Egypt, where I will have lots of time to do so.
Meanwhile, I wait a bit more; for conviction, for epiphany, for renewed zeal; maybe to put on another pound or two.
I won't waste time waiting for Godot, however.
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