I realize I have almost completely abandoned this blog at the moment due to being too busy with school and my new job at my church, but for anyone lingering here reading things, I’m doing a slideshow on the 28th (this Sunday) at my church at 8:15 pm. The address is 1803 East 1st which is just off of commercial. There is a parking lot on Victoria and 1st for anyone driving. Thanks!

I’m home and slowly getting back into the swing of things. It has been highly excellent riding my bicycle. I rode it up to Pioneer Pacific the day after I got back to help out for the last two days of camp and it was wonderful. I think perhaps the best thing about the west coast compared to anywhere else in the world is its smell. It smells absolutely wonderful in Vancouver. Ocean, trees, rain, sunshine. I love it.

I have many more thoughts from my trip to post which I’m hoping to have time to sort through and post here over the coming days. It’s been well over a month however since I promised I would post my list of the 8 or 9 types of backpacker, so without further delay…

(please pardon me if these seem overly pejorative, they are however closer to the truth than you may think)

Type 1 – The Chotch

Always Male, and found typically in hostels within the urban centers of Western Europe, Thailand, and Australia, The Chotch travels the world for the sake of drinking, “just chilling”, and preying on insecure females. The Chotch brags loudly and incessantly about the places they have been to (”I’ve been to London, Munich, Amsterdam and now we’re going to STOCKHOLM. In SWEDEN! It’s EFFING AWESOME”) and proudly talks about “really just experiencing the culture”. Fails to recognize that getting drunk in clubs, hostels, pubs and city squares with other dispassionate middle class white kids doesn’t constitute experiencing anything beyond what they would experience at home anyhow. Returns home with less money, knowing less about the world, and even less about themselves than they did before leaving. Can often be seen wearing aviator sunglasses indoors as well as at night. Known to travel with a guitar and basic singing/song writing skills (and we all know what for).

Type 2 – The Student

Priding themself in being the total opposite of The Chotch, The Student backpacks the world for the purpose of higher learning and broadening their understanding of life. The Student packs half of his or her bag with books, and when reading in hostel common rooms, prominently props up the cover of their current book so that all can see. Conversations with new aquaintances quickly turn to the subject of education. Should a Student come in contact with a Chotch, the student will often recognize the traits after roughly 45 seconds and feign their way through the approximately 35 seconds it takes to say goodbye and move on to the next person in the room. The Student loves engaging in controversial discussions with other backpackers about sensitive regional issues and, when travelling to various sites in a group, will be quick to assert themself as the one with the most knowledge, obviously most suited to sharing often unpertainable (but impressive sounding) information with the group. Known to wear excessive amounts of Banana Republic and Lacoste, The Student has also occasionally been witnessed travelling with a rolling suitcase instead of a backpack (after all, books are rectangular so why not right?).

Type 3 – The LP Kid

The LP Kid is at all times instantly identifiable by the presence of a Lonely Planet grasped tightly in their dominant hand. The LP Kid goes nowhere and does nothing unless it is recommended by everyone’s favourite Destination Destroyer. The LP Kid typically has a great trip. Their perfectly planned itineraries are subject only to the whims of late busses or delayed flights. The LP Kid books ahead accomodation well in advance, fills each day with wonderful visits to historical sites and museums, and manages to eat at all of the tastiest highest-gram-per-dollar food joints. The LP Kid listens curiously to others whine of getting lost, or wasting days not knowing what to do, and wonders how such travel crimes are possible in today’s good world of democracy the internet, and inexpensive guidebooks. Typically has the flag of their country of origin sewn to their backpack. Also known to wear a wide brimmed hat with a cloth to protect their neck from the ever threatening sun. Known in addition to have unhealthy addictions to crappy souvenirs.

Type 4 – The Idealist

The Idealist is obsessed with the idea of backpacking on the cheap while still magically happening across the globe’s few remaining ‘undiscovered’ towns. The Idealist refuses the use of a guide book on principle and tends to make mental jokes to themself whenever they see an LP kid wandering around peering fearfully from behind their Lonely Planet. The Idealist never takes into account their own nights sleeping outside, the countless hours trying to find accomodation, the missed busses, missed trains, disappointing small towns, and frequently unimpressive ancient sites (though noted as such in Lonely Planet of course). The Idealist despises the presence of other tourists and is constantly finding ways to evade them whenever possible. On the rare occasion that The Idealist finds a town where there are no tourists, he or she brags constantly to other backpackers about how great it was and how ‘you’re missing out man. Seriously.’ The Idealist listens cautiously in the hostel common room to the LP Kid tell of their perfectly executed tourist experiences and secretly harbours unhealthy amounts of violent jealousy however they would rather be hung than admit this fact publicly.

Type 5 – The Recluse

Typically found in the corner reading, noone else in the hostel common room knows anything about The Recluse beyond their name. It is widely assumed that the Recluse is simply an abnormal derivative of The Student, but nobody as of yet has been able to confirm this. Has been known to travel with a Nintendo DS.

Type 6 – The Independant Female

The highest form of backpacker, The Independant Female travels to exotic places for long periods of time, completely alone. Often blessed with long blonde hair, The Independant Female exists it would seem simply to defy what most would conceive possible. She carries only the best traits of a Type 2 and Type 4 backpacker and is humble when asked about the many places she has been. When The Independant Female enters a hostel common room, her presence is immediately noted by all of the males in the room (with the possible exception of The Recluse). Groups of Chotches quickly congregate together and commence telling eachother jokes, laughing loudly, quoting Anchor Man, and attempting conversations about their visits that day to historical sites (”dude I went to that big huge colliseum today where the Romans used to like kill people like 2000 years ago. It was SICK“). After roughly 6 minutes, one will announce that they are going to the pub, and patting each other on the back, high-fiving, and gawking at The Independant Female on their way out, they will eventually make their way to the door outside. Groups of Students, Idealists and ambitious LP Kids will casually pull out copies of The Economist, Harpers or The New Yorker and wait for their respective turns to strike up a conversation. Keen on the historical, economic, and sociological realities of each place she visits, The Independant Female is a keen adversary for even the most honed Student. She holds her status humbly however, though is not easily impressed and finds ways to escape the hostel common room as quickly as she is allowed, so she can resume exploring and meeting locals.

Type 7 – The Homesick Internet Kid

As the title would suggest, the Type 7 spends much of their time away on Facebook and email. Wonders openly what the purpose of travelling is in the first place and daydreams hopelessly about being back home. These sorts are fairly uninteresting in my opinion.

Type 8 – The Completely Normal/Disenchanted Backpacker

The Completely Normal Backpacker is so typical so as to just nearly be undefinable. He or She almost always uses a guidebook, but they use it sparingly and are open to verbal recommendations of places to go, eat, sleep or see. The Completely Normal Backpacker, despite being so normal, cannot it would seem manage to escape the haunting ambiguity of life as a tourist. While the other Types of traveller are fueled by a in some cases rabid ambition, The Completely Normal/Disenchanted Backpacker travels from place to place visiting sites and taking lots of crappy digital pictures, constantly wondering what their purpose for travelling is, other than seeing things and taking more pictures. Life on the road it would seem, is less fulfilling than it promised it would be. The Completely Normal/Disenchanted Backpacker may have qualms about the environmental damage he or she is inflicting by flying from place to place and taking the train from town to town. They may also have a moral dilemna about tourism in general, and their relative lack of purpose while travelling may allow these questions to grow and develop to the point where they may not even enjoy their trip. The Completely Normal/Disenchanted Backpacker it might seem, despite being so outwardly normal, may be the most tortured form of backpacker about. What lies hidden beneath his pleasant smile, baseball hat, polo shirt and khaki pants may be discernible only in subtle, fleeting expressions of disgust at yet another shop owner calling out… “My friend! good price for you! My friend! Come Look! You are my friend!” The disgust however is perhaps rooted less in the behaviour of the shop owner, than with himself, as he wonders if he is indeed responsible for creating such revolting sales tactics simply by his presence as a tourist.

There’s the list. Most backpackers seem to borrow primarily from categories 1, 2, 3, 4 and 8 though I think it might be possible to evade my 8 descriptors altogether with some skill. Myself, I am an uncomfortable combination of a Type 2, Type 4 and a Type 8. The second half of The Completely Normal/Disenchanted Backpacker category I’m just awkwardly writing about myself. Forgive me, I know it’s bad literary style. I wanted however to save you having to read an entire extra post about my qualms around backpacking. I already have too many things to write about later as it is. In short… I’m never going backpacking again. I’ll only go travelling again if I can bring a bike and ride it everywhere and camp at night. I can’t stand having to take busses from urban center to urban center. The environmental damage done by flying also really disturbs me, but at this point I’m not sure I’m ready to say flying is something I could succesfully give up. I also hate being a tourist and I hate being rich in poor countries, but if you’ve been reading this space you’ve probably already figured that out.

As an aside, I went and got my first roll of film developed today. I think it’s a miracle, because it turned out. I had to put my film through two particularly deadly x-ray machines in Egypt and I was convinced that all of it had been destroyed, however it looks quite the opposite and I’m quite pleased. I’m going to go get the rest of it developed tomorrow, and hopefully I can start posting some photos and their accompanying stories here within a few weeks. (I’m going to dangle that carrot in front of you to ensure you keep reading my journal despite the fact that my trip is over).

So before I start this story, I have to explain some things about my childhood so that you can understand the significance of the events described.

Lego for me as a child was less a toy than it was a way of life. I was totally obsessed with it. Whenever I would see something cool or visit somewhere I found interesting, my mind would be constantly visualizing how to construct it with Lego as soon as I got home. I remember 1994 and 1998 not so much by what I did, but as the years I received the Robo-Guardian from Nana for Christmas and saved my paper route money to buy the Sphinx Secret Surprise with my dad and James from Zellers. I don’t think it would be exagerrating to say that my childhood experience was almost entirely oriented around building Lego. Maybe it was unhealthy, but the hours and hours and hours I spent building Lego by myself and with friends are amongst my best from growing up. The addiction continued all the way through highschool and as much as I tried to hide it from friends, there’s only so much you can hide from your own family. I’ve had suspicions that all my aunts and uncles would have secret conversations with eachother about how I was never going to grow up while still watching me first shake the box, then savagely unwrap Lego received for Christmas even at 17.

All that to say. Two and a half years ago while touring Europe with my good buds Cody and Evan on a railpass, I naturally could not pass up the opportunity to visit the original Legoland in Billund, Denmark. We slept outside the gates and awoke to a massive crowd lined up waiting to get in for its season opening (perfect timing). Obviously when one is at Legoland one has to buy Lego (obviously) so after some intense deliberation I walked out of Legoland with a Lego helicopter feeling quite satisfied.

About two weeks later, I was waiting in a train station in Bobadilla Spain, waiting for a train to Algeciras so I could catch a ferry to meet friends in Morocco. It was here that I decided that I didn’t want to lug around my big bag through the Moroccan heat and proceeded to hide my backpack in a random bush well away from anything and bring along with me a daypack with just the essentials. For whatever reason, I decided to hide my Lego helicopter seperately from my big bag. When at the last moment before my train came I decided to run back and grab my big bag for fear of it being stolen, I stupidly forgot my Lego helicopter in the bush next to it.

Now, being back in Spain two and a half years later, I obviously had to as part of my trip revisit Bobadilla, Spain in hopes of being reunited with my Lego helicopter. So, this morning I got a coffee and optimistically hopped on a train to Bobadilla. I quickly found the bush again which had luckily been narrowly spared by what appeared to be a small brush fire. Upon digging through the bush however, there was no trace of the helicopter. I walked around and quickly stumbled upon a white 2 x 12 plate, bent, yellowed, and dirty from clearly spending too much time outside in the Spanish sun. A couple of minutes later I found the bag I had wrapped it in, torn and empty but with no sign of the rest of the helicopter. I took a break, got beer and donuts for breakfast and went back out to hunt. After about an hour of rummaging through any nearby brush and repeatedly tearing through the bush it was supposed to be in (to the bewildered stares of people driving by) I gave up and took a train back to Seville.

I figure that the heat from the fire that nearly missed it must have melted the bag, spilling the Lego everywhere. Some kid must have taken the parts (warped as they must have been) home for himself, though kindly leaving me a trace of the helicopter that once was. I can’t tell you all how disappointed I am to be honest. I was looking forward to finding the helicopter so much my legs were quivering as I waited to run off the train and find the bush again this morning. Feeling sorry for myself, I walked into a toy store on my way to this internet cafe and found the same set buried underneath some other toys and contemplated buying it, but it was expensive. I’ll probably get over it. I think I’m probably more sad now than I’ll be when our dog finally kicks the can. I love Lego so much.

Anyhow, to all of you who were just as eagerly anticipating the finale of my quest, I hope this story is somewhat more satisfying to you than it is to me at the moment. Thanks for reading!

Grab some tea (preferrably with mint and too much sugar if you’d like an authentic Arabian experience) and tuck in, it’s going to be a long one. I’m only going to write briefly about what we’ve spent our time doing, I have alot of other thoughts to flesh out so bear with me. I encourage you to read this entire post. I understand that for some of you this might be more difficult than for others and I apologize if I toss around language or concepts that are unfamiliar, but please, read this post. This is sort of a culmination of everything I’ve been thinking about on this trip so I apologize if it’s all over the place.

Also as a brief aside, This has been in progress for over a week. I never have time enough to finish what I’ve started so what began in Nazareth is being finished in Morocco. Internet has been expensive and slow in the past couple countries.

Moving backwards three weeks…

Jordan was incredible. Once out of Amman, we spent a couple days making our way down the dramatic kings highway by bus and hired taxi to Kerak where we spent a day with flashlights exploring the dark passages of the crusader castle built in the center of town. Definitely awesome.

Two days in Petra is not enough – this is the most amazing ancient site I’ve ever seen. While this building (which is actually a Nabatean tomb rather than the host of the holy grail as George Lucas would have us believe) is the one most typically associated with Petra, the city itself extends for kilometers with houses and equally dramatic buildings cut into the massive cliff sides the entire way. Both our days spent there we entered the site around 4pm after all the tourists left, so we essentially had the entire place to ourselves to explore and climb until past dark. It was incredible. The rock canyons themselves are unbelievable, but factoring in the hundreds of individual houses carved one on top of the other, sometimes what seemed a hundred feet off the ground… it’s seriously unreal. The silence of the place (obviously after the other tourists have exited) makes the whole place feel surreal and kind of eerie.

From there we spent two days camping under the stars, riding camels and rock scrambling in the desert in Wadi Rum with a group of bedouin guides. This has been the highlight of our trip to this point. It was unbelievable. This is an example of the landscape. However It’s almost impossible to convey the scale with pictures. Here’s a picture I found on the internet taken from near our campsite. And another. The landscape looks like Mars, and standing alone on the top of a mountain watching the sun go down over scores of these gargantuan rock monuments in complete silence, without any signs of life around, is unreal. Camel riding in the heat of the midday sun for hours is not as fantastic as I had imagined it would be, but is obviously something that must be done when one is in the desert. Both Matt and I had difficulties walking the next day, but I have this feeling that the desert is meant to be taken in at camel’s pace. The vastness of it all unfolds gracefully and silently which despite the discomfort, is much more enjoyable than whizzing around through the sand in a Landcruiser (although after incessant nagging our guide finally let me drive on the way back out of the desert on the last day and it was excellent amounts of fun). At night we’d grab a mat and haul it out a ways into the desert to sleep. So Sweet. I highly recommend sleeping in the desert.

Over the course of the next few days we made our way to Tel Aviv to meet James. After some complications with his flight we finally met up the day after he was supposed to arrive from which point we went to Jerusalem and I left to attend half of a conference hosted by Sabeel. Please read the page I just linked to cause it does a better job explaining what Sabeel does than I can. In brief, they are a Christian organization committed to applying the Christian Gospel within the context of Israeli occupation of the Palestinian territories which include the west bank and the Gaza strip, and creatively pursuing peaceful and reconciliatory solutions to the suffering of Palestinians living under Israeli control. I understand I have a very wide range of people reading this blog who will undoubtedly have very different interpretations of the Israeli-Palestinian relationship, but give that page a read through and hopefully it can serve as a good starting point for understanding everything I’m going to write next without prematurely drawing any conclusions. It is difficult for me to recommend any concise history of the conflict itself. As I’ve been working my way through 600 pages of a textbook I had for a class last year (pictured on the top left above), I’m realizing that there are too many nuances to the situation to reduce it to a simple cause and effect relationship or to confine the scale of the issue to an obtuse ideological argument. Sabeel’s approach in this regard is entirely inspiring and profound but I will write more about that further down. As much as it’s not ideal, if you’re keen there is a very brief overview of the situation available on the UN website here.

With the exception of the first 24 hours in Jerusalem, the entire conference took place within the west bank and we spent alot of our time in refugee camps and various towns meeting with different organizations (ranging from the UN to the PLO), watching presentations and asking questions. A good portion of the conference involved meeting local Palestinians (both Christian and Muslim) who had lived in refugee camps since being forced from their homes in 1948. About half of our group were foreigners (mostly from the Scandinavian countries and North America) but the other half were Christian Palestinian university students who live in the west bank and either go to school there or commute to Jerusalem every day. This added immensely to the experience, as being able to build close friendships over the course of a few days with people who are daily interacting with oppression connected the rest of us foreigners in a more tangible way than the many meetings throughout each day would have on their own.

I found the conference as a whole very deeply disturbing. On our first day we walked through one of the major checkpoints outside of Ramallah where each morning and evening thousands of Palestinians commute through to get to work or school. In the past year, massive metal cages have been built around the entire area which means each morning thousands of Palestinians are forced to crowd through tiny, dark caged passage ways, through metal detectors, through large revolving grates before finally showing their Palestinian id cards to the guards. After showing their cards, many are held up for random security checks, denied access or hassled in the backroom. In addition to the security wall which is being built throughout (and well inside) the official Palestinian territory, checkpoints like these have been erected all over the westbank since the second intifada in 2002. The checkpoints are a primary means of control in the westbank and at any moment the Israeli military can close down any of the checkpoints, putting a hold on all incoming and outgoing traffic in towns throughout the westbank. This means Palestinians not going to work or school, ambulances being delayed getting to hospitals, deliveries not being delivered, not to mention the immense frustration felt by Palestinians trapped under essentially arbitrary Israeli decision making. The situation for Israeli settlers living in the west bank however is immensly different. Israeli’s have their own roads (many of them being former shared roads) independant of checkpoints and even the wall on the side of the Israeli settlements is decorated whereas on the Palestinian side it is simply bare cement with barbed wire. Armed Israeli guard posts litter the outskirts of towns and refugee camps, and the Israeli military presence is constantly reinforced by arbitrary armed incursions. Almost all of the young males my age I met in the refugee camps had been randomly imprisoned, interrogated, starved and in some cases tortured. It is fundamental to understand that these are regular university students who seldom can be associated with any sort of armed resistance movement.

This all disturbs me in a very deep sense. It disturbs me first of all that I did not understand the nature of the Palestinian Question very well at all. I’m ashamed to say that the western media’s constant presentation of the Palestinian side as being exclusively militarist (or violently Islamist) was often enough for me. I seldom examined things further.

The majority of Palestinians (in the westbank and Gaza both, despite the rule of Hamas in Gaza) are not calling for the destruction of Israel as a state. They are not arguing against the right for Israel to exist. The official position of the PLO calls for the return of all territory seized by Israel in the 1967 war and for proper reparations for damages done in the seizures of 1948. I am not disregarding the election of Hamas in Gaza which does call for the destruction of the state of Israel, but I am trying to highlight the diversity of Palestinian responses to occupation and to stress that the question of Palestine is not at all the same question of Israels right to exist as a state. Ideologues both in the west and in Israel would love for us to embrace the opinion that conceding to Palestinian demands for their own state would jeapordize Israel’s own security as a nation. Israel has demonstrated incredibly well since 1948 that it is very capable of asserting itself and achieving military goals that go well beyond self defence. Palestinians are contending Israels overuse of the military as a tool for crude diplomacy and are seeking through various means a state free of Israeli checkpoints, the wall, military incursions, random arrests, and targetted economic embargoes (like what is happening in Gaza at the moment). Watching the presentation by the PLO and talking with the presenter (who was a member of the negotiation team) at length afterwards, I was impressed by how moderate and reasonable their position was and how professional he was at presenting the issue. This is not to minimize the PLO’s often misguided and frequently violent attempts at negotiation throughout the years of occupation. The PLO has been responsible for many nefarious acts since its creation, but it is equally important to recognize Israeli military response and to understand both within the larger context of the conflict instead of simply taking Palestinian acts of violence in isolation from earlier Israeli actions (and vice versa, however we in North America are privalged to be informed much more frequently of Palestinian acts of violence against Israeli’s than we are of being informed of the same by Israeli’s against Palestinians).

Our experience in Hebron on my last day highlighted the imbalance to me. For no officially disclosed reason, the Israeli army shut down all road checkpoints in and out of every town in the west bank that afternoon. We were trying to leave to visit another refugee camp which we unfortunately had to skip (we were going to meet with Christian Peacemaker Teams there which was very disappointing to have common experience. Traffic in and out of Hebron was backed up for kilometres and regular people who have things to do were stuck in the heat for as long as the military decided was necessary. One woman gave birth while we were in line, and as bizarre as that situation was, further back at another walking checkpoint we witnessed two Palestinian girls, who were no older than 6, being hit with a riot baton by an Israeli soldier and not allowed to pass through because they were Muslims. Immediately some of the Palestinians in our group ran over and started yelling at the soldier in Hebrew and demanding that he let the girl go through. After some intense arguing the soldier let the crying girls through but one of the guys in our group was held up and interrogated and had his ID card confiscated for some time. The whole situation seemed unbelievable to us but these are regular experiences for Palestinians (especially those living in Hebron), where harrasment by soldiers is compounded by frequent attacks by settlers living nearby.

This and walking through the checkpoint on the first night were incredibly disturbing. Israel’s policies towards Palestinians in the westbank are frankly dehumanizing. The fact that these acts go unwitnessed on a daily basis troubles me very deeply. This and the fact that we in the west can hold such damaging opinions on the conflict that are incredibly out of touch with daily life in the occupied territories equally troubles me. That we in the west can go even further to reducing entire groups of people (namely Muslims) to being violent and intolerant disturbs me even more deeply. It would be foolish to argue that the past 100 years of Middle Eastern history have been shaped primarily by the people who live there. Here I am moving beyond just the issue of Palestine to larger regional issues, but Britains imperial presence through the first half of the century, and the US’s heavy handed involvement in Middle Eastern issues in the second half have been incredibly damaging. This is still something I’m learning about, but I feel it’s impossible to try and understand regional dynamics without first understanding the role that foreign powers have played in shaping the region.

This is my opinion, and I am not trying to generalize or simplify, but I don’t believe militant Islam can be understood as the natural expression of Arab identity, nor as the ideal way that Muslims globally wish to express themselves politically. Militant, politicized Islam seems to me more an expression of disgust with the thinly veiled attempts by western powers to increase their access to power in the Middle East, and to the oil reserves desperately needed to sustain our own addictions to cars, flying, and crappy plastic things we don’t need. Western powers have acted primarily as manipulators, both of natural regional dynamics in the middle east, as well as manipulators of popular western opinions towards the Islamic societies living there.

We in the west are masters at creating the “other”. At minimizing entire groups of people to simplified, palatable, creations of our own self-interested imaginings.

It pains me incredibly to say it, but we as Christians do this constantly. Rather than pursuing truth and justice, we justify ourselves by conceding to ignorance. Rather than pursuing a greater understanding of the larger world around us, we minimize Islam to being “a religion of hate”. We reduce the homeless to being objects for our prosyletizing charity instead of recognizing them as subjects of oppression through the church’s very own loyalties to systems of greed, and it’s passivity towards unsustainable structures of power. We as the church more often than not it seems, are responsible for perpetuating ideas which create division and marginalize entire groups of people. We proof-text and manipulate the Bible to be a book which reinforces and justifies our worldly systems of power that are anything but rooted in Christ’s gospel of peace.

Now to some, that last paragraph will seem dramatic and its conclusions overdrawn. However, comparable to those who abuse religion to achieve further wordly power and wealth, are those of us, religous or not, who stand by passively in the face of injustices. Those of us who are comfortable and content with how we live and do not feel it necessary to abandon patterns of living which are detrimental to those around the globe. We in North America have very little capacity to listen to the cries of the poor or oppressed. It exhausts us. It is far easier to tune out. I’ve written about my own struggles with this already. We grow tired of the constant need, of the stories of war, of famine, of injustice.

Not only do we have an incapacity to bear witness to injustice, we have developed a fundamental suspicion of those who are poor. The homeless must be lazy or addicted, the starving African helpless as a victim of a corrupt government, the beggar a conman, the Palestinian a terrorist. We hold these views to excuse ourselves from responsibility. Our suspicions of those who are poor or oppressed allow us to maintain our belief that we are powerless to do anything to effect change.

Please, do not instantly exclude yourself from holding these misconceptions. Search yourself. When I fold back the layers of who I am and how I live, I consistently find places where I have pandered to ignorance instead of truth. Where I have lazily conceded to what is safe and culturally acceptable instead of to what is just. Where I have conceded to an obsession with myself, to how I look, to what I want and to attaining my personal satisfaction. Where my consumerism has distracted me from pursuing truth and justice.

We, the rich, have masterfully married our cult of the individual to a cult of the powerless of the individual.

And these are not the things which make for peace.

Rational self interest has not delivered what it promised it would. I know I talk alot about it, but it is from this point that I cannot escape the work of Christ.

These are exactly the things that Jesus passionately preached against. He denounced the self interest of the religous authorities. He peacefully and creatively subverted the symbols and tools of oppression utilized by the Roman Empire. Jesus constantly called into question, through what he said and what he did, both the religous and political structures of oppression.

But perhaps even more profoundly, he constantly invited both oppressor, oppressed, and those who idled and passively stood by in the face of injustice, into a way of life that pursues true peace. Christ died at the hands of the Romans not just for the spiritual benefit of humanity, but as a concrete, profoundly political symbol of his way of peace.

This is the end to which we must be willing to pursue justice. To which we must pursue ways of being human that are sustainable. To which we must pursue lived-out truth that transcends time, and transcends the realm of our own personal spheres. Pursuing justice cannot just be another trendy appendage to our consumer identities. Attending rallies cannot simply be a fashion statement. Those who pursue true peace have to be willing to be weird, to be cast aside as irrelevant.

This to me is the beauty of the work of Sabeel. Sabeel doesn’t simply search for a peaceful compromise to the Palestinian problem, Sabeel actively practices reconciliation between oppressor and oppressed. They denounce both violent oppression and violent resistance to oppression while engaging practically to overcome real issues. The call of Christ for Sabeel has profoundly eternal implications. Sabeel is rooted in a belief that the kingdoms of this world will not stand time, and that Christ’s coming kingdom of peace, mercy, and justice will someday, somehow, overcome the violent, self interested kingdoms of this present world. They are looking forward, but acting in the present to attempt and bring about the same type of kingdom here on earth now.

I find it beautiful and humbling. To listen to those my age who are constantly under the suspicion or mockery of checkpoint guards (and settlers who from time to time line up on the other side of the cages to hurl insults at Palestinians during rush hour), or have been arrested, to never resort to speaking badly of Israeli’s, but instead actively engaging politically to advocate a just peace. They are relentless, discouraged but hopeful, and passionate just as Christ was passionate. Sabeel invites both the militant Palestinian and the apathetic Palestinian into a third way of resistance. A way of life that actively denounces the violence of oppression and the violence of resistance and creates paths for genuine reconciliation, forgiveness and justice. This is the way of Christ.

I could write on and on, and I still have more thoughts to share from my many conversations with different Muslims that I’ve met along the way, but as usual I’ll have to write those out another time. I may keep this journal going after I get back in a few weeks as I’ve enjoyed being able to flesh out my thoughts here and have people read and offer their own responses in comments and emails. So again, thanks for reading and I’d love to hear any replies you have to anything I’ve written here.

Hey all,

I haven’t posted in ages clearly, anyhow, I promise I will post some more thoughts in a few days! Things have been far to fantastic the past couple weeks and I haven’t been able to really sit down and hash out my thoughts. We’ve met up with James, and we’re now in Israel. Life is good. I’m attending a conference right now which I will write more about when we move on in a couple days.

(and I promise I’ll still write a post about the 8 types of backpackers. Although it might be 9 or 10 by then)

After some fairly intense sickness, Matt and I are both mostly recovered. We’re now in Amman in Jordan and I’m not entirely sure how long we were in Syria for, but it wasn’t long. We have to be in Tel Aviv on the 23rd to meet James and the number of places we’d like to visit severely outnumbers the days we have. It’s actually been really frustrating for us both, as it’s made it difficult to settle in to some of the more wonderful places we’ve visited. I think we underestimated just how much ground there is to cover between Istanbul and Cairo. I don’t think I’ll be doing another backpacking trip like this again, but I’ll write about that another time.

Regardless, we now have 10 excellent days in Jordan and we’re still determining the best way to go about exploring the country before heading west. We’re going to continue tomorrow hunting down an affordable rental van (or ideally a landcruiser) that we could sleep in for the next 10 days, but barring that we’ll continue taking the bus. We’re both however keen on having the mobility to explore some of Jordan’s more remote castles, desert fortresses and national parks without being restricted by having to stay in towns with hotels

A likely not so brief recap of the past few days..

Palmyra was fantastic once we managed to get beyond our hotel room. The modern town spills into the expansive ruins of the ancient city which runs to the base of a hill upon which is perched dramatically the town’s citadel. Driving into Palmyra is great- the whole scene emerges almost instantly out of the desert from behind rugged hills and small cliffs (think Tatooine from Starwars if you need a nerdy visual). Our hotel was kind of in limbo between the part of town where people live, and the single block where tour buses stop for lunch and souvenirs before dumping their hapless, air conditioned victims into the oppressive Syrian heat. Beyond the tourist restaurants however was really a different kind of environment than I’ve ever experienced. I would be lying to say I didn’t experience culture shock on my first walk through town. Things seemed kind of wild. It was the first time I’ve felt completely out of place on this trip and as much as I got some friendly nods, the environment felt tense and unpredictable. I was still slightly feverish which was undoubtedly toying with my perception somewhat, but I couldn’t help but feel I was treading where tall white blond guys might be best not to tread. All of my individual interactions with people from the town were great – Syrians are very hospitable, friendly and extremely conversational – however to deny the presence of larger anti-western undercurrents in the town might be naive. I’ll post some related thoughts on this at some other point.

Moving on…

The old city center of Damascus is absolutely fascinating (and slightly enchanting). Damascus itself is relatively uninteresting, but the bustling, winding corridors of the old town are enough to spend weeks getting lost amidst. The old city is surprisingly almost exactly as I imagined it which was a pleasant surprise considering I was expecting to be disappointed! Good portions of it feel genuinely old and untainted, and while the areas around the Umayyad Mosque (Marlene, you’ll have to forgive me for all of my Wikipedia references) are unapologetically touristy, there are enough innocent streets far enough away (but still bustling with locals) to get lost amidst and feel genuinely connected to the cities past. These are the traveling experiences I enjoy the most. I find that ruins or heritage sites (as fascinating as they may be) do not fill me with wonder in the same way that walking down a bustling, winding, centuries old, yet still habituated, street does. The unpaved alleyways, precariously stacked wooden apartments, unkempt ivy, and the dusty, leaking sunlight don’t need to contrive or adorn themselves to feel timeless, and it’s walks through places like these that remind me why it wouldn’t be the same just looking at it in a book.

Thanks for reading! My next post is going to be about the 8 types of backpackers that I have observed both on this trip and my last one, so if you’ve been dogged down by my lengthy reflections, take heart because it’s going to be super funny. I’ve been laughing about it by myself all week so you know it’s got to be good.

I realize this is something ridiculous like 3 posts in 3 days, but anyhow. Our first morning in Syria Matt and I each ate doner kebabs of death and have spent the past 48 hours fighting fever, and alternating shifts in the now decimated hotel washroom. I haven’t been sick like this since grade 9 when I ordered poutine from McDonalds. I think we’re over the worst of it, we’ve both been drinking copious amounts of water in an attempt to flush our systems. It’s been about 3 hours since this morning’s breakfast and we’ve both managed to keep what little we ate down, so here’s to hoping we’re on the up and up. We caught a bus from Hama to Palmyra yesterday in a moment of brief respite but unfortunately I can’t comment much on the town, other than the fine choice of tiling on the washroom floor. Wikipedia does however have a good overview of the towns interesting history if you’re keen.

As an aside, Syrians seem to prefer the jackhammer to the excavator when it comes to destroying three story concrete buildings. In Hama the deconstruction was far enough away from our hotel as to not be a bother, however the deconstruction team here in Palmyra deemed it acceptable to persist in jackhammering their stupid building right outside our window until nearly midnight last night.

We are now finally in Syria after three fairly compliated days of hitching, sleeping outside, trying to buy a ticket for a non existent train and paying off a sly Turkish train conductor. It’s been excellent.

The train that is supposed to go all the way from Istanbul to Damascus in fact does not (despite conflicting information on the internet), so we slept in a park in Afyon and caught a train to Adana the next day where we had read we could catch another train into Aleppo. Again, not so. We bumped into a British couple who informed us that we could not in fact take that train due to problems with the line in Syria, and with no simple way of extending our ticket to Gaziantep where we knew we could walk across the border and catch a ride on the other side, we had to pay off the conductor to let us stay on the train. From Gaziantep we took a bus to Kilis, and then hitched a ride with a couple Turkish mechanics to the border.

Definitely the most intense border I’ve ever been through. No mans land stretches on for about a kilometre and the road we walked down is surrounded by huge barbed wire fences and a minefield on either side.

We’re both pretty bummed we didn’t have more time to explore eastern Turkey, we would have loved to get to Lake Van, but we didn’t have enough time as is always the case.

Also, watermelons are very much in season both in Turkey and in Syria. We’re trying our best to eat an entire one every other day for lunch. So cheap yet so good (and also hydrating).

After each country we visit I’m going to list in consecutive order all of the unfortunate events that happened while we were there. So, starting in London…

I missed my flight to Istanbul cause I’m an idiot, paid 176 pounds for another one.
I bought a journal with graph lines instead of normal lines. So annoying.
I got bed bugs
Matt got bed bugs
Matt ate an entire bag of apricots and nearly died
There was a guitar at the pension in Kas. Good for me. Bad for Matt.
I ripped my shoes, a shirt and some boxers and I can’t sew for crap so the stitches on my shoes keep coming out.
Matt forgot his pin and had his bank card swallowed by a random ATM in Fethiye
Our train got bumped and my coffee spilled all over Matt’s bag and now his stuff stinks of Nescafe.

Travelling is so excellent.

We are currently waiting in Afyon for the night train which travels south through Turkey, into Syria. We decided that instead of spending three weeks in Turkey, we’d spend two, which gives us more time in Syria and Jordan before meeting James.

The past few days have been an interesting mix of both pace and scenery. After reading various people’s accounts of Turkey, we decided to catch a bus from Selcuk (on the western coast of the country) south to Kas. What we had read of Kas sounded great – tucked neatly at the tip of an inlet surrounded by sweeping hills extending into the Mediterranean, and best of all, supposedly quiet. Unfortunately, as beautiful and tranquil as the scenery was, unbeknownst to us the entire town during the summer turns into a stomping ground for French nightclub scenesters. Not our deal.

We slept a night on the pension’s terrace overlooking the water (awesome), and then caught a bus back to Fethiye the next morning. From Fethiye we took a small bus through some small mountains to an out of the way place on the coast known as the Kabak Valley. It was absolutely gorgeous. We stayed with an older couple who run an amazing pension (appropriately called Mama’s Pension) perched along the western ridge of the lush, sweeping valley which culminates in a sandy bay. The couple are easily in their sixties and yet they still work on the house, cook huge meals for their guests (fresh fish, honeycomb, olives, feta, homemade bread – too much to list) and do most of the housework (with the help of their granddaughter). It was 20 CDN a night which is more than we like to pay, but two massive fresh meals a day, a local beach, and a great terrace for watching the sun set over the valley and the sea beyond easily justified the extra cost.

The Kabak valley is incredibly beautiful. It’s one of those places that is impossible to describe or take pictures of. We were sitting on the rooftop a couple nights ago, lingering in the setting sun, and I realized I was strangely uncomfortable. The immensity of the landscape stretching out from my feet to the horizon frightened me. I am so used to beholding natural beauty from behind a television or computer screen that the raw vastness of what I was sitting amidst took me aback. I didn’t know how to interact with creation without fulfilling my desire to possess it – to take a picture or to take a video on Matt’s camera. I am so accustomed to seeing the natural world on the Discovery channel or in movies where what is massive, wild, mysterious and incomprehensible has been made tame, easily explained and consumable. When I turn the natural world into merely a spectacle to be beheld, I think it allows me to avoid grappling with it’s largeness and with my own participation in the larger narrative of all of creation.

I am not very informed about the details surrounding the debate (perhaps given away by the interchangeability with which I use ‘natural’ and ‘created’), but I am not one to think that creation and evolution are necessarily at odds, or that science and religion form a dichotomy. (I don’t see the need to create divisions between people over the issue as there are many more important global issues that need to be debated and resolved) I will however say that I passionately believe that God is at the heart of this beckoning mix of fear, awe and mystery that we experience when at the mercy of nature. I also firmly believe that when I choose to back pedal away from those places of wonder where I come to the end of myself and to the begining of the unknown, I am shying away from my responsibility to be a part of the grand narrative of creation; from the invititation to humbly participate in Christs movement of love in this world. This earth to me is a sign that points to God, and points to a God who longs to restore all that has been created.

When I anaesthetize myself with tv, pointless information on the internet, or bicycle magazines, whatever it may be, I believe that I am acting merely to satisfy myself, and when I do this, not only do I escape having to grapple with the vastness of the natural world, I tune out from humanity. I tune out from the cries of the hungry, destitute and downtrodden. I tune out from the groans of creation, which longs for redemption. I tune out from Christ’s invitation to be a part of his loving, restorative work in this world. I am honestly grieved at the ways I consistently return to those things that satisfy only myself, and the things that satisfy myself while harming others around the globe. I really don’t think that any number of well intentioned things I do serve to justify these other ways I serve only myself. They are societal patterns that are rooted in injustice and hedonism and I feel very strongly that personally, as well societally, we have to atone for these things that we participate in and enter into a new way of being human. Which is the beauty of the forgiving work of Christ.

Now, having said all this, thinking these thoughts amidst humble passionate, loving Muslims for the past two weeks has raised more ideas, thoughts and questions but I’m going to let those continue gestating a while before fleshing them out here.

I love travelling. I love the enforced simplicity and continuous space for thought and reflection. In moderation, the open road is a great place. I think I would go mad if I had to spend all my time thinking for more than a few weeks at a time.

Bergama is probably one of the most pleasant towns I’ve ever visited. We extended our stay there to four days and could of easily spent more if not for the need to begin moving eastward (though first south to Ephesus). The town is roughly split by a slow moving creek – the newer, more suburban area of the city on one side, the ancient acropolis of Pergamon and the winding corridors of old Bergama on the other. Our pension was right in the heart of these winding, precariously slanted cobbled streets. The terrace on the roof overlooked both the acropolis (perched upon a deceivingly high hilltop), the many minarets of both old and new Bergama, the Red Basilica, as well as the rolling hills of coastal Anatolia beyond.

The ruins of Pergamum are incredibly well preserved, which makes the almost complete lack of tourists in the town curious. Including those staying at our pension, we saw no more than 10 foreigners the entire time we were there. The lack of tourists as well as the almost complete lack of the usual trappings catering to tourists (haggling salesmen and chintzy paraphernalia) make the whole town seem almost innocent in a sense. It’s such a great place. I hitched a ride the other day with an engineer who’s working on the tram line that the Turkish government is building which will travel from the town to the top of the acropolis. The tourism board apparently hopes to increase tourism by a million visitors a year. It seems a shame given the character of the town.

I got lost walking through the old part of town a couple of evenings, and nearly the entire town was out on the streets. Grandparents talking, kids playing soccer, donkeys pulling carts, people driving tractors and old men riding motorcycles. People were very warm, and despite the streets being entirely public, my camera felt like a rude intrusion into the seemingly private lives of families. I felt like I was walking through a collective living room – an idea foreign to my North American sense of space.

Anyhow, if you’re ever in Turkey, stay at the Odyssey pension in Bergama. It’s probably one of the better things you can do in life. It’s only $8 Canadian a night and the couple who run it are super awesome. They let us use the kitchen, and they also own a Turkish Saz. I came to Turkey determined to buy one as soon as possible, but I’m not so sure at this point. It’s not a particularly responsive or engaging instrument.

We’re now in Selcuk (outside of Ephesus) and looking to move on. Neither Matt or I like it here much. Our pension is great, and as incredible as the ruins at Ephesus are (the Celsus library is amazing), the oppressive throng of tourbus sightseers is driving us mad. Both the site at Ephesus and the town center of Selcuk seem derided by the inescapable presence of French, German and North American tourists seeking filter coffee and faux D&G sunglasses.

We’ve decided that instead of travelling to Cappadocia (where we expect the tourist situation to be fairly similar to Selcuk), we’re going to find another smallish town east of here away from the noise, before we travel to Afyon or Konya on Sunday to catch a sleeper train into Syria. It’s a shame to miss Cappadocia, but it’s quite far east and spending alot of time on a bus for the sole purpose of sightseeing briefly for a day doesn’t appeal to either of us. I’ll keep you posted as to where we end up tomorrow. Thanks for reading!

I decided in the end to bring just my film cameras and a few rolls of film. It’s felt liberating over the past week, not being bound by a compulsion to take pictures everywhere I travel. I only bring the camera along with me when I’m feeling particularly inclined to create good photographs, rather than taking poor pictures more frequently. I was also turned off by the sheer number of tourists in the old town center of Istanbul walking around with six grand of glass around their neck snapping pictures every five seconds.

As much as I am thoroughly enjoying cultivating my mind in these various places, meeting people and reflecting, I am frustrated by the nature of what I’m doing. Not knowing the language, and only having two months to travel, I feel like a spectator. I guess that’s an inescapable reality of tourism (as much as I hate to use that word, that’s what this trip is). I also feel stifled by my short grasp of history, culture and religion, and our travel pace is quicker than I can read the many books I brought with me. That aside, it is incredible being in Turkey. Attempting broken discussions with Turks, eating incredible fresh produce over the setting sun, and drinking freely distributed tea (chay as it’s called) throughout the day amidst groups of friendly old men, are inimitable experiences that outweigh my philosophical concerns about travelling.

Our final day in Istanbul was fantastic. Everyone else left Istanbul in the morning, and we spent the day moving through various bazaars and neighbourhoods, and then we met up with Ward Gasque’s friend Roger for dinner in the evening. He helped form a church in Istanbul a number of years ago and he invited us over for a potluck dinner they were having. Very interesting meal. He and his wife have been here since the sixties, and been kicked out more than once. Apparently there are no more than 2000 Christians out of a population of more than 70 million.

We’re now in Bergama, which is the ancient city of Pergamum. It’s amazing here, things are very slow, quite warm and the cobbled streets are dotted with inexpensive produce and cheap bread. It’s great. However, I miss my bike. These roads would be incredible fun on a bicycle yet we are confined to walking.

We’re staying at a bed and breakfast of sorts at the foot of the acropolis with a rooftop terrace looking over the town and valley.

So. Beautiful.

Istanbul is a fantastic city. Islam here is a fascinating presence. I’m not a sociologist, and I will admit to having only a basic grasp of this cities history, but Islam here seems more like an appendage to the daily workings of the city than the heart. The gorgeous sunsets here illustrate the dynamic – minarets rise artfully from the skyline almost in tension with the crude boxes of the cities business district. Throughout the various neighbourhoods we meandered through, the call of the muezzin seems like more of a suggestion than an imperative. It’s going to be interesting moving east from here.

I’m working my way through this great book entitled Islam in European Thought. It’s a series of essays charting the past 300 years of Western scholarly interaction with Islam and the societies it has helped form. It’s super interesting. The author spends alot of time examining the nuances of ‘Orientalism’ (the same concept Said made popular) and discusses how our narrow understanding of the near east in the West has been responsible for how we justify manipulating the region both politically and economically. He writes that it is impossible to discuss Islam without also discussing the sociological realities from which it emerged (or was imported into). I generally agree with all this. Many of our conceptions of Islamic or Arab countries it seems are perhaps guided more by a mixture of romantic enchantment and fear. than an actual understanding of history or a genuine appreciation for the nuances of Islam itself.

Matt and I managed to form an eclectic posse over the course of the day yesterday. It was great. We had breakfast with two guys about our age, one a linguistics student from California who’s spent the past 10 months in Tunisia and Yemen living with various people learning Arabic, the other a Middle Eastern studies student from DC. Needless to say, walking through the Hagia Sophia and Blue Mosque with both of them was super fascinating.

We picked up a Yale Divinity student in the Hagia Sophia who’s spending the next four months in Istanbul studying Islamic Christian dialogue, and later a Jewish religous studies student from Jerusalem. I’m not sure I’ve had so many varied, stimulating conversations in such a short period. I’m hoping to meet with Joseph again when we’re in Jerusalem which will be great.

Jeremy made mention of this stunt by Banksy on his blog a few weeks ago and after a few hours in London, I have to say Banksy is quite brilliant. It seems as if every block here has some form of closed circuit camera monitoring for errant activity or suspicious looking Arabs.

I’m looking forward to moving on from here. I’m staying in Kensington, which is a fairly interesting neighbourhood, but this city is expensive and my hostel is filled with Canadians. Maybe I need to take a tour or something before deciding I don’t like London as all I can think about while walking down every street is 1984 or Children of Men.

I’m finding it difficult in these days leading to my departure deciding what to bring with me and what to leave behind. I feel like what I bring along will shape the way I experience all these new environments and the people who inhabit them. Decisions such as bringing an iPod or not and bringing a digital camera or not, trivial though they may seem, are weighing on me.

I feel like societally we have this ridiculous tendency towards the instant consumption of our experiences. We are addicted to nostalgia. We’re almost in a hurry to be over and done with one experience so it can be posted on Facebook and we can move on to remembering. We’re obsessed with creating memories and ordering our mental landscapes around our captured experiences. It gives us control I guess. Memory is quite safe. We can control what we want to remember and how we want to remember it.

Anyhow, I’m still trying to decide whether or not to bring my digital camera or an iPod. It is a very western idea this trotting around to the soundtrack of our choosing.
As is capturing narrow snippets of other cultures through a lens, for the primary purpose of travelling back home to remember it all. I feel like cameras and ipods help us miss the whole point of travelling. Which in my opinion is to interact with other people who we don’t necessarily understand, and be transformed by them.

Ipods and all that seem so harmless. But perhaps our insularity carries more weight than we think. To those living elsewhere, white headphones may be less trendy electronics than symbols of our overaccumulation of wealth and our addictions to cheap crap made by poor people.

I love photography as I love music and I want to enjoy both as I travel. However, I am willing to wager that the things I learn and experience will be significantly more transformative if I can forfeit my desire to recreate my personal space everywhere I go. We’ll have to see I spose. Maybe I’m just being romantic.