all the world's a stage

Aisha

I’ve been in Lima since last Sunday and with each day we’re becoming better acquainted. It was a formal introduction at first, a well-groomed interaction with the tidy politeness of a distant stranger. Over the week, formalities have been deliberately subtracted from the context and already we’re forging a bond through insightful chats with comic taxi drivers, warm chocolate churros and spontaneous street theatre.

My relationship with the city has flourished through the language experience. Beyond a progressing familiarity with street Spanish I’m gaining a clarity and honesty that comes through a disarmed simplification of expression. I find fluidity in conversations with taxi drivers, on minibuses, at street cafes, with market vendors and local artists chatting away with unguarded ease. I love taking on an accent, slurring the vowels, playing with words and tossing in the occasional idiomatic expression.

In professional settings, however, when I try to impose a calculated deliberateness to my thoughts, intended articulations come out butchered and sloppy. It’s humbling to see the meager truth of my ideas when they’re not dressed up in poised rhetoric. The pursuit of quality will surely be a long one.

As I’m taking on roles and trying out scripts in this city, I enjoy the occasional break as a spectator. I love people watching. In Lima my favored vantage point is a lower step of the amphitheatre in Kennedy Park. Sitting in the hub of Miraflores district I’ve gotten to know the old man who comes to visit his pigeon friends. I’ve seen young love stories spark and old ones fizzle out. I’ve watched family outings, temper tantrums and the occasional mid-life crisis. I love opening my senses and soaking in the vibrant surroundings. On long afternoons and late evenings I get lost on rambling trails of thought while inventing stories to piece together the scraps and fragments of passing strangers.

In continuation of my nomadic theme for this summer, I find myself freer and more penetrable in this unpaved journey. It’s an escape from passive consciousness with its surface impervious to the details of daily activity. Traffic jams that were once annoying inconveniences become primetime for people watching, crammed mini-buses offer wisps of juicy conversation, and no matter how trivial the discussion my rough language skill demands complete focus, eliminating a lapse into passive listening.

Friday was my first venture into the industrial region on the far side of the city. As fellow bloggers have expressed, the visual juxtaposition is astounding between the modern and the traditional. Heading into the heart of a bustling district on a chaotic minibus I stumbled over outstretched feet and into the last vacancy in the back seat. Ten minutes into the ride I was sparked into conversation by a solemn looking Peruvian in his early 50s. Carlos Vera dove right into discussion and analysis of Peruvian politics, the Palestinian-Israeli conflict, the recent elections in Egypt and the role of the United States in the Middle East. Carlos attempted a simplification of events to a bottom line of deteriorating human culture. “It’s the capitalist spirit that eats us from the inside; each person pops the top to his own individual Inca Kola, fights for his entitlements, and pursues his personal rights - this global mess we’re in is the product of self-interest, and where does that leave the masses?”

As the bus stop approached, our conversation wound down to an all-too familiar question. “Have you been to visit Machu Pichu?” He asked. “You must remember to vote for the 7 wonders of the world! You remember Machu Pichu and I’ll remember the pyramids,” he smiled.

For a bit of thematic relevance, my ‘Arab experience’ has certainly been unique. To date I’ve incited a fan club of 60-year old chess players, in a 15 minute span I received requests for 3 photo-ops, on a regular basis I cause double-takes and literal jaw drops, I’ve held my own against stare-downs of the masses, and for the eighth day now I've withstood round after round of the ‘top to bottom sneer’ as coined in Egyptian dialect. I often feel like the three headed woman in a circus freak show, but more on that will follow shortly…

Prelude to a Journey

Aisha Saad

Summer is beautiful – possibilities for travel are infinite. I’m a hopeless romantic for the excitement of discovery, the adrenaline of adventure, the liberation of geographic independence.

As the date of departure nears, a part of me grows more and more restless for autonomous mobility. I think time is due to match the thrill of trekking and experiencing with some legitimate introspection.

Since wrapping up the spring semester, I’ve been reading and thinking. In trying to make sense of life I’m putting aside a more methodical analysis for the pleasure of organic wonder and curiosity. I've become fascinated with the nomadic ideology - for the dominion it extents over all places. Birthed from a seed of humility, it claims neither roots nor submission to a grounded earth. It is a transcendental unity of space, a geographic tawhid [one-ness] flowering into the communion of life experience.

Perhaps this rambling is just a reaction to nearly four weeks in a very grounding suburbia. Nonetheless, I hope to adopt such a nomadic mentality for the next nine weeks as I take a slow step through the Andes, across the Southern Cone, and make my way over the Atlantic to spend fall semester in Cairo.

Conditioned by pursuits of purpose, I’ve learned to travel to a destination; to a city, to a friend, to family, to a campsite, to the X on a map, to an answer... In the spirit of growth and in pursuit of quality, this summer I leave behind self-affirming travel. I hope to wander with an openness that gives value to the impressionability of process. In the spirit of deconstruction, I intend to move and to evolve in a destination-less journey.

Why South America?

For indulgence of the soul; for the freedom to wander where my image does not carry a string of immediate assumptions. By visual definition I am clearly a Muslim, Arab woman. Through travel, or rather through wandering, I find the freedom to define myself outside of a context. I can only attempt a weak articulation of that surging apprehension and anticipation for a whirlwind of sensory experience; mountains and glaciers, beaches and markets, tastes and sounds, immersion in language.

I love language; Arabic is incontestably my preference. Among a selection of flat acrylics, it stands out as a frescoed mural. Perhaps out of loyalty to the mother tongue, I am awed by an infinite potential for expression. My thoughts are dwarfed by its vivid and layered intricacy. I think I am not alone, however, in appreciating the novel excitement of carrying a foreign language back to its homeland.

This summer I’m letting go of command and assurance in communication and am eager to live in Spanish; to take a new brush into my awkward grasp and to paint like a child. I imagine that such a linguistic reveal may expose raw beauty of new and untamed expression. I’ll try to hold on to that thought as inevitably I face frustration and awkwardness sifting through eight years of mental flashcards and struggling for a natural coherence.

My summer is not entirely amorphous; the realist in me acknowledges relevance of Travelocity and Lonely Planet to the budget of a 21^st century nomad. That being said, I’ve booked a loose itinerary, secured housing, and am working under the directive of a research project to lend academic value to my journey. Meanwhile, I hope to adopt a nomadic subconscious to escape suffocating in the closed loop of a round-trip vacation.

I’m not yet sure if this blog is the appropriate outlet for my postings. In consideration of the thematic integrity of a Middle Eastern Travel blog, perhaps I’ll hold off on my contributions until Cairo in the fall. On the other hand, it may be relevant to share my travels “from the perspective of a native daughter of the Middle East” [thanks Matt]. Whenever and wherever it may be, I am glad to be a part of this community.