Wanderlust has a strong ring of truth for me. Wandering is to go forward aimlessly, without preconditions. That speaks to me of a journey with the potential to surprise, inspire, teach, and awe. This is particularly true in respect of living in another culture. It’s not about ticking boxes to confirm, been there, seen it, done that. The deeper insights to appreciate a culture require more effort. Connections are formed through our curiosity and being open to learning. This is the thrill of the journey for me. Connecting with what I'm inspired by draws me into a culture. Once drawn in, I gain more by way of enrichment.
Every culture has people whose lives beat with centuries old traditions. Those untrammelled by the ersatz of modernity. I’m thinking more of rural people. Farming communities who provide rice or grain for a nation, mountain, river, and coastal people, desert Bedouin. They can be poor and are usually the most hospitable.
The charm of souks and bazaars, with their pungent spices, exotic rugs, antiques fake or genuine, yards of richly patterned cloth, gold, silver, brass, leather, pottery. The mishmash of household goods, clothes and books. The all important cuisine. Exploring narrow winding streets seething with people. Wherever we go, what we see, hear, touch, eat and drink, sniff, has an impact.
The Bazaar of Isfahan is the longest roofed market in the world. I became quite friendly with a bazaari there. He sold rugs made by the nomad women. Qashqa'i, Baluchi, and Ashfar more commonly known as Kelim. The much prized silk Isfahan rugs. Aziz had a good command of English and French. He enjoyed having discussions with foreigners. Language removes barriers. Although my Farsi was poor, I had just enough of the polite terms to make meaningful contacts. I promised Aziz, to buy a silk Isfahan prayer mat before leaving the country. Prayer mats are generally less costly than rugs. I never kept that promise. The civil unrest with demonstrations against the Shah’s regime had precluded staying on.
Aziz was an astute businessman. When last seen, he was going to the Azerbaijan border to buy Russian icons. He hinted those were black market icons and probably stolen. Aziz always gave me a glass of tea. Black tea is the social drink in Iran. That was most welcomed. I'm not returning to Iran. I prefer to hold the memories of before the revolution.
Living in another culture is not the same as touring. The slow integration of immersion in a culture can't happen on a two to three week tour. The pace is too fast. When touring we have to be content with a few sublime moments, and reflect afterwards. I'm seriously considering China for next year. Not with a group. I don't want to be drawn into other tourist’s impressions or lamentations. I'm opting for a private car with a driver and a guide. That could also be more flexible. She hopes!
Every culture has people whose lives beat with centuries old traditions. Those untrammelled by the ersatz of modernity. I’m thinking more of rural people. Farming communities who provide rice or grain for a nation, mountain, river, and coastal people, desert Bedouin. They can be poor and are usually the most hospitable.
The charm of souks and bazaars, with their pungent spices, exotic rugs, antiques fake or genuine, yards of richly patterned cloth, gold, silver, brass, leather, pottery. The mishmash of household goods, clothes and books. The all important cuisine. Exploring narrow winding streets seething with people. Wherever we go, what we see, hear, touch, eat and drink, sniff, has an impact.
The Bazaar of Isfahan is the longest roofed market in the world. I became quite friendly with a bazaari there. He sold rugs made by the nomad women. Qashqa'i, Baluchi, and Ashfar more commonly known as Kelim. The much prized silk Isfahan rugs. Aziz had a good command of English and French. He enjoyed having discussions with foreigners. Language removes barriers. Although my Farsi was poor, I had just enough of the polite terms to make meaningful contacts. I promised Aziz, to buy a silk Isfahan prayer mat before leaving the country. Prayer mats are generally less costly than rugs. I never kept that promise. The civil unrest with demonstrations against the Shah’s regime had precluded staying on.
Aziz was an astute businessman. When last seen, he was going to the Azerbaijan border to buy Russian icons. He hinted those were black market icons and probably stolen. Aziz always gave me a glass of tea. Black tea is the social drink in Iran. That was most welcomed. I'm not returning to Iran. I prefer to hold the memories of before the revolution.
Living in another culture is not the same as touring. The slow integration of immersion in a culture can't happen on a two to three week tour. The pace is too fast. When touring we have to be content with a few sublime moments, and reflect afterwards. I'm seriously considering China for next year. Not with a group. I don't want to be drawn into other tourist’s impressions or lamentations. I'm opting for a private car with a driver and a guide. That could also be more flexible. She hopes!
