The Next Leg of the Tour
Letter #35: My final day in Kathmandu, and the first few days in Palestine with family. ❤️
5/14/23
KATHMANDU
A bunch of us boarded the bus into Thamel at 7:30am after being dismissed from the Dhamma Shringa Vipassana Centre 10-day course on Day 11. We were all giddy and chatting away, excited to go relax and spend the day together in Kathmandu.
I finally let all my friends and family know I was out of the course—I hadn’t spoken to them in 11 days, the longest I’d ever gone without communication. My eyes were glued to my phone screen, I didn’t pay any attention to our bus trip into the city.
Many of my loved ones wanted to know how it all went, but I found it difficult to answer unless I was given very specific questions. Being asked “so how was it?” was so vague that my brain couldn’t formulate a concise answer—I wasn’t sure where to even begin.
My best friend of over 35 years, Alie, in particular had very specific questions for me. We text every day so I think it’s very normal for us to speak about even the most mundane of things in a thorough way. Even her just asking targeted questions about the food and the schedule helped me begin to process what I’d experienced.
I know that I’d need some alone time to be with my thoughts and piece together how the course affects my life from here on out. But that day in Kathmandu wasn’t for meditating OR for processing. It was for laughing with my new friends, ordering good food, shopping in the local market, and getting 90 minute massages.
We accomplished all. I was so tired since I’d only slept a few hours the night previously, but I was so happy to be done with the course that I didn’t care. I stayed awake and seized the day.
We grabbed brunch near the hostel, and I took to booking massages for 5 of us. Later Miriam and I headed out to do some shopping—I wanted to buy some trekking poles since I knew they’d be cheaper in Nepal than in the US. I also needed to ship a back to my parents house since I had collected so much gear for the Himalayan trek and bought some amazing decorations for my theoretical future house while I was in Pokhara, that I no longer could fit it all in my bag. The group made fun of me as I lugged all these bags around Kathmandu that day. 😑
Miriam wanted to buy a rug for her apartment back in Perth, so we set out for the handmade rug shops. This, I discovered, was one of my favorite hobbies. Hilary and I had visited a rug shop outside the Grand Bazaar in Istanbul back in 2018. It’s so fun—the proprietor has you take a seat in their shop, offers you tea, and encourages you to take your time while choosing the best rug for your space. They unfold rug after rug of different designs and colors. Even when you tell them not to pull them all out…they still do it to make sure you’re happy, claiming it is their job to show every option and fold them up and put them away long after you leave. And the tactic worked—I left with 4 rugs and 2 throw pillowcases from Istanbul. While shopping in Pokhara I restrained myself since A. I am unemployed, B. I am carrying all my belongings on my back, and C. I don’t even have a permanent home at the moment. I acquired only one small rug for a doorway, 2 throw pillowcases, and 1 case for a meditation cushion—I might as well give myself something colorful to jumpstart my new lifestyle, right?
Miriam picked out an amazing, large, muted green, navy, and red rug for her space, and then we meandered through the streets, popping into some other shops to see if there were any other goods we wanted to take home.
After all the girls met up for our 90-minute massages that afternoon, we enjoyed tea in the lounge and picked out an Italian place for dinner that night. We had gotten close quickly, already comfortable after living with each other for the past 11 days.
We continued talking about revelations from the course, knowing that, once we left each other, we wouldn’t be able to speak so easily about the experience—there was something that bonded us by going through it together. Others wouldn’t be able to relate unless they, too, had completed a 10-day course.
At one point, I had told Hayley, the only other American at the course (who is now living in Italy), that I was shocked how much I liked all the girls I had met at the course. Everyone was so funny, down to earth, and had a funky style.
Hayley said it seems that maybe everyone here is an outcast in their own communities—you had to be a certain kind of weird to choose to commit to a 10-day silent meditation course. I couldn’t have said it better myself, and it helped me understand why I gravitated towards these girls so much—we were all the same kind of weird.
It was hard to leave them after dinner. I was being picked up from the hostel at 8:30pm to head to the airport. I went around the circle twice, giving everyone an extra squeeze. I could see how sad some of them were that the first one of the pack was leaving. I was sad, too. I wanted to stay in our safe little Vipassana bubble where I was understood.
But I had a flight to catch that night to Tel Aviv. I’d be staying with my family in Palestine for the next month. I was so excited to see familiar faces and get hugs from people that have known me since I was a kid.
I was ready to leave Bali and I was ready to leave Vietnam, but Nepal felt different. I had so much love for this place where I had experienced such personal growth that I knew I would’ve been happy staying longer. But the journey ahead was so exciting that I knew it was time for me to go.
I got to the airport waaaay too early. The check-in counter wasn’t even open yet and the departure area was packed with travelers. I stood awkwardly off to the side, my bags on a luggage cart (because they’re free everywhere in Asia), totally content to stand there and text everyone back home. My hand was going numb from my phone resting against my right pinky finger as I texted away. I refused to sit down—I was so happy not to be sitting and meditating anymore that I was content to just stand.
The flights went seamlessly, no complaints. I was in such a great mood.
On the connecting flight from Dubai, I finally decided to begin processing my time at Dhamma Shringa. I grabbed my journal and proceeded to write for the next two hours. Usually when I sit down to journal I max out at 6-8 pages. I finished 27 pages during this flight, and had only made it through Day 1 of the course. 😳 There was way more to unpack than I had realized.
PALESTINE
My cousin, Yasmin, her uncle Tawfik, and his two daughters, Melek and T’shreen, met me at baggage claim in Tel Aviv-Yafo International Airport. Yasmin is always so thoughtful and had decorated a welcome sign with my name on it. She gave me a huge hug and we walked to the car. I’ve never been picked up after a flight like that before—four smiling faces so excited for my arrival they drove an hour to the airport and back just to be part of the adventure.
Already it was so nice to be with family, even though many of them are still very new to me and it would take time for me to get to know them.
Hilary and I had visited Israel back in 2018. We had dinner with my cousin, Bilal who was living in Tel Aviv at the time, and later met my aunt and uncle, Kathy and Ismael, in Jerusalem for a day tour. After Jerusalem, they took Hilary and I back to their Bedouin Palestinian village of Laqiya, a place in the northeast of the Negev desert, near the larger city of Beer Sheva.
I didn’t know this side of my family super well in my adult years. I remembered spending holidays with them on my grandparents’ farm in central Wisconsin back when I was a kid, but we hadn’t kept in touch much over the years. All of that changed after Hilary and I visited in 2018.
Ismael has an expansive family of 11 siblings (including himself). Bilal and Yasmin make up 51 cousins. There were so many people to meet in that one day Hilary and I had scheduled to be in Laqiya. Many of them showed up to meet us. Aunt Yusra made us an amazing meal of Maklouba, something I had never had before and has since become my tried and true favorite Palestinian dish. The aunties eagerly drew out henna designs on our hands. We had tea down at the men’s club where my uncle and his father would hang out with some of the other men of the family—Hilary and I fashionably re-named it the “Boys’ Club”. Uncle Musa introduced us to the herd of camels, sheep, and cows. Uncle Tawfik drove us up to the highest point of the hills so we could overlook the small, but beautiful village at sunset.
We felt like celebrities there, like royalty. We were so warmly welcomed by this huge family that was chock full of energy and love. The following morning my uncle put us in a taxi and as we drove away from the village, I thanked Hilary for coming all this way to meet my family with me. I had tears in my eyes leaving them, and was so grateful to have such a good friend experience something so emotional with me. She said she felt like they were her family, too.
After that visit in 2018, Bilal moved to New York City. At that point, Kathy, Ismael, and Yasmin began visiting NYC nearly twice a year. Hilary and I continued spending time with them, all of us forming a really fun, lighthearted relationship built on our extensive conversations about the state of the world, our love of food, and our curiosity for travel. My love (and even Hil’s love!) for that side of the family grew tremendously, that I knew I wanted to come back to Laqiya again for a longer stay.
2023 was the perfect opportunity for me to come stay with the Abu-Saads again. I was already familiar with the village and felt so comfortable with Kathy, Ismael, and Yasmin, that I knew a month-long stay would be ok for us. We all share very similar—if not the same—world views, so I was incredibly excited to visit this ancient land and learn more about their experience.
Kathy is my mom’s sister, born to my grandparents in New Mexico in the late 1950’s. Kathy is intellectual, curious, and compassionate. During her years in seminary, she began working with Eritrean refugees in Chicago. She grew close to many of the families and individuals, and thus felt a new calling in life that would lead her away from her studies in seminary. She resolved to spend the next couple years volunteering with refugees in Sudan, but was unable to get a visa. During that time she had been working with a Presbyterian pastor from a Methodist Church that was heavily involved in educating Americans about the Palestinian story (and the US role in creating the state of Israel). She saw the similarities in the disparaging situations of these two refugee groups, and so found an opportunity, instead, of flying to Israel to volunteer in a village of the Palestinian (citizens of Israel) in the Galilee, in the north of Palestine/Israel. She was only 23.
Ismael was his parents’ first child, the eldest son. He was the first child in the village of Laqiya to attend university. He received his masters, became a teacher, and later a principal at a local Bedouin school. He went on to receive a PhD at the University of Minnesota and then returned to the Naqab/Negev Desert for a postdoctoral, dedicating his life to researching and facilitating change in administration and policy that would improve the educational landscape for the indigenous Arab youth. He has a dry, understated sense of humor that cracks me up. He’s generous, kind, and has taken an unconventional path in life compared to other Bedouin men of his community.
I’ll share more about how these two individuals were destined to meet in a later post.
When I arrived in Laqiya on April 26th, 2023, the family had gathered to host a large barbecue that the Palestinians call a “Shawi”. There must’ve been about 20 people there, maybe more. Everyone was excited to have a guest, chattering away with one another in rapid Arabic. The female cousins were so affectionately hanging with each other in groups around the patio table, eager and curious to catch a glimpse of me—the color and texture of my hair, my eye color, skin color, the way I dress. They were shy at first to practice their English with me, their parents egging them on to ask me questions. Many of the older girls, especially, were able to hold short conversations with me. I was embarrassed that I speak only English, and these kids are fluent in both Arabic and Hebrew, as well as some English. I had very little way of communicating with them without Kathy or Yasmin translating for me, so I was extremely appreciative when the girls attempted to practice their English with me.
The aunties fussed over me, repeatedly adding food to my plate to be sure I never go hungry. A guest is treated like royalty in this culture and, boy, did I feel it…for an entire month!
They had made grilled lamb chops, lamb kebabs, chicken wings, and beef steak. The spread included Arab Salad, chunks grilled tomatoes and onions, Baba Ganoush, as well as hummus served with my new favorite bread—Saj.
I was immediately blown away by how flavorful everything was. I’m not sure I’d had grilled lamb before but I’m drooling now just thinking about how tender and juicy it was. And the vegetables—wallah! I remember this from when Hilary and I visited back in 2018. I am sorry, Americans, but our tomatoes and cucumbers have a mere fraction of the flavor as the ones in the Middle East. The salads here need only a little lemon juice and a splash of olive oil—nothing fancier than that for a dressing. I never even liked fresh tomatoes or cucumbers until I had visited this part of the world.
I would learn over time to begin guarding my plate to be sure I wasn’t loaded up with more food—there was never a moment where I had to serve myself. In the US, we tend to clear all the food off of our plates. I know I always do, which is a terrible habit if you’re trying to watch your weight. But here, a clear spot on a guest’s plate is an invitation to dish them more food. All of this—the cooking, the serving, the fussing—is to honor the guest. And I immediately felt so comfortable, so wanted in their community.
It’s difficult to explain exactly how it feels unless you’ve experienced it yourself—Hilary can testify to this. I’m a pretty outgoing, confident person. And yet I still get some social anxiety when I go to a house party where I don’t know everyone, or to a work dinner where you feel like you have to impress everyone. But this was so different. I was thrown in with 20 people that don’t speak the same language as me, and yet within moments I sensed how easily I would integrate into their community. There was no air of judgement from any of them, just a warm embrace and countless invitations to visit their homes next to share a meal.
I was stuffed after only the first meal when sweets and coffee were brought out. The sweets, again—wallah! Many of the aunties make their own Arabian date cookies—Maamoul, sweet cheese-filled puffed pastries—M’tabbak, and pinwheel date cookies—Makrouta. They had another dinner scheduled for that evening—burgers from Uncle Musa’s new neighborhood burger joint that opened that very day. Any plan I had of counting calories while I was in Palestine immediately flew out the window. I had never experienced such an abundance of homemade food, each of the aunties insisting you tried every dish. It was only a couple hours into my first day there and I was already having a blast.
What I’m Listening to Right Now: I have a hard time writing the newsletter out on the computer AND listening to music with lyrics. But I want music on all the time. 🤔 But I also need to focus. So yesterday I found this instrumental playlist on Spotify that’s kinda funky and perfect if you want to get some work done but don’t want music that’ll make you sleepy.
What I’m Reading Right Now: 1Q84 by Haruki Murakami. The reviews aren’t great for it, and it took me a while to get into it, but I’m halfway done and curious if I’ll be able to finish it—it’s a hefty 928 pages. I read Norwegian Wood years ago and loved it, and even his way of writing is a bit dark and depressing, I decided to give another one of his novels a shot.
Hey! Would you like to connect over creativity, self-growth, and problem-solving? Or just to have a virtual glass of wine or mocktail? Please book a time on my Calendly for us to chat! I can’t wait to see you. XOXO.
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Ahlan wasahlan. The traditional Arabic phrase for welcoming a guest, which literally means “my family is your family, and my fields are your fields”. 😘😘
Wow. Heather, I'm just now catching up on your wonderful reports and have several more to go, but I had to stop and let you know how touched by what shared about your experience at the Meditation Center. I appreciated all the details and minute by minute description Not at all boring. In fact, the opposite. I found myself stopping reading and trying to see if I could feel the breath in each nostril! I pictured myself there and how it might feel. So interesting. I am so happy to hear about your experience and that amazing benefit you received from it all. Wow. Thank you.