View from my apartment. One last Time.I asked to extend this final entry to this week because I still had about a month left until I leave Buenos Aires and return home. I'm still having a hard time truly reflecting on my experiences because I'm still experiencing as I still have two weeks left. I'm not sure I will be able to have any true final thoughts on my time here until I'm back home, away from Buenos Aires, and am left alone with my thoughts without any bias. Returning back home is nothing short of a bittersweet sentiment for me. I've felt incredibly homesick for family, friends and loved ones and the feeling of being so far away from a world where you have responsibilities and obligations is so fantastic, yet worrisome when you know you have to return home to confront them. I wonder, though, if I've been able to spend my time in Buenos Aires wisely. Just a couple of days ago, I literally ventured 2-3 blocks from my house and discovered things that I had no idea was there. Had I known that there was a supermarket, a tea connection and a blockbuster so close to my house, I would have looked at my neighborhood in such a different manner. I still haven't done things that are so basic to visiting Buenos Aires: shopping at the San Telmo fair, visiting MALBA, the planetarium, etc. I think back to those drunken nights and hangover-filled mornings that, in retrospect, seem so unnecessary. Riding home today after visiting the San Telmo fair, I kept my eyes glued to the windows of the collectivo, falling in love with Buenos Aires all over again. Knowing that I only have 12 days left to enjoy Buenos Aires until I have to return to the real world and quit playing expat, has me feeling increasingly anxious. Gone are the days that I can make fall promises to visit that fabulous exhibition or listen to independent bands at the obilesco. My only regret, is having not traveled more of Argentina. I seriously can't wait to come back.

I never thought, in a million years, that I would be able to say that Argentina has made me find myself. But boy, have I. When you're out of your comfort zone and familiar surroundings and have a bunch of opportunities laid before you, both negative and positive, you learn about where your values are or where they aren't. My opinions have changed on many things, my opinions have been validated by many experiences and I'm loving every minute of learning about myself. My travels here have caused me to reflect on who I am and what kind of person I'm working to be and where I hope to go. On a less serious note, I've found new music interests, bought some fabulous books and have made new friends. This semester has been such a chaotic one, but it's been mine.

(I've been trying to insert the picture, but I can't seem to. For what it's worth ... the image is linked here)

Here’s the passage I’m focusing on:

<< During my stay at Alexandria I had heard of the pious Shaykh al-Murshidi, who bestowed gifts miraculously created at his desire. He lived in solitary retreat in a cell in the country where he was visited by princes and ministers. Parties of men in all ranks of life used to come to him every day and he would supply them all with food. Each one of them would desire to eat some flesh or fruit or sweetmeat at his cell, and to each he would give what he had suggested, though it was frequently out of season. His fame was carried from mouth to mouth far and wide, and the Sultan too had visited him several times in his retreat. I set out from Alexandria to seek this shaykh and passing through Damanhur came to Fawwa [Fua], a beautiful township, close by which, separated from it by a canal, lies the shaykh's cell. I reached this cell about mid-afternoon, and on saluting the shaykh I found that he had with him one of the sultan's aides-de-camp, who had encamped with his troops just outside. The shaykh rose and embraced me, and calling for food invited me to eat. When the hour of the afternoon prayer arrived he set me in front as prayer-leader, and did the same on every occasion when we were together at the times of prayer during my stay. When I wished to sleep he said to me "Go up to the roof of the cell and sleep there " (this was during the summer heats). I said to the officer "In the name of God," but he replied [quoting from the Koran] "There is none of us but has an appointed place." So I mounted to the roof and found there a straw mattress and a leather mat, a water vessel for ritual ablutions, a jar of water and a drinking cup, and I lay down there to sleep.>>

One of the reasons I'm focusing on this passage is because most of the gifts al-Murshidi gives are food and food is my concentration. But also the passage is interesting on its own.

"At the end of part one of Ibn Battuta's travels, he visits Alexandria and is fascinated. He meets many men throughout his journeys with special powers or gifts; in Alexandria he meets a man who has essentially the power to give whatever the receiver needs.

This man — "the pious Shaykh al-Murshidi" bestows "gifts miraculously created at his desire" to those who visit him.

One of the reasons I'm focusing on this passage is because most of the gifts al-Murshidi gives are food and food is my concentration. But also the passage is interesting on its own.

The man can give gifts that can't be found elsewhere; gifts of foods "frequently out of season" or difficult to find. This in itself is astounding; he’s a chef’s dream.

Poor men aren't the only ones to visit him, as one might assume. "Parties of men in all ranks of life used to come to him every day and he would supply them all with food." Here is what I don't understand — why was it necessary for men who were wealthy or upper-class citizens to come visit al-Murshidi? It's almost as if he was the town farmer who created everything at his whim. And this would seem to probably make a town collapse; if no one has to work to produce food (a major reason to work) then why would they. Why would they bother creating their own food if they can just get it from al-Murshidi? It would seem to create laziness; although he is spreading religious gospel in a way when they come visit him, this hardly seems payment for the food they get from him.

What else is interesting: The men visit al-Murshidi, sometimes every day, without ever giving him something in return. It's hard to imagine that a person could be so selfless without making Biblical comparisons. And Ibn Battuta calls al-Murshidi the "pious" man he has heard so much about all around Alexandria, and calls his actions "miraculous." This is almost Jesus-like: The men ask and then receive.

Considering both that the food is unattainable otherwise, and that al-Murshidi acts in a somewhat Jesus-like way, the man's existence is questionable. What does this man's story say for the veracity of all of Ibn Battuta's stories? al-Murshidi's tale is too hard to believe. Why would there have been any hunger at all? And it seems unreal that even the most pious and religious man could have given whenever — would have given whenever. al-Murshidi never denies, at least not in the story. Why not? Even the most religious, the most pious man would seemingly ask something in return.

I know I’m probably looking too deeply at this, but how very strange (and the passage reminded me so much of all of our veracity discussions in class).

Journey: Escape, Journey--so appropriate.

In class, we unpacked the reasons why Ibn Battuta might have traveled.  He was a scholar, he was on the most epic journey of his religious life, et cetera, et cetera.  Naturally, all of these are correct and are probably even more correct than what I’m about to propose.  Given my natural tendency to psychoanalyze people, I, of course was more drawn to thinking about the emotional reasons why a loved and lucky man would embark upon a lonely 30 year journey—leaving behind his family and friends in his home town, just to make more family and friends and leave them along the way too.  He went from woman to woman, learned what he could from the scholars that he could then left them, went to Mecca twice, but was still, after all of his travels, never satisfied.  To be quite honest, I think that Ibn Battuta’s deepest motivation was just simple loneliness.  While we don’t really get too much of a glimpse of his life in his hometown, one can only imagine how a young scholar during his time felt that the coastal city of Tangier just didn’t cut it.  In fact, I find his story resonates with my own story.  Growing up in a tiny town, thinking I was destined for more, the taste of travel and toying with the idea of never coming home, or more importantly, how empowered the freedom of travel made me feel—I saw all of these feelings in Ibn Battuta.  I imagine Ibn Battuta approached travel not only as a way to gain knowledge, but also as a way to gain ownership of himself and of his loneliness.  Perhaps he derived strength from the vulnerability he felt at not recognizing, not seeing and not being any place he knew.  Or maybe it was as simple as him trying to leave his loneliness behind.  I guess I don't really know.  All I do know is, I could identify on a completely visceral and gut level.  Most people can probably relate.

Speaking of which, as corny as it may sound, reading Ibn Battuta brought to mind an epically popular song by legendary 80’s/90’s arena band Journey (oh, how ironically appropriate).  In “Don't Stop Believin',” we encounter “a small town girl,” and “a city boy raised in South Detroit,” who “took a midnight train going anywhere.” Steve Perry, or whomever currently serves as the lead voice, tell us of two “strangers…their shadows searching in the night,” and how their story goes “on and on and on and on.”  It’s a bit of a stretch but one could say that maybe (just maybe) Ibn Battuta was just like one of them.  Instead of a train, he got on a camel.  And instead of searching for someone else, he was just searching for himself.  It turns out that a centuries old young scholar on his Rihla might not be that different from "us" afterall.  (I am not really too serious about this metaphor, I just found it slightly amusing.)

In the chapter entitled Southern Arabia, East Africa, Arabian Gulf our explorer takes a section to write about the coconut, Account of the Coconut he calls it. This section really stood out to me, yes I know that is weird, and I wanted to write about it because I think the coconut is extremely overlooked as a food we should have in our every day diet. Our author writes, “This is the ‘Indian nut’…These trees are the most peculiar trees in kind and most astonishing in habit…” What is so interesting about coconuts is that they are nuts that grow off a tree and considered fruits. Battuta tells the story of how the coconut apparently came to be, I loved this story of the man who had his head chopped off and the coconut grew from a date-stone that had been planted in his head. Battuta writes of this fruit because upon discovery of it he is immediately aware of how important it is to the human body. My mother’s nutritionist swears by drinking coconut water because she reasons that coconuts have been an important part of the proper nourishment for people for thousands of years, as the fruit has helped people excel at maintaining a positive and fit lifestyle. On this website that I discovered one can see the different coconut products available for purchase in many stores, as well as the medicinal qualities of this fruit. I have always thought as the coconut as providing brain food, juice for the mind. Battuta describes the experience of this juice, “a liquid of extreme sweetness and coolness,” what could sound better than that on a hot summer day. Or even in the middle of winter the juice from a coconut gives that thirst quenching kick you sometimes need in the morning. So next time you find yourself wandering by a smoothie shop of health food market, order a coconut. They will chop of the top and stick a straw into the nut, and you can drink the juice right out of the fruit as you walk down the street.

The Travels of the Black PlagueOne of the themes I followed while reading Ibn Battuta was sickness and health.  It plays an interesting role in his travelogue, and is an unavoidable factor in so many travel experiences. 

I visited Morocco on an NYU sponsored trip, and was terrorized by the university nurse prior to departure.  She warned us of all the possible diseases we could contract while traveling in Africa, the anti-diuretics we would need in hands reach 24/7, the malaria pills we had to take weeks ahead of time, and the likelihood of our death upon arrival considering the possibility of a fatal outbreak.  

Considering the make or break factor that health and sickness plays in a traveler’s progress, Ibn Battuta offers little insight about how illness effects his own morale, or the progress of his journey.  The term does come up often however, used to warn readers of exotic foods that may cause stomach disruption, to explain the negative effect of heat stroke on fellow travelers, and to describe the sensation of sea sickness when traveling on the Red Sea towards Yemen. 

While reading The Travels of Ibn Battutah I kept on thinking about another travel narrative I had read titled In an Antique Land. This work is composed partly of personal travel tales from the Indian born author, Amitav Ghosh, and in part a historical reconstruction of India and the Middle East in the 1100’s. The autobiographical narrative of In an Antique Land is interwoven with the story of an Arab Jew and his Indian slave from twelfth century. Much of the historical information needed to recreate their story was found in ancient documents that were preserved for centuries in the Cairo geniza, which held a wealth of Jewish texts from tenth century onwards. The papers Gosh was most interested in were mostly personal letters between Abraham Ben Yijû, the Arab Jew of Gosh’s narrative, and his friends and family. After extensively studying the documents of the geniza, Gosh is able to give a fairly detailed outline of Ben Yijû’s life, and he fills in the wholes with the larger historical occurrences of the times. The Jew was born and raised in North Africa, just like Ibn Battutah, and traveled across the Arab speaking world to the Arabian Peninsula, where he worked as a merchant in Yemen. Latter, Ben Yijû would work would take him to the coastal city of Mangalore for several years before moving to Cairo to raise his children and attempt to reunite with his brotIn an Antique Landhers. The most interesting element of Ghosh’s narrative is his ability to tie the modern experience and politics of the Middle East into its greater historical backdrop. He explores the social and inclusive nature of people in the region as well as the exclusive and hostile actions of the past and present. Ghosh is quite elegant in the way he compares the two time periods to each other and exposes the everyday presence of history beyond just the monumental or course changing events. The Travels of Ibn Battutah can work as a good complimentary reading to In an Antique Land. Not only do these two pieces cover some of the same geographical locations, but they both attempt to give you a flavor of the places and people that inhabit the region. Of course Ibn Battutah traveled about two hundred years after Ben Yijû, but the relationships between travelers that we see in Battutah’s work mirror the social networks that Ghosh examines in Ben Yijû’s time. Such as the brotherhood created from religious ties, which happens to be Judaism in Ben Yijû’s case, and the attention paid to multi-culturalism in a world that seemed much larger than ours today.

            I hate malls. The seemingly artificial air, store after store that sells essentially the same unoriginal merchandise, getting lost in the massive concrete parking lots—it’s an American rite that I’d prefer never to have experienced. If they were around in his day, I’m pretty sure Ibn Battuta would have stayed clear of the shopping netherworlds that have become as much a part of our country’s landscape as purple mountain majesties and amber waves of grain. Thus, you can imagine my disgust upon discovering...get ready…Ibn Battuta Mall. 

            Located in Dubai, Ibn Battuta Mall is, according the website, “the world’s largest themed shopping mall…[with an] exciting mix of over 275 retailers, 50 restaurants and food outlets, 21 cinema screens including the UAE’s only IMAX theatre.”

            I thought Roosevelt Field was impressive. To say that Ibn Battuta Mall is just a mall would be a flagrant understatement. The map on the mall’s website resembles that of a multi-terminal airport. Each color-coated section represents a portion of Ibn Battuta’s travels. These include: China, India, Persia, Egypt, Tunisia and Andalusia.  The Ibn Battuta theme presents itself in the educational exhibits in each section of the mall. For example, entering the Persian sector evokes a feeling of standing in the buzzing bazaar of a Muslim town. The geometric shapes and arches serve to give viewers—ahem, shoppers—a sense of ancient architecture from the comfort of an overly air-conditioned shopping complex. The Chinese sector includes a Junk, a replica of the type of boat Ibn Battuta would have sailed on to China.

Starbucks in the Persian Sector

            So, okay, Ibn Battuta Mall includes some educational substance, “exhibitions” if you will, surrounding the historical figure around which it gets its name. Nonetheless, I cannot get over the irony of this mall. Based on the Anglo-looking blondes that grace its website, the shopping center probably caters mostly to Western tourists, rather than local inhabitants. This begs the question: what could be more touristy than a mall? Ibn Battuta was far from a tourist. He was a traveler.

            Ibn Battuta Mall also presents the irony of the anti-American Middle East’s finding that the best way to compete economically is via an institution of wholly American origin: consumerism. The mall, with its mini exhibitions amidst hundreds of stores and greasy dining options bears unsettling parallel with the Epcot Theme Park and its World Showcase area. Both the mall and Epcot are designed to entice consumers into shopping while providing a front that they are really there for a fun educational adventure. Its similarity to Epcot also makes it easy to look at Ibn Battuta Mall and determine that there it is again: globalization.

Epcot's rendition of China

            Ibn Battuta, along with Marco Polo, Herodotus and Homer, proves that globalization is not the new phenomenon that people so often consider it. Ibn Battuta, along with the other travelers studied so far, shows that human contact and interaction has been around for centuries. Ibn Battuta Mall and the ironies it presents serve as evidence of the interconnectedness of today’s world with that of the past. 

the building blocks of life I think that in my past life as a fourteenth-century woman roaming the desert sands and exploring lighthouses at the fresh age of 22…Ibn Battutah and I would have been BestFriendsForever. But that is beside the point.

In reading this text, I was astounded at the amount of narrative difference that existed between he and Marco Polo, simply on the level of storytelling. In Ibn Battutah’s Mecca-driven travels, I noticed three, standout stylistic differences between the two rough-and-tumble travelers. First, there is actual dialogue. When Ibn Battutah attributes a custom or an observation, there is conversation for the first time in our travel classics. Secondly, there is poetry to his observations. Alexandria is not just a city but also rather a woman who is graceful and humble in her stature. “She is a unique pearl of glowing opalescence. (6) This personification of a place not only applies to Alexandria but to Cairo and Mecca and Baghdad so on and so forth. I believe that this feminization of the land and its people brings true breadth to the text. He embodies the realm of Mother Earth to all of its stunning dimensions. Third, in line with Herodotus and his sparing mentions of Homer’s Odyssey, Ibn Battutah refers to other works of poetry and literature (like that of Arqalah the Damascene and Abu Tammam) to enrich his observations. He is humble in his knowledge and recognizes that many have said it better, so he uses their words to elevate his opinion of education and literacy. Which leads me to my next rant.

We have not discussed much about education in these books and perhaps we were saving the subject up for Mr. Battutah. The traveler himself doubled as a scholar, most definitely. We can see his qadi law education bursting through the verses of his travels. He notes colleges among the way and regards them with high praise, putting cities like Munyat Ibn Khasib above others do to their brainpower institutions. Because in its essence, traveling is an acquisition of knowledge and we go to far means to do so. To quote the Prophet, “Travel in search of knowledge, even though the journey take you to China.” What is so interesting to me is not that Ibn Battutah was educated (though in comparison to the still illiterate population of the world…it is quite remarkable), but rather the fact that he is being used today, in the modern-world, as a get-your-diploma-now type of role model.

His fourteenth-century behind finds itself as the poster boy for international education in an article for a local Yemen publication. The writer encourages her community to learn across borders because new ideas and concepts come from the interaction with new people of unknown cultures. And who better to show someone WHY they should broaden their Yemen horizons than Bill Clinton and Ibn Battutah? Both are strangely used as examples for “reaping the benefits of learning, studying, traveling, and writing abroad.” I commend the writer for her ability to contextualize Battutah in such a contemporary light. To be quite honest, I wouldn’t know how to start drudging up such a past. But her spotlight on his education reminded me as to why his text was so much richer in the first place! Gold star for you, Ibn Battutah.

Ibn Battuta shopping mall: a theme mall in DubaiOf the non-fiction (or maybe partially non-fiction) works we’ve read so far, this seems to be the first that relays the personal experiences of the writer. There are a good number of moments in Ibn Battuta’s text in which he lets the reader know about his personal experiences, feelings, and the challenges he faces in his travels. Or at any rate, more than we saw in Herodotus or Marco Polo. At the very beginning of his writing, Ibn Battuta informs the reader:

“I set out alone, finding no companion to cheer the way with friendly intercourse, and no party of travellers with whom to associate myself. Swayed by an overmastering impulse within me, and a long-cherished desire to visit those glorious sanctuaries, I resolved to quit all my friends and tear myself away from my home.”

Then later, he describes another experience that affected him personally as he traveled. Ibn Battuta relates a story about a man he had met in Alexandria, who told him he should travel on to India and China. Ibn Battuta writes that although “the idea of going to these countries having been cast into my mind, my journeys never ceased until I had met these three that he named and conveyed his greeting to them.” Here, Ibn Battuta is making his travel writing more of a personal narrative than previous non-fiction works we have read.

In addition to letting the reader know his own feelings and the way people he met affected him on his journey, Ibn Battuta lets the reader know many of the intimate details of his travels. He lets us know how he gets from place to place, and the challenges he faces as he does so. In the pages 50-55 excerpt, Ibn Battuta describes hiring camels and fighting off Hyenas who steal bags of dates from him as he leaves Cairo. Later, he tells the reader of how, traveling from Baghdad back to Mecca, he “fell ill of a diarrhea and had to be dismounted from the camel many times a day.”

Ibn Battuta doesn’t spare the reader the gritty details of his travels, and that makes it seem as though he had a different purpose in mind as he wrote his work. Apparently, Ibn Battuta saw some value in letting the reader know information like this. For this reason, Ibn Battuta’s writing appears to be closer to the travel writing we see today. Ibn Battuta appears to feel, as some modern writers do, that the journey through the traveler’s eyes is at least as interesting, if not as important, as relating the dry, specific details of the places visited. Ibn Battuta finds it relevant to his writing to note that in Konia, he bought a slave girl for 40 dinars, and I feel that because of details like these, his writing is not only meant to be an informative guide to the cultures and geography of the world, but also a travel story. Ibn Battuta did not just write a guide, he wrote down the personal story of an upper-class Muslim from Algiers traveling to all of these different places – why he traveled, how he felt, and the way he got from place to place. Ibn Battuta didn’t just write a guide to the cultures and places in the world, he wrote the story of Ibn Battuta. It’s not more informative, but I find this type of travel narrative more compelling and interesting, and perhaps, since every writer has motives and biases, more honest.

The Dome of the RockTo refer to Ibn Battutah solely as a religious pilgrim completely sells short his travels and his legacy. As Tim Mackintosh-Smith, the editor of the 2003 edition of his Travels, reflects in his introductory foreword, Ibn Battutah was also a “hagiographer, ethnographer, biographer, anecdotal historian and occasional botanist and gastronome”. Indeed, by reading Battutah’s travelogue it is easy to agree with Mackintosh-Smith: the 29-year journey does not merely focus on our protagonist’s obligatory hajj to Mecca. Still, let’s look at Battutah’s travels through the lens of religion – it is almost impossible to ignore that particular angle. Venturing through the Holy Land, he continually finds himself at many of the most influential sites to the three major Western religions (Judaism, Islam, Christianity), and falls easily into the category of hagiographer and “anecdotal historian” simultaneously. We dove into the Travels knowing that Battutah was a Muslim pilgrim, and it is interesting to gauge his reaction to the holy sites of the Judeo-Christian faiths. These worlds collide when Battutah reaches Jerusalem, where Islamic monuments such as the Dome of the Rock lie minutes away from the rumored Hill of Calvary, the exact spot where Jesus was purportedly crucified and buried. While these monuments are still considered incredible feats of architecture today, imagine how overwhelmingly wondrous it must have been for a 14th-century traveler to lay their eyes on the Dome of the Rock, the Al-Aqsa mosque, the Church of the Holy Sepulchre! Battutah’s voyages would eventually take him all over southern Europe, where the Gothic movement was in full swing, and through China, where the ancient temples had stood for centuries. Still, seeing these particular “gracious sanctuaries” – especially those two incredibly holy places of Muslim worship – must have been absolutely superb given his clear allegiance to his faith. The influence of early Judeo-Christian architecture on that of the Muslim monuments is impossible to gloss over. The layout of the Dome of the Rock is unbelievably similar to that of the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, constructed in the 4th century under the supervision of Emperor Constantine’s mother, who decreed the Hill the location of Christ’s Passion and burial. The Dome of the Rock is a second-degree adaptation of Roman art from the early Christian period – a grandiose style not typically seen in Battutah’s native lands. However, modifications on the theme obviously exist, tailoring the building style to the faith: in fact, the interior walls of the Dome of the Rock are inscribed with pleas asking the Muslims to reject the teachings of Christianity. The mélange of inspiration: spiritual, architectural, artistic – to be found in Jerusalem is truly fascinating. Speaking strictly on the subject of monuments, it is even more interesting to note their incredible similarities despite the vast differences in faith bases. In many respects, the amalgam of religious and social culture that Ibn Battutah found in Jerusalem can be considered a microcosm of the Western medieval world.