Tahir Shah's Blog, page 2

On Istanbul Time

For the sheer magnificence of its geography, and the layers on layers on layers, there’s nowhere like it on earth.

Perched at the cultural crossroads of north, south, east and west, Istanbul is so utterly mesmerizing that, were you to try describe it to someone in a land far away, they simply wouldn’t believe such a place really existed at all.

I first visited the city twenty years ago, and soon found myself obsessed. I’ve travelled back and forth many times since then – seeking out secret corners and alluring characters for my collection.

The most important thing about Istanbul is to take it slow.

I like to sit all day in cafés.

Take unhurried ferries.

Amble around Sinan’s mosques.

Eat baklava.

Eat more baklava.

And while away the hours, the days and the weeks in cafés – pondering grand questions.

Most of which never really had a certain answer.

One thing is for certain though: Istanbul is far more than a city.

It’s a way of life – one that runs to its own rhythm, and on its own time.

A place so elegant it touches you deep down in your lower ribs. You find yourself wondering how it ever came to be, and why other cities haven’t somehow cloned the magic.

But, of course, they can’t.

This last week, while visiting Istanbul, I overheard a German tourist asking for directions, not far from the Pera Palace Hotel. He was hot and hurried, and was clearly overwhelmed.

The owner of the newspaper booth at which he was hoping to be set straight, took a long slow drag at his filterless cigarette, and winced as the smoke furled up into his eyes.

‘There,’ he said pointing vaguely in the distance. ‘You go there.’

‘But where exactly do I go?’ the tourist asked. ‘I need exact directions. You see, I am very late.’

‘Up street.’

‘Left? Right? Straight?’

‘Yes.’

‘No. No. I am asking you which is it?’

‘Left or right or straight?’

‘Up.’

‘Up?!’

The newspaper seller sat down on his stool and his head disappeared from view. As far as he was concerned, the act of charity was at an end.

I stepped over and offered to help the fellow traveller in need.

He was from Münich, was called Wilfred, and was extremely keen to be friendly.

‘That man told me to go UP!’ he said. ‘Can you believe it?’

I nodded.

‘Yes, I can,’ I said.

‘But I need precise directions. Because I will follow them precisely,’ Wilfred said.

I looked at his map, and offered a route.

The Bavarian beamed at me joyously.

‘You understand,’ he said.

‘I understand East and West,’ I replied. ‘You are from the West. And this is the East. What works in one doesn’t necessarily work in the other.’

‘But why?’

‘Because, one of the big differences between Orient and Occident is a sense of time.’

Wilfred from Münich looked alarmed.

‘I am late,’ he said.

‘Are you sure that you are?’

The German nodded once. Then again.

‘Oh, yes, positive.’

Then I did something I have not done before.

I asked Wilfred to take off his wristwatch and give it to me to hold.

He didn’t quite understand at first. But, when I had asked a second time, and added a smile, he did as I requested.

I reached over and slipped the watch into his blazer pocket.

‘You’ll find things go much smoother now,’ I said.

When the Ground Moves

For as long as they could walk, I have told Ariane and Timur that they must travel.

The ground beneath them must be moving, I say. Because, if it is not, then they are stagnating. I have told them that it doesn’t really matter where you are going, so long as you don’t plan too much, and that you absorb the hidden details of a place…

The smell of a bread warming on a street-side stall.

The sound of a knife-sharpener calling up at apartment blocks.

The sight of three old friends sitting in the shade, comfortable in silence.

I tell them that school is important.

But, that travel is a fast track to a far deeper and more valuable realm of learning. For me, travel isn’t about getting from A to B… rather, it’s about a zigzag learning system, that fills in all the gaps.

I go crazy when I hear people telling each other that they managed to cover the distance between two cities in record-breaking time. How they shaved an hour or two off a fifteen-hour journey. I am never happier than when the ground under me is passing by – preferably on land or sea, and not from 30,000 feet up.

And I’m thrilled if the unexpected happens.

The very best way to welcome the unexpected, and to prepare for it, is not to prepare at all. So, that’s why I like to free myself from the manacles of planned expeditions and throw myself into the abyss…

And see what’ll happen.

Every summer for the last seven years I have taken Ariane and Timur on a journey. We’ve taken the train up to Tibet, have been to Greenland and Iceland, and have driven across the US. We’ve zigzagged through the Far East, and have travelled to jungles, deserts, and through endless urban landscapes.

Earlier this summer, I pulled out the world map.

‘What should it be?’ I asked.

Timur tapped a finger hard at Europe.

‘We’ve hardly ever been there,’ he said mournfully.

So, I bought us passes to travel by train for a month – zigzagging through Europe.

The last time I did it, I was 20, and I was robbed in Spain. That was the best travelling experience, and one of the steepest learning curves of my life.

More on that later.

First stop, Istanbul…

My top 3 achievements, and my top 3 on my wish-list

Many thanks to those of you were able to attend my Reddit AMA live. For those who were unable to attend, I’ll be sharing a selection of questions and answers over the next couple of weeks. To view the entire AMA, please click the above link. 

Q. What are your top three achieved aspirations, and what three sit at the top of your list to do before your swan song?

A.

I am pleased to have:

Lived a decade in a Jinn-infested home in a Moroccan shantytown.
Been able to write books I want to write (a rarity).
Watched the sun rise at Machu Picchu

And, on my wish-list:

Go into the vast Chinese cave system at TIAN XING.
Cross Africa East to West.
Spend a month living on an Indian pavement.

How to get a job in travel writing

Many thanks to those of you were able to attend my Reddit AMA live. For those who were unable to attend, I’ll be sharing a selection of questions and answers over the next couple of weeks. To view the entire AMA, please click the above link. 

Q. It’s a dream of mine to be able to make a living off traveling and exploring like you do. What would you say is the best first step in getting a job writing about exotic locations for a magazine or travel website?

A.

Get enough money to go somewhere far away.
Believe in yourself.
Find a strange, quirky, moving, or downright interesting angle on a person/thing/event at that place. Try to find a news angle or what’s called a ‘peg’, which gives an editor a reason for using it.
Do a blog and get a following on that – also offer guest blogs to established bloggers.
Reuse good material.
Offer good material to editors (web sites, magazines, newspapers etc.) in other countries which wouldn’t be so likely to be offered strange stuff. They usually handle the translating and they often pay well.
Don’t give up.
Remember, the more work you do, the bigger your footprint.
Again, believe in yourself.
Don’t ever ever ever listen to anyone who tells you to can the idea and get a ‘real’ job.

The Scent of Sweat

I don’t like danger.

I really don’t.

It’s always me who’s telling Ariane and Timur to be careful when doing the simplest thing. And, as I fret about their safety, I sometimes find myself thinking about danger — and my preoccupation with it.

But, while I bounce around the world as I tend to do, I have at times found myself staring cold, raw danger squarely in the face.

On my travels there have been so many hair-raising trips in the back of clapped out buses and pick-ups in the Hindu Kush, or on zigzag pistes through central Africa, or Latin America. And, there were those 16 days spent in a Pakistani torture jail – a tightrope walk between life and death.

And, last week, I found myself in the danger zone once again.

I really thought it was the end.

‘Game Over’, as Timur would say.

I had flown up to Delhi to chat about a book I am writing to a close friend. I needed his input, and he gave me some excellent advice. It was 48 degrees in the Indian capital. Not a hint of breeze. Not a leaf stirring. I felt myself being cooked alive. After two days it was time to leave. I went to Delhi Airport to fly back down to Mumbai, where the kids and Rachana were waiting.

It was early afternoon and the airport was eerily dark.

There was a strange, almost primeval lack of light, as though nature was about to wreak a secret and unspeakable havoc. I boarded the flight and took a window seat quite near the front. After a short delay, the plane — an Airbus A320 — took off.

I noticed that we didn’t climb as fast as we might. And we weren’t going the usual speed.

All seemed well though.

But then, about 7 minutes into the flight — BANG! — the plane was thrown to one side. Then the other.

Then it fell.

Just like that.

And outside it became pitch black as night.

We had flown into the middle of a vast sandstorm, rolling in from the Great Thar Desert.

The engines filled with sand, and appeared to stall. The Airbus was buffeted around like a child’s toy. The Sikh salesman next to me kept yelling ‘Are we going to crash?!’ Straining to stay calm, I couldn’t bear to reply — but it seemed as though we were indeed all about to die.

Again and again the plane jarred and plunged, as the pilot fought desperately to get us through the sandstorm.

What struck me was how calm everyone was. In Europe I’m sure there would have been a lot more outward terror.

And there’s a detail that touched me.

It reminded me so vividly of the vile nights of interrogation in Pakistan, where I last experienced it.

When you are really scared — not a little fearful, but experiencing true terror — the smell of your sweat changes.

It suddenly smells like cat pee. Like ammonia.

And on that flight, that’s how it smelt. The whole plane stank of it, as the passengers — me included — sweated adrenalin.

After about ten minutes of jerking, falling, yawing about, I spied the faintest glimmer of light from the uppermost corner of the window.

I dared to breath in. Then out.

I focussed on that fragment of hope. Slowly, we approached it, as though every inch between us and it was part of a battle.

Eventually, the sandstorm passed. And thank God for that.

Later, I heard that it killed dozens in Delhi, as it tore through the shanties and the high rises. One woman who went up onto her roof to see what was going on, had her head cleaved clean off by a sheet of corrugated iron. And, at Delhi airport, a baggage handler was crushed to death by an avalanche of falling luggage.

As for me, I landed in Mumbai a little wiser than when I had taken off.

Danger is my nemesis, but it’s an educator like none other.

That is, if you allow yourself to learn from its deadly hands.

Top 10 Reasons to Give Up Your Job

10 REASONS TO GIVE UP YOUR JOB

Because you’re a slave to someone else.
Because without realising it, you’re suffocating.
Because you waste your life in office politics.
Because you trick yourself into thinking you’re doing something worthwhile.
Because you’re not free to travel, or to think.
Because you hate your boss.
Because the company owns you.
Because you could become the greatest traveller of your age.
Because you’ll blink and suddenly you’ll be ready for retirement.
Because it’s worth $200,000 a year not to have a boss.

 

Join me on Reddit! Monday, June 9th from 5-7pm UK time

It’s that time again! Join me on Reddit on Monday, 9th June from 5-7pm UK time [12-2pm Eastern], and ask me anything! You’ll need to sign up for a Reddit account if you’d like to ask me questions, but it takes just a second. I don’t think you need to sign up for an account if you just want to read through the questions and answers, though.

When it’s time, head over here and ask me any questions you might have: about my books, about Casablanca, or about anything at all!

I look forward to seeing you there.

Ten Ways to Be Creative

10 WAYS TO BE CREATIVE

Sit in a café and watch the street until you think of 10 amazing ideas.
Write pages and pages of random details from memory.
Take 5 random objects and invent something new using them.
Think like a 4-year-old child.
Read three stories from The Arabian Nights before you think creative.
Time yourself making numbered lists of ideas.
Look at what you know in new ways.
Confront danger face on.
Learn from people who aren’t afraid to be thought to be afraid.
Don’t ever doubt your own creativity.

Ten Things That Raw Travel Can Do

10 THINGS THAT RAW TRAVEL CAN DO

Make you see the world differently.
Remind you that you’re damned limited.
Teach you new skills.
Introduce you to wild places and extraordinary people.
Get you out of your damned comfort zone.
Teach you to observe.
Remind you that the world is far more interesting than the place where you live.
Teach you that zigzag travel is the greatest solver of problems.
Give you time to plan your future.
Reinforce ideas of selflessness.

Semester at Sea: An Afternoon In The Caliph’s House

A few weeks ago The Semester at Sea ship came to Casa and I invited the students from Professor Natalie Bakopoulos’ Travel Writing class over.  They had already read The Caliph’s House in class, so they were familiar with the story behind Dar Khalifa.

They’ve posted a recap of the day on their own website, including photos of the students visiting with me. You can read more here.