being there: To the West

Turkey is a strange country. Poised between Europe, Asia and the Middle East, its hard to know just what continent it belongs to. Still, it felt decidedly more Western than Iraqi Kurdistan, and so felt like a return to a culture we were more familiar with upon arrival. Leaving Kurdistan behind felt unusual. I was surprised by how seamlessly I shifted back into the Western swing of things, seemingly forgetting than I had spent the previous 5 months in countries located in the Middle East. Remembering the people I had left behind in Kurdistan and the uncertain future they faced also left me with feelings of confusion and guilt.I continued to keep a close eye on the news, and events continued to get worse, particularly in the Nineveh province.

The old city of Istanbul is small, and so felt familiar upon arrival, even though I had only spent one night there previously. Istanbul is of course huge, and I have heard from more than one person that it takes months to discover all the city has to offer. We stayed in a backpackers with beautiful, albeit steep and plentiful, stone steps. In fact, I proceeded to slip down the steps on numerous occasions, one time even managing to hit the side of my neck on a chair at the bottom. The hostel manager became greatly concerned for my well being, as he would often hear a loud noise and then find me appear in a crumpled heap at the bottom of the stairs in front of reception.

We flew out of Istanbul and arrived in Manchester. I had never been to the UK or Europe before, so it was quite new and adventurous for me. At first, everything just sounded like a giant television (I guess that's kinda sad to admit), and I felt like I had cricket commentators to the left of me and Coronation Street actors to the right of me. A couple of trains later the same day found us in Durham, and myself in a small theological library fairly much equivalent to Knox library in Dunedin reading William Cavanaugh's book on Globalisation, Being Consumed.

Lindisfarne in England

Scotland is a beautiful place, although the temperature north of Edinburgh seems incapable of rising above 20 degrees. I, as usual, overestimated my ability to navigate new terrain without a map, and twisty roads made compass reliance a poor option. We drove along the edge of the Isle of Skye and walked the rolling hills in search of touristy rock formations, which we could never work out if we had found or not. After a week in Scotland we traveled south to Leeds, where any small ideas lurking in the far reaches of my mind about getting a tattoo were left in ashes (Brazil's World Cup dreams were burnt to a crisp around the same time). Mega Bus then drove us to London, where my expectations were to meet the Queen, be overwhelmed by the size of the city, and be stabbed. I wasn't stabbed, I didn't even see the Queen, but I was quite overwhelmed with city-ness.

Scotland

Isle of Skye

Lunch at Lochness. No monster.

My continental journey began in Belgium, where I caught up with friends, drank some good beer, and got to know some anarchists dedicated to squatting in protest to the absurd amount of empty buildings in Brussels. Heading to the stunning but extremely touristy location of Bruges was quite a contrast, but I was fortunate enough to have some friends house-sitting nearby who could pick me up and take me to the country to witness significant electrical storms and almost exercise a dog to death. After a brief excursion to attend my sisters wedding in New Zealand I returned to Paris to ebb and flow with the river of tourists before heading to Taize, a place I had long wanted to visit. I was not to be disappointed.