To China and Back: My quest to find myself

Traveling abroad has many advantages, and traveling alone is definitely a quest worth taking – even if this means getting robbed by locals or getting lost in a labyrinth in a country where people seldom speak any language but their own.

Where better to begin such a quest than China?

Traveling alone is not just a personal experience – it allows you to you learn how to trust your human instincts as you learn how to enhance your human communication skills with complete strangers.

Since the road is always more important to me than the destination, I was determined to learn something new about myself and to pick up a message from my trip to China.

Although Beijing can be compared with other major cosmopolitan capitals of the world, you easily find that something is missing; it’s hard to feel Beijing’s true distinction. At times, you forget you are in an ancient civilization, as most people today, especially the young, choose a Western wardrobe and life style, as if trying to rid themselves of the huge burden their heritage imposes on them – not to mention the government. Although Beijing’s people are nice and polite, you sense this air of aloofness, particularly in places of congregation such as public transportation, where people rarely speak to one another. Rather, they prefer to interact with the small machines in their hands.

“Where are the Chinese People?” I wondered, frustrated, on the fifth day of my trip to attend the China Arab Forum on Radio and T.V. Cooperation, which took place in China last month. I felt suffocated by the tall, soulless skyscrapers that surround the modern city, and unsatisfied with roaming around shopping malls and Western restaurants.

A temple!

I thought to myself, what could be better than this to start the journey to find the soul of Beijing? And so I went, alone.

Taking the metro – which has 15 different lines – was not an easy task at the beginning, especially as station names are particularly difficult for those who don’t speak Chinese. It must have been around 15 stations on two different lines that finally brought me to this exquisite place. Before I could even get out of the station, which itself was built like it was a temple, I knew I had found what I was looking for.

I encountered vendors, who don’t look like Westerners at all, selling incense to the passerby inside the station. Approaching the exit, I could see a clear blue sky unobstructed by huge buildings, and I came out in a completely different part of Beijing.

The scent of incense fills the air. Beggars implore for money. A beautiful Buddhist hymn comes from one-story golden shops lining both sides of the street, selling religious statues. And there it was, a majestic, lofty, colorful edifice presenting itself to my eyes, which were hungry for it.

Finally, I was at the Lama Temple.

Peace was the feeling that encompassed me the moment I set foot in this place. Here I could actually breathe, watching people old and young praying a prayer completely strange for me, paying respect to what in my eyes are pretty, colorful statues.

But it was their way of prayer that soothed me. I was touched by how sincerely they performed their prayers, eyes closed, serious, and simply at peace. I swear I could hear their thoughts, worries and wishes through the pleasant silence of this temple. Here is a father asking for health and success for his one and only child, and there a beautiful young woman asking diligently for a meaning to her life.

Calm found its way back to my heart. Faith calmed my soul.

Feeling rejuvenated by the mild September weather and the serene atmosphere at the temple, I decided to continue my day, and I took the metro again. There is something that makes you fall in love with the subway system in Beijing, especially if you are Cairene and a female. The metro may transport millions every day in the Chinese capital, but unlike in Cairo you can actually enjoy your one-inch space, as no one would ever get in your way, let alone look at you or harass you.

I got out at the Forbidden City at the heart of Beijing and enjoyed listening to the history of this well-kept palace with its 9,000 chambers. Leaving from a different gate, I tried to find my way back to the metro, but I was lost.

Getting lost in a country like China is not the best thing that could happen to you, as most people can hardly understand you if you don’t speak Chinese. However, armed with positivity, I decided to enjoy the road and so I did for about an hour, then on my way to stop a taxi, a motor driver (a touristic vehicle) stopped me, saying, “Get in, I’ll take you!”

“He speaks English,” I thought to myself. “I want to go to the metro station, how much?” I asked, trying to heed all warnings about being extra careful when talking about money with Chinese vendors. “30 yuan,” he said. “30 Yuan?” I asked. “Yes,” he said, smiling. “Ok, let’s try something new!” I whispered in Arabic to myself. Roaming around the old narrow alleys of China alone, seeing the core of this great city, and listening to Umm Kulthoum’s “Fat El Meaad,” I was absolutely having a good time.

“Here is your Metro station,” said the motor driver, halting his vehicle in a place where there was no one else around. “Thank you,” I said, giving him his 30 yuan. He smiled cynically at me and took a small piece of paper from his pocket, on which was written “300 yuan per ride.” For a second I didn’t know what to do, I was actually afraid. The man played dumb and acted like he understood no English when I told him he deceived me. Completely alone with my colorful hijab in this alley, I stood my ground despite the pounding of my heart, and finally I said “No, you will only take 100 Yuan.”

“No!” he said, understanding my English. “Take it or leave it,” I said decisively.

Finally arriving at my hotel, I thanked Allah I was ok. We traveled the following day to Yinchuan to proceed with our program, stayed there for five days, and returned to spend the final two days in Beijing.

I’d had a wonderful time so far, yet had not found the message I wanted. So I decided to pay my final respects to one of China’s most influential teachers and intellectuals: Confucius.

Depending on the kindness of strangers, I asked one of the program organizers to write down the name of the temple in Chinese. A nice young woman carrying her young child in one arm and the umbrella in the other – as it was raining – showed me the way, and I realized it was near the Lama Temple.

I roamed around the temple, reading about this great man, and then in one quiet room displaying paintings depicting Confucius’ life, I read one sentence that touched my heart.

“He was never afraid of being laughed at,” it said.

I don’t know why it touched me the way it did, but that was the message I was looking for. I was hypnotized for a second in this dark room, feeling I had found a treasure. Virginia Woolfe would have been so proud of me, knowing that one of her diligent readers had experienced a true moment of being.

I stood there under the purifying rain drops feeling I was given a clean slate of memory to begin anew, as if a whole chapter of unimportant negative events in my life has been erased; I was “granted a little bit of life,” as Gabriel Garcia Marquez wished in his farewell letter.

Yes, I traveled all the way to China to learn that. I felt like Paulo Coelho’s shepherd in the Alchemist, who has to travel half way across the world only to discover that his treasure is where he always has been.

“He was never afraid of being laughed at.” Confucius dared to be different, believed in his vision and left his mark upon the world – and me.

This story was originally published in The Cairo Post in October 2013