Road Trip (Oman - Mashira)

What is it that every so often sets our feet on fire and makes us travel? Where do we leave from, and where do we go? Which inner voice gives the order: leave. move on, fly, swim—anything, as long as you find yourself in motion. Why do we travel when we fall in love, why do we travel when we hurt, why do we seek travel in our dreams? What do we look for there, in other places—what are we searching for that we don’t have here where we are? Whom do we go to meet for a moment, only to disappear again?

Fleeting encounters—a taste here, an image there, a sunset of another faith, a breeze that smells different, a rare seashell, a brightly colored garment.

Something like this was that journey too. In its pocket it carried scents, images, colors, roads—ah, the roads—deserts and high mountains, waters inside gorges, crabs and birds, minarets, little boats, deserted islands, shells, thousands of shells, camels, beardless riders, waves, mythical oceans, boatyards, sandalwood and goats at the market, faces faces faces, people so familiar and yet so foreign, glances of momentary recognition, footsteps in the sand, stormy seas, rooms, beds, unfamiliar flavors, music.

The cause can be traced back to the nature of the moment when someone said let’s go. So let’s go, then—to an enchanting place, shaped with respect for the traveler. Something of the nomadic blood of the Arabs is so evident in the way they welcome the wanderer. A place of surprise.

A few photographs came back with me; I share them. Many shells came back too, and a deserted island in the Indian Ocean that stole a bit of my mind.

P.S. It should be noted that seagulls, waves, shadows, sunsets, sunrises, and every kind of moon are different when you travel. IT'S A LONG ROAD.