An Israeli meets a Lebanese in Utopia. What do they do?

Shake hands and play beach volleyball.

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So V and I are back in London. Arriving in Heathrow, the long tube ride from the airport, walking to our flat from the tube – there was none of the alien-ness I’d felt on previous home-comings – and yes, ‘home-coming’ is the right word, because London really is home now. It felt like we hadn’t even been away, like it was a stretch of the imagination to think we had been on a holiday, let alone for three months. Was it because V was with me, and had been with me, for the three months – not just something from home, like my underwear and socks, but a big part of that home?

It was disappointing to feel not even the smallest, slightest shock at the sights and sounds of London. Like three months of travelling had accomplished nothing, made little impact in our lives. Like the me that was back here was the same exact me that had left three months ago, a bit lost, not sure what next big thing I was looking forward to in my life was – was it a premonition of this that held me back from being excited about the trip before we set off, or was it that I wasn’t excited that then set the tone for what followed?

And so, I have to remind myself, we did enjoy large parts of those three months, if not the whole thing. We did do things we really wanted to do, see amazing things, meet people we wouldn’t have otherwise met, experience culture shock, and were reminded of where we came from, were made to think of the things we want for our children (if we have them), were reminded of all the things we have, and made to think about what we really need of all those things that we have.

And so, if we’re left wondering what to do now, wondering still what we really want, and how to go about getting that, if we’re left unsure if travel is our thing, but still wanting to go to even more places, left wondering if home really is home, if we’re not meant to be somewhere else….

… I can’t help but envy my younger self, who knew she was going to go travelling, and where, and came back mind widened, who once back set to looking for work with single-minded purpose, who knew she wanted to stay in London.

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The Israeli? A young fella we met in Shangri-La (sounds like another bad joke doesn’t it?), really young – maybe 23-24 – who flew F16s in the Israeli Air Force.

As he told us about how he met this Lebanese guy – I imagined another young man, the same age – in Utopia (a bar but much more than that, in Luang Prabang in Laos, where they do indeed have a beach volleyball court), the wonder in his eyes at this chance meeting, something he must have never thought would be possible (shake hands with a Lebanese, let alone play a game not involving bullets or bombs?!), I thought, that is why we travel. 

And then the sadness in his eyes, as he said he would never be able to visit Indonesia, reminded me that there are boundaries that travel still (because I can’t but hope that one day it won’t be the case) can’t cross.