A couple of weeks ago, I, along with 20+ strangers discovered a new land: we trekked through its rolling terrain, were humbled by the grandeur of its mountains, admired the serenity of its temples and lakes, splashed through its river rapids and practiced our asanas while breathing in its morning mist. That just about sums up the Walk n’ Yoga trip I’d read about and signed up for with Wild Guanabana. For that, I was prepared:
Sleeping bag, trekking shoes & pole – check!
Sunblock, cap & UV sunglasses – check!
Camera, money & passport – check!
What I wasn’t prepared for however, was finding home in a foreign land among a group of unfamiliar faces. For me, feeling at home is that state of being completely and fully at ease with oneself; I’ve come to learn that everyone is on a journey looking for a place, a person, a tradition, a passion or a profession (or combination of these) that makes them feel that way.
As a person who’s lived the better half of my 27 years away from my country, I’ve developed an appreciation for how difficult it is to come across. On most days, the thought of home conjures the image of my boisterous family gathered around my aunt’s dining room table, exchanging pleasantries while we secretly strategize which food will best whet our appetite, wishing the fanous in the corner would wink us a hint at which would be our best first pick. The local TV station drones in the background as we await the Cairo muezzin to call the Adhan for fetar.
Not surprisingly, I did not find a typical Egyptian Ramadan feast tucked away in the folds of the magnificent Himalayas of Nepal. Instead, I got very lucky following my heart to a place where the people I was with were following theirs. For a fleeting moment, that was home.