We used to drive from Amman to Istanbul and back within three months. We would drive North and through Syria to Turkey then follow the Mediterranean cost all the way up to Istanbul. On the way back we would follow a shorter route crossing the Anatolia to Syria and finally to Jordan; "home" at the time.
We would drive all day then find a decent hotel to spend the night wherever we were at before the sunset. Next day we would have an early start, wake up, get breakfast and, as the sun rose on the top of the nearing mountains, we would hit the road again . I do remember one remarkable exception to this; it was dark one time before we managed to get to any signs of civilization. We were basically at the middle of nowhere and Mom was about to fall asleep after driving for most of the day. We were about to give up when we noticed a gas station in the distance. We drove to the station, Mom put all our valuables in the car boot and parked leaning the back of the car on some wall. We settled ourselves to the chairs and fell asleep. That night I dreamed of flying buses and massive lollipops. We woke up next morning to the tapping of a guy on the windows of our car. He was holding a tray with a tea pot and glasses on top. We barely spoke any Turkish at the time but we still managed to make some conversation as we shared breakfast with this kind perfect stranger before we hit the road.
I have hundreds of memories from these trips but perhaps the most vivid are those of crossing borders. I remember how much I enjoyed the whole adventure of crossing a border; the sudden change of things on the other side and the ambiguity of the distinction. Observing and experiencing this would later become a hobby. I think what I love most about the whole thing is the feeling of absolute freedom after departing one country and before entering the other. Perhaps the reason why, opposite to many others, I enjoy spending hours in airports watching people from all over the world in this transitional space where no one is at any country and everyone is going somewhere.
Yet, there is something that makes land borders more special than airports. Flying from one place to another one would miss out border cities and border people. There is something about border cities and people that had always amused and confused me, even as a little kid. I used to -and in fact I still do- love observing the differences and similarities of people and places as I cross from one country to another. Land borders have a completely different reality. As cut and dried as the crossing points are, the transition between people, culture and geographical terrain remains yet vague and intricate.
I remember how hard I found it to understand as a little kid with a simple perspective on life why people couldn't cross invisible boundaries. The idea itself sounded ridiculous- and proved to be so as I grew up. I recall bombarding my mother with questions and her telling us how unnatural and meaningless political borders are. She would tell us stories of people separated by borders and of how borders were drawn in the Middle East. She would explain why people in Aleppo spoke Turkish and why those on both sides of the Syria-Jordan border spoke the same dialect of Arabic. Meanwhile, I would lean my face on the rear window of the car, watch the soldier at the crossing point behind us get smaller in the distance and the moon follow us as we edged of. I would think of the broken red lines we draw between countries at school and enjoy the ride on no man's land.
The idea of No Man's Land never ceased to amuse me. As strange as it may sound it is on these buffer zones where a sudden sense of belonging enfolds my soul. I have never really stayed in any place long enough to develop a sense of belonging throughout my life. Yet, for some reason No Man's Land has always felt Home!
