Photo: Tawel

It’s midday. Not the 12 o’clock sandwich break at your desk that comes to mind nor the 2pm midday pause button that slows this entire country to a digestive halt for its civilized daily lunch break, but simply a natural breath in the equator of the long day.

A young man climbs a spiral set of stairs and takes in the privileged view that spreads out in the valley below him. He pauses, takes a deep breath and then something happens.

Something that hasn’t been heard on the skirts of these sometimes snowy mountains in more than 500 years, yet something that once rang out 5 times a day across most of this peninsula for almost 800 years.

The Islamic call to prayer.

The place is Granada and the privileged view is the Alhambra nestled in the flamenco dress skirts of the Sierra Nevada. A city so famous that it was already called the “bride of Al-Andalus” back in the 14th century when the great traveler Ibn Battutah described meeting residents from far off mystical silk road stops like Samarkand, Tabriz, Konya and India.

The traveler from Tangier therefore probably wouldn’t be surprised as up to 8000 visitors a day from all over the world tick off another of the 1000 places they must see before they die just across the valley, but sheltering under mossy clay tiles from the freezing winter rain, few people notice the lilting words that get lost under their rain drummed umbrellas.

Looking beyond the busloads of tourists on quickstop guided tours, I find that the city is still a place where cultures and people from all over the world meet and more importantly, interact.

I had come on a traveler’s pilgrimage to see what was left of Ibn Battutah’s 14th century Gharnatah (Granada) and to find out if there was any silk left on the lanes and roads that wind up the sides of this sharp valley.

A Surprising Encounter

Meandering through the Albaycin, the cardamom flavored neighborhood originally created to house Muslim refugees fleeing the advances of the Christian north, I see that this barrio still has a human pulse.

Photo: Troy Nahumko

Just behind the stacks of postcards, dish soap and toilet paper are still on sale. Homey Moroccan restaurants, multinational guesthouses and multilingual signs are set to a soundtrack of buskers melding Hendrix infused flamenco under Moorish arches, all of which is punctuated 5 times a day at prayer time, not to forget the full stop of ringing church bells.

The Islamic call fades and the faithful few that have ventured out in the deluge, dart into the new mosque that has recently been added to the neighborhood’s mix.

Looking over to the few still desperately hoping for a break in the weather on the mirador San Nicolas, I notice that their umbrellas are slowly turning white as the rain changes its tempo. Not only have they missed their picture, but they missed the call that has brought Islam and with it, Battuta, back to Granada.

Walking down the Camino Nuevo de San Nicolas, a combination of the thickening sleet and the thought of Granada’s famous tapas drove me into the first bar that I came to on the right.

At first glance it seemed like the cookie cutter Spanish bar; a water beaded draft beer tap set before an illuminated glass display case showing off the dark greens of the olives and golden hues of the different cheeses waiting to accompany your glass of beer or wine…all while the omnipresent TV glowed up on the wall.

Shaking off the wet snow and stomping my ill-equipped shoes I realized that the murmer from the glow on the wall was not in the language of Don Quixote, but that of my Tangerine traveler, Ibn Battutah.

A closer look at the walls proved my ears correct as I noticed that the pictures on the walls weren’t of Madrid, but Chefchaouen, a beautiful blue Moroccan village just over the Mediterranean.

Voice In The Wind

Changing my ‘Buenos Dias’ for the more suitable, ‘Sabah Al-hair’, I came upon the welcoming smile of Najib, the owner of Manchachica, a delicious tribute to his native blue-walled city.

Easily sliding from Spanish to Arabic he told me, “I’ve been here for more than 25 years and working here in our restaurant almost as long.” In between serving beers, laying out tapas, dealing with neighborhood to-go orders and drinking tea he continued, “I’ve been here longer than I was in Morocco, this is my home now.”

Judging by the first name basis that most customers seem to go by, he’s not exaggerating, a welcome feature in the neighborhood.

The young man atop the stairs in the minaret himself is part of this mix, an Asian muezzin calling the resident faithful from Morocco, Algeria, and beyond. What is different about this call is that unlike the pumped up super amplification that roars from the slender minarets of Cairo, the crackly tape recorded versions heard across Iran or the 60+ competing voices that boom across the biblical valley in Sana’a, here it’s just a man, his voice and the wind.

Why the unplugged version in what is probably Europe’s noisiest country? Well, standing just below it was easy to see that the mosque has powerful neighbors and anything that might eclipse their clanging bells, literally or otherwise, is viewed with extreme suspicion.

Integrate, If You’re Quiet

Spurred by islamophobic sermoning, complaints filed against this mosque and others around the country range from the surreal to the flat out unbelievable.

Photo: Troy Nahumko

From the supposed parking problems that it might cause in this largely pedestrian area to possible ‘conglomerations’ in public areas in a country that nearly lives in the street, the underlying message is clear: integrate, but only if you’re quiet about it.

The fact that the mosque itself was built is somewhat of a miracle. Across the country I had seen that permits to build mosques were routinely rejected by town councils and a small but vocal opposition, driving Muslims underground to pray in private homes and even garages. This rejection and ensuing secrecy creates the perfect environment for disgruntlement and anger, the antithesis of the wished for integration.

This overzealous protectionism seems counter productive in a country where secular voices demanding a clearer more well-defined separation between Church and State grow stronger everyday.

Young people with no living memory of the Catholic dictatorship that ruled the country for more than 40 years are asking why Catholic symbols are ubiquitously present in public spaces in an EU country whose constitution states that it is aconfessional.

At a time when the very presence of religion in public life is being questioned, inter-faith bickering seems to only divide the dwindling number of believers in 21st century Spain.

This second class treatment that Muslims face is not unique to Granada, nor even to Spain. The recent vote in Switzerland to ban the building of minarets reminds us that Islamophobia is rife across the some-called old continent.

Racial profiling at airports and extra security checks for citizens from certain Islamic countries only cements the dangerous notion held by some of a modern crusade. A worry for Muslims, but also a foreboding warning to other minority believers and non-believers alike.

Shadow Of Peace

Part of the solution to this suspicion might lie in the shadow of the minaret overlooking Spain’s most visited monument back in Granada.

Here I find Latin American immigrants who have converted to Islam easily rubbing shoulders with young Americans studying Spanish or the sounds of Flamenco that have also long echoed in these narrow winding streets, while natives of Granada buy their bread from Eastern Europeans working in Algerian bakeries. Ibn Battutah’s mix still holds true today.

The people who live here don’t seem to care whether the Pope grants Muslims in Cordoba the right to share a holy place equally or if a judge in Madrid thinks it’s against public interest for the call to prayer to be amplified over their Albaycin.

And if they do, it doesn’t seem to affect the cohesive atmosphere that is sometimes lacking in other neighborhood-turned-museums around the world.

There is a popular saying in Spain, “Las cosas de palacio van despacio” (government wheels turn slowly) and by the time those higher up realize that in the Albaycin there is a unique opportunity to learn from the past and skip other countries’ mistakes, it may be too late.

But until then, I’ll climb the zigzagging streets that lead up from the Darro river and search for the calm ring of the voice reminding all of us that there are other ways around confrontation.

Have you found pockets of peace in your travels? Share your thoughts in the comments!

Photo: Beth Rankin

Without going into what I think about the increased TSA enhanced screening techniques implemented after the attempted December 25th attack, I found this editorial comment to the Town Talk fascinating.

The writer, Jerry Doyle, is referring to guest commentary written by Mary Manjikian, former U.S. Foreign Service officer and visiting lecturer at Regent University, to the newspaper. In it, she notes that new airport screening techniques such as body scans and pat-downs, with targeted use to visitors from Saudi Arabia, Nigeria, Yemen and other countries of interest:

…subjects Middle Eastern women to sexual harassment and to a hostile environment upon their arrival in America.

Given, we’ve got some real winners over in the TSA, including the guy who was recently fired for a prank on a 22-year-old college student, after producing a bag of white powder from her computer case and demanding to know where she got it from.

Plus, the effectiveness of the TSA certainly has left something to be desired over the past nine years. As writer Becky Akers noted in a 2006 piece on Alternet, Rep. Christopher Cox, chairman of the Homeland Security Committee in May 2005, explained why the TSA spent $4.5 billion on manufacturing equipment:

He also inadvertently admitted that the agency is merely window-dressing for the Feds: “After 9/11, we had to show how committed we were by spending hugely greater amounts of money than ever before, as rapidly as possible.”

But do these new techniques, supposedly put in place to make us safer, really feel that threatening to Muslim women?

Personal Freedoms Vs. Security

Photo: Bohman

Alright, getting back to Doyle and his response to Manjikian. He argues that Manjikian is “suspiciously quiet” about the “gross human rights violations against women and religious minorities in these countries.”

He continues that the Koran “in many ways dehumanizes and subjugates Middle Eastern women,” notes that in Pakistan, an average of two women a day die from “honor killings,” while in Tunisia and Algeria, Muslim women cannot marry legally outside the faith while men can, and that in many Muslim countries, marital rape is not recognized at all.

Here is his final point:

Ms. Manjikian’s sulfurous anger over [enhanced screening techniques]…strikes no emotional chord with me…the United States is in the midst of a war on terrorism and as our society moves forward in countering the terrorists’ aggressive acts to kill Americans, it will be a struggle for all Americans, but especially for Middle Eastern Americans (including Ms. Manjikian), to reconcile contemporary life with the ancestral truths of Islam.

Wow. On the one hand, this brings up the same debate that occurred after 9/11 about whether or not we (often meaning those of Middle-Eastern descent, of course) must give up our personal freedoms for the good of freedom overall, or if that approach simply defeats the purpose.

But I think this is the first time I’ve seen the argument made within the context of women, in this case of Middle Eastern descent, needing to give up what they consider their rights around their body, based on the fact that we consider what they have to go through at home as being worse.

I’m not trying to say that Doyle does not make good points about what a lot (though not all, let’s remind ourselves) Middle Eastern women face. But would we stand for white American women being “processed” in a fashion that we considered sexual harassment in another country, even though that country did not have the same beliefs? Better yet, would we stand for white men facing such trials?

I’m extremely curious to hear your thoughts on the subject. Please share them below.

Community Connection

Be sure to check out Tom Gates’ harrowing experience with security at Heathrow Airport in Locked Down At London Heathrow.

Great Eid, as it is also known in Egypt, is arguably Islam’s most important festival. It takes place each year on the tenth day of Dhu al-Hijja (the twelfth month of the lunar Islamic calendar), at the culmination of the pilgrimage to Mecca, the Hajj.

The festival commemorates the biblical story in which Ibrahim (known to Christians and Jews as Abraham) is willing to sacrifice his son for God, but is given a reprieve at the last second and ends up killing a ram instead.

In honour of this supreme demonstration of loyalty and submission to God, families that can afford to do so will sacrifice an animal for Eid. Usually it’s a sheep, but occasionally a cow, goat or even a camel is killed.

Professional butchers perform many of the sacrifices, but some families kill the animal themselves at their own home. To be truly halal, the animals should be treated with compassion and kindness. They should not see another animal killed, or even the knife that ends their own life. Death should be as swift as possible.

Sadly, in a country such as Egypt, the practicalities of slaughtering tens of thousands of animals in a short space of time mean that these ideal conditions are often not met.

The photos below tell part of a story that is too easily overlooked. Be warned that some of the pictures are quite gruesome. But this is the Feast of the Sacrifice, when the streets really do run with blood.

1.Al-Madbah, Cairo’s main slaughter area, the day before the feast.

2.An old man puffs on his shisha pipe whilst watching over his flock.

3.A knowing stare. Photo: Nadia Maanani

4.Packing the sheep into a truck for delivery.

5.This live sheep has been tied to the top of the taxi, and is being driven to the buyer’s home.

6.A sheep resisting the inevitable.

7.The sheep are sold by weight.

8.Casual onlookers enjoy a Pepsi during a lull in the action.

9.One of the al-Madbah slaughterhouses. No part of the sheep is wasted.

10.A barefoot boy peddling sheep heads in al-Madbah. Photo: Nadia Maanani

11.A farmer shows his cow a little bit of loving.

12.The local butchers get some help dragging the cow to its destiny.

13.A slaughter like this is a community event, commonly filmed by people on their mobile phones.

14.The killing blow should be as swift and clean as possible.

15.Children dip their hands in the congealing blood and try to tag each other.

16.The aftermath. Soon the streets will be cleaned for next year.

What do you think of the festival? Share your thoughts in the comments!

Photo: mrehan

The Islamic call to prayer, adhan, is the essence of the Middle East – evocative, mysterious and as richly textured as a Persian carpet. Baxter Jackson hits the streets of Cairo to unravel the religious, cultural and historical threads that bind Muslims together as one.

Have you experienced the call to prayer? Or if you’re a Muslim, what does the call to prayer mean for you?

Photo: Dave Watts

Peshawar, Pakistan. Those two words have a very different meaning today than they did 10 years ago.

One of the beautiful things about travel is that it exposes you to a place at a specific time, perhaps a place and a time you do not realize has any meaning until years later.

I was in Peshawar, Pakistan 10 years ago as a tourist, and today when I see those two words in a dateline, I have to stop and contemplate them. The place is real to me – not just a place where atrocities occur to nameless, faceless people.

I was never meant to be in Pakistan. It was not on my list. I did not have an itinerary. I wanted to go to India, but the consulate in Kazakhstan would not allow me to have a visa. I remember the rakish look on the face of the impossibly young staff member as he told me he would not grant me a visa, and in the same breath that he was late for a lunch appointment.

He left the office and I stood alone in his wake wondering if I could sort my way through his collection of stamps to fake myself a 30-day visa. But then I shrugged it off. Fine, I’ll see what other country is available. I’m not ready to go to Indonesia.

Pakistan? Close enough. When is the next flight to Islamabad?

Finding The Way In

The train ride from Islamabad to Peshawar in mid-July was not exceptional. It was one of those ancient trains that wobble along the rails without air conditioning or padded seating.

Photo: Larsa

The farmland outside the windows did not inspire. I felt relieved that it was not hotter and there were no chickens in my car.

Peshawar was odd, though, no question. The place had a presence that set it apart from Islamabad or the high country. The kind of place it was easy to hear footsteps behind you in an empty alley.

I had never heard of the Taliban. It would be years before I even had a conception of who the Taliban were, but something was not quite right with the place, you could feel it. Like a chill up the spine, though the feeling passed as the quest-like nature of the visit took hold.

An Act Of Kindness

Foreigners came to Peshawar, at least at that time, for one reason: to see the Khyber Pass.

This was the legendary pass crossed by Alexander the Great, Genghis Khan, Humayun and Tamerlane. I was bound to join them. There were only a few companies that specialized in transportation there. I spent two days trying to arrange a Land Cruiser and then a truck to the area. I begged, I pleaded, I shouted, I cajoled. It was all for no gain.

As with many agenda items in Central Asia, timing is everything. I could not get there. I would never see the pass. I shared a bus ride back into town with an eager Pakistani who was so excited by my presence that he insisted on paying my bus fare.

This was an outrage, I thought. Not only have I been shut out from visiting one of the wonders of the world, but this impoverished person is trying to pay my way.

Once again, I pleaded, I shouted and cajoled. Once again I was defeated. He paid my way and shook my hand as he exited the bus.

This minuscule event is something that has never repeated itself in any of my travels, and this is what I took away from Peshawar, Pakistan.

Not a bomb or a bullet. Not a conquering hero, but a small act of human kindness.

Have you been affected by generosity during your travels? Share your thoughts below.

Photo: Daily Mail Online

Last month, a Christian couple in Liverpool was charged with “criminal offense” after a religious dispute with two of their Islamic guests.

The couple, owners of the Bounty House Hotel, and the Muslim guests were apparently having breakfast when a discussion about religion ensued. Although details are scarce, it seems the couple:

…Suggested that Mohammed, the founder of Islam, was a warlord and that traditional Muslim dress for women was a form of bondage.

Ok, certainly offensive, but worth going to jail over?

Seems a little law in the UK called the Public Order Act allows police to arrest people based on offensive comments. The law was enacted, lawyers say, in order to deal with violence and disorder on the streets, not to arrest people having an argument.

Yet police say they were charged due to use of ‘threatening, abusive or insulting words’ that were ‘religiously aggravated’.

Things getting a bit out of control here? It’s hard to know exactly what happened, and the hotel owners obviously have some questionable beliefs about Islam. But going to jail over them? Man, half of America would be in jail if we could get arrested for stupidity.

Freedom of religion, freedom of speech and protection from bodily harm seemed to be getting all jumbled up here. Plus, commentary by the Daily Mail brought up another good point:

It is striking that the Crown Prosecution Service has thought fit to bring this case, when no action was taken to prevent the appalling persecution of Fiona Pilkington, whose disabled daughter was savagely bullied, who called for police help in vain at least 30 times, and who eventually killed herself in despair.

Hmm, makes you wonder what is really going on here.

What do you think about people being arrested for religious offense? Share your thoughts below.

Feature photo: yoshiffles

Photo: ItzaFineDay

A recent post by Abdul Sattar, entitled A Defense of Muslim Activism, got me thinking.

Sattar’s post does not follow along the lines implied by the title. In my mind, he was going to give reasons of how Muslims can and should be activists in this post 9/11 world without being categorized as terrorists.

While noting that some believe, “Islamic activism today is just the tattered remnant of political movements long since gone awry,” his focus instead falls on the idea that some believe to be an activist is inherently anti-spiritual.

In terms of Islam, Sattar notes:

One can easily glean from the Qur’an, Sunnah, and the legacy of our scholars that our primary purpose on this Earth is to worship Allah and die in a state knowing that our salvation is supported by sincere intentions and efforts…we should live as if we are “wayfarers or travelers on the way.”

Take out Allah, insert God, Buddha (with a different sort of afterlife), or Mohammed, and you have the basic premise of most of the world’s religions – worship an entity and live meekly in this life to gain riches after. No room for activism there.

And yet, most wars throughout history have been based on religion (at least outwardly), right? Some might consider war as an activist activity; it is the extreme version of standing up for one’s rights. So the ‘extreme’ activist – who will fight, mutilate, or kill – can certainly be seen as anti-spiritual.

But what about the activists who, because of their religious beliefs, ‘fight’ for the rights of the oppressed, mishandled, and misjudged?

While the ultimate goal in Islam is to worship Allah on the way to the afterlife, Sattar argues for activism, noting, “the Muslim traveler is obligated to strive to prevent injustice when he sees it.”

The real question is, where is the line of activism in the name of religion or spirit, and who draws it?

Do you think that many activists go too far? Share your thoughts below.

Feature photo: ItzaFineDay

Photo: The Gainesville Sun

I don’t take a lot of comfort in the direction we are heading when I read that a 10-year-old wore a shirt to a Florida school proclaiming, “Islam is of the Devil.”

She isn’t the only one. Seems children who attend the Dove World Outreach Center are showing up at school in these kind and loving t-shirts (view the Dove Center’s explanation here).

They are being sent home by school officials when they refuse to change or cover up their apparel.

Free speech comes up against freedom of religion, although district attorneys have said the school is more than likely safe “from a First Amendment standpoint.” The US Supreme Court has ruled several times in favor of schools not allowing speech that may be disruptive to students.

My larger concern is the hate message being espoused to those of other religions by a church “based on the Bible, the Word of God…bring(ing) Godly changes to our entire society.” Especially when the news article notes:

Dove Senior Pastor Terry Jones said no local company “had the guts” to print the shirts.

Guts or anger? One of the member’s daughters, who also wore a shirt to school, said the “statement was aimed at the religion’s beliefs, not its members.” Ah, yes, of course.

I know this is nothing new, with the “shock” religious advertising that seems to have become a daily occurrence, but I have to say I always hope the next generation will be a bit more tolerant. But how can they possibly have tolerance when their parents are instilling these “we’re-just-trying-to-save-the-nonbelievers-from-going-to-hell” messages?

What do you think of this anti-Islam t-shirt? Share your thoughts below.

Photo: Baxter Jackson

We didn’t plan on breaking the law that day, it just kind of happened that way.

Not far from the dusty desert confines of our ersatz, dawn-pink villa, we hail an orange and white taxi as the sun rises on the first day of Ramadan, the month of fasting and spiritual renewal for Muslims everywhere.

The Islamic code of conduct it stipulates – no eating, drinking, smoking or fornicating from dawn till dusk – is now in full effect and in public places, is applicable to us infidel types as well.

The idea is to build Islamic unity and empathy through self-sacrifice. The consequences for breaking the Ramamdan code range from tongue ’tisking’ for Muslims and arrest for non-Muslims.

Nevertheless, in the excitement of scoring a cheap taxi-ride from Ibri to Al-Ain, a town on the other side of the Omani/Emirates border, thoughts of Ramadan take the backseat to the scenery whizzing by outside: white villages, undulating sand dunes, a herd of wild camels, the Western Hajar Mountains in the distance.

The Hunger

After traversing the 150 kilometers from our adopted-home of Ibri, Oman to Al-Ain in the United Arab Emirates, all we can talk about is food.

Photo: macca

With the previous two weeks limited to thermally-abused Chinese meat, no cheese (except for lubneh) and only two kinds of cereal at the ‘supermarket’ in Ibri, we’re salivating over the prospect of a ‘hypermarket’ fully-stocked with western goods in Al-Ain.

Maybe even bacon! Thoughts of Ramadan (and the consequences of breaking it) as fleeting as a desert mirage.

The tree-lined streets of Al-Ain turn out to be as empty as our stomachs. Only a handful of Indian merchants and Pakistani day-workers mill about the usually bustling fruit and vegetable souq.

Asking a lady in a sari where we can get breakfast, she bobbles her head and points across the super-highway. Grumbling across the flyover we find the place she bobbled about to be nowhere in sight. All the restaurants are closed.

Cursing our luck, we magically stumble upon a western style grocery store. All the products we had nearly forgotten we couldn’t live without are there: Havarti cheese, Dr. Pepper, fresh-ground beef and fifteen kinds of breakfast cereals!

My head is reeling. Without thinking, I order a danish from the bakery and cram it into my mouth in front of a young Muslim family. They nearly gasp.

Scene Of The Crime

Out the door with baguettes, smoked-turkey, Dijon mustard and Doritos, all we need now is a place to eat discretely. It is Ramadan, after all and we don’t want to be culturally insensitive, let alone end up in jail.

A breakfast-picnic in a secluded corner of the palm oasis behind the souq seems just perfect. Unfortunately when we get there it’s hotter than the blacktop. We’re melting faster than the cheese. Hungry, overheated and cranky, we grab a taxi and do like most Emiratis do when it gets too hot – we go to the mall.

The air-conditioning is breathtaking. Past the ice-rink and into the semi-private confines of the family-section of the mall’s food-court, we spread-out our picnic and eat like barbarians, hoping we won’t be spotted.

Just minutes into it, however, a mustachioed security guard approaches, informs us we’re in violation of Islamic law and instructs us to leave or face arrest.

We plead with him. We have no place to go. “Come with me,” he commands, furrow across his brow.

Gathering up the ‘evidence,’ we follow him into a backroom. Lumps form in our throats. He sits us down solemnly. The sign on the wall next to what looks like an interrogation table says ‘employee rest area’.

Then, with an unexpected smile he announces “You can eat here, no problem.”

We thank him profusely, grateful for our soon to be full-bellies and freedom on this most auspicious of days, the beginning of Ramadan.

Have you or are you planning on participating in Ramadan this year? Share your thoughts in the comments!

Women Praying Jamaah / Photo: dmahendra

When the flight attendant turned down my request for wine with dinner shortly after the Royal Air Maroc jet bound for Casablanca took off last September, I realized my yoga retreat in Morocco would bring some travel surprises.

There was no booze on board—and every Muslim on the flight was observing Ramadan.

If you’re a practicing Muslim traveling in the Islamic world, you already know what to expect during the holy month of Ramadan. But if you have little knowledge of the holiday, like me, you may want to brush up on what this period of devotion and self-sacrifice means.

The appreciation of the holiday will open up some meaningful conversations with your local hosts and create some great travel memories. Follow these five tips, and you’ll enjoy a more spiritually engaged Ramadan travel experience.

1. Know the facts.

Ramadan, which takes place during the ninth month of the Islamic calendar, is a month-long period of patience, modesty and spirituality. In 2009, the holiday starts on August 21 and continues until September 19.

The Koran forbids food, drink, smoking and sex from sunrise to sunset during those 30 days. I learned this from my taxi driver in Agadir, and we spent my entire cab ride talking about how cleansing self-denial can be.

People who follow Ramadan, also called “submitters,” may eat and drink “until the white thread of light becomes distinguishable from the dark thread of night at dawn,” the Koran says. Then, submitters fast until sunset.

2. Practice self-restraint.

Henna hands, last day of Ramadan. / Photo: dfyoung

It’s easy to view travel time as free to be more self-indulgent than you would allow yourself at home. You’re on holiday and no one knows you in this foreign place, so why not?

But gorging can blind you to the significance of the event. And isn’t the whole point of travel to keep your senses open and awake to the world?

Fasting in Arabic is called “siyam” or “sawm,” which means, “to be at rest.” Suppressing your appetite is a form of prayer. Your quiet state allows you to come closer to God.

In Morocco, restaurants are open during Ramadan and some of them serve alcohol, so you won’t have any trouble finding food or drink. But be extra kind to your servers, who haven’t taken so much as a sip of water since waking up and are probably waiting to go home before they break their fast.

3. Seek community.

While in Agadir I visited the Kasbah d’Argan oil shop and, once again, found myself immersed in a conversation about the meaning of Ramadan. (Argan oil, pressed from the kernels of the indigenous argan trees that grow only in southwestern Morocco, is prized for its nutritive and medicinal properties.)

I told the shop’s owner about my yoga retreat and our daily sun salutations, and he responded by showing me a Salaah prostration with his forehead, knees, nose and palms touching the ground. The position looked strikingly similar to the Chaturanga Dandasana position of the sun salutation sequence I practiced every morning.

Now, I’m not saying that you have to prostrate yourself on the ground to make friends from foreign countries, but I do recommend seeking a sense of commonality through shared faith.

4. Share your water.

At the end of a long day of surfing on a beautiful beach with my yoga mates, we noticed a group of local teenage surfers collecting half-drunk water bottles from people as they headed home.

These guys had been observing Ramadan and surfing all day in saltwater—and they were parched. Once we spotted their need, we handed over as many bottles of water as we could gather together.

Nothing reflects the spirit of Ramadan better than performing an act of charity.

5. Breathe.

Because I was on a yoga retreat during Ramadan, I was constantly reminded of the blessing of breath. The yogic breath is even and deep, and paying attention to it reminded me that I was here, now, alive.

Similarly, Muslims perform Salaah, the fixed ritual of Islamic prayer, five times a day. During the prayer, worshipers focus on their breathing with each verse they recite.

In a Muslim country during Ramadan, life moves at a slower pace. Use the time to meditate and follow your own breath.

Community Connection

Don’t miss Tim Witting’s thoughtful essay on Spiritual Fasting: How To Appreciate Life Through Temporary Deprivation, and the powerful story from Sarah Shroud Escape From Iraq: A Muslim Family Finds Solace In Ramadan.

Have you experienced Ramadan before? Share your advice in the comments!