I first published this post almost a decade ago. I reprint it as a prayer for our world. —Jadi
The anniversary of 9/11 is here.
I was back in the States when the attack occurred. When I returned to Germany a few weeks later, I was in turmoil. I felt all the contradictions of my life. I’m a resident alien on another continent. I’ve been the target of instant hate when someone found out I’m American. This only has to happen once to convince you that prejudice is awful. What the hell was I doing so far away from my own country? What was going on in the world, and could anywhere feel safe? It seemed like everything was getting sucked into a swirling vortex. My identity as a US citizen, as a foreigner, as a human being, came crashing down.
A few months later my epidemiologist friend Elena came to Europe for a conference. I took an unplanned trip to Amsterdam with her. Maybe 2 days away would give me a break from how heavy life felt. Below is the account from those 2 days and how they affected me:
“I people-watch as we travel to Holland. On a German train near the border, the train car is full of local residents heading home. An African couple talk over their baby. Another young couple sit by me with their own child. The wife’s exquisite black scarf frames her face. Her husband reads from a small leather bound Koran. Both of them keep an eye on the baby carriage. The rest of the car is full with the usual students, professionals, commuters.
An old man goes into the WC. Later the door slides open without his realizing it. He stands helpless, then fumbles at the door. We all see the prosthetic leg strapped to his upper thigh. Everyone looks away. The door slides open again and he looks up, stricken. I rise and go to the door and close it. When the door inevitably opens again a few minutes later, the man with the Koran closes it for him.
A cell phone rings. The African man pulls out his phone and answers, then switches to English. I realize they’ve understood every word of the conversations Elena and I have been having about global health issues, world politics, and travel.
The woman in the headscarf looks at me steadily. When she finally catches my eye she holds me in a gaze of tenderness and our connectedness as human beings. We see one another for a few minutes, and then the train stops and they detrain.
The train reaches Amsterdam. I’ve been here before and always feel as if I’m coming home to an old friend. We walk along the canal streets, and brick building facades reflect in the Amstel as it flows under the bridges. The Egyptian bellhop at the hotel asks where we’re from. “I love this city! You meet people from all over the world,” he declares.
In 2 days Elena flies back to the US. Later that morning I stand waiting to catch the tram from our hotel. A dark-haired woman at the street bus stop carries a backpack. I offer her my tram pass; I won’t need it beyond the central train station. She thanks me, but says she’s heading home. She’s an Israeli airline stewardess, in Amsterdam for a few days’ holiday.
“I live in Tel Aviv, and I’m afraid to go out of my house,” she tells me. “Everyone is scared of more terrorist attacks there. The situation is out of control.” I listen to her and say, “The rest of the world says, ‘just make peace!’ If only it were so easy.”
Once I’m on board my train I read a Newsweek, then dive back into a novel. The quiet man next to me asks in English if this train stops at the Frankfurt airport. I offer him the magazine. We begin to talk: he is Iranian, in Germany for an international banking and finance conference. He lectures at the University of Cardiff. His wife is a dentist, he tells me. They live in Britain and go back to Iran, to their home in the northeast by the mountains at the Afghani border, each summer for vacation.
He lifts the suitcase at his feet and sets it on his lap. Opening it, he pulls out framed photographs of 2 smiling boys. “These are my children.” We discuss their names, their ages, their personalities. At the airport station he leaves for his flight, and I wish him a safe trip home.
The woman sitting across from us changes trains with me in Mannheim. We stand shivering in the evening air on the platform. She is a Dutch physical therapist, doing an apprenticeship in Munich. She asks what I think of Holland. We talk about the coffee shops. I mention the small scale that guides decision-making in her country. I give her my leftover Dutch coins and she buys the tram pass from me.
Late that night I finally arrive home. In the space of 48 hours I touched on what seemed to be the entire planet. And I didn’t learn the names of any of the people who talked to me.
Travel isn’t just seeing and exploring other countries and cultures or the threads that weave those peoples’ histories with the present. Travel is the journey we make every day into other people, other lives, other ways of being and thinking and feeling.
Travel is about the interconnectedness of us all. Each person with whom we interact leaves behind traces that can change the world. Travel is about holding onto hope.
A part of me remains in every place I’ve ever stood. My image was impressed in a snow angel I made up in the Arctic Circle, which vanished years ago. But who can say if some part of my spirit still wavers there like the Northern Lights? Or in my interactions with all those people on the trains between Stuttgart and Amsterdam? I don’t know…. but we should live as if every act matters, as if choosing to love and be open to the rest of the world and each other can transform us.”
NOTE: This post originally marked my first year of blogging. I’m still at it, years later. Thanks for your support. — Jadi © Jadi Campbell 2023. Previously published as Amsterdam. All photos © Uwe Hartmann. Uwe’s photos of our trips and his photography may be viewed at viewpics.de.
My books are Broken In: A Novel in Stories, Tsunami Cowboys, The Trail Back Out and Grounded.
Click here for my author page to learn more about me and purchase my books.
“Travel is the journey we make every day into other people, other lives, other ways of being and thinking and feeling.” What a great way to out it! Thanks for taking me into your life for a few, rewarding minutes.
Such a beautiful post Jadi. It’s in travel isn’t it that we realize how alike we all are regardless of culture. I think it should be compulsory.
Alison
I completely agree with you – we’ve seen over and over how people we know become more compassionate and connected if they travel.
Great blog post, Jadi
I think you share the emotions of thousands that remember 9/11. The difference is your ability to put them into words. I am also glad you reposted it.
Thank you
Jim Palik
Thanks Jim. I needed several years before I could trust myself to even write about them.
Such an amazing collection of memories. Many thanks.
Peggy, I know I got home from the train trip and wrote down all my impressions.
I cried when I read this because I’ve been in all those places, met people from all over the world. Most recently we were stranded overnight in the Frankfurt airport along with thousands of passengers from all over the world. Countless little vignettes played out. I saw a woman in a burka approach a young mother in a sari and hand her a juice box and a disposable diaper. A group of young men insisted on giving up their precious seats to us. We didn’t have beds or food and we mostly spoke different languages. But no matter how we each got there, it was an experience we were all sharing. We were the same.
Barb, you must have been stuck in Frankfurt when it flooded! Thank you for your response — it does my heart good to hear that the spirit of all being connected lives on. I had the sense that right after 9/11 the world had a chance to unite and come together. Your comment tells me that this still occurs. xo
A truly captivating and intriguing article Jadi … your words portray the essence of the world’s emotions at that moment …
https://youtu.be/Y7eL-hfIuNw
Thanks Ivor: it did feel to me as if the entire world was united in compassion and brother/sisterhood.
What a meaningful post. That’s the world I want to live in. Thanks for thinking to repost it.
Jane, I hang on to the memory of the world experiencing during that period. We need it.