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How is it possible to board a plane, cross an ocean, and jump worlds?
How is it possible that only two hours ago, I was listening to “Cotton-Eyed Joe” and watching American adults and children of all ages square dance and giggle across a stage?
It is so strange to jump worlds.
It feels surreal, like something is disconnecting in your body, in your brain, in your heart.
The two worlds are familiar, both comfortable and a place you call “home.”
How is it possible that I felt like I was in my own culture, even if the “American” event was held in my son’s schoolyard in Spain? Spain is my home. It’s where I live, where I work. It’s where my children go to school, where I do my grocery shopping, where I go to work out at the gym.
America is my home, too. It’s where I was born, where my family lives, where my passport was issued, where I grew up, where I went to school, where I love the Dr. Pepper and maple-frosted donuts.
“The world is my home.” I’ve heard that expression before, and sometimes it feels like that.
Spain is my home. The U.S. is my home. It’s strange to feel pulled, like I live and belong in two places at the same time.
Now, I’m on a plane, crossing the Mediterranean Sea to another place I call “home.” It was home for seven years. It’s a whole different world. The air is different. The culture is different. The people are different. The language is different. The money is different. The dress is different. The weather is different.
Everything is different.
Yes, I’m jumping worlds.
I can still hear “Cotton-Eyed Joe” echoing in my mind. I can still see my American friends laughing and swinging their partners “round and round.” Yet, all around me, I hear Arabic dialects, the Spanish language, and everything in between, within the small cabin of this low-cost airplane.
In less than two hours, I will step foot on another land—nestled in the mountains, bordered by the Sahara Desert. I will eat couscous and tagine. I will drink sweet, hot mint tea. I will speak the language that I love, “Darija.” I will wear babouches. I will cover my arms to be respectful of the local population. I will walk through the magical Place Jemaa El F’na. I will barter in the medina.
Yes, I’m jumping worlds.
It only takes a 2-hour flight and $100. It only takes an airplane and a pilot.
How is it possible that I’m jumping worlds right now?
I’m counting down the minutes until I land in the enchanted Arab world. Can you guess where I’m going? The world is Morocco—’The Land I Love’.
How is it possible to board a plane, cross an ocean, and jump worlds?
It’s easy, just do it, that’s how!
Where do you want to go?
—The Cultural Story-Weaver
Let’s Weave Cultures!
Have you ever traveled overseas? Have you ever felt like you were “jumping worlds”? It’s magical and surreal.
We invite you to tell us your own cultural stories and global adventures . . . as you engage with the world, breaking down barriers, building bridges, and “weaving cultures!” Write about them in the comment box below.
I had spent the day traveling through a desert along Peru’s northern coast. The pastor and the driver took us into guerrilla held land. Did I see a hand painted scrawl on a wall declaring “Yankee Go Home”? By the end of the day I was anxious to board the plane heading back to Lima. The plane landed and a taxi ride took me to the gate of the compound and I walked through the door of my home. I enjoyed a great meal and longed to unwind. Switching on the tv took me to another world that seemed far away. It was an election year in the USA and a political convention was in full swing. Horns were blaring. Delegates were parading through the aisles of the convention hall. For me it was the conclusion of a surreal day in Latin America.
Oh my goodness, John! You must have a million stories to tell of “Jumping Worlds”! Thanks for sharing! 🙂