I love traveling to places far from my comfort zone. If someone were to list the various treks and the time spent outside the States, it would add up to several years. One of my mentors is Ibn Battuta. He was born in Tangier, Morocco, early in the 14^th century. Battuta’s family were Muslim legal critics. At his birth, his given name was ʾAbū ʿAbd al-Lāh Muḥammad ibn ʿAbd al-Lāh l-Lawātī ṭ-Ṭanǧī ibn Baṭūṭah.

Islamic law and jurisprudence weren’t what Ibn Battuta wanted to do in life. After turning twenty years old, on his first Hajj to Mecca, Ibn Battuta began his life of visiting many places in the ancient world. He began his travels that lasted nearly three decades. Scholars claim that his travels amount to 75,000 miles, which is nearly twice that of Marco Polo.

Ibn Battuta getting the lay of the land.

During Ibn Battuta’s sojourns, he danced with death many times: he almost drowned when his ship sank, he avoided being beheaded, and he was robbed.

When Ibn Battuta retired from exploring the known world, the Sultan of Morocco had him dictate to him all of his traveling adventures, which became a book. In Arabic, the title was: Tuhfat al-anzar fi gharaaib al-amsar wa ajaaib al-asfar. The English translation is even longer: A Gift to Those Who Contemplate the Wonders of Cities and the Marvels of Traveling. The Western world shortens it to either Rihla or Journey.

This is a late 18^th-century copy of the Rihla.

However, Ibn Battuta had many one-liners or aphorisms. This is my favorite: “Traveling—it leaves you speechless, then turns you into a storyteller.” Anyone who knows me knows me as a storyteller. Ibn Battuta also said, “Traveling gives you home in a thousand strange places, then leaves you a stranger in your own land.” Trust me, the connection/disconnection is precisely how I feel. He also wrote, “Seek knowledge from the cradle to the grave.” Ibn Battuta saw traveling as a great educator and wanted us to learn throughout our lives.

In the 20^th century, George Santayana was a great Hispanic-American philosopher who loved creating aphorisms. This is about the educational benefit of traveling. “A child educated only at school is an uneducated child.”

It won’t be long before I watch Ti Ti graduate from Gusto University in Yangon. I have been amazed by her IQ. It started with playing Scrabble with Ti Ti when she was 9. I sat there while she added up the score. Then she blurted out, “I knew I could beat you.” My conclusion was that she was smart. This was my retort. My retort was, while sticking my finger in her face, “Young lady, don’t you ever forget this is. You beat me in my game, in my language, in your country.” I was trying to get across the issue of sexism and racism in her world and mind.

If my relationship with my granddaughter transformed my Weltanschauung, my worldview radically changed when the little one and my eyes met.

My family and I were visiting a small village called Set Set Yo. Actually, I never saw the town. What I saw was a Buddhist monastery and a large open area. It happened to be during the winter break from school. The parents would drop off their children at the open area before going to work.

I was fascinated by the older children caring for the younger children. I spent some time flipping young children. Then, I happened to pick up an infant from some of the preschool children who were caring for her.

I carried her around for the rest of the day, referring to her as the little one. Finally, I asked Moh Moh, the mother of my three granddaughters, how to say “the little one” in Burmese. A Ngal Lay is now her name. She, her older sister, and parents are now a part of my family.

For the past ½ dozen years, A Ngal Lay has seen photos and videos of us. In fact, I asked my friend, Than, to paint the two of us.

In less than two weeks, I’ll be in Yangon at Ti Ti’s commencement exercise at Gusto University. Then my two families will visit Than in Mandalay and see the teak bridge. We will take a hot-air balloon ride over Bagan and see forty square miles of ancient pagodas and stupas. I can hardly wait until I return to Myanmar. Talk about HAPPY DAYS.

However, we all live in a world that promises some utopia but doesn’t often deliver. I have written about Jacob Soboroff, who is a superb newscaster. He clearly brings his viewers the news. However, he presents the news while raising ethical and moral questions. Then he provides possible ways to resolve the question.

This is a photo of Jacob and me when I was young. Do you see the similarity?

Jacob Soboroff

Allen Campbell

The reason that I admire Jacob is that his modus operandi is similar to my mindset. Unless more Americans grasp the problems and work to resolve them, our quest for America to be more utopian will result in a dystopia.

I have a habit of apologizing to people who have helped me on my journey down my yellow brick road of life. For example, all my doctors have been thanked. Even if they didn’t grasp how much they have helped me. I won’t stop until they understand.

Some of my doctors and others who have helped aren’t White Anglo-Saxon Protestants (WASPs). Even if they didn’t grasp how much they have helped me, I will acknowledge that WASPs in our society have discriminated against them. Some of the non-WASPs are women. They have two strikes against them in our country.

Several weeks ago, I went to the Valparaiso Post Office to get a photo for my passport application. The person who took the photo made sure my head was straight. I did the best I could, but I asked the person whether she could make me look 25 years younger.

Then I mentioned that when I started to fill out my online passport application form, it stalled. I tried to explain that my passport was lost somewhere in my home after returning from my most recent overseas trip.

For some reason, when you lose your passport, you have to file for a new passport. The gal at the Valpo post office somehow resolved the issue for me. While she was working around the problem, I talked about my two families in Myanmar. I needed a passport to return to Yangon to attend my granddaughter’s graduation with honors from Gusto University.

Psychologically, I was venting. I had a lot to do, including getting a visa from Myanmar. The person said I would get my new passport in a week or so. Then she added that everything would be fine and not to worry. There we were: a young gal resolving my passport problem and, at the same time, comforting an 83-year-old guy.

One of my habits is to ask a person about their ethnicity. I do that all the time. Since I have traveled all over the world, I enjoy guessing their background. Her first name is Lucia, and she’s Hispanic. I told her that many WASPs don’t like Hispanics. Additionally, she is a female. Lucia has two strikes against her.

It is blatant stupidity on the part of male WASPs to discriminate based upon either or both mindsets. Essentially, racism and sexism are the same thing. One’s place in life is determined at birth. I thanked Lucia for helping me.

A week or two later, my passport arrived. Happy Days. I drove to Valpo’s post office. I showed Lucia my passport. I told her that I was glad she had helped me with all my problems getting my passport. Her response was that I didn’t have to thank her.

I said that it was an opportunity to tell a very kind and helpful Hispanic gal that I’m not like most WASPs who are in lockstep with our orange president. Our Taco President doesn’t like Hispanics, Muslims, blacks, Asians, or women. None of the people on the list are Christian Nationalists like he is. I told Lucia that I was glad about the problems with getting my passport. It gave me the opportunity to address our nation’s sexism, racism, and xenophobia.

That was the end of the story. I went back to getting ready for my trip to attend Ti Ti’s graduation and seeing my family again. I was at my local CVS in Winfield and asked the pharmacy staff if one of them would dog-sit for Ginger, my Irish Setter who will turn 10 while I’m away. Nick, who is really a nice guy, said he’d like the job.

Ginger goes euphoric when Nick comes by. By chance, I told him about Lucia. Several days later, I happened to ask what his last name was. Nick was also Hispanic. If you were writing a movie script, it would be a great film.

Then it hit me. I remembered the 1966 movie, Alfie. This is the closing scene, where Michael Caine raises the question about the meaning of life.

This is a nice video explaining one of my mentors, Ibn Battuta.