Originally written as part of a series for a local western Canadian prairie newspaper.
We are often asked why we want to live overseas, especially since we are close to our families. The answer is simple. We live overseas so we can explore the world and learn about different cultures.
Some people spend money on cars or houses; some spend money on alcohol or cigarettes; some Sri Lankans spend money on arrack and betel nuts. We spend our money on traveling. Same, same but different’ as they like to say here in South Asia.
As amazing as the Pyramids, Eiffel Tower, Ganges River, or the Taj Mahal are, it is often the unexpected that makes for the best travel memories. Memories of the children of Cambodia are etched in my mind. As poor as they are, they may be the friendliest, most carefree children we have ever seen.
Or memories of the young Omani boys who let me fish with them outside the royal palace in Muscat. Captain Nasser, a 16-year-old boy who worked on the felucca boat moored along on dock on the Nile, invited us to his house for some Egyptian bread. Or Christmas supper by a roaring fire in a little inn in a small village in Morocco still brings a smile to my face. We have even seen the tank graveyard from Desert Storm in Kuwait.
There are also those special moments in life such as proposing to my girlfriend on a Mediterranean beach in Tunisia or getting married in a civil ceremony in Kuwait. Soon our child will be born in Sri Lanka.
When it comes to laughs, they all pale in comparison to the Gassy Donkey of Petra. Petra is an ancient Nabataean city in present day Jordan. Around 400 B. C., the Nabataeans built their houses by cutting them directly into the red stone cliffs in the area. It is a majestic site to see.
There are entrepreneurs who own donkeys that will transport tourists up the narrow, winding stairs to the top of the cliffs above the city. We decided to hire one donkey each for the trip. Dana and a friend each got on a donkey and proceeded up the narrow staircase. With the cliffs to their right and nothing but straight down to the left, it left little room for anyone other than the donkey. None of the donkeys were tall enough for my long legs so they took me around back to where there was one large donkey eating from what looked to be a can of beans.
Having ensured he was tall enough for me, I proceeded up the mountain as well. About one third of the way up, we came to a very well dressed French couple coming down the steps. He wore dress shoes and pants, a polo shirt and a little sweater neatly tied around his neck. His wife wore a dress shirt and skirt and high heels.
The stairway was narrow enough that the couple had to press themselves against the cliff wall as my donkey passed by. They were appalled by the donkey’s presence and made disgusted, snooty looking faces. As they passed the donkey’s backside, he directed the foulest smelling case of flatulence imaginable. And he could not have aimed better. Her hair blew in the wind. I could not help but laugh.
The Gassy Donkey of Petra then proceeded to emit gas at a high speed in the direction of everyone who shared the staircase with us. Even though I was riding the donkey and was upwind from the flatulence cannon, I could still smell the rotten stench.
Rarely have I laughed so hard. So give me your Angkor Wats, Luxors, Westminster Abbeys, or Grand Canyons, it is the small things, such as a donkey, that make it worthwhile being overseas.
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