The Only Thing Tying Me to This World Was My Shoes: A Syrian Writer's Journey to Beijing

[The Only Thing Tying Me to This World Was My Shoes: A Syrian Writer's Journey to Beijing] Imagine standing in an airport, watching the crowds rush past, and realizing that the only thing connecting you to this entire world is the pair of shoes on your feet. That is exactly how one Syrian academic described his life of constant travel. No land, no sea, no city, no home to shelter him. Just his shoes. This is the story of Dr. Mohammed Abdel Rahman Younes and his remarkable journey to Beijing in 2001, a journey that would transform a stranger's loneliness into unexpected friendship. It all began with a recommendation. The poet Abdel Moin al-Mallouhi nominated Dr. Younes for academic work in Chinese universities. This led to an invitation from Mr. Wang Gui Fa, the cultural counselor at the Chinese embassy in Damascus. After several meetings filled with questions and careful review of documents, a contract was signed on October 20, 2000, to teach Arabic at the Foreign Studies University in Beijing. His departure was set for February 19, 2001, traveling through Istanbul. The night before he left, friends and family gathered to say goodbye. The last guest departed at one in the morning. His brother insisted on accompanying him to Damascus International Airport, despite his protests. And later, he admitted his brother was right. How comforting it is, he discovered, to see a familiar face as you bid farewell to the skies of your homeland. From Istanbul, he boarded a jumbo jet that was at least half empty because of the winter cold. Eleven hours of direct flight to Beijing. But this flight was unlike any other he had taken. The attendants handed out thick red and blue socks, asking passengers to remove their shoes when walking in the cabin. They distributed perfume bottles and headphones. Three meals were served, and every half hour, carts loaded with drinks rolled down the aisles. And here is where the story truly begins. Sitting beside him was a computer engineer named Mr. Tao. When Dr. Younes asked for orange juice, Tao suggested apple juice instead, explaining that Chinese medicine experts consider it better for long flights, easing headaches and nausea. Out of respect for that wisdom, Dr. Younes drank nothing but apple juice for the entire journey. The two men talked about culture and difference. When Turkish dance performances appeared on the screens, Tao asked with surprise, isn't Turkey an Islamic country? Their conversation wandered through questions of appearances and realities. Nearby sat a young American woman from Arizona, heading to Beijing for tourism and hoping to find work there. She asked Dr. Younes where he would be teaching. He told her Beijing University, believing firmly that this was his destination. He was wrong. He later discovered his actual workplace was the Foreign Studies University, more than an hour away by bus. Naturally, they never met again. But what about Mr. Tao? This is where kindness enters the story. Dr. Younes confessed his anxiety. What if no one met him at the airport? How would he find the university, the hotel, the city? Tao answered with calm confidence. Don't worry at all. We will leave the airport together, take a taxi, and I will book you into a hotel near the university. With those words, ninety percent of his anxiety vanished. At Beijing airport, the passport officer questioned him intensely because his passport listed his profession as writer, not teacher. He stood alone, the last passenger in a vast empty hall, fearing Tao would leave. But Tao waited behind the barrier, smiling. And when Dr. Younes prepared to open his suitcase for customs, expecting the inspections familiar from Arab airports, Tao told him something astonishing. All the procedures were finished. The bags had already been checked through cameras and computers. Then came relief. Among the waiting crowd, a young man held up a white sign welcoming Dr. Mohammed Abdel Rahman Younes by name. Dr. Bassam and a teaching assistant named Ihsan had come to receive him. Joy washed over him. Tao handed him a business card, wished him a pleasant stay, and traveled on to Nanjing. Driving into Beijing, Dr. Younes marveled at the magnificent green trees lining the highway. Dr. Bassam described a city of more than thirty million people, one of the largest cities in the world. At the university's guest building, a table full of fruit awaited him, a personal gift from Dr. Bassam, who told him simply, consider me a friend here, and do not worry about being a stranger. So what remains of this journey? A man who once believed only his shoes tied him to the world found himself welcomed by name in a city of thirty million strangers. Perhaps that is the quiet lesson here. Exile is heavy, but a single act of kindness, a stranger on a plane, a sign held high in a crowd, can dissolve years of loneliness. Sometimes, home is not a place at all. It is the people who wait for you.