Every year, World Nomads send talented storytellers on money-can't-buy learning experiences around the world.
World Nomads offer Travel Scholarships in photography, writing, film making and because food and language are such an essential part of the travel experience, these as well.
Winners get the opportunity to learn from industry professionals, experts that have honed their craft over many years and have a passion to give back to aspiring storytellers.
Scholarships provide the perfect platform to turn a passion into a profession. Here are a couple of short stories that I entered in the competition.
Jerusalem - The City on the edge of eternity
Today was one of the more memorable and
confronting days of my life. I always knew my visit to Jerusalem would be
special. It is hard to try and summarise my whole trip to Israel at this time
but I will in good time. But being in this Holy City today 22nd September
was one I will not forget.
Arising from a long bus trip and equally
memorable day in the Golan Heights and Syrian Border, I got about 5 hours sleep
before was up at the Mount Zion Hotel for a traditional middle eastern
breakfast. Moving what out onto the balcony with my room mate we were
confronted by a black crow perched on the rail looking out on to the dust. Game of Thrones vibes were taking over the . The King has returned I
text to my girlfriend back in NZ. I was set for a memorable and moving day one that would
have a profound effect on me even as I sit here writing.
After a short speech from the Sacred Music
Festival organisers, who were trying to unite a divided city through music, we
were back on the bus and ushered to the old City gates but 5 minutes away. The
hot sun beat down on the group who shared gratitude session by singing ‘ Lean
on Me’ before entering the majestic white walled city. Almost limestone-like we entered this
great center of religion and trade. Guns and Moses t-shirts breaking the tense
and reserved atmosphere with some classic tourist humour.
We made our way to the church of the Holy
Speculture through narrow alley ways before Idan the guide gave us a short
history on the monument before us. It felt almost pieced together. An ever-changing temple which to on the of most
famous occurrences in history - one which would go on to have a profound effect on
mankind.
We learnt that Jesus had been crucified,
laid to rest and the entombed in this bustling shrine and the platform from
which he was remembered has since given birth to the remembrance. I was to
share with the group and others who had come to pay homage.
My own religious up bringing flashed before
my eyes - Sunday School, Anglican easters and Jesus awakening. I grabbed a
nervous photo in front of the spot where he was crucified. Do I smile or
respect I though as I let out an awkward smirk. Soon we were ushered down the stairs to
the painting over looking the rose-coloured rock as pilgrims rubbed their
hankies and towels over this final resting place. On to the tomb which was under
construction – a long line snaked its way around the shrine as we poked our
heads out in the dark cave where JC had once lay to rest. I was last to leave but not before reaching
down to lay my hand on the pinkish slab of remembrance. I felt something – like hitting a brick wall
of faith – a moment I will never forget. The sweet smell of incense and oil
greeted my nostrils as I lay my hand on the solid block – frozen, unable to
move. My faith and everything it stood for flashed before my eyes. This was
where a savior was sacrificed, laid to rest before going on to inspire a
generation after generation. For a the perspective on a greater god / being /
power it was hard to avoid the significance of the moment as I finally dragged
my hand away. It wasn’t a bolt, more a thud against the wet granite that made
me stop and think about my journey – up to here and beyond.
Walking back through the narrow alley ways
towards the Jewish Quarter, we were soon overlooking the Wailing Wall and the
Dome of the Rock. Yet to appreciate the
significance we were next interrupted by a barmitzvah which broke the mood, a
countdown and a number of balloons released in the air complete with the number 5 – Hamish!
Yad Visham - A Place and a Name
I had been warned the Holocaust museum
would be deeply confronting. It was a site high on the hill in the baking sun
as our South African guide explained the tree planted in honour of those who
had aided the Jews escape from persecution.
Including the renown Schindler - whose tree
had split into two distinct trunks. No photos allowed as we entered the long
triangle / pyramid structure into the depths of some of the worst crimes
humanity has ever see.
The main outtakes of this dynamic 2 hour
tour was just how humanity had allowed this to happen. I learnt of the power
struggles of Hitler and the Nazi through rousing speeches until an orchestrated
campaign to marginalize then persecute the Jews with the single aim of
eradicating them from their perceived living space. The premonition Hitler spoke of to wipe Jews
from Europe as revenge for a WWI demise and his convincing leadership used to
empower and inspire his people to the most foul atrocities mankind has
witnessed.
Further along we were greeted by the horrors
of the ghettos of Eastern Europe and how many were dragged from families jobs
and careers to be humiliated, left starving cold displaced and treated like
animals. Further advancement of the Final Solution as Germany conquered Europe,
roping in Latvians and Eastern Bloc countries to commit heinous crimes. Rape,
murder by gun squad was especially hard to stomach, the Polish / Hungarian dirt
covered in blood and still moving as many were left buried half alive. Every
Jew with a story, a family a life left in tatters from the quest of the Third
Reich. The woman and children driven from their homes, forced into labour before being bundled into trains and trucked by the horror of Auschwitz. Arriving cold hungry to begin a path created by savage board of Himmler and cohorts. Let to the
showers with no knowledge of their brutal fate, gassed for 12 mins suffocate
before being removed for cremation. This all taking place but months away from
an Allied victory. The bodies were left to be tended to by remaining soldiers and
local by standers.
As I arrived at the Hall of Names a vast
catalogue of 6 million stories lines and culture with an abrupt end, it dawned
on me the loss of a generation. The jews in our group especially must have been
moved by this opportunity lost of one’s whole people. The funnel upwards towards
the blue sky reflected in a deep cavern of memories, signifying the pit of
human suffering evil and hatred. These
people’s stories memories and existence must remain. We must never forget the perils they faced,
the fact we allowed this to happen while the world stood by and watched.
As I arrived in the bright blue September
air with a majestic view over Jerusalem we were told that of all the beauties
in the world 9 were in Jerusalem, the remaining one. I was grateful for the
opportunity removed from this cruel world but also deeply moved to never let
this happen again. To stand up and be counted. To share my views, perspective
and history. To lead. To make a difference. To be the man I am destined to be.
