2020 TRAVEL WRITING COMPETITION WINNER

Prize: £1,000

Finalists:

“A Cultural Pilgrimage” by Sam Wren-Lewis

“A Great Leap Forward” by Jane Cammack

“A Taste of Vienna” by Tim Bechervaise

“Forged in Fire - Symptoms of a Society” by Enya Malbon

“Red Wellies and Broad Smiles” by Melanie Brammer

and the winner is…

Enya Malbon

Forged in Fire – Symptoms of a Society

When I think of culture my mind roams to the richness of colours, scents, sounds and customs of far off lands. I reminisce of the green lush sprig of mint caressing my nose with its sumptuous scent - roused by rubbing it in my palm - as I learn the traditional and time honoured process of softening and tanning leather in Fes; or of the feel of my cheeks flushing as the fire warms me from the outside in inside a lavvu tent in TromsØ - my ears treated to the sounds of a song plucked from a different era that has endured throughout the family’s generations, unchanged except for its singer.

I have been fortunate to experience culture rich with history, pride, and tradition. The passion flaming from the eyes of the silhouetted flamenco dancer in Grenada as if possessed with the weight of her ancestors, my own eyes transfixed, dulling all other senses so that the claps and voices of her clan are muffled somehow. Everything is a haze, but she is in focus, all colours and frills and fire. My belly full – with the taste of tapas from that last delectable bite and a sharpness from the wine still present on my tongue, pinching my cheeks.

Sometimes I think of the smell of yeast – not of bread, but of liquor – soaked into the wooden floors in Omagh as a ‘Trad sesh’ fills the nooks of the memorabilia filled pub with multitudes of sounds of string, boron, accordion and broad accents. Of the cool, creamy Guinness travelling down inside of my toasty, hearth warmed body. Babbling conversations greet my ears with wicked sayings and boisterous laughter.

When I think of culture, I never think of my own first.

In the last few months, however, I have found appreciation of my own culture. One that is hardy during trauma and gracious in its giving.

Last month when I drove through the hills of my city, a memory is roused of school camps sitting around the bonfire – evoked by the smell of smoke that creeps through my vents as I wind through the roads, now scorched and blackened either side. I hear the rabble of small talk – stranger meeting stranger for a common cause – cultures colliding and coming together to create a shared one.

That is my culture – the coming together of people from all walks of life when times are tough to create one of love, compassion, and hardiness. The culture of the whimsical saying ‘no worries’ as we sift through the ashes of people’s lives, searching for a scrap of memory that they can hold onto before the heat came. Volunteers from local, to interstate, and around the globe to lend a hand. The Dover woman traversing the 24 hour plane journey just to spend two weeks toiling amongst the blackened towns and desolate landscapes rather than the beaches tourists usually rush to on arrival; the group of refugees from Afghanistan wanting to give back to a land that has provided them with a fresh start and new opportunities in safety; and the Mauri taskforce leader directing us with military precision but with a warmth that exudes from his being. All cultures of the world. All coming together in a crescendo of compassion.

Hardship and disaster over the summer highlighted what true culture means to me. It is our behaviours, values, and ideas that make societies what we are. Art, music, dance, and customs are our manifestations of what we value set in a time and place. And now with such a global disaster happening around us, we get to experience this melting pot of cultures across the world through our technology in the comfort of our homes. We are all not so different once you strip it down. Now we are experiencing togetherness through separation. Dancing on balconies, singing songs – heartfelt and true – echoing through the now acoustically empty alleyways. Pitch perfect, both haunting and comforting, it rings throughout the streets unburdened by modern bustling drowning it out. A voice both willing to be heard but belonging to nameless lungs. Immersed by their emotion and feeling the words rather than comprehending their foreign mother tongue, I am transported to a cobbled lane in Padua whilst I lay in my bed, a million miles away.

The symptoms of pandemic I am experiencing is a little different to those that the virus brings. It’s the kids I taught today who created a new ‘handshake’ with their feet and elbows; it’s the chef at my second job hearing that I didn’t have any sanitiser so ‘traded’ me a spare tube if I made him a coffee (like I was doing him the favour), it’s the community members developing plans to make sure their elderly neighbour will still have enough in their pantry and know that company just a phone call away. Luckily these symptoms, too, are just as contagious as the invisible ones making themselves notorious. It is in these times of uncertainty and struggles that we realise what is important and forces us to reflect on how we have been living and how we can learn to care again for what really matters.

Let’s share our songs, remember that recipe that we knead with meaningful strokes. Time flies by these days - shall we press pause for a moment? Smell the freshly baked ingredients aroused by the heat, join that online dance party with thousands around the world. Separate in distance, together in spirit. It seems that way sometimes – it takes a tragedy to bond again, redo ties that may have been loosened by apathy or complacency.

Sometimes we get caught up. Sometimes it takes hardship to bring us back to the ground, to slow down, and to come back together stronger, more aware and compassionate, and more connected than ever before. So before you say that culture belongs to other countries, communities, or creeds – remember, that you are part of the global culture evolving every day. The one of love, compassion, and unity.