14 months and 15 countries with a backpack and a miserly budget. What lessons can this experience leave us with? For me it was at least these 10:

1. The world is, largely, a safe place

Out of the 15 countries we visited, I felt perfectly safe walking alone at night in 13 of them (although I don’t think it would be the same ratio for a woman on her own). The most dangerous place I’ve ever visited, ironically, is my own country, Brazil.

2. People are friendly and helpful

Most people in the world are happy to give five minutes to help out a stranger, especially a foreign visitor. Some would consider it an honour to have you as their guest.

3. Independent budget travel has never been easier

Just about everywhere, transportation is simple to arrange. Cheap accommodation is easy to find. An ATM is never too far away. Plentiful Internet never leaves you disconnected. And every country is getting smart on tourism: useful information is a snap to find.

4. I’m very fortunate to live where I live.

And I should be grateful for this every single day.

5. Loneliness is a choice

In most of the world, community and family is supreme. Nearly everyone in less developed countries has a network of friends and relatives that offers support, company, and comfort.

People who seclude themselves in the quest for individual gratification have no one to blame for their solitude.

6. Those who whine the most have it best

In most of the world, life is hard. Good moments are few, and the people are too busy living to bitch about their jobs, their relationships, the scratches on their mobile phones.

7. Religion is the most powerful force in the world

Although religion is a private affair in the West, in most of the world it’s supremely public. It drives policy, settles family disputes, dictates behaviour… and incites conflicts.

8. Respect cultures, but recognize what’s wrong and right

We’re taught to politely accept all cultures as valid, and this, in a broad sense, is a good thing. But at the same time, we can’t let tolerance overpower our moral barometers.

Cultural habits that rob others of their freedom and dignity or that hurt the environment shouldn’t be excused. The conscientious traveler knows he can be a role model, and politely talks about a better alternative with the natives.

9. “Don’t talk to strangers” is horrible advice

The risk of being kidnapped is small, but the opportunities for friendship and for learning that you miss by fearing strangers are huge.

10. Everything is negotiable

Except, perhaps, gravity. And certain items from the Apple store.

And being a highly developed society, Israel has embraced the kind of thinking that stamps out any possibility of fun risk-taking: everything is fenced, padded, and fortified for your protection.

The best of Israel, is of course, the Jewish element, which is present in the sense of humour of the people, the adornments of the cities, and in the philosophies. The town of Safed, for instance, is a treasure of Jewish-inspired art and mysticism, which you won’t find anywhere else in the world.

Here is a selection of photos from our two weeks in the country, including a day trip to the West Bank.
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In Rosh Hanikra, the northwestern tip of Israel where families take a cablecar inside a seaside grotto, there’s a sign that reads informs you that Beirut is 120 kilometres away. This distance, if it weren’t for the barbed wire and armed guards, is valid only for birds.

To get to Beirut from here you would need to head in to Jordan, then to Syria, and finally to Lebanon, a total journey of more than 420 km, assuming you avoid an Israeli stamp in your passport, and the Syrian border guards fail to notice you crossed into Jordan from Israel.

As the Arab-Israeli conflict thrives along the Lebanese border, this sign is simply a memory of better days, when it was possible to pop into the neighbouring capital as a weekend trip for some good kafta and maybe some tail at a trendy nightclub.

Today, a line of buoys mark the border two kilometres into the Mediterranean, and a lonely Israeli patrol boat keeps a lazy watch on it.

That the distance sign still remains is admirable. If anything, it’s a monument to hope, that a time without rockets and bombs and militias and commando raids can yet come to exist, maybe within the lifetime of those Israelis and tourists who come to Israel’s north and must then turn around.

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The cablecar into the grotto. Lebanon is right behind the fence on the top.

The task was easy. Out of the 15 countries we visited on this trip, five stood out the most.

Read the article to see which ones.

Follow GotSaga on Twitter for good travel tips.

It’s a shame. Jordan has its share of treasures, starting in its misunderstood capital city. Enjoy our favourite photos from our 12 days there.

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I saw more types of sweets than savoury dishes. It’s an intimidating constellation. Here are a few of my favourites and where to find the best of each.

Sahlab

A deceptively simple blend of milk, sugar, corn starch and rose water, it’s thick, warm, and more comforting than your mama’s hot cocoa on a winter night. When cooled, it congeals like gelatin and can be spooned as a dessert. Get creative with toppings: cinnamon, crushed nuts, shredded coconut, etc.

Best one: El-Mina, Lebanon
This seaside suburb of Tripoli has a little shop that specializes in warm liquid treats. Go to the Christian souk and ask around for it.

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Kneffeh

The edible equivalent of an oily four-hand massage given by two Arab beauties with roses in their hair. Fresh cheese is baked under semolina cake and the whole thing is drowned in sugar syrup. Served on a plate or to go in a sesame flatbread, it should be classified as a dangerous substance. Thankfully, it isn’t.

Best one: Jenin, West Bank
There’s an unassuming sweet shop called Shalhoub in the central shopping area of Jenin. Unlike regular knaffeh, they bake it in vermicelli pastry. The cheese is fresh  and gooey and the outside crispy.

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Halawet al-Jibn

It’s not a cannelloni, it’s akawi cheese and semolina flour pressed into sheets and rolled with ashta cream. Although bland on its own, it resembles a lighter cheesecake once you douse it with sugar syrup.

Best one: Tripoli, Lebanon
The Hallab family of Tripoli is famous for sweets. Lore says that after a nasty fight, the three Hallab brothers split up the family business, each running their own sweet empire. They are all fantastic, especially their cream-based sweets like halawet al-jibn.

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Halva/halawa

Whether in the Hebrew or Arabic domains, this dense, crumbly sesame paste is delicious on its own, topped with nuts or as a sweet dip with pita bread. For my money, the Israelis do it best.

Best one: West Jerusalem, Israel
I don’t like endorsing rude pricks, but one seller in Jerusalem’s Machane Yehuda market makes perfect halva with a scary flavour variety:  coffee, passion fruit, pomegranate, and nuts are just a few. Must spend a minimum of 40 shekels. Look for his stall near the wine shops. And brace for hostile service.

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Arabic ice cream

On the first spoonful you notice that the ice cream of the Arab world is different. It’s gooier and gummier, almost like a taffy. A key ingredient is Arabic gum, a resin form the mastic tree (not to be confused with gum arabic, with is derived from the acacia tree). Try the Arabic flavour, which tastes of nuts, rosewater, and sesame.

Best one: Ramallah, West Bank
There are many reasons to visit the Palestinian capital. The ice cream is just another. Try Baladna on Main St.

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Kataif

It looks like a turnover, but it’s sweet and creamy. A crumpet-like pancake is filled with ashta cream, fried, and doused in syrup. Crispy on the outside, cool and buttery inside.

Best one: Damascus, Syria
Jasmatiyeh Street, which I dubbed the Las Vegas of sweets, has a line of shops offering fresh kataif. Try any of them.

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Namoura

You can spot this simple semolina cake in any sweet shop by the almond placed atop each cut square. That’s the traditional way. Some shops, however, add their own poetry by tinkering with the density and toppings.

Best one: Aleppo, Syria
The Aleppan version of namoura is the closest you’ll come to dark matter. You could power a hyperspace engine on it. It’s impossibly chunky, gooey, and layered with pistachios and cashews.

Perspective A

Amman is a lousy city for traveling

Amman is little more than a large Arab suburb. The political stability that makes Jordan stand out among its neighbours seems seems to mirror its cultural life: it’s subdued, colourless, indifferent compared with other Middle Eastern capitals.

A grey city that once had an exciting past, Amman is a cluster of cinder-block homes with a marginally interesting historic citadel, which can be seen in little more than one hour. It may have a Roman amphitheatre, but what historically significant Mediterranean city doesn’t?

Its souk can hardly be called that. It’s just a strip of shops selling the same old: perfumes, headscarves, spices, sheeshas, and bootleg DVDs. It’s a city that has renounced an identity, and is content with Levantine mediocrity in its older quarters and Western mediocrity in its newer neighbourhoods.

Perspective B

Amman is a fantastic city for traveling

The bane of the adventurous traveller is a city that makes everything too easy. Signs pointing to the main attractions and little sidewalk arrows may seem helpful but they betray a kind of civic insecurity. It’s as if the city is saying: Hey, my only nice parts are these old stones here. Please don’t look at my other features.

Amman is a nice reversal to that way of thinking. It’s a city that invites aimless exploration in the hope of finding hidden jewels. And the rewards are there.

Let’s start with the Jabal al-Qal’a , the citadel, its most prominent attraction. It may seem unremarkable compared to citadels in other Middle Eastern cities, but the charm is in the details. For one, it’s the best-curated old city. Every little feature has a plaque describing its history and function. For the budget traveler who can’t afford a human tour guide at each stop, this lets you marvel at its importance, rather than dismissing it as just another pile of old stones.

The archaeology museum therein is also elegantly arranged and packed with impressive artifacts dating back 4,000 years or more.

And before you have a chance to think it’s all too tidy, it tosses in a touch of chaos: you might turn a stone wall and happen on a musical duo of two Palestinian men. One with a drum, the other a bagpipe. Playing Yankee Doodle and other local classics.

Downtown
If coming from neighbouring countries, the commercial strip in central Amman is a faint echo of the massive souqs in, for example, Syria. But again, it’s in the details. Amman’s souvenir shops are the biggest and most complete, giving you a single stop for ornaments, rugs, coffee makers, fabrics, furniture and sheesha.

Speaking of the narguileh, Amman specializes in creative tobacco blends. Beside the classic flavours of apple, lemon, mint, and melon, you’ll find shops with dozens of mixes: fruit cocktails, mojito, bubble gum, anise-infused concoctions.

Honest spice mongers anywhere in the Middle East concede that Jordan makes the best zaatar, a spice mix of thyme, sesame seeds, and sumac, popular on savoury breads or as a dip with olive oil.

And Amman has impressive zaatar shops, some boasting a dozen or so unique blends.

Like any city that’s serious about being a commercial contender, Amman is working to boost its entertainment offerings. The city has recently launched a cultural incentive program to increase the number of performances.

You might get lucky, like we did, and catch a free show with musicians, dancers, and orators.

Young Amman
From the First Circle and down Rainbow St. you see Amman’s young creative forces at work. Nowhere else in the Arab countries we visited we saw restaurants that do fresh twists on old classics: shawarmas with Greek, Indian and Mexican flavours at Shawarmize It!

Bookshops, crafts galleries and cozy cafés cater to the expat crowd with Western touches, and it’s all worth exploring.

And when you reach the end of the street and Amman’s blocky hills and valleys come back into view, a serendipitous right turn takes you to Beit Shuqair, a restaurant that roomates with crafts shops and whose classic Arabic dishes rival the best of Syria. A baker that pumps out fresh bread and an oud bard make this a perfect setting to watch the city from above.

It’s a city where Muslims built a temple on the Jews’ holiest site, and where the latter must assent to a wall at its base. It’s the contested capital of two nations. It’s the capital of world history, really, contested by Eurasian powers for millenia.

Jerusalem is a crazy place. But really, with all that madness, what can you do but laugh at it all? That’s what local T-shirt designers do.

Click to see a photo gallery.

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We wanted to watch the sunset from the Bedouin camp, but it was only 2:30. We had our fill of Roman ruins and citadels in Palmyra and a still had a taxi driver for the full day.

“So I pick you up in one hour,” he asked when we drove to a Bedouin family’s desert home. No we want to stay until sunset, we told him, for the fourth time.

The reason for his insistence became clear. The family doesn’t speak a word of English. Not the father, with his leather jacket, gold rings and red-and-white keffiyeh. Not his wife who served us tea repeatedly. Not their four boys.

Fifteen minutes of “thank you” and “beautiful” in tourist Arabic and it started getting awkward.

Their boys kept shyly looking at us. Suddenly I realized how the next two hours would be spent.

Step 1: Candy

We pulled out a bag of Vietnamese guava drops and the boys advanced like hungry cats. The littlest one had a hard time untwisting the wrapper, which was an opportunity to test his hand-eye coordination: he had to fetch the candy from my rapidly-moving hand.

We won our first giggles, and consequently, their trust.

Step 2: Soccer

Their home is a tent pitched on a cement foundation, about the size of a transport container. Inside are just cushions and an oil stove. Beside it is a cooking tent, a bath tent, and several meters away the corral for the sheep and a pigeon coop.

There’s a satellite dish for the TV and a diesel generator that powers it. All around them are acres and acres of dry, desolate desert. The nearest water pump is 100 meters away.

It was the biggest backyard I’d ever seen. You can kick a ball as hard as you can and it would still be in their property. So that’s what we did.

A little clumsy dribbling around it and some shots at an imaginary goal had them in snickers.

One hour had passed since we arrived. We didn’t exchange any mutually intelligible sentences.

Palmyra, an oasis in the Syrian desert once ruled by Romans. Click photos for a gallery.

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Step 3: Ruins

A few hundred meters from their tent are the remains of an ancient Bedouin home made of mud. The boys led us there while kicking the ball back and forth.

“Snick!” the oldest one, about 12, yelled when we walked over some burrows in the sand.

Snick?

“Ey, snick. Snick.” He clamped my arm with his fingernails. He bared his teeth. He picked up a bush twig and scratched two dots on his arm. He hissed.

Oh, snake! A snake hole. And so we spent the rest of the walk trying to scare each other with false snick alarms.

Step 4: Toys

We took lots of pictures and videos and showed them the results on the LCD screen.  They watched themselves on the tiny monitor like they it was the latest Disney movie. When we taught them how to take pictures, they couldn’t wait for their turns.

A length of rubber tubing was found and fashioned into a swing when I held it from both ends. It later became a spinning swing when I rotated in place.

A lot of talking. No one cared that nothing was understood from either side.

Step 5: Sheep

Dusk approached and it was time to round up the sheep and put the young in separate pen. If they sleep with the adults, they’ll drink all the milk, leaving nothing for the yogurt and cheese the family sells in Palmyra.

The lambs are quick, but the third-youngest boy is quicker. He lunged at a baby one and grabbed its tail, pulling it in. “Baby,” he said, and brought it within petting range. He’s dealt with enough tourists to know this is a crowd pleaser.

The taxi driver arrived and asked us, as we said goodbyes, if we had brought a gift for the children. That’s what tourists are expected to do. But all we had was the guava candy and some money for the parents.

Judging from their grins, I don’t think they minded this one omission.

Some photos of our afternoon with them:

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Syria is a nation of kindness. Hospitality is a sacred duty. If a visitor does not feel welcome, it’s seen as a collective failure. It’s impossible to feel lost, confused, or ignored in Syria; a willing helper is always the closest person.

And Syrians like everyone. Unlike many in the West, they know how to separate politics from personal. As people who have lived under repressive regimes themselves, they know that governments doesn’t always represent their people.

Here is a selection of our best photos from the country. Click on “Show info” to read the captions.
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