Each year, the New York Times releases a list of 52 places to travel and assigns a journalist to visit each of those places over the course of the year. I am ignorant on the logistical details of this endeavor (who takes care of logistics? Where does the journalist stay? How much does the journalist interact with the local population? How is it all funded?) 52 places most likely means no more than a week in each location, which leaves me with the question, what is the actual point of the assignment? This may be a strange way to open a book review about Ibn Battuta, but keep it in mind, I’ll come back to it again.
Edoardo Albert’s Ibn Battuta: The Journey of a Medieval Muslim is an introductory and concise book on – arguably – one of history’s greatest travellers. The book is ideal for anyone who knows little about Ibn Battuta and wants short snippets and anecdotes from his travels, paired alongside a broad context of the world during the 14thcentury.
Ibn Battuta spent 29 of his 64 years travelling (solo) roughly 75,000 miles (nearly a third of the distance between the Earth and the Moon), an area that is today made up of about 40 countries; let that sink in for a moment.
Upon his return back home to Morocco, a scholar named Ibn Juzayy was commissioned by the sultan to write a record of Ibn Battuta’s travels, commonly referred to as the Rihla.
“For him, the first and most important reason [why] was the road,” Albert argues. This is not dissimilar to the way travel is viewed today, as a mode of escapism, but in Ibn Battuta’s case, that was not the only purpose. As a consumer (and contributor) of travel content on Instagram, for myself, learning about Ibn Battuta’s quest “to become educated” was an exercise in perspective and humility. He set out from his home at the age of 22 (around the average age of an undergraduate student completing a Bachelors) for Makkah, to perform the pilgrimage of Hajj having already memorised the Quran and specialised in Shariah law. From then on, his “insatiable wanderlust” paired with the constant desire to learn from prominent teachers of the Islamic lands, took him north to the Crimean Peninsula, as far east as China, as south as the Swahili coast in East Africa, and as far west as the Iberian Peninsula.
Edoardo Albert is a writer of Sri Lankan and Italian extraction based in London. The best response to his writing was when he reduced a friend to helpless, hysterical, rolling-on-the-floor-holding-his-stomach-because-he-was-afraid-his-guts-would-fall-out laughter. Unfortunately, the writing in question was a lonely-hearts ad. He hopes to produce similar results in readers, without inadvertently acquiring another wife.
Find out more about him and his work at www.edoardoalbert.com. Follow him on Twitter @EdoardoAlbert.
The challenge with a historic figure like Ibn Battuta, can be relatability. As the book points out, the best known Western figure who [hardly] comes close to Ibn Battuta is Marco Polo, but since neither had Instagram (and Ibn Battuta’s unabridged Rihla does not exactly read like a gripping modern travelogue) how can you and I relate to their experiences?
Albert’s book rises to the challenge by drawing parallels between Ibn Battuta and the commonly cited challenges of the road: loneliness, unforeseen delays and obstacles, unbudgeted expenses, danger, and culture shock. Here, I want to focus primarily on the loneliness and culture shock factors experienced by Ibn Battuta.
On his journey to Makkah, when his caravan passed through Tunis, he reports:
“The residents of the city came out to meet the members of our party, and on all sides greetings and questions were exchanged, but not a soul greeted me because I didn’t know anyone there. I felt so lonely that I could not keep back my tears, and wept bitterly.”
Having traveled solo a fair bit myself, I can definitely relate to this overwhelming realisation of loneliness, but also to his ability to continue his journey nonetheless and foster new relationships. Ibn Battuta was “an inveterate name dropper” as he names “some 2,000 individuals, from sultans through Sufi shaykhs, to ordinary men…and women” (before judging him for vanity, let’s pause and remind ourselves that this is a man who dedicated his life to the pursuit, practice and dissemination of Islamic teachings and shared human values). I admire the emotional maturity required to create real human connections on the road, even among contemporary travel content writers, so I was encouraged and heartened by Ibn Battuta’s accounts.
Even as an avid traveller, you are often brought face-to-face with another challenge: culture shock. In Ibn Battuta’s case, one such experience, as pointed out by Albert, was China, and the second, I would argue, was the Maldives.
In both instances, he was faced with a set of contrasting values and customs. “The land of China, in spite of all that is agreeable in it, did not attract me,” narrates Ibn Battuta. “I was very saddened that paganism had such a strong hold over it. Whenever I went out of my house I used to see so many revolting things, and that distressed me so much that I used to stay indoors and only go out if I really needed to.”
When Ibn Battuta arrived in the Maldives he found that “most of the women in the Maldive Islands wear only an apron from their waists to the ground, while the rest of their bodies are uncovered….[He] tried to put an end to this practice and ordered them to wear clothes….[He] did not allow any woman to come into [his] presence during a lawsuit unless her body was covered, but apart from that [he] was completely unable to change their minds.”
I think this raises a number of discussion points for contemporary travellers. While I can extend my sympathy to his feeling burdened and wanting to close himself off from what was clearly a huge culture shock, it is difficult for me to completely understand and accept Ibn Battuta’s reaction. Though he was coming from a position of religious authority, his actions raise questions about the way you should address culture shock and engage with differing customs, lands and people. I don’t have the answer, but I do know that Ibn Fadlan, who travelled even earlier than Ibn Battuta and saw things that would be shocking even in a modern context, seemed to deal with the culture shock far better- and he too came from a scholarly background. Plus I know that men have been telling women what to wear since time immemorial and my instinct to call it out always kicks in.
Albert’s recount of Ibn Battuta’s life left me asking myself: how should one approach travel? If you had the choice, would you go through the New York Times’ annual list of 52 places to travel in a year? Or would you instead choose (if you were fortunate enough to have such a choice) Ibn Battuta’s approach? As Albert argues, travel instead of explore.
Personally, I would pick Ibn Battuta’s approach with the caveat that my values and – admittedly – my imaan (faith) may not be as steadfast as his. His story is truly A Gift to Those Who Contemplate the Wonders of Cities and the Marvels of Travelling (original title of Ibn Juzayy’s written record of Ibn Battuta’s journey that is more commonly called, the Rihla [Journey]) and there is a lot we can learn from it, even in a modern context.
Edoardo Albert draws the reader in with a gripping narration of Ibn Battuta’s travels. The book is an easy read and it makes no pretense to be an authoritative text on our hero, rather it weaves together snippets of the Rihla with the backdrop of a 14th century world. I also enjoyed the short sections written by Albert on wide ranging topics like the Mamluks, education in the Muslim world, and how Ibn Battuta funded his travels. These sections are effective in answering any anticipated questions from the reader, to help fully understand the story of Ibn Battuta.
I highly recommend this book as a casual read for anyone who wants a quick foray into the Islamic world, but also, anyone who is interested in learning from a seasoned traveler- whether travelling in the 14th century or the 21st, the parallels in experience are timeless.
Ibn Battuta: The Journey of a Medieval Muslim by Edoardo Albert is published by Kube Publishing. It is available to purchase now.
