Lesson 30: Synchrony

A welcome sign: A beautiful crescent moon smiles down
upon relieved fasters.

It wasn't the Eid I had planned on.

In previous years I had always gone to the mosque with Hebbat to mark the end of the 30 day Ramadan ordeal, but this year we were in different cities. I knew things would be different but I didn't want to let such a hard-earned occasion go by unmarked. Without having any connection to the muslim community in Canberra I didn't feel quite up to gate-crashing the mosque, so somewhat in desperation, I decided to attend the morning prayer at the local anglican church.

Considering the fuss that was probably ensuing at the Canberra mosque on the biggest day on the Muslim calendar, the turnout at the church was slightly disappointing. Not counting myself, there was a grand total of three people, two of whom were ministers of the parish. Still, I wasn't to complain - Ramadan was meant to have taught me gratitude! Besides, the prayers they said were nice and although they didn't pray for muslims celebrating Eid, they did prey for people without the means to feed themselves and I thought that was rather appropriate.

After putting a small donation in the church collection box (specifically in the hope of feeding those hungry people we had prayed for), I contemplated the possibilities of my newfound sustainitary freedom. Would it be a picnic lunch down by the lake, or a hearty meal at a hilltop restaurant? Unfortunately any hopes of a daylight feast were soon dashed by complications involving my mother and grandmother. Rather than fine-dining and celebrations, the rest of my day was spent ferrying people between aged care centres, doctors surgeries and shopping malls.

It was early evening before I finished the final errand, and walking exhaustedly back to the car I began to feel rather glum. Had I just imagined the good feelings at the end of Ramadan's past? Certainly to endure 30 days of self-imposed hardship in near isolation from the muslim community now seemed a rather daft idea. Without people close-by to share feelings of relief and gratitude, it seemed all my lonely suffering could have been in vain.

Then, as if in response to those gloomy thoughts, a sign appeared. Looking to the west I spied a beautiful crescent moon  floating delicately above the winter skeletons of trees. It was a majestic sight and incredibly, this tiny sliver of light seemed to turn my grim feelings upside down. I began to text Hebbat in earnest, wondering if she might be able to see the same thing, but as I was typing my phone began to vibrate with an incoming message. She had seen it too!

Despite our geographic separation we had witnessed the same moon at almost the same time. And I was sure Hebbat and I wouldn't be alone. The new crescent moon was acting like a giant billboard of planetary scale, synchronising the celebrations of thousands of muslims on the east coast of Australia wherever there was a clear patch of sky to make it visible. You didn't need a telescope, a science degree or even an expensive ticket to see it, it was there for everyone - giant, luminous and democratic.

I was enamoured with the idea that rather than being synchronised by a rock concert, an election annoucement or even the series final of Master Chef, here was a group of people following the beat of something larger. Now I'm just as unbelieving as the next post-modern white australian, but it was a comforting thought that for once, instead of just obeying other people, we were taking our instructions directly from above.

I continued walking with a swing in my step. My feet were firmly on the ground but my gaze was skyward and my thoughts wandered to what the next 11 lunar cycles might hold for me.

Sure, it hadn't been the Eid that I'd imagined, but I really couldn't have hoped for a better ending.

Until 1432...

Amen (Amin).
 

Lesson 29: Tolerance

Man and Nature: Telecom tower in the red light of a Canberra
winter's dawn.

It was finally over.

At the end of my first Ramadan Hebbat took me to the Mosque. This is the tradition in Muslim families: after the last day of fasting comes Eid - the holiday that marks the first day of non-fasting. The custom holds that everyone goes to the mosque for the morning prayer and to offer their pledge to charity for the year. After the praying is done and the poor are taken care of, the real celebrations can begin.

It was a beautiful clear morning as we caught the metro to Place Monge, and making our way down to La Grand Mosquée de Paris, we saw the crowds were already apparent. At the doors, Hebbat and I had to go separate ways as males and females pray in different parts of the building. On my own I did my best to blend in, and even though my ignorance made me stick out like a sore thumb, everyone was very kind and welcoming. I didn't feel uncomfortable, in perhaps a slightly presumptuous way I felt that after 4 weeks of fasting, I'd earned my place there just as much as the next man. And despite our cultural differences there was a strong feeling of fraternity. Looking into the eyes of the faithful surrounding me, I saw my relief echoed: finally after such a ordeal we could all go back to living normally!

After a long introduction that gave everyone time to find a spot to kneel, the sermon began. It went for about 30 minutes, and as with the rest of the proceedings, I didn't understand a scrap. Everything was in Arabic, and as I didn't have Hebbat nearby to translate, I contented myself with following along blindly, doing my best to bow my head when everyone else did.

Afterward with the greatest of joys Hebbat and I went to a nearby café. Finding a nice table in the sun, we sat down and ordered croissants and hot chocolates. After 30 days of self-imposed restraint, we marvelled at the simple pleasure of being able to eat whenever we wanted. After they arrived, we toasted our drinks and reminisced momentarily about the incredible adventure that now lay behind us. Our relief buoyed our spirits just as the delicious hot chocolates and croissants nourished our bodies: we had done it!

Curious about the incomprehensible sermon that had passed over my head I asked Hebbat what had been said.

"Well it was a bit dissapointing," she began, "because sometimes the sermons are really inspiring, but this year it was just the same kinds of things they always say."

"And what kinds of things do they say?", I persisted, not really knowing what to expect.

"Oh, you know, just peace and love, be kind to your neighbours and be good to your families in the year to come, you know, that kind of thing."

"Really?" I replied, shocked.

The strange thing was, whatever I had imagined they were saying, it was certainly a long way from 'peace' and 'love'. I'm not saying that I thought the Imam was laying out the next plan for aggressive Islamic takeover, but I did realise just how much I had been swayed by my cultural prejudices. It seemed quite incredible that coded in all those guttural and abrupt sounding Arabic utterances was essentially the same message preached in any english church at Christmas.

I shook my head at my own belligerence and then smiled: I might just as bad as the next white australian xenophobe, but it was heartening to think that even after it was over, Ramadan still had a few things to teach me.
  

Lesson 28: Simplicity

Time to eat: Venus reveals itself high above a
Canberra City sunset.

Things I'm looking forward to appreciating once Ramadan is finished:

1. Waking up at a reasonable hour.
2. Eating lunch in the sunshine with friends and family.
3. Eleven glorious months off before the next Ramadan.

 

Lesson 27: Rest

Almost there: One last sliver of moon remains visible
in the light just before dawn.

During Ramadan there is something else you begin to appreciate almost as much as that first sip of water after a long day of fasting.

Knowing that you only have a few precious hours between the time you lie down at night until the bracingly early time you get up for breakfast, rest is not something you take lightly. Sleep becomes a sacred pleasure as delectable as water to the parched or food to the famished.

You are also reminded of how important the concept of rest is to all aspects of life: rest from waking, rest from eating and drinking, rest from work and indeed that which I fully intend to take advantage of today - rest from writing!
  

Lesson 26: Humanity

A prophet recognised by both faiths: Spring sunlight shines
through one of the windows at St Johns.

"Incidents of cannibalism".

That was the Wikipedia link that caught my eye at the bottom of the page detailing the story of the UAF 571 plane crash in the Andes. As macabre as it sounded, I was too tempted not to click, and when I did, it revealed one of the most fascinating of Wikipedia pages I had ever laid eyes on.

The Incidents of Cannibalism page listed out in neat alphabetical order 66 of the most gruesome moments of our collective history. I immediately saw it was remarkable for two reasons. Firstly, this kind of grouping would have never been possible with an ordinary encyclopaedia. To maintain cross-indexes of this sort would be a nightmare with traditional print media. Sure, if you looked up "Cannibalism" in the old Funk & Wagnalls, along with the definition they might cite a few of the famous cases. But to listing every single incident would be impractical, plus it would mean a lot of legwork to look up each story you were interested in. Wikipedia however, presented all 66, each one being just a simple mouse click away - it was a revolution in accessibility.

The second reason I found this page remarkable is that the subject so clearly illustrated the two extremes of humanity. Of course there were loads of serial killers demonstrating the terrifying capabilities of wayward individuals, but bizarrely, when environmental circumstances drive people to break that most horrifying of taboo's, it also showed the greatness that our kind are capable of.

The most recent and impressive example of this greatness listed was of course the previously described UAF Flight 571 plane crash. Surviving for 72 days in a lifeless icy wasteland necessitated the consumption of already dead passengers by those still living. A dreadful thing to be forced to do, but the manner in which it was conducted was nothing short of exemplary. The decision to engage in cannibalism was not taken lightly and they only proceeded after lengthy discussion and mutual agreement of the group. After the rescue, the survivors confessed their actions (and their infinite gratitude) to the families of the people consumed. Thankfully the families were very understanding and forgiving - much more so than the sensationalist and damning initial reporting by the mainstream media.

But there was another link on the Incidents of Cannibalism page stood out at me. Being in France I couldn't help but be intrigued by the heading "French frigate Méduse (1810)".

The story of the Méduse is quite the opposite to that of UAF Flight 571. When the ship ran aground 160kms off the coast of Africa, there were not enough life-boats to carry everyone to safety. The 233 privileged passengers including the captain and his family boarded the available boats while a makeshift raft was constructed for the remaining 150. The raft was being towed by the lifeboats until the captain realised that it was slowing their progress. He decided to cut the rope and left the 150 people on board to their own fate. Seeing that they had been abandoned, panic erupted on the raft. Fights broke out and valuable food rations were thrown. On the first night 20 people were either murdered or committed suicide. By the fourth day they were eating each other and by the eighth day the strongest were throwing the weakest overboard. Thirteen days later, when another boat chanced upon the raft, only 15 men remained alive.

While comparisons between the stories of the Méduse, UAF Flight 571 and myself encountering difficulties during Ramadan may be slim, I feel that they bear consideration. In each case they are the stories of the different ways people cope in a situation with limited resources. Often feelings of hunger and fatigue during Ramadan can leave you short on temper, but you soon realise that fighting with the people you love (or even with strangers) won't fill the gap in your stomach. Though the suffering in Ramadan is "make-believe" and not nearly upon the same scale, I see Ramadan as something of a fire-drill for sticky situations. Its another reason why I feel wider participation would benefit more than just the islamic community. You never know who you might wind up with on a make-shift raft!

A scene from the harrowing story of the Méduse is depicted in Gericault's huge and famous painting that hangs prominently in the Louvre. But I have often wished that someone would paint an equally proportioned scene from the story UAF Flight 571. Then, as we enter an age of realisation that planet earth is itself like a life-raft with limited resources, at least people could be presented with a positive alternative as to how we can behave together in dire circumstances.
  

Lesson 25: Determination

Heavyweights: hefty reading for rainy days.

Ramadan makes you an expert at keeping busy.

In order to avoid dwelling on the ever-present feelings of hunger and thirst one becomes adept at staying active and avoiding idleness. During my first Ramadan, this quest to elude tempting thoughts combined with ubiquitous and cheap French internet access led to the development of my Wikipedia Reflex. That is, the instinct to look up and find out more about any topic you are even vaguely interested in.  Why settle for a surface understanding of a concept when you can explore it to ridiculously profound depths? And besides, what else was I going to do on my lunch break? Rather than dwelling wistfully on all the fresh baguettes and delicious cheeses I was missing out on, I instead devoted myself to the diligent study of whichever esoteric topic took my fancy.

On one memorable day this topic took the form of Uruguayan Air Force Flight 571. Those unfamiliar with such a mouthful might be more acquainted with the 1993 film Alive!, which tells a dramatised version of the UAF 571 plane crash and subsequent miraculous survival story. The topic had come to mind this particular lunchtime because of what I had seen on television the night before. Arte, the outstanding French/German channel had screened a documentary that revisited the UAF 571 story and interviewed the survivors more than 35 years after the actual incident. Being the first time I had encountered this remarkable tale, the next day I couldn't stop thinking about it. As soon as lunchtime hit, I bypassed thoughts of baguettes and went straight to Wikipedia to verify the unbelievable facts.

It was extraordinary. Wikipedia confirmed what the documentary had intimated. If I thought the suffering I was experiencing during Ramadan was hard, this was unimaginable: 72 days stranded in the mountains without food, medical supplies nor adequate protection against the freezing temperatures, harsh weather and extreme altitude. Time and time again, the group of survivors were tested with catastrophic setbacks: failed radios, deaths of loved ones and even an avalanche that engulfed the remaining plane wreckage two weeks after the crash. With Wikipedia giving GPS co-ordinates of the crash site and using Google Earth, I was even able to see the exact terrain they were trapped in, and navigate the eventual route taken by survivors to find help. At such an altitude, it would have been a difficult feat, even for an experienced and fully equipped mountaineer, let alone two tourists without even boots suited for snow.

Although UAF Flight 571 made the whole broken bed incident seem utterly insignificant I couldn't help but empathise slightly. Experiencing and surviving our own mini-disaster seemed to sensitise me to the sheer miraculousness of this story. And I recognised familiar elements... when I finally finished devouring the entire Wikipedia article I recognised that although sacrifices were made, without the cohesion and cooperation of the group none of them would have stood a chance.

My curiosity for the raw facts sated, I was almost ready to change topics, but just as I was about to click away I spied a seemingly insignificant link that was about paint a very different picture of humanity.
 

Lesson 24: Health

Older, old and new: A pleasing symmetry, at least to my mind.

The evidence is in, or its getting in.

Fasting is good for you, and its not just me saying it. An increasing number of studies are confirming the health benefits of what is technically referred to as CR or Caloric Restriction.

As early as 1934, a Cornell University study showed that severely reducing the amount calories fed to laboratory rats almost doubled their lifespan. Later, Walford and Weindruch's book The Retardation of Ageing and Disease by Dietary Restriction (1988) reported the results of experiments showing that calorie-restricted mice maintained a youthful appearance for longer and staved off age-related diseases far better than their well fed controls.

Recently there has been much work toward the aim of generalising these findings to other animal species, including humans. The positive effects of Caloric Restriction cited so far include a lowering of cholesterol, blood pressure and improvements in memory. There are many proponents of CR type diets and even an international society boasting several thousand members whose aim is to support and conduct further research into the health benefits of CR.

So if all my anecdotal evidence hasn't yet convinced you of the advantages of Ramadan fasting, maybe some hard science will.

"Ok", I hear you saying, "but if all these benefits are embodied in the clinical principle of Caloric Restriction, why don't you leave all the religious trappings and Islamic dogma behind? Shouldn't this be called 30 Lessons of CR?"

Well, I believe a central pleasure of Ramadan is sharing the fasting with others. This social dimension is not captured in the cold hard numbers of CR. Not only does Ramadan benefit the individual with all the purported health advantages of Caloric Restriction, but the community of people sharing the fast are drawn together by it. It is a great comfort to know that you are not alone when those hunger pangs hit. At the end of a day's fasting, sharing a meal with others who have borne the same hardship promotes spontaneous feelings of gratitude and goodwill - two sentiments that I'm sure any community would like to cultivate in abundance.

So for people seeking health benefits and to practitioners of CR, I propose indulging in a bit of tradition and dogma. Adding a balanced dose of Ramadan into your regime might make your fasting just a bit more palatable and even benefit those around you. And besides "Ramadan" has a much nicer ring to it than "Caloric Restriction", don't you think?
  

Lesson 23: Empathy

The colour of passion: its not all grey on a rainy day.

"So why do you find Ramadan good?"

That was the question Aunty Jude asked me yesterday as we sat by the fire outside the Tent Embassy.

As I reflected briefly on which of the 20 something responses I could have given her, I became aware of the feeling in my gut. It was about 3 hours after lunchtime and my stomach was engaged in a kind of continued groaning. This dull aching served as a very constant reminder that Ramadan wasn't over yet.

"Well," I began, remembering yet another Ramadan inspired realisation, "I think its easy to forget what its like to be hungry."

"Most of us go through our lives so comfortably," I continued, "that we forget how horrible it would be to not have a choice. Fasting gives me a small taste of the agony that a lot of people are forced to go through everyday. In this way I'm not so separated from them."

Aunty Jude seemed to nod in agreement.

"Have you heard of that restaurant run by blind people where you eat in complete darkness?", I went on, "Its like that. You get an idea of the everyday problems one encounters when you can't see. It keeps you open to understanding people. In a way, its almost like you're speaking their language."

Jude just kept smiling and listening.

"Did you ever hear of that book 'Black Like Me'?", I persisted, "It was about a white guy from Texas in the 60s. He took drugs and went under sun lamps to turn himself black and then travelled through the segregated states in the South. It really opened his eyes to how chronic the racial discrimination was. He would have never believed it was that bad before he experienced it himself. So yeah, Ramadan is not as extreme as that, but its something."

I had finally run out of steam and Jude took her turn to speak.

"Yeah that makes sense," she agreed with a wry smile, "so if Ramadan ever gets too easy for you, you're always welcome to try living here for a month!"
  

Lesson 22: Peace

3rd Quarter: Still some way to go, but the end is in sight.

Digressing for a moment from stories of Ramadan past, I would like to relate a tale of Ramadan present.

As I alluded to in the very beginning, this year's Ramadan sees me in Canberra where among other things I am helping to look after Neta, my 93 year old grandmother.

Being an impertinent younger male, I am often prompted call into question the wisdom of our elders past actions. For example the way land has been managed and exploited in Australia since european settlement or indeed the way in which relations with indigenous peoples have been conducted in general. Yesterday however, something my grandmother said left me gobsmacked and bitterly regretful that she is no longer on the electoral roll.

After a morning stacking wood, I took a small break as is wise to do when pacing yourself during Ramadan. Sitting for a moment by the fire with Neta, we began talking about what life was like during the depression. She told me of how it was almost impossible to find work in the countryside and that was one reason why she and her husband Rueben moved to the city. They lived by incredibly meagre means until the war broke out and work became more plentiful. Rueben finally got a job at a munitions factory and then later with the railways where he was able to start earning an income to provide for Neta and their two children.

Imagining how I might have acted in such circumstances, I asked the obvious question for a young male seeking vestiges of family honour and bravery.

"So why didn't Rueben sign up for the war?"

But Neta didn't hesitate with her response.

"Well, he didn't want to get killed of course. Its as simple as that."

This supremely sensible explanation snapped me out of my dream-world. I had been reminded of the real consequences of war by someone who had actually lived through one. What she followed with though, made me feel like a squabbling infant being chided by a knowing elder and feeling embarrassed at the selfishness of my actions.

"War is a terrible thing", she said, "with all those guns and shooting. I think its just about as low as man can get... with his intelligence - its disgusting. That's what I think. I don't care if they're black, white, brown, blue or brindle - those who want the war should have to fight it. Instead of sending the young lads to get killed. That's probably the wrong way to think, but that's how I think anyway."
 

Lesson 22: Risk

High spirits: Claudia laughs on while Mike
channels Timmy Cappello.

Ben's finger was a mess.

To make matters worse, his back was pretty crook as well. These are not the kind of injuries you want when your bread and butter is hauling merchandise in and out of a warehouse all day.

But Ben loves his sport. The weekend before he had taken a catch while playing cricket and slightly misjudging the trajectory of the ball, ended up breaking one of his fingers. Despite the pain and disability this caused him, the next weekend he joined up with the only Aussie Rules football team in Paris. They appreciated not being a man down and won the match, but Ben came away with a badly damaged back.

While I admired his fighting Australian spirit, I shook my head at the wisdom of these actions. It seemed Ben's love for sport routinely caused him undue suffering on and off the field. As Ramadan had made me aware, in order to grow, some degree of hardship might be obligatory, but considering Ben's broken finger I wondered briefly about relationship between suffering and risk.

Could it be that not all suffering is created equal?

If you are going to make suffering in the form of physical exercise a regular habit, I'm sure your local doctor would prefer that you spend an hour in the gym instead of an hour on the football field. In the same way, I'm sure a mother might prefer her son to volunteer for an overseas aid mission rather than sign up to the frontline of battle. In both cases, an equal amount of suffering may be involved, but the risk of injury (or death) on the football field or at war is considerably elevated.

We might examine still other forms of self-imposed suffering, like giving birth or climbing mountains. These have historically carried a high level of risk, but with technological advances of recent times, that risk is being systematically reduced. Modern hospitals and affordable technical clothing have made childbirth and hiking things that doctors might encourage rather than dissuade.

So is the invention of peace and the trend of modern civilisation simply about discovering and promoting non-violent and less risky forms of suffering?

If so, I couldn't recommend the practice of Ramadan more highly to every able bodied and healthy adult. Ramadan is a peaceful and low-risk suffering that can be conducted without changes to your diet or your employment. You can suffer from the comfort of your own home or the office. No special equipment is required to be purchased or used. You don't need guns, bicycles or climbing ropes and you are at less risk of picking up a nasty foreign bug or even pulling a muscle. Because of your reduced food intake, you might even find Ramadan ends up saving you money. And while I might not be able to argue that fasting is less risky than going to the gym, why burn unnecessary carbon on new fangled air-conditioned suffering techniques? With a bit of luck, the earth will also experience some positive growth as a result of your low-risk, low-impact, self-imposed Ramadan suffering.
 

Lesson 21: Growth

The Bright Side: With every setting sun, spring draws a little closer.

"Twins!"

I couldn't believe my ears. Amy was not just pregnant, but expecting two at the same time! It was wonderful news and I, like all her other friends, couldn't contain my delight over the crackly long distance line between Paris and Australia.

Despite our excitement, it seemed Amy would be in for a wild ride. Other friends of mine had recently given birth and the harrowing experiences they recounted were enough to send chills down my spine. One friend in particular described to me how she felt very uncomfortable being amongst crowds for several months after the childbirth. She said that after one has experienced such pain, to contemplate the collective suffering involved in giving birth to all the people you might see on a crowded street is almost too much to bear.

It was humbling indeed to think that my very existence owed a debt to such agony and Amy's fabulous announcement hammered home the message: it seemed that in order to grow, even in positive directions, there is always a degree of suffering involved. Whether it is growth on a personal well-being level (suffering a fitness or flexibility regime); growing as a family (Amy giving birth to twins); or even growing on a professional level (for example a lawyer studying hard to pass a bar exam), there is always an associated element of hardship or adversity that has to be overcome.

Here finally was a clue as to why I was bothering to continue with the hard slog of Ramadan. My suffering from an exterior (and French) perspective appeared non-sensical and masochistic, but the growth I was experiencing showed there was method to the madness. What's more, the very next day I was about to discover why Ramadan might just be a little more sensible than some other forms of self-imposed albeit growth-achieving torment.
  

Lesson 20: Suffering

And light to them: A step forward for sustainable spirituality.

France is not the greatest place to practice your first ever Ramadan. 

Apart from the extended hours of daylight in summer and the general disapproval that comes with practicing a Muslim ritual in a predominantly Catholic country, there are other criticisms one must face. As if going a whole day without food or water was not enough, in France I was also called upon to constantly justify why exactly I would want to punish myself in such a ridiculous manner.

At first I stammered to explain. I would usually try to mumble something about making living arrangements easier with Hebbat, or that I was curious and wanted to learn more about islamic culture. This was hiding the truth somewhat however. I already had at least 18 other good reasons to be doing the Ramadan, so why didn't I list off some of them?

I had a niggling sensation that there was something deeper. 

Its easy to understand why a French-person finds the concept of Ramadan so alien. They are a pleasure loving race. We are often baffled by the kilos of cheese, the gallons of wine and the cartons of cigarettes they consume, seemingly without remorse or consequences. But for the French, there is nothing more natural: life is for living and flailing oneself is bad for the health. Indeed it is just such a guilt free appreciation of the finer things in life that seems to enable them to get away with it.

"So", I wondered repeatedly, "if Ramadan is not necessary, then why on earth am I doing it?"

In the end I boiled it down to the question of suffering. What seemed crazy to the French was that I was voluntarily imposing a regime of suffering upon myself. But isn't the shining pride of our modern civilisation a general reduction in the amount of suffering, not just for humans but for all creatures?

The more I thought about this paradox, the more I was surprised by the ideas that bubbled up. As far as I could reason it, a certain amount of voluntary suffering is actually good for your health. Just think of the exercise and fitness programs most people impose on themselves. Could I argue that practicing Ramadan is no different than going to the gym everyday? This curious contradiction between suffering and well-being seemed to pervade all aspects of fitness. Even if you consider the most mild form of exercise: stretching, where in order to gain any benefit of flexibility you are instructed to extend until you feel a "mild discomfort".

"But," I protested vainly to myself, "how can suffering possibly be good for you?"

It wouldn't be until a few days later that a dear friend gave me a very important clue. 

      

Lesson 19: Industriousness

Contented: Demonstrating how one feels after an exhausting
day of fasting followed by a satisfying evening meal.

Maybe Mohammed was just a savvy businessman.

By the last week of Ramadan I considered myself an experienced faster. I thought I knew all the tricks of the trade: drink plenty in the morning, don't expend unnecessary energy, only speak if it is important and try to grab a 30 minute siesta at lunch if circumstances permit. But there was another trick which took me a bit longer really pick up: keep busy and don't look at the clock.

One finds that idleness is the faster's enemy. If there is nothing to do, you tend to mope around thinking about how hungry you are, swallowing with your already dry throat and watching as those interminable seconds tick by. But as soon as I got busy with some work or a task, I found the time passed much more quickly. As soon as I cottoned on to this technique, I started applying it liberally. When I was not busy working to make money I began to tackle all those jobs I had been putting off for most of the year. Cupboards and drawers got cleaned out and re-organised, squeaky door hinges got oiled and my bike got a much needed service. I also found also that routine tasks were performed with newfound zeal. Laundry got washed, folded and put away in record time; dirty dishes were dealt with almost immediately and grocery shopping was better organised than a military campaign - above all because one wanted to be very sure that ample supplies were available for each morning and evening.

And it seemed I wasn't alone in this realisation. My Aunt told me that the german author Gunter Grass had observed a similar phenomenon albeit in much more difficult circumstances. In his autobiographical account "Peeling the Onion" he describes his experience of being held prisoner at the end of the second world war. Prisonners in the camp were rationed on a strict diet of only 850 calories per day, but rather than break their spirits as it was designed to do, this regime had quite the opposite effect:

"Among ten and more thousand prionsers of war and after 17 years of eating my fill - we had seldom had to tighten our belts at home - I had learned what it is to be hungry. Hunger, because it had the first and last word, was a source of gnawing pain, but also a source of sparkling inspiration; the more my stomach shrank, the more my imagniation grew."

Rather than demoralise the prisoners, it motivated them into a of well organised hive of activity. They organised theatre classes, Latin language courses and music workshops. Even with the dearth of ingredients, Grass learnt to cook gourmet dishes from a fellow prisoner who was an ex-chef.

Surely Mohammed must have also been aware of such effects from fasting. I wonder if he promoted the practice in part because the increased productivity he observed in his followers? With such anecdotal evidence on the table, would it not be worth conducting a more rigorous study to quantify the benefits? Imagine if American CEO's started endorsing Ramadan as a way of increasing the profitability of their companies? Assuming it worked, it might go some way toward bridging the alarming gap of Islamic intolerance we are witnessing in that country right now.
 

Lesson 18: Renewal

Colours of Australia: A crimson rosella (Platycerus elegans) enjoys
some late winter sunshine.

Just to eat a croissant in the morning sunshine.

It's funny the things you start yearning for toward the end of Ramadan. Its as if you have left on a extended camping trip, by the end of which you are pining for those small creature comforts of home. As we entered the fourth and final week, the adventurous had become the routine: the novelty of those early starts had entirely worn off, I was no longer scared about any dangers of dehydration and I knew that those mid-morning hunger pangs would pass eventually. 

The exciting and new feelings experienced through fasting had now been replaced by a terrible longing: I wanted to live a 'normal' life again. How I envied commuters with their comfortable routines, stealing sips from their take-away coffee's and bites from their gap-filling museli bars. How I wished I could take advantage of the afternoon cups of tea and biscuits offered by generous clients. And oh how I yearned to stop on those beautifully sunny mornings when I was all of a sudden ambushed by the smell of freshly baked pastries wafting from a nearby boulangerie.

It was just those small and simple things that I missed the most. It felt exactly like being homesick, and yet I hadn't gone anywhere. Most people dream of escaping from their day-to-day work schedule, and here I was fantasising of being enfolded in that routine comfort. I became frustrated when I heard people talking about "eco-tourism". I wondered if the people interested in these kinds of holidays had ever tried Ramadan - if they hadn't, I wanted to tell them the good news: you can have a month long, fully paid holiday absolutely free. Ramadan has the advantage of reducing your carbon footprint because with limited feeding hours, you actually tend to eat less over the course of the month.

So even as Ramadan 2010 draws to a close, tickets for next year's voyage are already selling fast. In the southern hemisphere you'll be experiencing cold nights and even shorter days - ideal for first-time fasters and lovers of hearty winter stews and soups. Don't miss this once in 33 years opportunity to show Al Gore and company that you can take environmental action without having to fly around in an expensive helicopter! Take a month long break from your daily routine and get paid for it! Experience seasonal variation, lunar and solar cycles first hand!

Ramadan 2011: the affordable and ecological adventure get-away*!

*Enhanced Social Empathy® and Spiritual Enlightenment™ are sold separately as optional extras. 
   

Lesson 17: Perspective

Living by Proxy: Still travelling in a sense with some
help from others.

After the bed incident, it felt like we were on the home straight.

I was becoming more and more enamoured with the concept of Ramadan because it had already taught me so much. In addition to turning me into a morning person, my pre-dawn walks were slowly instructing me in the geography of the night sky.

I had the luck of starting my first Ramadan in September 2007. At this time the two bright stars signifying the heads of 'the twins' (the constellation Gemini) were easily recognised in the east just before sunrise. As the month wore on, I saw how Gemini gradually rose up to be replaced by Leo on the eastern horizon. This observation could be classed as epiphanic in itself, but it was just the beginning.

From what Hebbat had told me, in the Islamic calendar a year is counted as 12 lunar months (Ramadan being the 9th). Because a lunar month is one or two days shorter than a calendar month, the dates of Ramadan shift and it starts about 12 days earlier each year. Although this has some terrifying implications as Ramadan moves through the seasons (Hebbat had related her stories of Ramadan in the long, scorching days of the Australian summer), there are also some benefits. I realised that if I did the Ramadan the following year, I would observe Gemini even lower in the sky and have to wait longer for Leo to rise up below it. As I'm a very slow learner, I figured this could be one way to finally get a grasp on all the constellations as each year there would be a slightly different part of the sky to focus on. Furthermore I calculated that if I wanted to once again practice Ramadan with Gemini as I first observed it, I would have to wait about 33 years.

Although 33 years seemed like an impossibly long time to be planning into the future, it was humbling and exciting to feel part of a larger scheme. An appreciation of the subtle difference between the solar and lunar cycles would have been beyond me before - I have enough trouble remembering that the earth is round, and conceiving that it is not the sun moving past us everyday, but actually us moving relative to the sun. So brutal as the discipline of Ramadan is, its great advantage is that it makes everyone who participates a scientist. It educates you to this natural cycle by making you part of it. In this way, even slow and forgetful learners like myself have a chance of really understanding things.
 

Lesson 16: Solidarity

Green and Gold: The splendid flowers of the Acacia picnantha
are a welcome sign of the soon-to-arrive springtime.

That freight train hit me again.

Hebbat had returned from work and was already busy in the kitchen so upon opening the door, I was struck once again with a dose of delicious odours that shocked my mouth into salivation.

While Hebbat put the final touches on the evening meal, I got to work on the bed. Hurriedly examining the metal plates, I lined them up with the broken frame to see if they would work as intended. Breathing a sigh of relief I gleefully relayed the news to Hebbat: the match looked good! I set about immediately to perform all the drilling, screwing and hammering required to fit them into place, and by the time Hebbat had finished sautéing and simmering, it looked like they would hold. With trepidation I unfolded the bed, put the mattress back, and very gently manoeuvred myself to a lying down position. Prepared for an imminent collapse, I got Hebbat to check if the metal plates were moving at all, but they seemed to be holding everything in place. To really test things, Hebbat tried lying down as well. I braced myself, expecting the worst but the bed held us both without so much as a creak - the repair job was a success!

Over dinner we were overflowing with joy and relief. Not only had we made it through another day's fasting, but we had narrowly escaped a potentially nasty situation. With neither of us having the financial means to replace the bed, we were immensely grateful that it had been repaired for a fraction of the cost and in such a short time. Knowing that we would enjoy a good night's sleep meant that the marathon of Ramadan was back on course. With only a week to go, it looked like we might be in with a chance of completing it.

It was afterward looking back that the full appreciation of this moment really hit me. When the bed broke, I could have easily lost my temper, shouted at Hebbat and blamed her for everything, but in hindsight I'm sure this would have damaged our friendship or possibly even destroyed it. Luckily though, Hebbat had remained calm and instinctively kept a hold on life's more fundamental priorities: rest and nourishment. We got some sleep and the next day I was able to see the problem from a different perspective. The end result being that we had overcome this difficulty by helping each other instead of by blaming each other.

Nowadays when Hebbat and I think back to the "bed crisis" we both laugh. It seemed so serious at the time, but now we see how trivial it was. Because we overcame this shared difficulty via mutual aid, rather than being a sore-point, this 'hard time' has actually become a fond memory.

On the scale of human disasters, a broken bed in a 16m2 studio in Paris is a far cry from being caught in a tsunami or a plane crash, but playing the 'game' of Ramadan reminded us why the way we act in the present is so important. Our actions may not be able to steer us clear of earthquakes, floods or wars, but they can determine whether afterward we live with warm recollections or woeful regrets.
    

Lesson 15: Friendship

Halfway: Even if its half hidden by cloud, the full moon is
a blessed sight for those fasting during Ramadan.

It seemed too good to be true.

Spoiled for choice amongst the endless variations of metal plates at the BHV, I spied one in particular that seemed just perfect. It didn't exactly conform to the design I had sketched, but if I could make it work, the repair job on the bed would be even more durable than I expected. There was only one snag: this improved plate required a drill that could go through metal.

Although not in the same category as portable spot welders, metal drills belonged to the class of power tool that I certainly didn't have room to store in my 16 square meters of living space. There was no time for hesitation however. Lunchtime was almost over and I would be running late for my next appointment if I didn't act now. Drill or no drill, I bought two of the uncannily ideal metal plates plus some matching screws and I was on my way.

The appointment with my next client was long but enjoyable. Over many years of helping Charles, we had become quite good friends and it made working for him a pleasure rather than a chore. Knowing that I always arrive by bicycle, he was quite puzzled by my refusal of his offered of a glass of water, but the fasting-for-Ramadan explanation seemed to satisfy him. After the job was finished, the metal-plate/broken-bed-disaster was still plaguing me, so on my way out the door I tried my luck:

"Hey Charles, you don't by any chance have a drill that I could borrow? One strong enough to go through metal?"

Only too happy to comply, he reached into a cupboard and gave me exactly what I was after. Drill in hand, metal plates and screws in my bag, I seemed to have everything necessary. Getting back on my bike I felt a curious change of mind come on. Where before there were only the cold ashes of despair and a Ramadan cut short due to unforgiving circumstances, there was now a phoenix of hope rising up. With nervous anticipation I began pedalling for home. As I rode along the river I saw the sun dipped low almost to the water giving me another reason to be excited: it was almost time to eat.
  

Lesson 14: Perseverance

Timely: The days might be cold but the emerging blossoms
remind us that spring can't be too far away.

It was really broken.

As I examined the wrecked bed more closely, I began to understand exactly what had gone wrong. Although it lay in a complicated mess, the frame twisted at an odd angle and the wooden support slats jutting all over the place, the cause of the collapse boiled down to one critical fracture: a welded joint right in the middle of the frame.

Simple as this fracture was, there was no chance of me borrowing a spot welding kit from a friend to fix it. Paris might be brimming with Van Gogh's and Monet's, but portable welders are few and far between. With an entire day of fasting in front of me, I decided that without the right tools it wouldn't be wise to try and solve the problem right then and there. Rather, I would head out to my first appointment and let things turn over in the back of my mind.

Things did turn over, and by the time I was finished with my first client, an idea had formed in my head.  I figured if I could find a matching pair of metal plates, I could use them as a kind of splint around the fractured joint to hold the frame together. But where was I going to find metal plates of exactly the right dimensions for my purposes? I had no idea, but I knew that the first place to start looking would be that behemoth of Paris hardware, the BHV (le Bazar de l'Hôtel de Ville).

Since I wasn't doing any eating at lunchtime, I rode my bike over the bridge in the vague hope that the BHV might have some sheet metal which they could cut to size. Upon entering the store, I tracked down a shop clerk and nervously showed him a diagram of how I proposed to fix the bed. His response was so typically french, I hesitated to take it seriously: "Mais oui monsieur, why don't you go and look in the metal plate section". Unsure as to whether he was not just exacting vengeance for my less than perfect french accent, I ventured toward the back of the shop where lo and behold, I discovered not just a few pieces of sheet metal, but a whole row of metal plates pre-cut to various sizes and already drilled with holes. With great excitement I began scanning the shelves hoping to find something that would rescue our night's sleep and keep the dream of completing my first Ramadan alive.
 

Lesson 13: Hope

Recycling: We had to throw this object out, but hopefully
its message can still be put to use somewhere.

Reflected in Hebbat's eyes was none of the despair and disappointment present in my own.

Her matter-of-fact expression told me she would not let herself be affected by all my doomsday predictions. "Come on," she said "let's move this mess out of the way, put the mattress on the floor and think about it in the morning".

Stunned by her practicality, and too tired to muster arguments against her response, I followed her instructions diligently. It seemed quite precarious, with the wrecked frame of the bed balanced up beside the wall and our mattress laid out below, but we were beyond fretting over such peculiarities. With just 4 hours left before we had to get up again, every possible moment of sleep was precious. I lay back down and tried to push the anxious thoughts to the far corners my mind.

Seemingly moments later, the alarm shocked us out of bed. After we had finished our guzzling and gorging, Hebbat finally turned to me and addressed the problem: "Look, if you want I'll pay for a new bed." It was a noble offer. I knew she didn't have enough money to do that though, neither of us did. And besides, it wasn't her fault - it could have just as easily been me in the wrong place at the wrong time when the bed decided to collapse. Buying a new bed also posed more problems however - we were living in the middle of Paris. The most heavy duty forms of transport available between us were my bicycle and a seat on the metro. Sure, we could get a bed delivered, but this would take days to arrive even if we were incredibly lucky (remember we were living in France). What we used to use as a sofa was lying in a twisted heap taking up most of the room in the studio. It meant we were forced to eat breakfast either standing up or sitting on the floor cross-legged in the remaining corner of free space. Waiting days for the delivery of a new sofa-bed seemed out of the question - we needed a solution for tonight.

"Just leave it with me for today", I said, "I'm going to take a closer look and see what I can do". Even though we had only caught a paltry 4 hours, that short sleep had done the trick. Alongside all the negative scenarios swimming around in my head, there seemed to be a thin flicker of rebellion dawning. Hebbat looked slightly surprised. As she squeezed toward door in order to start her hour-and-and-a-half commute to work she re-iterated her offer and told me to call her if I changed my mind. I thanked her again and wished her a good day at work. Crossing my fingers as the door closed behind her I silently hoped that no such call would be necessary.
 

Lesson 12: Courage

Rejuvenation: Familiar colours take on a new beauty
when they herald an end to the days fasting.

With my head held in my hands, I took a deep breath and wondered if it was worthwhile continuing.

I was sitting in the middle of the floor of the studio, surrounded by pieces of the broken bed. It was already past midnight and we had to be up at 4AM again to eat breakfast and then go to work. We were both exhausted and the prospect of another gruelling day of fasting with the added worry of not having a bed to sleep on afterward was utterly demoralising.

Things had been going relatively well, but two and a half weeks of early mornings and full time work had begun to exhaust us. One could liken this to the Tour de France: a sprint finish will win a stage on one particular day, but the yellow jersey is worn by the rider who maintains peak performance over many weeks. True champions of the race are lauded not for their dazzling one-off performances, but rather how they doggedly overcome minor setbacks and unexpected events. Likewise with Ramadan: pushing your limits with one day of fasting is a test, but maintaining this for weeks on end is a real trial - the probability that life will throw yet some other unpredicted circumstance in your path, on top of what you are already dealing with, becomes highly elevated.

In facing this extended challenge, sleep becomes vitally important. No matter how tough the previous day had been, I discovered that after a good night's sleep, even impossibilities can be approached from a different aspect. But about two and a half weeks into my first Ramadan adventure, disaster threatened to deprive us even of this most sacred of sanctuaries.

As I explained, Hebbat and I had been living for over a month in a total of 16 square meters. In conforming to these spatial requirements and maintaining the urban camping metaphor, we both slept in sleeping bags on the same fold-out double bed. When in bed mode, this furnishing occupied almost the entire floor space of the studio. At a pinch we could sleep a third person between the foot of the bed and the kitchen sink, but it meant leaping over each other if we needed to go to the toilet during the night. Because room was so tight, we had worked out procedures and systems to make the space comfortable, but these were systems running on a razor's edge. Any peturbance to their delicate balance could prove catastrophic.

So perhaps inevitably, after weeks of pushing this confined living arrangement with the added complication of fasting, disaster finally struck. Getting out of bed to grab one last drink for the night Hebbat leaned at an odd angle. We heard a creaking, then a cracking and then suddenly we were both on the floor. The bed had completely collapsed. Still half asleep, I shook my head in an effort to orientate myself. After the initial shock of the fall began to subside, a dull sense of panic crept into my stomach. The bed was broken. The frame and mattress were jutting out at odd angles but still taking up most of floor of the studio. We extricated ourselves from the wreckage into the tiny remaining corner of free space and turned around to contemplate the terrifying scene laying before us.

How were we going to sleep? If we couldn't sleep, how were we going to survive tomorrow? With no sleep, attempting a day of fasting seemed ludicrous,  impossible and dangerous. We were already at our wits end. Living day to day in Paris can be stressful enough without worrying about fasting for Ramadan. But adding a sleepless night and the prospect of uninhabitable living space due to the sprawling, crawling wreckage of a broken bed... that was asking too much.

With defeat in my mind, and utter disappointment in my eyes I looked toward Hebbat.
 

Lesson 11: Sacrifice

Metamorphosis: Amy said these flowers would change colour
a few days after being cut, and she was right.

Sometimes in order to survive, one has to make sacrifices.

Unfortunately today's story is one of them.

Lesson 10: Wonder

Fractured Light: Just try describing that with Euclidean geometry.

It was moving much faster than a plane at low altitude, but it was deathly silent.

Although I was now becoming au fait with the celestial landmarks, a few mornings later the sky threw me another stellar surprise. While I was busy studying Polaris - the only star in our skies which stays perfectly still, something caught my attention: a star that was moving like a rocket!

Although it was slower than a shooting star and didn't seem to fizzle out, it certainly was moving way too fast for even a jet plane. There was a complete lack of engine noise and I couldn't discern the telltale flashing lights that might also indicate an aircraft. It was just a bright point of light, similar to a star that cut a steady, silent and straight line across the still dark morning sky.

Aliens spacecraft notwithstanding, I already had an idea about what this might be: a satellite. The strange thing was, I had only ever seen these where conditions were very favourable - a clear night in the remote Australian bush where the stars stood out like flashing lights in a disco. But even then you had to have a keen eye to pick out an orbiting spacecraft. Here I was, in the middle of the biggest city in France, and I could see this thing as plain as day. It must been one hell of a satellite.

Back at home it took a little searching to confirm what I had seen. Celestia wasn't accurate enough to calculate the precise orbits of near earth spacecraft, but I eventually found a german website called Calsky that told me everything I needed to know. Indeed it was a big satellite that I had seen - none other than the enormous International Space Station (ISS). It was fascinating to think that the tiny point of light I had seen actually contained 3 human beings who were whizzing around the earth at over 300km in altitude. My research into satellites and their orbits turned up another curious advantage of Ramadan: the hour just before sunrise is one of the best times for satellite spotting - the sky is still dark, enabling us to see the soon-to-rise sun reflected off earth orbiting spacecraft. By contrast, in the middle of the night satellites are near invisible, being concealed in the earth's shadow as they pass above us.

My fascination with spacecraft didn't stop with the ISS. Ramadan had once again sparked my curiosity, and soon I discovered the website of NASA. Here, by the wonders of a computer and a broadband internet connection I found that I could watch in real-time what those astronauts were doing as they floated overhead. I had heard the conspiracy theories that NASA had faked the moon landings, but here I was, able to verify their claims for myself. Going outside to see that bright dot pass over Paris when they said it would I thought to myself "well, if they are faking it, they're doing a mighty good job".

After this first Ramadan, observing the wonders of manmade space phenomena became quite a habit for me. I have very fond memories of taking friends out at dawn and seeing their amazement as the dots of spacecraft appeared and disappeared at the predicted times. Or, like the time when lying on our backs in the middle of the Pont des Arts, we were able to witness the spectacular near broad-daylight appearance of an Iridium flare. If it hadn't been for Hebbat's introduction to her cultural practice of Ramadan, I would have most likely kept sleeping through this magical time of the day for the rest of my life.
 

Lesson 9: Humility

Old and New: Neta at 93 years, Angus at 1.

5AM again.

More guzzling and more eating, but slightly less paranoia of dehydration.

By about the third day, the novelty of the whole fasting thing was wearing off and the reality of a month worth of 5AM starts was kicking in. As usual I had gulped down enough food and water to be well on the safe side of hydration, but this meant there was no chance of going back to bed for a little beauty sleep. So off I was again, walking down by the Seine before even a hint of sunlight was touching the sky.

On this third morning walking, things were much the same: it was very quiet, the waters were as still as mirrors and the air carried a slight chill, signalling the nigh approach of winter. It was another cloudless morning and as I mosied alongside of the river, I noticed again the arrangement of 3 bright stars pointing east. But there was something different: I could have sworn that one of the stars had moved. The lowest star certainly seemed to have changed position in relation to the other two, but how could such a thing be possible? My groaning belly afforded me plenty of time to contemplate the mystery, and as I continued my digestive promenade I suddenly hit upon an idea: stars don't move, but planets do. I was so excited by this possible discovery that I turned around straight away and headed for home - I wanted to find out whether my hunch was correct.

When I got in the door, I turned on the computer to hunt for an old piece of software that I knew was languishing somewhere in a dusty corner of my hard drive. Celestia was a free but fully featured virtual planetarium, and it would be able to verify if my theory held any weight. Once I had it running, I zoomed down to Paris to see a recreation of the morning sky, only this time with informative annotations. I quickly recognised the familiar arrangement of 3 stars in the east and in a genuine eureka moment I saw that my suspicion held true: the lowest "star" was actually the planet Venus!

I had always held a passing interest in Astronomy, but my knowledge generally stopped with being able to recognise the Southern Cross and the belt of Orion. Whenever I tried to learn a little more, I was stymied by those impossible-to-read star gazer charts. As for the zodiac or the phases of the moon, they were just concepts - I wouldn't know where to find Scorpio if my life depended on it. But here was another curious by-product of Ramadan: getting up at exactly the same time before sunrise every morning made astronomy an absolute no-brainer.

When we casually observe the night sky, its very difficult to make sense of it. We often catch a glimpse of some stars at odd hours and in varied places. Of course depending on the time of night, the stars change positions. Furthermore, depending on the season, a certain constellation may not be visible at all. It can be very hard to orientate oneself and build a picture of what is actually happening when every time you look, you see different things. The beauty of Ramadan is that it forces you to get up at the precisely same time before sunrise, every morning, for a whole month. When you get a few clear mornings in a row, you can very quickly begin to recognise constellations because they are always in exactly the same spots.

That morning I also learnt that the two bright stars which hadn't moved were the heads of the constellation Gemini. The excitement of my chance discovery of the 'wandering star' Venus had sparked my interest, and each morning (weather permitting) I was able to add to my growing knowledge of night sky features. Along with this purely geometric knowledge came a depth of history, as each time I got home and googled a new constellation I learned the stories of how it had been perceived throughout the ages. It was a humbling way to start each day: seeing proof of planets and stars before my eyes and considering not only our place in the stellar scheme, but also contemplating the previous generations of humanity who had seen the same sights and had offered their own interpretations.

But my crash course in historical astronomy was about to kick into overdrive a few mornings later when I saw something that made the slowly wandering Venus look like a stellar stick-in-the-mud.
 

Lesson 8: Gratitude

Eyes on the prize: First quarter, which means

another 3 to go.

I opened the door and was almost bowled over.

The smell of delicious food hit me like a freight train. The kitchen was in full swing with Hebbat cooking up a storm and the mélange of rich odours all frying, boiling and broiling reminded me that it had been such a very long time since I had eaten.

"Its almost time", she said, her eyes sparkling with anticipation.

She handed me a glass of water and pushed a bowl of dates to the centre of the table. After studying her watch a moment, she quietly said a prayer under her breath then looked up and gave me the nod: it was time.

Just as she had explained, we broke our fast by first drinking water. The relief of finally quenching the day-long thirst was palpable, and we spent a few moments marvelling at the life giving properties of that incredibly simple but vital substance. Neither of us had experienced any serious symptoms of dehydration, about the worst thing being constant presence of a dry mouth. All the same, it was a huge sense of relief knowing that we could now drink as much as we could hold. The first danger was over - we had survived!

Next came the dates. With their high sugar content, they gave us a well needed boost of energy. So rapid was this effect that it seemed you could almost feel the glucose molecules being transported and absorbed into the bloodstream. Following the dates was the delicious and copious meal prepared by Hebbat. The simple act of eating, which we might almost ignore on a normal weeknight was transformed into a real celebration and although we had only accomplished what was average for a routine workday, one had a real sense of achievement, a sense of "we did it!".

But perhaps just as appreciated as food we shared, was the company and the conversation. We both related our various stories of parched throats and mid-morning hunger pangs. Of automatic reflexes and how at one stage I only remembered about Ramadan with a glass of water already to my lips. Of resisting temptation and how good the lunch of Hebbat's work colleagues had smelt. It was a comforting feeling to know that one had not gone through those trials alone and we both agreed that Ramadan heightened one's sense of empathy. It is hard to understand what goes through the mind of someone who is thirsty and hungry unless you experience it for yourself. One forgets how much of a luxury it is to eat and drink whenever the fancy takes us. We imagine more easily the hardships faced by those without easy access to clean drinking water and a stable food supply.

Our stomachs groaning slightly, the most pleasant feeling of fatigue soon overcame us. Anticipating the early start in the morning, we gladly succumbed to bed after the meal was finished. Before my contemplation could wander once more over the magnitude of the days experiences, or amble in anticipation of what the next might bring, I was overtaken by a deep and fitful sleep.

  

Lesson 7: Pardon

More winter colours: A largely forgotten camellia
draws attention to itself.

I slammed on the brakes.

All of a sudden a car cut into the bicycle lane straight in front of me and almost knocked me off the road. I braked hard and turned suddenly, narrowly avoiding a collision with a dangerously positioned traffic island. My reactionary fear quickly turned to anger as I looked up to see the offending motorist unrepentantly continuing to weave through traffic and use the bicycle lane as his personal road extension.

This kind of event is not uncommon in Paris, and I usually react by catching up to the offending motorist and attempting to make them understand the inequality of the situation: cacooned in a metal shell at no risk to themselves, they have blatantly threatened my safety and possibly my life. Of course the motorist is rarely in a mood to appreciate this criticism and the exchanges often result in miscomprehension and aggressive shouting - hardly an agreeable result for either party or the public that bear witness.

In this particular case the circumstances were grave - at the speed I was riding, I shudder to imagine the result of a potential collision with the car that changed lanes or the traffic island I dodged in order to avoid it. As was usual, after the immediate danger had passed, the left over adrenaline in my system quickly fuelled a venomously aggressive impulse. I took a deep breath, fully preparing to unleash my anger in a vicious tirade on the oblivious offender.

And then I stopped.

I remembered that today was different: it was Ramadan. I had not had a drink in over 10 hours, I was exhausted, I still had one more client to see, and I still had to ride home after that. Sure, I could try to teach that inconsiderate motorist a lesson, but what would I gain from it? Every breath spent shouting at him would be another breath closer to dehydration for me. Once again, I just couldn't afford it.

Moreover I realised that beyond this physical cost of shouting and gesturing, I couldn't even afford to think about being angry at this guy. All my thoughts about the injustice of the situation, about the inequality, about the unnecessary life-risking behaviour - all this thinking was taking up valuable real-estate in my brain. I needed that precious real-estate for thinking about more important things like which route would be the best compromise between speed and exertion, which gear I should should pedal in to avoid raising my heart-rate and how best to negotiate the upcoming intersection swiftly and safely. The bad deed was done, and my shouting about it was not going to undo it. I was faced with the choice of nurturing these angry thoughts which promised no benefit to my immediate situation, or letting them pass and getting on with the job at hand. It was as if for the first time in my life, I could literally measure the cost of my negative emotions, and once I decided to let all these aggressive and angry thoughts go, it was as if a load was lifted.

With a newfound calm in both my physical and now mental comportment, I doggedly pedalled on to complete the final job of the day. Afterward I cycled home steadily and calmly feeling somewhat triumphant that I hadn't cracked ("If Hebbat can do it..."). As I turned my front-door key in its lock I shook my head, marvelling at all the realisations I had encountered on this otherwise normal work-day. Unsuspecting as I pushed the door open, I was about to find out that my first day of Ramadan was not over quite yet...
 

Lesson 6: Thrift

Signs of the season: winter blossoms, blue sky, sunlight.

I was late!

I still had 10 minutes to make my first appointment of the day, but it was on the other side of town. I closed the file I was working on, rushed out the door and grabbed my bike. I was no stranger to this drill - running late and trying to make up time are very familiar components of my normal working day, but as I threw my leg over the bar and jumped on the seat I realised that because of Ramadan, suddenly everything was very different.

My first appointment was with a client I see often. I know the route well, and can cycle there comfortably in about 15 minutes. If I'm running late (which is more the rule than the exception) I can shave off about 5 minutes but this involves riding as fast as I can, dodging through traffic, cutting corners and jumping pavements. All this in the hope of preserving a skeric of punctuality by arriving almost on time. Unfortunately any streak of professionalism that remains is quite probably dashed away by the heaving and sweating mess that greets clients when they answer the door.

But as I was saying, when I pushed down hard on that first pedal stroke, hoping to make up those precious minutes lost to distraction, I realised that things had changed irreversibly. Sure I was running late, but as I filled my lungs in anticipation of the heavy exertion ahead, I felt the air rush through my already drying mouth and suddenly remembered I still had over 10 hours to go until sunset! If there was any way I was going to last until then without drinking I would have to seriously rethink my strategy. Today was a fairly busy one, this client being the first of 3 I would have to visit, but they were all living on different sides of the city. If I did my usual running-late sprint between each one, I would probably end up passing out from dehydration in about 4 hours flat.

To compensate, my pedal stroke immediately got lighter, I adjusted my breathing and calmed my nerves. This was going to be a long day and to make it through I would have to use brains as opposed to brawn. With every breath I took, it felt as if my mouth dried out a little more so instead of speeding up physically and pushing harder on the pedals, the only thing I could afford to accelerate was my thinking. At the same time as my body's actions slowed, I literally felt my mind race ahead as I systematically began to analyse each factor that might cause unnecessary use of energy. Routes would have to be calculated precisely, hills would have to be avoided, and above all I would have to ensure I allowed plenty of time to ride more slowly and steadily each destination. With so many hours left until sunset and a warm day ahead, a raised heart-rate due to rushing could spell disaster. I began applying these strategies immediately and was struck by a curious analogy. Returning from family road-trips as a child, I remember my father used to turn the car's engine off at the top of a certain hill to see if we could coast all the way home without using anymore fuel. This was exactly how I felt right then on my bicycle. My body was a machine running on limited resources. Every expense of energy had to be accounted for - I could not afford to waste a scrap.

By the end of the day, this truth became ever more apparent. It had been a hot day and my mouth was parched. Swallowing was something to be avoided, and I was constantly performing mental checks for symptoms of dehydration as it seemed I was running dangerously close to my limit. Pedalling carefully to the last appointment of the day, I felt victory was around the corner if I could just maintain a very calm and steady output of effort. But approaching a particularly dangerous intersection, this resolve would be tested again in a most unexpected manner...