Ramadan, the nineth month of the Islamic calendar, is a fasting period for Muslims, from dawn to dusk.  This year it will end tomorrow. It lasts twenty-nine to thirty days, from one sighting of the crescent moon to the next.

I’m not Muslim, not even religious at all, just another agnostic, but Ramadan has always rung a bell with me.  It goes back to my trip from India back to Europe by land many years ago.

It was 1970 and I had left Ethiopia after three years.  I traveled in India for a month with three other Peace Corps volunteers.  They had to go back to Ethiopia after 30 days to finish their terms, and we parted company in Katmandu.  They scooted back to Bombay and a return flight to Addis Ababa.

My plan was to make my way back to Europe by land, taking as long as I could. 

Ramadan in 1970 was roughly the month of November.   My recollection is that I spent most of that month traveling across northern Pakistan, following the route through Lahore, Rawalpindi, Islamabad, and Peshawar.  I stayed a few days in most towns I hit. In Rawalpindi I stayed with an American USAID employee I’d met in Ethiopia.

I was traveling in basic mode.  I took the same buses that the folks in the country took.  I stayed at the same hotels that the folks in the country stayed in.  When I wanted to splurge I ate at local restaurants, but otherwise just ate street food or bought bread at the local stores. (I made it a point to learn the going price for bread wherever I traveled so I would not get ripped off)

In short, I was nowhere near a tourist hotel or a tourist restaurant, where food would be served around the clock to cater to visitors.  

On the streets where I lived and the neighborhoods I hung out in, there was no food during Ramadan during daylight. The street food places were all closed.  No one ate during the day, period.

I quickly and easily picked up the routine and came to really enjoy it, all religious beliefs aside.  For me it became a matter of feeling like I was a part of the places I was in, as silly as that sounds, because in reality I always knew I wasn’t.  I took to getting up really early, before light, and joining in the communal eating fest that happened every day before the sun came up.  And I thoroughly enjoyed the party that happened when the sun went down. 

No, I did not know the language.  I couldn’t talk to anyone.  But I could smile and laugh and eat, happy to be among folks who were living their lives, observing their religion and having fun.  And I was happy that folks smiled back at me and waved and welcomed me to their celebration.