An ancient Greek wise man made once a very smart remark. He drew a circle on a patch of sand. He compared the knowledge we possess with the inner part of the circle and the outer part of the circle with the knowledge that we don’t possess and don’t know. He then noticed that the bigger the circle is the bigger its circumference is, i.e. longer the “border” of inner and outer parts is. The circumference, he said, was the essential. With growth of knowledge, it permanently grew, thus making us feel how much more we still don’t know, which in some cases proved to be rewarding (continuous drive to learn even more) or depressing (realizing the futility of our efforts towards possession of an exhaustive knowledge).
At some point, I came to realize that I needed to learn Arabic, if for nothing else, to at least be able to read the Koran in its original language. Arabs were famous since ages unknown to be masters in prose and poetry. The Koran was and still is considered an apogee, a supreme creation of such a sort. The beauty of its language not only enchants, but also leaves in awe a reader who forcibly thinks that such a book couldn’t have been conceived by simple mortals.
Yes, that is how it started. I wanted to read the Koran. And yes, I also wanted to visit
I went to the Egyptian Consulate to obtain a visa. By precaution or curiosity, the Consul General of Egypt in
I got a tourist visa for one month. I was told I can easily prolong it in
I bought tickets to