It was our first international trip together, a very young couple, with no idea how to navigate a foreign country – southern Spain. I had taken four years of Spanish in high school, as had my husband, so we made do with what little language skills we had. As a young, naive couple, we had fun building a travel itinerary and getting ready to explore, but despite all our preparation, we had no idea what we were getting into in the early 2000s. We also didn’t know that mindset and worldview were everything when it came to travel.

Our tours consisted of guides giving us a superficial understanding of the Inquisition and a Eurocentric illustration of what Muslims had actually accomplished in this region for nearly 700 years. As we travelled from Madrid to Córdoba to Seville to Granada, we watched basic documentaries and read surface-level articles on the history of Muslim Spain. Back then, there was no burgeoning Muslim travel industry catering to a community seeking to rediscover these lands. So after visiting a sight here or there, as any tourist would, we shopped for souvenirs, most probably made in a factory in China. We purchased what was supposed to be authentic Andalusi artwork, fulfilling the hedonistic Western craving to own “exotic” lands, a trait we had unconsciously embedded within. Then there was the Alhambra, breathtaking, yes, but we stood inside it with no understanding of the philosophy behind the philosophy that built that luminous space in the first place. So, here we were, limited in preparation, approaching travel as consumers, and lacking tools to truly gain insight.

Today, you could say, this problem has been solved. After all, since then, the Muslim travel industry has exploded, with groups catering to so-called Islamic travel, providing halal meals, Muslim tour guides, and other amenities. This is a great service for Muslims looking to explore our heritage; however, I am asking one thing: how can Muslims reclaim travel as something deeper, more meaningful, and truer to our tradition? Is it even possible to shed how we have been conditioned to view lands outside of the West?

Just because we are travelling with Muslim groups, are we traversing the land fulfilling the principles established within our tradition on the goal of travel?

Over time, our travels progressed. We visited India, China, Italy, Singapore, Uzbekistan and Spain once again. As I travelled, I found myself reflecting on that first naive visit to Spain, slowly coming to understand that to travel with true intention,  and genuine benefit was to acquire ‘ibra. The root word being ‘abara, which literally means “to cross over.” ‘Ibra is when one takes heed and understands what he or she is witnessing as a means of admonition or gaining insight. In Surah Al-Hajj (22:46), Allah ﷻ says,

اَفَلَمۡ يَسِيۡرُوۡا فِى الۡاَرۡضِ فَتَكُوۡنَ لَهُمۡ قُلُوۡبٌ يَّعۡقِلُوۡنَ بِهَاۤ اَوۡ اٰذَانٌ يَّسۡمَعُوۡنَ بِهَا​ ۚ

Afalam yasīrū fil-arḍi fatakūna lahum qulūbun ya’qilūna bihā

“Have they not travelled through the earth so that they might have hearts with which to reason?” (Surah Al-Hajj 22:46)

When someone, even with a basic understanding of tawhid, travels far and wide enough, they begin picking up on the signposts that show a traveller divine tracings. A traveller begins seeing consistent patterns all over the Muslim world of how the Muslim ethos was established and constructed.

The Muslim ethos is defined by tawhid, the singularity of God, and the finality of the last Messenger ﷺ and all that he brought, which is the foundation of Muslim civilisation.

The varied ways it has manifested, however, are diverse, complex, creative and full of wonder.

Peering Into Our Heritage for Inspiration

My interest in the story of the past, travel and love of reading compelled me to compulsively collect literature in this genre, so I found it helpful to delve into a few travelogues from the pre-modern era, referred to in Persian literature as the Safarnama. Numerous well-known and many more unknown travelogues at our disposal offer a glimpse into how humans perceived the world they lived in.

Before the existence of planes and high-speed trains, luxury hotels, and an entire travel industry, travel was riddled with danger and immense discomfort. The author of Jami’ Mufidi, a 17th-century historical and geographical chronicle, Muhammad Mufid Mustaufi Yazdi, tells us:

‘Travel is the patron of man; it is the court where status is gained, travel is treasure, and the master of skill. If a tree were able to move, it would not be the victim of the saw and the axe. Hell in this world is the same as travel. That’s why Travel (safar) looks like Hell (saqar) in writing.’

Despite the “hellish” nature of pre-modern travel, humans embarked on journeys nonetheless. For the Muslim, journeys usually existed to fulfil a religious requirement like Hajj, for trade or to seek knowledge. Across all the narratives of travel,  from the North African Ibn Battuta, to the 17th-century Ottoman Evliya Celebi, to the Granadan Ibn Jubayr, travel contains the powerful ability to impact the soul, bring about change, and achieve experiential knowledge unlike any other means of understanding.

Seydi Ali Reis, a 15th-century Ottoman admiral, wrote in his travel log after a long journey through India, Persia, and across the Ottoman Empire in his work Mir’at al-Mamalik (“Mirror of Countries”), which he also considered titling “Book of Torments:”

‘The True God made the world and ennobled it, and Adam made it most noble of all. O my heart! Seek out the True God! Become a traveller! Enter the sea of the knowledge of God! Become a mariner!’

Through his lens, we see that travelling the world allows us to witness the manifestation of God’s attributes. This worldview is not uncommon in pre-modern literature.

In a travel account by a woman from Isfahan in the 17th century, a certain “widow of Mirza Khalil,” we find a narration of her experience embarking on the Hajj. She speaks of the immense difficulty of travelling from Isfahan to the Haramayn, yet along the way, she narrates her time passing through Dasht-e Lut:

‘In this desert, for the first two leagues, are the sinners of the past who have been transformed into rocks. This is the land of those who disobeyed the prophets Lut (Lot), Salih, and Hud (Heber), and were destroyed as a consequence. No grass is to be seen, only thorns, and one could notice birds, but no animals save some rabbits, lizards, and the odd scorpion. Travellers passed through there with their heads bowed.’

Crafting an Intentional Journey

How can we create an itinerary that is not only enjoyable but one that draws us closer to Allah, enriches us internally, informs our moral character, and brings us home transformed, even if just a little?

We begin with intention; every traveller can formulate an intention for setting out on a journey. Writing down one’s intention is a beautiful way to begin a journey. A traveller can witness how their intention unfolds and how plans are carried out accordingly. 

Travel to witness. We prepare to travel by understanding that Allah manifests Himself in all parts of our existence. His name is reflected in all that we experience.

A plate of food is a manifestation of His Divine Name, Ar-Razzaq. His world is constructed in Jamal and Jalal, in Beauty, Awe and Wonder. We can see these dual qualities of Allah’s Names in everything we encounter.

When visiting the Alhambra, for example, a visitor can witness immense grandeur and beauty. The intricacy of the space takes over your senses, transporting you to an otherworldly state of enjoyment. Simultaneously, however, the Alhambra is also a reminder that this civilisation once fell. Allah elevates whom He likes and debases whom He wills, and Allah is the Eternal One, while all else is met with effacement. 

We consume mindfully. Logistically, a mindful Muslim traveller can work hard to curate their stays so that they are intentional. Support local businesses instead of large-chain hotels whenever possible. Shop locally; many tourist shops offer mass-produced souvenirs that are a really quick way to buy a memory. Local artisans are often reviving and preserving ancient crafts. Seek them out, support their work and learn their stories!

Have enriching conversations. Sit with the locals; this is one way to infuse humility within ourselves. To know that there is a world beyond our small scope of existence. People across the globe are experiencing life in ways that are unimaginable to us. There is truly so much to learn from sitting with a local imam, or a shop seller, or even a fellow traveller. These are seemingly small things that expand our current understanding of the world and ultimately divinity.

I will end with some powerful lines by the scholar Zakariyya ibn Muhammad al-Qazwini (1203–1283 AD), a Persian jurist and cosmographer whose landmark work ‘Aja’ib al-Makhluqat (“Wonders of Creation”) mapped the celestial and terrestrial world through the lens of divine order:

‘Then look at the stars and the Sun and the Moon, and see how they differ in their rising and setting points to produce various times that are causes for the generation of animals and plants. There is no way to count a tenth of a tenth of the wonders of the skies.’

Travel is meant to increase our wonder at how God has created the Earth and, since the beginning of time, has unfolded countless signs for us to witness and attest to Him. Perhaps the question of whether we can cultivate our gaze to witness Allah is answered through returning to these texts, sitting with these voices, and allowing them to reorient us. The pre-modern Muslim traveller did not move through the world as a consumer but as a witness. To reclaim Islamic travel to move through the world as it is, with the vision of someone who craves being engaged in Divine wonder.