Last Friday, I had the privilege of attending the Jumu’ah prayers at the Westend Mosque, a modest yet elegant structure with its timeless wooden walls and creaking staircases that seemed to whisper stories of the past. The khutbah, or sermon, delved into the rich history of Islamic civilization, a subject that has always fascinated me. The imam spoke with a captivating eloquence, weaving detailed narratives of the Islamic Caliphate’s golden era. He painted a glowing picture of the Ottoman sultans and their governance, though I couldn’t help but feel a twinge of skepticism. Having visited the Topkapi Palace Museum, I had seen firsthand the opulence of their lives—French furniture, lavish decor, and all the trappings of excess from the 1800s. It made me wonder: what of the common people during that time? How did they fare under such grandeur? And should we, as modern observers, revere an empire built on such disparities? These questions lingered in my mind as the prayer concluded.
on top of Mount Coo-tha, Brisbane
After the service, we boarded a bus and set off for Mt. Coot-tha, a scenic retreat just half an hour from the city. The view from the summit was breathtaking, offering a panoramic vista of Brisbane sprawled beneath us like a living map. Our next stop was the Planetarium, where we were treated to a whirlwind tour of the solar system. It was both enlightening and humbling to learn that the space race wasn’t a one-nation show; while the USA often takes the spotlight, others have also left their footprints among the stars. The experience was a reminder of humanity’s shared curiosity and ambition.
The botanic gardens were our final destination before the day waned. Though summer’s vibrant blooms were fading, the gardens still held a quiet beauty. We wandered through various sections, each a testament to nature’s diversity. But as the afternoon sun dipped lower, we realized it was time to head back to the city before darkness fell. The bus, however, had other plans. It arrived late, and we spent nearly an hour waiting, the minutes stretching like taffy. By the time we reached the jetty to board a boat across the river, exhaustion had begun to set in. The day, which had started with such promise, now felt like it was unraveling at the edges.
Saturday dawned with a renewed sense of optimism. The morning air was crisp and chilly, but we embraced it with positive energy, eager for the day’s adventures. Our destination was Hobart, and we left the hotel early to catch a bus to the city, where we would board a train to the airport. Chaos briefly erupted as we navigated unfamiliar routes, but I kept my composure, focusing on the task at hand. The bus arrived, and we made it to the airport with time to spare. Our flight to Hobart was scheduled for 11:30 a.m., and we checked in smoothly, relieved to have a buffer of time.
The flight itself was turbulent, the plane shuddering and jolting as if arguing with the skies. Yet, three hours later, we touched down safely, stepping off the plane into the biting cold of Tasmania. Rain lashed against us, and the wind howled like a restless spirit. “Ooo, Tasmania,” I muttered under my breath, “why must you be so cold?” It was a constant reminder to a journey that had been equal parts enlightening, exhausting, and unpredictable—a reminder that every adventure, no matter how well-planned, carries its own unique blend of beauty and chaos.
