So, I just got back from Medina, and I've gotta tell you, it was a whirlwind of experiences. You know how some trips feel well-planned, every minute scheduled out? This wasn't that. Honestly, I didn't even know the best things to do in Medina when I arrived. I was just kind of floating through it all, and in a way, it made everything even better.
This Spot? Total Surprise.
First off, let me tell you about this little café I stumbled into—Cafe Fakhreldin. I don't know why I ended up there; I had read about some fancy restaurant nearby, but I lost my way (oh, surprise, surprise, my sense of direction is pretty terrible). So, I decided to just pick a spot that looked inviting.
When I walked in, I was greeted by this cozy atmosphere, the smell of freshly baked bread wafting through the room. No one seemed to be in a rush, and there were a few locals chatting animatedly over what looked like plates of bliss. I figured, “Why not?” and sat myself down at a wooden table.
I ordered the lentil soup, which, I confess, I thought would just be… well, soup. But it came out as this bowl of heartwarming goodness, kissed by spices that warmed my insides and left me with that comforting ‘ahh' feeling. The bread was out of this world; I could have easily turned into one of those locals, sitting there for hours with a book and some tea, perfectly content.
I think what struck me most was the sense of community I felt in that café. People were laughing, sharing food—you could feel the warmth of connection in the air. It wasn't just another meal; it felt like I accidentally stepped into someone's living room.
The Afternoon That Changed My Whole Mood
So, here's the thing: I had this inescapable low mood creeping in after a couple of days. You know, the kind where the weight of being somewhere so different can feel a bit heavy, like a cloak you didn't ask for? I was wandering around the Prophet's Mosque, and it was stunning—really, it was. But somehow, my mind had wandered into a dark corner, making me feel out of place.
But then, out of nowhere, this happened. I sat down on a bench to collect my thoughts, probably looking like a lost puppy. And a group of kids, probably no older than ten, spotted me. They came over, curious faces staring wide-eyed. One of them, wearing a bright red cap, spoke a bit of English and asked if I wanted to take pictures. I was a little shocked—like, should I take selfies with kids I just met? Why not?
And the funniest part was, they didn't want pictures of me—they wanted pictures with me! Before I knew it, I was surrounded by these little selfie-takers, the laughter bubbling up, and suddenly I was part of their world. They showed me their favorite spots in the Mosque, how to throw a perfect paper airplane with their leftover snack wrappers, and just like that, my mood shifted.
It reminded me of the pure joy of connection and playfulness—something I thought I had lost somewhere along the way.
I Almost Missed This, No Thanks to My Bad Sense of Direction
Then there was this other little hiccup with my itinerary. I was supposed to visit the Quba Mosque, which I had heard was beautiful, but somehow ended up at this random craft market instead. At first, I sighed to myself, thinking about how I really should've paid attention to my map, but honestly, I'm glad I didn't.
This market was vibrant, filled with the sounds of bartering and laughter. There were stalls overflowing with handmade carpets, intricate woodwork, and spices. One stall caught my eye because the vendor was waving me over like we were old friends. I figured I could just have a look, ya know?
Well, an hour later, I walked away with a handmade silver bracelet and a pouch of spices that I can't even begin to pronounce. The vendor and I had struck up this silly little friendship; he told cringe-worthy dad jokes as I tried to decipher what was in the brightly colored spice bags.
It's funny how sometimes the best adventures come not from following a map but from wandering off the beaten path. I think I walked home that evening with a huge smile plastered on my face—it was like those random detours were turning into little golden nuggets of joy.
A Meal I’ll Never Forget
And let's not forget about the street food. If you find yourself in Medina, seriously, do not skip out on the shawarma. I was wandering down this bustling street when the smell hit me. You know the smell: that savory, spicy aroma that pulls you in like a magnet. I spotted a small stall with an old man flipping bread, and something inside just clicked.
There was no menu; you just pointed and prayed. I got a chicken shawarma that was dripping with sauce, wrapped in what felt like the softest bread I'd ever tasted. As I biting into it, the flavors exploded in my mouth, a dance of spices and savory goodness. It was messy, really messy; I'm pretty sure I had sauce all down my shirt. But who cares? Food should be enjoyed without fuss, and man, did I enjoy that.
I sat on a curb, took my time with every bite, watching people rush by, the little snippets of conversations blending together in the air. It was these little moments, without any plans or expectations, that made Medina memorable.
And as I sipped my last bit of coffee at a quaint little café, reflecting on everything woven into my days—unexpected friendships, surprising meals, and moments that felt like they belonged in a movie—I couldn't help but feel grateful. It was a messy trip, no doubt, but it was perfect in all its imperfectness. That's what makes travel so alive, isn't it? It's in those unplanned moments that memories are truly made.
Anyway, I can't wait to share more stories over our next coffee. I think I might need to book another trip back to Medina soon.
