It was 6:05 at Middlebury College, Vermont when I stepped out of Ross dining hall, having filled my water bottle and decided to postpone dinner. I was eager to meet the sun as it set over the Adirondack Mountains and not even dinner would delay me. Besides, the walk was estimated to take approximately one hour and cover three miles so I reckoned I would be back for dinner with an hour to spare. I would march down College Street, and take the section of O’Neil Class of ‘97 Trail (part of the Trail Around Middlebury) that would lead me to Main Street, then turn left into College St at its intersection with Main Street and walk towards the sun as it set over the horizon.
         It wasn’t my first walk to see the sunset nor was it my first sunset, but it was my first walk towards the sun as it set. All through my childhood, whenever I hauled from Cairo to visit my grandparents in Alexandria, Egypt, I would saunter to the beach to watch the sun as it dipped into the Mediterranean Sea. It took no longer than five minutes to fully sink into the distant blue water. I would stand longingly at the edge of the water and admire the play of colors in the sky as the waves gently covered my feet then retreated. I loved it. It wasn’t something I could experience in Cairo where I have lived all my life.
         Ironic how three hundred kilometers could make all the difference. And now that I was nine thousands kilometers away from Egypt, I could finally reach for the sun in Vermont’s clear light blue sky unpatched by any wandering cloud or star. As I strolled down College Street, the sun was nearing the horizon and at that moment a child could be excused for drawing a full circle to represent it. Every tree crown around me was jeweled with red leaves at the top followed by a mix of amber orange and sunglow yellow contrasting the vibrant dark green leaves glowing at the lower branches. A few fallen maple leaves decorated the sidewalk, yellow lines penetrating their reddish color like veins.
         LaForce Hall on my right marked the end of familiar territory as the landscape opened up and vast greenery came into sight. A two lane concrete road stretched to the horizon disappearing down the hill then reappearing far away near the sun. Several thin cracks in the concrete looked as if an earthquake had forced it open. My eyes shifted to my feet begging them to keep within the safe white line separating me from the racing cars as I passed the first speed sign reading “Speed limit 50.” It seemed to me a rather slow speed for a deserted road; something wasn’t quite right about the sign, though I couldn’t say what.
         The gravel vibrated below my feet in response to a passing car, pushing any thoughts of the sign to the back of my mind. I lifted my eyes to look ahead catching the sun ray’s reflection on rows and rows of solar panels with chrome framing. They created an eye-catching sight while promising a greener future. Two hundred meters to my left stood a wind turbine rotating at a constant speed counter-clockwise, producing no noise that would alert passersby to its existence. Beyond it by another two hundred meters the left turn I had prearranged to take as part of my loop back to campus. However, as my eyes roamed over the landscape on my right further taking in my surroundings, a building located beyond the vast green land captured my attention.
         A farm. But not any farm. It closely resembled a Hollywood countryside montage that I have seen so many times in movies: a gambrel roof, roaming cattle, rolls of hay, and two glittering steel towers with round rooftops, the silos. The exactness of it shocked me, igniting in me a sudden insatiable desire to examine it closely, a desire that quickly replaced my longing to meet the sun. And at that instant of indecision, my feet ventured into the upcoming right turn in the road on a will of their own, the prospect of abandoning the plan exhilarating.
         On my trip up the slightly steep road, every step became a struggle, my mind still lingering over the wisdom of my decision to abandon the plan. Suddenly, purple flowers blossomed by the side of the road, transporting me to a blissful summer day in my childhood when I wandered to a bunch of colorful flowers to feel their texture while my mother read the announcement posted on a white board outside the building where we were heading. A few moments later, she had looked over at where I was standing and explained that sunflowers always tilt towards the sun, hence the name. Following this memory, happiness enveloped me and I smiled at the flowers, deliberately blocking any further thoughts that would obstruct the freedom of my feet to wander towards their desired destination, the Hollywood farm.
         Unsurprisingly, Bicentennial Hall, the furthest building northwest of campus, emerged on my right as the paved road ended in a partially full parking lot. On the left, a mini forest occupied the territory with an unpaved human path sneaking through the trees. The trail had a foreboding quality with no indication of where it led or to whom the land belonged. Yet one thing was certain, it travelled in the direction of the compelling farm. Fighting the urge to retreat into the safety of the known, I entered the trail.
         Walking slowly, I reached for my room keys in my sweatpants pocket; a gesture of a lifelong unnecessary worry inherited from my mother who had me running back countless times over the years to check if she had indeed locked the car! In my head, I could hear my mother reprimanding my decision to walk down this path alone, but I delved further into the forest anyway. At irregular time intervals, startling animal noises echoed from the bushes, causing me to pause and examine my surroundings, my body tensing involuntarily into a defensive posture.
         In contrast, the wind movement through the canopy produced a soft melody, and from the trees I could hear the birds flying away at the sound of my approach. Just the notion that nobody knew of my whereabouts triggered my anxiety once more; for I hadn’t even taken the simple precaution of telling my next-door neighbor where I was going. At every foreign sound, I feared the worst, a telling reaction of my detachment from nature like most city residents nowadays. Even worse, when the green trees gave way to leafless gray deciduous ones, my anxiety amplified. I mean the assemblage of leafless trees created a haze that had me blinking rapidly then rubbing my eyes uncertain if it was fatigue or a trick of nature.
         Soon my spirit lifted significantly at the sound of nearby rushing cars announcing a neighboring road. A few minutes later, the trail rose rather steeply opening onto another two lane concrete road, a more intact one, I noted, before my tense features relaxed into a huge smile and my heart raced at the sight of the farm now within a hundred meters. I hastened towards it then slowed down to examine the Dutch Belt cows wandering around the field now on my left. They had white and black belts rather than spots, hence the breed’s name.
         As I passed by, a few cows turned their heads to scrutinize me, and fewer mooed in acknowledgment of my presence. The air was now heavy with cow manure smell, a rude reminder that cattle are minor contributors to global warming in the form of methane release. Right in front of the farm, a rundown mailbox hung open with a 4-digit number printed on it which for some unfathomable reason I assumed was the number of the phone extension as well. To my disappointment, the farm had no exotic name carved at its entrance, only a small sign announcing the possibility of buying fresh eggs and cheese. Having satisfied my curiosity, I decided to continue down this road; reasoning that any left turn would lead me back to where I had begun this journey. Though when this ‘next turn’ would be, I didn’t know. Therefore, I willed my feet to move faster as the sky dimmed gradually forewarning of the looming night.
         The absence of a sidewalk proved fairly frightening in semi-darkness, especially with cars clearly exceeding the specified ‘Speed Limit 40.’ As a precaution, I crossed the road to move in the same direction as cars and mercifully a left turn appeared soon. It was in the form of a roughly paved road, covered with gravel and hardly wide enough to accommodate two cars, but it was a path nonetheless. The oak trees on both sides were well established with different shades of yellow and green that my fingers itched to capture on a canvas, but didn’t know how.
         Taking this turn, I marched uneasily down the street, doubts clouding my mind; should I retrace my steps or see this adventure through? Time became the deciding factor, with my watch reading 7:15; I decided to give it ten more minutes before retracing my steps to what had become a familiar route. Then a man in the passenger seat of a passing GMC waved at me and I cringed beneath my clothes fully, grasping the extent of my vulnerability, and instantly deciding to retreat the same way I came. I didn’t know if he was being friendly or creepy because I rarely walked and when I did, it was certainly not along an abandoned countryside road.
         As soon as I returned to the main road, I noticed for the first time the absence of street lamps, which empowered every passing car in the opposite direction to blind me. Racing darkness, I quickened my pace. On my right, another speed sign read “Speed Limit 35” which didn’t match the speed at which cars were breezing by. Then suddenly it hit me, I was in one of the three countries in the world that didn’t use the metric system which meant that ‘35’ implied 35mph not 35 kilometers! No wonder the speed limit appeared unreasonably low.
         Eventually I saw the trail from which I had emerged, unwalkable in the darkness as expected. “What now?” I asked my impulsive self, as I gloomily resumed down the road in search of a right turn this time. The answer came in the form of a familiar face that I recognized but couldn’t name since it was still the first month of college. He was jogging on the opposite side of the path sweating like it was 40 degrees Celsius rather than 14. With headphones on and a white shirt that was visibly drenched in sweat, he didn’t even glance in my direction. But I didn’t relent; I kept jumping on the other side of the screaming and waving to get his attention, which I finally did.
          “How can I help you?”
          “I am not sure which way would lead me to Middlebury College,” I confessed.
          “Any place specific?”
          “Ross Commons.”
          “Keep going along this road until you see the church at the furthest end of campus on your right, then walk up College Street to Ross Commons.”
          “Thank you,” I said to his retreating figure.
         Following his directions by 7:45, I was at Ross Dining Hall sighing with relief. I had made it on time for dinner! Shaking my head, I paused to reflect on my journey. Despite my divergence, I had travelled west, not only from campus to the farm, but from Cairo to the States. West, a word that didn’t only indicate a direction, but also a world of development and progress, a world that Egypt has yet to join just as I have yet to assimilate to my new intriguing surroundings, but first, dinner.