Arrival

OK, we adapt in order to achieve the goal.... This is attempt number three to post an account of the London-Marakesh-Essaouira leg of the journey, but this one is being written at the dawn of a stunning sunny day and following about twelve hours of deep sleep.

So the London to Marakesh flight had be in the front row with a lovely young lawyer who is German by descent. She works for a bank and had come to Morocco to go go Casablanca. With someone lovely to speak with, the 3.5 hour trip went quickly. And it was so exciting to come down through the clouds and see the very foreign sienna landscape of Marakesh. I arrived at 12:30; at that point I had been awake for 24 hours.

Bags, check. Visa, check. Money—well, that was more difficult and I am still not sure what the dinar is worth. So I seriously overpaid the taxi to get to Sopatours, the government bus company, to catch a bus to Essaouira. The bus came (late), broke down, we changed busses, I met Jurgen, my seat mate, and off we went. I was so tired, I truly "fell" asleep. Falling asleep is not that, "Oh, I think I'll take a nap" kind of thing, where you close your eyes and off you go. This was waking up to a bump in the road and not even realizing that you had gone to sleep.

I dozed a couple of times, but the road was so bumpy, that I kept waking up, but at least I got some rest so that I could function on arrival in Essaouira. It was cloudy and about 20 degrees all day, but as we came over the ridge to descend into the town, the sky exploded in gold as the sun appeared in clearing skies.

A taxi to the hotel (Orsen Wells) and a quick check in. It is so weird arriving in a town alone in the dark with no map or idea of where you are or the lay of the land, but the single employee of this quiet little quaint hotel drew me a cursory map of how to find the beach where there would be restaurants for me to find. As it was now 6:30, it was too early to go to bed, so off I went.

And I scored. I ate on the beach by a bonfire that engulfed me in the smell of memories—I hardly ever smell woodsmoke any more. I had a fabulous dinner: beach, diet coke, terrific food, handsome waiter, warm summer-like night, luggage all arrived. Paradise.

It was interesting to be conscious of my reaction to the sudden change in culture, and I feel the consciousness is due to my age. I was 16 when I took my first international vacation, and that event marked a turning point in my life. On December 22 in 1964, I told my father that I was leaving the next day for Trinidad. I told him I was sick of Christmases in the facility where my mother lived, sick of school and sick of life in general. Traveling was for me all that it still is: escape plus the incredible stimulation of differentness. Yesterday, my mind kept trying to comprehend today in the context of all my past foreign experiences. "Oh, this reminds me of ...." as if that Kind of referencing has. Much meaning. I found myself wanting to stop doing that and allow here to be itself. But I was exhausted last night.

Today is absolutely stunning: clear and bright and out there is a strange city, a beach and as I leave ethics morning, I have no map or any idea of what I will do or where I will go. I love that. More later ....

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