I just returned last night from 4 days in Paris visiting friends. I love Paris (who doesn’t really) and little seemed to have changed since my last visit 8 years ago. Even the guy at the reception desk at the Hotel du Quai Voltaire was the same. Everything felt very familiar. It was nice to be back.
As I walked home from the edge of the Rabat Medina where the taxi dropped me off last night, down a narrow alley I ran into some kind of ceremony in the middle of the street – a family holding candles and traditional gnaouan musicians dancing around a small bucket of burning charcoal and offerings of dates, milk and bread. I have no idea what this was about but my first thought was, “it’s nice to be home.” Of course my second thought was, “how the hell am I going to get past these people.”
It’s pretty cool here in Morocco. I’m going to hate to leave.