The man leaned in close, his face next to mine. I could smell his breath, a mixture of tobacco and a pungent, unidentifiable spice. His arms were stained slightly indigo from the traditional robes he wore. He was a Tuareg, a true “Blue Man” of the Sahara. Though he was only in his mid-fifties, his face bore the wrinkles of a lifetime spent in the unforgiving sun.
“C’est trés difficile,” he said to me, and I nodded. We were sitting by the fire under the desert sky of the Moroccan Sahara, and he was helping me to untangle the necklaces I wore around my neck. I had bought the strands of colourful glass beads in the souks of Marrakesh only days earlier, and he worked quickly and carefully to free me from their knots.
Marrakech, Morocco “What’s your favourite place in the world?” I never know how to answer that question, because I have different favourites for different reasons. Japan, Canada, Turkey, Slovenia, Vietnam, France, Ireland,…
The Sahara I went to the Sahara a few years ago; it was my second time to Africa. We started in Marrakech and drove for a day, high over the Atlas mountains…
Marrakech, Morocco I’m once again off to Tokyo this weekend. The only plans so far include the Sanja Matsuri, midnight karaoke, and a hard drive full of movies.