SEPTEMBER 20, TUESDAY (REALLY WEDNESDAY)

NEVER NEVER LAND

What is astonishing, even after having done it again and again is that one morning I am sitting looking out at the mist filled valley in Swannanoa, knowing that I am going to get on the plane in a few hours but still not knowing what is coming, and the next morning at 7 a.m. (2 a.m. Swannanoa time), I am sitting on the train from the Casablanca airport to the L’Oasis train station in Casablanca. All I did was get driven to the Asheville Airport by Jon Scoville, then sit in a couple of small United flights (Newark/Montreal) and then on the Air Canada flight fall asleep at 7:30 p.m., skipping supper, and waking up at 1:30 a.m. Swannanoa time, skipping breakfast, rested and ready to go, the best sleep I’ve ever had on a long plane ride.

It seems impossible that you can be one place as if it is the only natural place on earth and wake up in a completely different place in a state of confusion. It is so easy. It does cost money but that doesn’t seem to have much to do with the sudden dislocation or what makes the miracle happen. What makes the miracle happen is deciding to buy the ticket, even on a whim, with no idea what you are getting into.

So what have I gotten into. First of all everyone is speaking French or Arabic, although many people speak English.

This is particularly true of the Moroccans that I have observed so far including everyone in the Venezia Ice restaurant where I am eating now. Everyone in here seems to be much more sophisticated and cosmopolitan than I am and I’m sure half of them speak some English along with Arabic and French. The streets are modern and filled with traffic, the tram I rode on today was modern with tickets sold through credit cards in a kiosk. The airport was modern and the train ride in was modern, part of a world culture that is the same world wide with minor differences. I thought I was coming to a third world country, and India like place.

On the Air Canada screen in front of my seat were photos of the exotic Morocco of tourist brochures. I went looking for it this afternoon as I went to the Medina, the old town of narrow alleys and bright colors, but I ended up in a more modern shopping area with names like Burger King, McDonalds, Samsung and Sony. I guess I went to the wrong place and that the tourist brochure version of Morocco is here somewhere. I’m sure I’ll find it tomorrow in Essaouria, where I will be for a month.

So I am confused, but at the same time I am very obviously not in Swannanoa where no one except Mexicans, speak two languages, and a place where I don’t have the feeling that people are super sophisticated.

A man comes in at the next table and greets everyone, men and women, with a kiss on both cheeks. No, I am not in Swannanoa.

I don’t really know where I am. I know the name of the country, but with just an overnight magic carpet ride I have been completely dislocated, not trusting any of my intuitive judgments, (don’t trust anything I’ve said so far) just floating along in never never land. And all I had to do was, on a whim, buy a plane ticket.