The Sand the Stars and the Clouds

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September 9th 2008
Published: September 10th 2008
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It's been a long bit since my last entry, and a couple of thousand kilometers travelling too!!! and boy, it seems like a long time ago.

I ended up spending 9 days in Essaouira, a lovely group of people, and a great bunch that went through it too. Troy, the greek god of street art, Michelle the reading maniac who got through any book you placed in front of her, Taz, the Hostel carer with an always ready smile and measured comment to anything, San, up for a laugh anytime and a savvy English take on things anytile, Linda, quiet but listening, and ready to place the killer comment. The two Catalans who shared a night of animated chatting on life coaching and more, the smoked out Brazilian and Iranian-English wife, relaxing one hundred per cent, and such a great laugh to be had with them. Well, i'm sure i'm leaving people out but you get an idea of the pull of the place, that's without mentioning the food.

Juicy Cactus Fruit, sure it's all over the country, but only here can you be sureto see men standing next to the cart at any time of the day or night, yes 3am, cactus fruit eaters staninding on the main street. The lovely secluded square just opposite the fish souq market, that could always guarantee a quiet corner in the bustling little town, always accompanied by well thought up juices and sandwiches and desserts, courtesy of their travelled european overlords no doubt, but a pleasure to be had nonetheless. Juicy Fish Tajine with rasins and caramelised onion, nice and spiced too. fresh fish grilled after you choose them, great cooking point for the prawn is my favorite.

A rush to the coast most days to wait with the locals to see how the sun sets this evening. from beside the port with scenic fortifications, or from above the rampart, out of one of the cannon "port holes" for the lack of a better word, a private little room onto the ocean just to watch the sun set, with or without your friends.

Am I even getting to my title yet, not really, so I'll sketch it out a littel before fitting in some Spanish, will mostly be new stuff this time so if bilingual read on after english finnishes.

Stars, better every week, at least, I was mezmzrised by them on the bus the other day just pulling us up into the heavens reminding us we are not separate from the rest of the universe, sure there's a lot of space in between, but wer're together all right, just catch a bus down to the Sahara to see.

Sand, a growing presence, rolling sinuous shapes,playing with the sun and the shaddows, pretending to be shapes only to morph quicker than your mind can catch up, leaving wou with the warmth of its grains in your hand, but nothing hard to latch on to, the colours, shades of lightness, so perfect and clean, so pure and undisturbed.

The couds do try to disturb the sand dunes though, caressing them ever so lightly, making them moan pleasure up into the sky, moving withthe clouds under the same force of the wind, never quite catching up and always looking forward to their escaped companions, they march on, engulfing allthat comes their way, that's love for you guys. It' the desert.

out in English, sorry if I got a bit vague by the end there. Love Doug.

Nostalgia de Espana.

Estava de pie en una esquina, cerca de donde empieza el Sahara, Santa Cruz del Mar Pequena se llamaba antes, ahora Sidi Ifni. La esquina, todavia es con Calles del suboficial Zabala, y el nombre de la calle llace en un viejo consulado Espanol que se cae en trozos, como el sueno de hacer aquella esquina Esana talvez. Pero el sueno estava vivo para mi, desde los altos acantilados deserticos como la malaga que conoci, no se veian hoteles o apartamentos si no playa, olas grandes y fuertes, del Atlantico, un oceano grande sin disminuir por los rascacielos.

La plazuela, antes de Espana ahora de Mohammed, con una de las iglesias mas hermosas que he visto. Blanca, ineas simples de los anos 30, la casa del cura pegada al lado de mismo estilo, todo en conjunto con las lineas modernistas del inicio del siglo. El cielo azul, las casa blancas como tiene que ser. Sera que quisieran ser una nuve en el desierto? o hacer pensar que de ella lloveria, que de alli saldrian gotas. Lagrimas seguro que si salieron, de las politicas de gentes ajenas aquella tierras, las que vinieron, las que fueron, las que tuvieron que ir, las que fueron mandadas a ir otra vez.

Me encanto el sitio, 3 euros el simples Hotel, Hotel Ifni, por si os cabe duda de que alli no hay mas santa ni cruz. solo mar, y delos muy grandes que se llaman oceano.

Charlava Portugues, con unos muy simpaticos que conoci, arquitectura, como no, la decadencia de Lisboa, de Porto, de Sidi Ifni, el pescado, el mar, el arte. Cuanta gente simpatica he encontrado estas semanas. Viajantes, nativos y indecisos como mi amigo David, que parece que se queda, haciendo de su hijo mas un Marroqui, que seguro que contento con su tierra como los demas.

Ayer, llegando a Laayoune, en el Sahara Occidental, un senor charlava conmigo las 5 o 6 horas del taxi, en castellano, trabaja en Canarias, que corazon mas tierno. Cuando edntravamos lo que mi guia descrivia como "el verdadero desierto" el decia, eso es tierra, sabes, muy productiva. aqui solo hay que hacer pozos de 37 metros o hasta 35. en las canaris es mas 137, no telo imaginas. aqui exportamos arena a las playas canarias 7 centimos el kilo....barato no? arena cristalina muy buena. Su alegria y positividad siempre contajiantes, aunque eramos 4 en el asiento de tras solamente. Y sabia mucho el senor, Ahmadinejad, Venezuela y su presidente que no gasta bien el dinero, decia, Bush, que es muy amigo de Marruecos, si hace falta ayuda, viene en un instante, no le hable de Georgia, pero el si de Rice, de Soudi Arabia, que senor humilde a la vez, me preguntava en el mapa donde estava Pakistan, Iran, Ecuador y Venezuela, cuba, una geografia de trabajadores de politicas de un senor.

Os dejo con pensamiento desta vez, algunos mios algunos no, solo pensamientos comio nuves, que pasan por este desierto, solo hacen una sombrita, que pasa y no deja rastro, nada mas que un momentaneo frescor.

Besos, Douglas.


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