Spectrum Interactive

It is not quite 2 in the morning, and i am standing at one of the soul-crushing internet kiosks in heathrw, terminal 4 (probably my least favurite terminal due to an assrtment of nights like this one thrughout the years).

*Sorry about missing letters; i swear i am hitting them on the keypad!*

I am on my way home. At the mment what tht means to me is my second night in a row "sleeping" in an airport, which is about one night withut sleep too many. When it gets to 6 AM and i can check in (ie dispose of my luggage) I will feel a good deal better. Then i can spend 6 hurs thinking abut home, unpacking, what exctly this year (my last as an undergraduate) will hold. And, of course, where my next journey will be...

So close now!

N.

Milestone

Here it is my second day in Berlin, walking and walking and walking and taking photos and smiling at how head over heels in love I am with this place already. With this short trip to Germany I have reached a personal milestone: this is my 42nd country. 42 makes it 2 countries for every year I have been alive. I always said the number didn't matter (of course it doesn't), but I admit I am proud of this in its broader context. When Jayney said her enigmatic "Spread your wings, Nel" she had no idea!

N.

Seduction, Airport Style

Royal Air Maroc Agent: You have any bags to check in?

Me: Yes, two.

Royal Air Maroc Agent: Lovely, lovely! Do you have anything like bottle of water in your hand luggage?

Me: No, no fluids.

Royal Air Maroc Agent: A knife? bomb? Ha ha, I joke!

Me: ...No, I don't have any bombs.

Royal Air Maroc Agent: You come back to Morocco next year... just so I can see you!

This sort of encounter seems much funnier (and less threatening) in the highly polished temple of an airport. I will miss this place, I think, much more than I expected. But there is no need to get sentimental just yet. As I climb the stairs towards the plane, drinking in that maddening breathless heat one last time, the ticket taker bows his head slightly and whispers "You are very beautiful!"

Yes, I think, I am still in Morocco!

N.

Life Questions From Strangers

The Sup@Tours Bus between Essaouira and Marrakech, July 30th.

The man sitting across from me speaks good English, though his taste in clothes leaves much to be desired. His right eye is not quite off-kilter enough to be considered lazy, but it is in no hurry, either. He waits til we stop for a 10 minute "drain and refuel" stop, and then moves into the seat next to me. He asks me where I am from, how old I am, and how long I have been in Morocco. He asks if I have bought my parents presents, and from what city. "What country!" I reply. He asks me what I think of Africa. "It is a continent," I say, I think many things." He asks what I am studying, and if I am planning to work for an NGO. He asks if I am the oldest in my family, and if my parents don't worry about me so far from home.

Then he says, "How do you feel about your age?"
"What do you mean?"
"You are happy with your age, or you feel old?"

This question floors me a touch, I must admit.

"Well..." I clear my throat. "I'm 21. I can't complain."

He cocks his eyebrow at me curiously.

"I mean," I try again, "I think I've managed to fit a fair bit into that time... I think... yes. No, I don't feel old. Yet."

"Should I?" Is the implied question, which I don't ask, as perhaps I am afraid of his answer. Why are you asking me these things?

"What is your hope for the future?"

Now I have to laugh. One hope? I get one hope?

I want to do something. I want to do something that matters. I want to matter.
Could this count as one? Is that really what he meant with that question?

"I don't know yet," I stammer, "Still thinking. Lots of hopes, I guess."

He nods but seems disappointed with this answer. Am I overthinking?

I am relieved when my seatmate gets back on the bus, and we carry on our way to Marrakech.

N.