Life in a Small Moroccan Fishing Village #3: Memories Etched in Acid

While I was staying in Taghazout (or Tara-zoot, as I pronounced it) I became friends with a British duo who lived in a separate house , located a few minutes away, near the beach.

One day one of the guys (I think his name was Clive) received a package from home (which, in this case, was somewhere in Britain.) 

Clive informed me  the package contained something soaked in Acid (yes, that kind of Acid),  although it didn’t look like any kind of blotter I had ever seen. Nevertheless, I was in that phase of my life where I consumed anything that I could, to quote a famous George Carlin line, “sniff,snort or rub in my belly.” (I’m blessed to be alive and functionally reasonably normally.) Clive offered me a piece of whatever it was and I wolfed it down. Clive and his buddy elected to stay where they were  so I headed alone for the sands.

It was the night of the full moon and the Moroccan moon was so luminous you could have read a Kindle by it. (Of course, they didn’t have Kindles then. So let’s just say, you could have read a newspaper by it.)

The moon shining off the sandy cliffs and the beach made me feel like I was walking on a lunar landscape (I had a vivid imagination. Still do. It’s my memory I am worried about.)

Suddenly there were Berber tribesmen all around me, pattering down the beach with their canoes and heading for the water. They ran right past me without even seeming to notice me. Perhaps they were accustomed to strange white people walking dazedly along the beach in the middle of the night or they were simply intent on reaching the water before their neighbours. At any rate, I didn’t even merit a puzzled look. It was like I was a ghost visiting this stretch of beach centuries ago and the native inhabitants couldn’t see me.

Still later, I passed a deserted clay hut and saw a bundle of rags in one corner. The rags shifted and as I stared I realized it was a human being under those rags, trying to sleep. The scene shifted in my mind and for a moment I felt I was in some Clint Eastwood-style spaghetti western.

Like I said, I have a vivid imagination.

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Author: rixbitz

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