These Pants Have a Story...

You're not really saving money when a sale entices you to buy something you wouldn't ordinarily. But there's still a sense of accomplishment felt after 'beating' the system. And it's an even more acute sense of satisfaction when the sale is created through the fine art of haggling. It seems such a criminal thing, the inflation of a price to catch the unwary. but when you're savvy, it becomes more of a game. '420 dirhams, I make you a bargain.' 'Non, non monsieur. C'est trop cher. Seulement 100.' And you stand your ground. 350. 300. 250. 'Make me a serious offer. Not this 100. More.' 'Bien, 120. Mais pas plus.' '200/ Is very fine quality.' 'Mais je veux moins qualité, et moins cher.' And here he turns to his boss and speaks in Arabic. But here's where the tables turn, for I understand the numbers, and hear him say '150.' And now I've got him on the run. Two more outright refusals, and then my guide jumps in, and agrees on 120 as a compromise between 100 and 150. And the merchant leaps out of his seat in anger. So of course, at that moment, I had to buy them. Did I win the game? 420 dirhams to 120. I'll say yes. Did I really want those black pants?

I'll get back to you on that.

Just a Flower

Funny the human propensity for one person to ruin something for everyone. It happens all the time. In the schoolyard and one child complains of getting hurt, so ruining the greatest game every played for the rest. Or when someone sues for a minor complaint and destroys the freedoms previously enjoyed by others. Or as here, in Fez, where a swarm of false guides descend on you as you enter the old city demanding you to 'let' them help you. And they persist. Following you up and down alleyways despite your constant rebukes of their attentions. But the worst part of it, the worst part is the mistrust it gives you of everyone else. Being friendly or even asking directions suddenly seem unwise, for you might be asked for something in return, and threatened when you refuse. We can never simply believe in the inherent good of people, for there's always a catch. But then, and this is what makes the world worth living in, then as you're walking down the street with two friends you've just met, a girl stops one of them, hands her a flower, smiles and walks on. No look back, no suggestion of a tip. And so you walk on, talking about good karma, and random acts of kindness, and good things in the world.

And it's a beatiful moment.

Somebody Save Me

Letters from the Front- 1

Back, despite a lack of popular demand. But this time, I have promised contact details for my new life in Oxford to impart amidst ramblings on the state of the universe. So to those I said goodbye to recently, hello again, and to the rest, idle pleasantries were always overrated anyway. Now let me find that address…

Oh, by the by. I have seen the light! And the light is good. Except a bit difficult on the eyes when you love her but have chosen darkness. So I got lambasted by Christian missionaries on my trans-Atlantic hopscotch. Met Jenny, lovely gal, on the first leg of the trip, Houston to Detroit, and she's on her way to Zambia where she works at a mission. Fair play, I like it, save the world. Although maybe less about God, more about food and healthcare, but, to each his own. And this was all fine. Very nice girl, very passionate about her work, we'll call it dice. But then, as the plane fills up for the second leg of the journey, the one involving London, this giant of a man appears next to me where I sit quietly in the middle of the plane in, quite possibly, the worst conceivable seat. No view, no aisle, and the only windows I could see to get a glimpse of the outside were strategically placed over what I like to call the wing. But back to the story. This football-playing behemoth (it was confirmed later) appears next to me and introduces himself as Reegis, only with a hard 'g,' not like the Reegis of Kathy Lee notoriety (not you Kathy Lee, the other one, the notorious one). And it's but the work of a moment to discover he is bound for deepest darkest Siberia on his own missionary trip. Coincidence? They think not. Try to imagine the delight these two fine specimens of humanity experienced when they had, in their words, cornered me, a devout non-believer. I'm sure if you're imagining it right you'll currently be experiencing raptures of euphoria. Tread carefully Davey. Tread… carefully. Ha. Yeah right. That didn't last long. First thing I blurted when this devout fellow next to me says he's from Shreveport: 'Oh yeah? I've been to the boats down there.' Woops. Faux-pas number one. And that was before my dislike of organized religion had surfaced. But it's all kosher. We're friends now. And worry not dear people, for they're both praying for me now.

For some unfathomable reason, that was the story I felt worthy of retelling of my first week here. Sheesh. Who can fathom? That's right. No one. So I'm off to Morocco next week, and it's gonna be brilliant. And don't worry, I'll spit at a camel just for you. More later from the land of the setting sun…

Ahh, found it. My address, for the duration of ever, or until the early termination of my employment, is:

39 Ferry Road
Oxford
OX3 0EU
England

The last bit's the important bit. Just get it that far, it's a small island, they'll find me.

Miss everyone, but just a little bit, and I'm ignoring it. And if you miss me, which at least one of you should, else you're all bloody liars, well don't worry. It's a small world after all. Just count to flip, then say flop, and I'll be there in five shakes of a left-handed pogo stick. Or I'll send you an email. What? Am I drunk? Of course I'm drunk. This is England. (It's kind of their thing)

Hugs all 'round, and kisses for the ladies.


Love you too,
Davey

Where's My Fairy Godmother?

It was beautiful this morning. Starting the day with a run around Town Lake and a swim in Barton Springs, with the sun just risen and painting the clouds behind the downtown skyline. And then a coffee house on a cloudy morning. These are the things I’ll miss. I love this city. But it’s a trade innit? I’ll give up Tex-Mex for fish and chips, Dr. Pepper for real Guinness, Barton Springs for the River Cherwell, Oxford for Austin. And then all I’ll really miss are the people, these beautiful people I know and love. So why do it? Why ever leave? And the answer is I don’t know. But I want to find out. I want to see what else is out there. And I’ve done it before. The only difference is that this time there’s no time limit on it. ‘Yeah, I’m going to Cali, but it’s just for the summer.’ Or the next year it was just for half a summer. And the next year it was England, but only for six months, or Europe for four weeks. And I feel I’ve spent almost as much time not here as here, only I’ve always come back. And I will come back, I just don’t know when or for how long. The last time I made a move like this I was not quite three years old and I was leaving the Kalahari Desert of southern Africa for some place called America. And all I know of that move is that the night before we left I walked through the village hand in hand with Mum singing ‘Little Bunny Foo Foo’ in a high-pitched, quavering falsetto voice, and the next day, when our plane landed I breathed a huge sigh of relief and announced to all the passengers, ‘phew… us made it!’ But I might be mixing my childhood stories here…

The point is, there were no difficult goodbyes that time. Laissez-faire, and take what life gives you. Maybe I’m over thinking this. It’s not goodbye for ever. I’ll be back, or you can come see me, and everyone’ll be happy. Right? Sure. Smile and tell me that’s exactly how it’ll work.

I’ll believe you.

A Bustle in Your Hedgerow

Don’t be alarmed now. Ten to one it’s just a spring clean for the May queen. Wash away the dross from a dreary April and we’ll start fresh. That’s a bit unfair though. I’ve always been partial to April. I mean, it’s the month of rain, and I’ve always secretly thought I was a rain god. Secretly no longer… Although I s’pose if I were a rain god, note the use of the subjunctive there, a tense I never knew existed ‘til I studied French for five years, if I were a rain god then I could have prevented it from raining seven of the last eight Tuesdays. Have you noticed that? ‘Course you haven’t. Why would you? Unless I’d been whingeing about it to you constantly. But it’s true. And the reason it so concerns me, for it does, is that the pickup roller hockey game played every Tuesday night here in Austin is cancelled whenever there’s rain. And when one so looks forward to playing in this hockey game, as I so do, it becomes one of the most evil examples of Karmactic justice in the universe. Although I don’t know what the bad Karma’s from, so I can’t do anything about it. I’ve tried helping old ladies across the street and rescuing kittens from the tops of trees, but all has failed.

I must have been a real son of a bitch in a past life…