technology

watch battery on a sunday

~ i wrote ~

Where here can I get a new watch battery on a Sunday, when in this Christian god-adhering nation things are all closed?

I’ve begun making my immediately-post-Berlin plans but they’re all wrong, topographically speaking — way, way too much overland shenanigans as I shuttle between Cologne or Stuttgart and back to Berlin again and Cracow and Vienna and/or Prague and Paris, from where I’ll go to Bucharest indefinitely — must cease shenaniganning, find water, and stars, and stay.

My watch stopped yesterday, which for someone who likes to know the time and gravitates toward the analog and lives for unsettling metaphors is almost too much to bear.

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Miasma of relief

From the moment this afternoon when Rasheed and his miasma of relief fell into the other chair at my table in the café where I finally found WiFi to call him and make up our missed connection, I could feel how he doesn’t need me in the way I’ve been thinking he did. He’s back with Caleb, writing lots, looking fabulous. Now I’m not his symbiotic rescue friend, merely a White woman who disembarks from the ferry from Spain and wanders the wrong way and needs his help getting acclimated to Africa.

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a micro culture of tissue sales

Earlier today Tarifa was the most beautiful, most photographable place I’d been so far, but tonight already the Tangier medina has surpassed it. I know it’s wrong to not take one zillion pictures of spices in sacks, but what will I do with them?

I observe a micro culture of tissue sales here, the evidently comparatively impoverished peddling little pocket packs in the flowing urban foot traffic.

My Visa isn’t working at either of the automated teller machines I tried, neither the one recommended by our hotelier, around the corner, nor at a sketchier exchange bureau that was going to charge me a ten percent commission.

On our walk back from dinner in the kasbah I saw a tourist ask one of the tissue-sellers, cross-legged on the street, for directions and wished a little too late I’d given the latter a five dirham coin for her troubles and to model better visitor eco-behavior for the former, but I had neither the thought nor the currency.

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the best olive oil I’ve ever had

~i wrote~

Yesterday I arrived on Naxos and was driven from the main port to nearly the northernmost part of the island, a homestead-I-guess-you’d-call-it in the hills where I’m scraping paint in exchange for my keep. The maybe-craziest-for-me thing is what a commodity electricity is — I went ahead and bought a Greek SIM card with a generous data allowance during my ~28 hours in Athens, anticipating that I’d have no internet in the hills but never imagining that the real challenge would be keeping my phone charged in the first place. Live by the sword, die by the sword, as my father a.k.a. your brother likes to say. So I am rationing, BIG time — I spent the morning working to an audiobook with the machine in airplane mode and the screen dimmed, and then I hiked the ~4km down the mountain to the village of Apollonas for a swim in the Aegean — the beaches are all rocky but the rocks are big and smooth, like huge pebbles, so it’s manageable — and now I am treating myself to a supper out, which is partly because I’m hungry and partly because I need to ask the proprietor to charge my phone for me. Just as soon as I send this. Later I think I’ll go hang around Nikos’ Jewelry & Souvenirs because Rupert, my host, tells me that Nikos is the smartest guy in town and the most likely to talk with me in any critically evaluative way about conflict and resolution on this island, and then I’ll begin the ~7km walk-via-paved road back to the homestead, hoping to hitch a ride from someone who speaks enough English to understand when I say to stop so that I don’t end up, an hour later, back at the port. Once there, I don’t know what I’ll do. Probably cut my toenails by candlelight and look at the stars. 

p.s. While I was writing this, my food and beer arrived. This is may be the best olive oil I’ve ever had. 

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