Mali: and a tale of the flyaway girl

I was born on the back of a camel.

Okay, I wasn't really born on the back of a camel but I almost was.  I was born to a man who fell in love with a beautiful girl with long, glossy black hair and big, dark lashed eyes,  spotted in a foreign airport.  She ignored him but he pursued her all the way to her country.  Then he wooed her and took her away. 

They lived near the Sahara desert.  There were camels there.  And that's where I was born.  

I think it was there, in that moment, that my love of travel began.  And it's never ended.  It's taken me over mountains, over seas, across countries, across continents, into places of harmony and into places of war. 

And so it's been that I've become the fly away girl.  Always flying, flying to my next destination.

I type these words to you in the airport. 

See you, see you............ when I land.

 
 
Shot at Peacock Pavilions.

Magic: an Indian tale of color

It was all because of the green, you see, the green. 

But let's start over.

She was of marrying age and her mother had tried to find her a suitable mate:  someone responsible, from a good family,  and kind.  She had found what she thought was the perfect man for for her daughter but the astrologer/fortune teller didn't approve.  And so went the way of the second and third and even the fourth man she found.  The answer lay in the stars,  the stars.  And along with the stars, the sun and the moon were no laughing matters either.  

And so the mother was hesitant when she went in for counsel a fifth time.  She clutched in her hand a piece of paper with the pertinent information: the times, the dates, and the locations of birth of the would-be pair.   And in a closed envelope was a picture of the suiter in question.  The wise man looked at the paper and stroked his chin thoughtfully.  Hmmmm he said.  Hmmmm......Then he said quietly these words, If this is the right man for your daughter, there will be green in the picture of him.  Green. 

Then he opened the envelope.  And took out the picture.

Now, this is the part of the tale where the mother's eyes gleamed.  Because there was green in the picture.  There was!  You see, the drapes behind the man were solid green, the color framing his face.  It was clear -- as clear as could be.

And so it came to be the daughter's wedding day.  The bride wore red, of course.  But it was only green that mattered.  The green. 

   
Shot in India.

Marrakech: and a tale of switching off the auto-pilot

I was talking to her about life, about its slipperiness, about how it can get away and then you find yourself at 80 in your front porch rocker, wondering what might have happened if you had just......taken that trip to India or if you had just..... changed that job you never loved or if you had just...... told him he was the one. 

Oh, you know what I mean. 

I told her that I worried about how the every day crowded in on us.  The mundane details, the petty arguments, the stack of bills.  But I also told her that I felt I could fill my lungs, I could get beyond that, I could see the future glimmering, glimmering.  That I awoke with a sense that good things were coming, that they were happening today, yes, today. 

And then I told her that she was really not so different than me and I was really not so different than her.  But for good things to happen, you had to believe that they could and make it so they would. And that life shouldn't be lived on auto-pilot but driven by rolling down the window, turning on the radio, and grabbing the steering wheel. 

And so maybe she should go on that trip to India, even if it meant going alone.  And maybe she should leave that job, since five years was enough to know.  And maybe she should tell him that she had realized.....that he was, indeed,

the one.  

 
Wedding henna in India, shot in Kashmir 

Where to eat in Marrakech: Andrea's Grill, a tale of risk

There was a boulevard in Marrakech named after his grandfather -- a man who had put his life on the line for a noble cause, fought off marauders of a terrible kind, and protected those who needed it most.  You know the sort:  a risk-taker, a gambler, a hero.

The grandson was a lawyer, by profession.  The type who used to fly first class from country to country, meeting clients, brokering deals, and doing the complicated things that lawyers do.  But he was more than that, much more.  Perhaps that's why he had given up lawyering to become what he wanted most-- a chef.  Not just any chef, mind you but a Harley Davidson riding barbecue chef.  After all, he was a man who was crazy about speed and crazy about barbecue.  But most of all, he was crazy enough to know that a life not worth risking for is not much of a life at all. 

He was his grandfather's grandson, after all.

A cook of the most intuitive kind, his love for the ingredients was felt, was tasted, in the food itself.  A man who milked his own cow, grew his own vegetables, and made his own butter.  Only the most delectable sauces, only the most tender meat, only the most delicious sides.   So you stood up from the table not only feeling full, but also deeply content.  Then you scratched your head and wondered when you had last eaten a meal so good.

Andrea's Grill.  Open June 15, 2010 in the Marrakech country side ..... 
Relaxed lunch only.  Casual dress. 

Bring your children, but leave the marauders behind.........

 

Andrea's Grill
Route de Ouarzazate
Km 9
Marrakech 

Come hungry. Leave happy.