By popular demand, I'll tell you how I ended up in Morocco. It's no secret that my health over the past two years has left much to be desired. As part of a project to try various esoteric and not-so-esoteric methods to fix it, I decided to do what many prominent literary figures did before me. Namely, to dash off "to the waters" — in my case, the waters of the ocean. I was looking for the easy way out. The easiest option turned out to be joining a friend of a friend. For many years now, he's been leaving our frosty region during the wintertime, heading with his wife and son to the African continent, to the Kingdom of Morocco.
The farewell party
I don't have as many prejudices as the average Latvian, so neither African customs nor the Muslim faith of the Moroccans scared me. Morocco has the internet, and I can work remotely both by the nature of my job and by our company's policies.
A tale is quick in the telling, but a deed is slow in the doing. Probably all my friends already knew I was going to Morocco, but the ticket was still not bought. Fortunately, it finally happened: at the end of January, we flew out to Nice, and a week later, from there — to the thrilling and mysterious Marrakesh.
"The Côte d'Azur is paradise, I reckon," a local Russian expat informed us
I spent a total of two months in Nice and Morocco. By then, the next part of the plan had finally taken shape — to finally make it to my sister, who lives in the US. It was supposed to warm up in Wisconsin by late March, the kids were just having their school break, and I would finally be able to spend time with my nieces.
The weather is always good in Agadir (Morocco) and there are sunsets like this every day
The plan was executed brilliantly, and not just like that, but with a twist. Along the way, I managed to take a quick stroll around Barcelona, and even spend the night on my blessed Icelandic soil.
Gaudi's Sagrada Familia is indeed an absolutely grandiose thing
My greed got the better of me and I walked 5 kilometers from the airport to the hotel through the Icelandic tundra
Just a week ago I landed in Chicago, but I've already managed to take a trip up north to Wisconsin, where the snow unexpectedly ambushed me.
My nieces Kira Victoria and Allison Andrea
And here I am before you, sitting in a regular American basement, where I'm typing up this teaser. This is the kind of place usually inhabited by deadbeat offspring unable to find a job and mooching off their parents. I mooch off myself, which is why, for comfortable work, I ordered an ultrawide monitor, as long as two regular ones. Following the age-old American tradition, they delivered it instantly — in two days. Then they just dumped the device, worth a couple of hundred bucks, right at the door without sweating it. Nobody was home, obviously.
Ahead of me, I have two more days to shake off the rest of the jet lag and dive back into the daily work grind. My blog is back in action. Judging by the enviable regularity with which it rises from the dead, I predict that sooner or later you'll see new posts about the wanderer, the sufferer, interesting articles, movies, music, dreams, and other curious stuff.