The rain in Spain may fall mainly on the plain, but today it’s unleashing itself upon the nation’s (and all of Europe’s for that matter) southern most continental point. Buckets and buckets of the stuff. After last night’s thunderstorm in Sevilla cleared, I hoped for a warm enough day to merit again bathing in the sea.
Alas the wind and wet decided to hold their annual convention here in Tarifa. Thankfully the tapas here is the bee’s knees in both flavor and price. Curry chicken, ensaladilla and goat cheese with roasted vegetables with a glass of wine for less than 10 bucks will brighten even the dreariest day. Full disclosure: the lazy side of me is thrilled for a rainy day to just sit and gaze out the window upon the sea and the lands across.
The unknown lies ahead. Clouds cover my heart and the rain falls upon me. Yet there have been glimpses of the sun these days. Clarity breaks through for a spell before fading once again into the swirling grey scaled fog bank. There is an obvious, if not on the nose, metaphor in this rain here (Just as the featured image on this post is an obvious metaphor for myself being stuck twixt the light and the darkness). For in the brief moments, when the storm relents, and the mists part, the future is revealed…geographically at least. Across the narrow Strait of Gilbralter, busy with freighters heading from the ancient Mediterranean port cities to locations west and unknown, is the fabled continent of Africa. I bore witness to its hills this afternoon; the first time I have gazed upon the land that gave birth to humanity.
Tomorrow I shall not simply look upon Africa, but set foot on its shores. I shall traverse the steps of Carthaginians, Romans, Vandals, Byzantines, Umayyads, Portuguese, British, French, Spanish and Berbers. I shall seek inspiration as did the beatniks before me. I shall try to write in a less contrived manner than I do now. As much as I hated the characters in “Beneath the Sheltering Sky”, the prose was clean and honest and worthy of both admiration and aspiration. It was a journey through the darkness, that novel. Or at least I thought it was. Anyway, jus because a passage is dark doesn’t mean it’s not profound, or that upon completion the voyager will not be better for it. Just ask Humphrey Bogart and Lauren Bacall.
The allure of the medinas, kasbahs, the mountains of Atlas and the Sahara is tantalizing. They are all the stuff of fantasy and daydream for so many years. Yet now, on the eve of travelling to those lands, I pause with some trepidation. For it is alone I venture into mysterious Morocco. In truth though, the excitement far outweighs the anxiety. Onward into that unknown with another on the nose metaphor; my future shrouded in mystery I head again into that undiscovered country having left academia behind. As has been mentioned before, I am truly thrilled for having liberated myself from the shackles of school (I know not everyone feels this way about school, but I have hated school since kindergarten and yes I do have those memories), but I do miss the comaraderie and I am anxious regarding what the new plan will be. I should, perhaps, take a more Kerouac styled approach. He too ventured to Tangier. Worry not about where the road goes; for to do so is to miss the road. I mention him mostly for the sake of needing segue into the video for today. It feels disingenuous to play music from Morocco when I haven’t yet been there. So I leave you with a performance from Jack himself and the sunset from where the Mediterranean and Atlantic mingle as the storm finally passed.