Tag Archive: Morocco


For Whom The Bell Is A Friggin’ Nuisance!

Italiano: campanile English: bell tower

Italiano: campanile English: bell tower (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I heard an Imam calling the faithful to prayers at five o’clock this morning. I thought that was a bit early or late, depending on your point of view, but then that is the custom here in Morocco. I was transported back to some decennia ago, when I used to live right next to a church.

Now, when I say right next to a church, I mean that my bedroom was about fifty yards away from the bell tower. And these were not iddy biddy tiny bells, these were humongous bastards that fairly shook the life out of you, if they caught you unawares. And if you think that they were wont to ring every hour on the hour, you would only be partially right. They rang every fifteen minutes, day and night for every day of the catholic year and that’s a bloody long year, let me tell you!

I’m quite good with languages and I cursed those bells in just about every language I could think of and then some. I had nightmares about them, luckily short ones, for those blasted bells would save me from them with their annoying clanging every fifteen minutes, remember? BIG brass bells whose reverberations would rattle your very bones and marrow… I looked like a parent with triplets, I looked a mess and I wasn’t even married! Every morning some frightful red-eyed monster would scare the living daylights out of me, when I looked in the mirror… not a pretty sight!

Every year around Christmas I would beg Santa on bended knees to please bring me a bazooka, but he never did. He must have been in cahoots with them, methinks! I thought that this was a bit petty of him. Was this really too much to ask for! I did not ask for a tank… only one little bazooka and he denied me it. *sob!* He thereby deprived me of the joy and privilege of refurbishing the bell-tower of this church to my very own specifications, which is to say bell-LESS!

One day I’d had enough. I started looking in the papers for a flat to let, somewhere as far away from my home town as possible. Anything to get away from those horrible bells. Most of them were too expensive for my humble means, but finally I spotted one that looked right up my, hopefully bell-less, alley. I arranged for a meeting with the estate agent and we soon met up.

Imagine my dismay when the flat in question turned out to be right next to a cathedral, a BIG one. Just when the estate agent showed up, the bells started ringing. I cringed and hunched up one shoulder and I moaned: „The bells, the bells!!!“ This made the man slightly nervous, but he soothed my soul and saved my day by saying that the bells were shut off from 10 pm till 10 am, out of consideration for the neighbours. I was so deliriously happy that I hugged and kissed him. He turned red as a beet and for some inexplicable reason I never got the appartement…

As soon as I got back, I started a petition to copy this very sensible practice of the shutting-off-of-the-bells-at-night, but the deacon turned a deaf ear towards it, probably because of the bells!? I swore then and there to Saint Peter that when my time comes and the bell tolls for me, I ain’t comin’! If he notifies me with some quiet flute music or a nice guitar fandango, I’ll follow as quietly as a lamb, but not for those beastly bells!

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Preparing the Move…

Her Majesty!

I’m as nervous as a cat at a hyenas’ wedding! Ten trillion thing to take care of and all of them have to be finished yesterday. You know how that goes, right? And I don’t even know the exact date that we’re supposed to move. Well, I’ll know when I start seeing camels, I suppose.

Those who have read most of my writings will know that Linda is not actually my dog. I’ve been house and dogsitting for months now and the boss was hardly ever here, therefore I kind of appropriated her in my mind and in my heart. But the problem is that she is not mine and when the boss’s daughter and her family came over they fell in love with Linda and I suppose you can guess the rest.

I took her to the vet yesterday and had her chipped and vaccinated. I’ve also had to ring everywhere to find a transporter cage for her, because she will be joining her new adoptive family on the 22nd of January. It’s a consolation that their two little girls will spoil her rotten and the family is a kind and loving one, who deeply care for animals. Linda will have lots of room to romp around in, etcetera, etcetera…

But I already miss her and she’s still here next to me! Funny, isn’t it? Not really… I’ve had nothing but her for company for months and now she’s going aswell: BUGGERATION! I’m a trifle upset about this. I certainly hope that I make new friends over in Morocco very soon. Inch Allah!

The Rat-race…

from museofelipebello.com

Brrr, I’m shivering in my soul. After almost a decade of being jobless and seven years on the street, I am finally going to have to start doing a proper job as logistics manager again. Frankly, I am not looking forward to it. The freedom of the street is so alluring, to be able to go where you want any time and do more or less do as you please is addictive, BUT I’m really getting too old for it, for it is a hard, hard life.

Many of my friends have died because of the harshness of this travelers’ life. I decided that I wanted to live a while longer and therefore I have to bear the consequences and put the yoke of servitude to the rat-race  back on my weary, old shoulders. I had sworn to myself: “Never again!”, but had I remained, I would surely have perished, like my young, best friend Rauli, who died at the age of 38 a year ago now.

It feels as if there is a vice strapped around my temple and some horrible tyrant is twisting it ever tighter, but there is only me, the decision is mine. I shall just have to look upon it as another adventure in a corporate jungle instead of in the urban or outdoor jungle. I hope I meet my Jane, while playing Tarzan with bills of lading, etcetera…

Tarzan, Lord of the Jungle

Image via Wikipedia

It’s off to Morocco next week or maybe even this week, to start in the marble import business. Oh, what a joy! Probably hardly any time for writing or reading or painting, just numbers and calls from irate customers. I dearly hope that this occupation does not extinguish the flame of my muse. *sigh*

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