By the time that this post goes live, I will have wrapped my trip to Bismarck, North Dakota, and will be traveling back to Washington, DC. I am not a spiritual person, though standing on the edge of this view of the Theodore Roosevelt National Park may have been one of the more divine moments of my life.
Late last year V and I packed the rambler with her parents and snacks and hit the road for a white-knuckle trip from Rabat past Rissani and back, covering multiple mountain passes in order to catch the sunset and sunrise in the desert before racing back north. The journey took us through snow-capped mountains, cedar forests filled with monkeys, switchback passes (guard rails? not always) and ultimately into the desert between Rissani and Merzouga. We missed the sunset by minutes (and I admittedly beached the car near the dunes and was bailed out by a crew of Bedouin teenagers), though…
A recent visit to Jemma el Fnaa, normally one of my favorite sites for a kitschy sensory overload, took an ugly turn. I normally gravitate towards the story tellers and street performers, though this evening I encountered something new. A crowd ringed a young boy while a man walked around the circle, his hands full of bills as he challenged men in the crowd to offer their sons up to fight and accepting bets on the outcome. The boy in the photograph appeared to be there against his will and was ultimately pitted against a much larger and older boy….
V and I recently loaded the Wagon Queen Family Truxter up and headed off to Spain with my family. We once again based our adventure out of Tarifa, though this time we actually made it out-of-town and managed to explore a bit of Southern Spain. It was beautiful.
“From every mountain side, Let Freedom ring.”