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So far, everywhere we've been in Morocco has been more beautiful and magical than it was in my imagination.
Not so Tangier. Tangier was exactly as I imagined, and not in a good way.
We got horribly lost but remained thankfully unmurdered. No one offered to shoot us up with bugspray or powdered black centipede, which is the most ringing endorsement I can manage.
The most important thing to see in Tangier is the hotel where Burroughs shot himself full of heroin and wrote Naked Lunch. Alas it was closed and looked like it had always been closed, though disturbingly, there was a light on inside.
Even the cats are sketchy. "Cigarette? Kif?"
Here I am in the Grand Cafe Paris, frequented by Truman Capote and Tennesse Williams:
And sleeping train to Marrakech:
Where I am now!
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Date: 2014-03-14 01:11 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-03-14 01:50 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-03-14 02:43 pm (UTC)