Today I am looking out the window of the train. It’s been a few years since I went to Tangier and there are many old friends to see. Nassim has his new film there Majid, and Lamia has two films she produced that are showing. Hakim has his documentary there and James is down the street redoing his house but I am waiting for him to put out another film and I will hunt him down for some coffee. The cinematique is there and I do need to stop in and say hello to the director.
I have to buy coffee at the best vendor of freshly crushed coffee in Morocco and I still don’t know where I am sleeping but this will all work out. I should be more worried, and actually with age I do get more worried about things like where I am going to sleep. I remember the last time I went I just got a shitty room and made my way to the festival. Now, with age comes arrogance. I need a room. I need my place. I need the little perks that didn’t matter before. I get sillier with age. Hell, I use to live in the Fes medina, in this old riad that didn’t have hot water or a shower or a closed house. It was like camping. If I wanted to pee I had to walk outside my room and viola, I was outside in the rain or snow and walk across the open porch downstairs to the open center square of the house and use the toilet. I would wear all my clothes and sit in front of the heater I bought. Those were the days that I wanted an adventure. These days I want hot water, a bath, my dvds, the internet. I want to be connected. Literally.