Rachidia at Sunset

My time here is coming to a close, and I am becoming nostalgic. My days are numbered (the number is three at this point--I leave on the fourth), and while I am excited for all of my upcoming adventures and plans, I will certainly miss this place and the people that inhabit it.

In four days I head to the insanity that is Marrakesh--to the crazy souqs and always busy Plaza of Djeema El Fna. And after two days there, I will fly out to Madrid, where I will sleep on the floor of the airport, just like in the old days when I used to dream of being homeless. And then from there, I will catch an early morning flight to Lisbon, Portugal.

I have already found a place for Ellen and I to stay there, so a bit of the pressure is off, though I will still have to find a place for my first night there (alone) once I arrive.

Do I smell a homeless guy adventure?

Probably not. I do, however, smell delicous choriço and linguiça and Sagres beer and super-strong coffee and Vinho Verde and caldo verde and arroz de mariscos and tremoços and percebes and all kinds of other delicious food and drink.

The change will be welcome, let me assure you. Morocco has truly delicious, healthy, wonderful food. Unfortunately, they have mastered only two or three dishes, and nearly everything here is a mere variation on the same theme. The same spices, day after day, served with the same meat (nearly always chicken), and only slightly different vegetables, all served with the same (albeit absolutely fantastic) bread.

It is all delicious, but as I say, the change will be welcome. My taste buds will scream with delight and fear as these new foods attack my grill like so many thousands of tasty little ninjas. Their little swords will slice me millions of times, leaving me reeling with the sensation of newness.

There shall be a conquest of gastronomy and a tournament of cuisine, and I plan to be there.