Captured

Chapter 08. Opening a new embassy office in Tangier.

Fallout from my rescue mission to Algeria didn't take long to appear. The Spanish Immigration department people called the US Ambassador in Barcelona, my boss. He stood his ground and insisted they grant emergency visas to the three boys and make their grandfather their legal guardian. And then the Department of Public Welfare in Algeria also got on the phone and verified the children were petty thieves living on the street since both parents died last year and they had no living relatives in Algeria (except the father but he was in prison).

They were also upset that I operated as a police officer inside their country without registration or permission and I smuggled three kids out of Algeria without permission. Before we got off the sat-phone call he admonished me to not break any more laws (of course he knew that's what State hired and trained me to do) then he congratulated me for a job well done. Then he said as a separate matter he was being forced to transfer me to the Embassy in Rabat. He told me the ambassador in Rabat was Hindu, born in Nevada to parents from southwestern India.

I scheduled a train trip to Rabat to meet the Ambassador and test how we got along. I was able to set an appointment for next week Friday at 4pm, his last meeting of the day. Until then I dealt with several panicked US tourists in Tangier who were pick pocketed in the Grand Socco. When we request temporary passports here it takes an extra day because they are printed in Barcelona and have to come here by next day courier. In Barcelona it takes 2-3 days, down here in Tangier it takes 3-5 business days.

I rode the train down to Rabat, which was an interesting ride across the desert. I caught a glimpse of the ocean a couple times, otherwise it was sand, weeds, olive tree farms, and mountains the entire way. Rabat looked a little smaller than Tangier. It's about 2/3 Berber, and 1/3 Arabic speaking natives. Since I didn't know my way around Rabat I took a taxi from the train station to the US Embassy which was in the former downtown section of the city, the place was much smaller than the embassy in Barcelona, but this one was also walled-in and semi-secure. It was a rehab building that looked like it used to be a hotel back in WW2 that someone recently built a wall around.

The Embassy had a small sign on the outer wall with an American flag and another sign warning that security will shoot anyone attempting to enter without permission. It took me nine minutes to get past security even with my State Department badge, but it wasn't as bad as London. After being cleared and scanned for metal I walked inside the embassy and sat in an uncomfortable chair in a small waiting room. The Secretary to the Ambassador walked in and shook my hand and thanked me for coming down. She escorted me into his office, which was very nice looking with carpet and antique furniture, fancy lighting and brass serving trays on a large wet bar.

Five minutes later the Ambassador walked in smelling like cigar smoke. He offered me one from a box of Cubans on his desk and we walked out onto a balcony and sat on padded lawn chairs and talked about working for State. I told him the short version of my story and my pilot's license situation. I needed some flight hours or it would expire soon, I was told it was a condition of my employment with State. We also spoke honestly about transferring me to their embassy instead of treating Tangier like a suburb of Barcelona.

He told me, "I was told at first their plan was for you to operate the network camera that gave INR their first view of the Strait from the south, and also photographing ships in port. I never heard why that data was needed, but okay... Then your partner was fired and you remained at your post in Tangier and today you are helping American tourists with lost passports and other little emergencies, we're too far away in Rabat to help them, and they can get a replacement ordered online and delivered to their hotel. Your little office in Tangier saves State a lot of money, it's the perfect place for a storefront office like yours."

I told him I liked what I did for Americans and an occasional arrest of a fugitive or the rescue of kidnapped kids. The ambassador interrupted me and said he heard about that, three kids rescued from slavery, how fantastic was that! I corrected him, it was twenty children, but three of them made it all the way to Spain to be reunited with their grandfather.

"I think it was fantastic, and you risked your life to help them. Hey, you wanna beer?" He asked me.

I smiled, laughed and said sure! So he reached in his pocket and pulled out a small cell and called someone in the embassy and minutes later someone walked out the balcony doors with a small tray table and two opened bottles of American beer, Schlitz! I was going to ask, but decided to smile and kick back and enjoy the beautiful weather, the palm trees blowing in the breeze and the view of Rabat from his small third floor balcony.

I asked him after he guzzled nearly half his beer, if he wanted me transferred to his office and he said he really didn't care. I asked if he ever had any fugitive capture agents before and he said no. He told me having an office in Tangier dependent on the embassy in another country is okay temporarily but Washington wants that changed. Then he set down his beer and chuckled and said Washington has too much spare time on their hands. We both laughed loudly, which made me feel more at ease with him.

We talked about education for a bit. He went to UCLA and earned a law degree but never took the bar exam. His parents owned a company in Las Vegas and that was how he landed the Ambassador gig, his parents knew the two US senators from Nevada very well. I asked about his religion, he said he was born and raised a Hindu but never attended services since college. When my cigar made it down to a stub I asked what to do with it and he made a 'flick' gesture so I leaned forward to look at the ground and flicked it into the air. Moments later his was done and he flicked his too. He told me not to worry there was nothing down there but rocks and insects.

His English was perfect, I could barely detect any Indian accent but he said he'd only been to Kerala three times in his life and felt he was 100% American. After that we talked about food for ten minutes and discovered we liked the same type of food and both of us liked to ride bicycles and loved red haired women. He said his wife is a natural red head but his kids all have black hair and eyes. I told him my GF was a natural redhead but she has a soul. We both laughed.

"How can you tell?" He jokingly asked.

I told him, "I put my hand over her heart and my forehead against hers and stared in her eyes. If they have no soul you can see it in their eyes, they just look empty inside. I said I can feel the energy coming from their heart."

"I thought humans emitted energy from their lower abdomen, below the belly button." He said in reference to an old Native American belief.

I told him "that's true but you can't feel it in someone else, you have to feel it over the heart." Then I told him "I believe dogs have souls just like ours."

He asked what it felt like. I told him there was a weak energy field coming from the heart that felt similar to a magnetic field. If you move your hand slowly through the field you can barely feel the contours of the energy field, but it takes practice and the right setting because it's very weak.

We talked crap for an hour and he said his time was over and invited me to dinner but I said I needed to catch the train back to Tangier at 1830, so we shook hands and he said he'd let me decide if I wanted to transfer to his command, just email him and he'd submit the paperwork. He also said he'd look into the pilot thing too. We shook hands and I took a taxi back to the train station. Fifteen minutes later I boarded the train to Tangier and arrived at 8:45pm and took a taxi back to the hotel. My little twin bed in the corner never looked so good.

One of my favorite parts of this tiny L-shaped room was the windows let air blow in off the ocean so I slept under a blanket and breathe fresh ocean air all night. This hotel was in the (southeast) corner of the old city, so technically my room was beside the wall and all that sat between my window and the ocean was the waterfront boulevard which turned into a ghost town at night. I'm on the fourth floor, but if I look out the window straight down its only about 15 feet from my window ledge to the top of the old city wall. Occasionally I hear groups of tourists walking along the wall. If the hotel caught fire that might be my escape route to climb out the window, hang from the ledge and drop 10 feet to the stone wall walkway.

I pulled back the plain white sheets and got between them and closed my eyes and took a few deep breaths and fell asleep. My last thoughts were about Daniel and Jennifer. I wondered if Daniel was still behind bars or what he was doing. I haven't heard from him since the day he was arrested, which was more than six months ago. Jen said he's in prison in Texas somewhere for killing a guy on a bicycle while driving drunk and leaving the scene.

During the week I helped four Americans with problems in Tangier and also got an overnight letter from the State Department in Washington DC. They wanted to inform me I was re-assigned to the jurisdiction of the US Embassy in Rabat, Ambassador Steven R. Sravan JD. I learned his parents were major stockholders in Wynn Inc and Kroger Inc. He was appointed to that position by George Bush Jr., and remained during Obama. Rabat is not a high value embassy assignment but he gets a decent allowance. Rabat does not have a campus like Barcelona so Rabat offers no housing or food service but he paid his staff well and had all sorts of perks inside the embassy, like a free gym and child care (in the basement) during embassy hours. When I was there I eyeballed the building and estimated it was about 150x150 and four stories tall and made of brick and steel inside frame. The ambassador told me the place burned down in the 1930s but was re-built as a modern hotel and was later purchased by the State Department and converted into an embassy. Morocco is generally considered a safe place for American tourists and businesses. Hollywood shoots lots of desert movie scenes here. Unlike many embassy buildings the one in Rabat is not covered with antennas on the roof. All they have is an American flag on a pole.

As soon as I got re-assigned I had to go to Barcelona and pack my stuff and return to Tangier, they allowed me to rent a jet in Tangier and get the move done in one day. My two trunks fit nicely in the cargo area behind the seats. I couldn't rent a truck because I didn't have a license to drive in Spain or Morocco and my Texas license has expired but my pilot license is valid as long as I make the minimum number of yearly flights.

Rabat told me they intend to continue to maintain the tiny retail space for a satellite office in Tangier since they get a flood of American tourists during the winter. Tangier usually has very mild winters, so it's a great place to visit all year. The remaining Beatniks in the world still feel compelled to come here; it's like Mecca for Beatniks. I keep an eye out for Maynard G. Krebs but I think he died back in 2005. I noticed the men's clothing stores all sell berets, narrow sun glasses, turtleneck long sleeve shirts, black jeans, and pocket size notebooks for writing poetry between bongo solos. I think the work clothes we saw Steve Jobs wear looked beatnik-ish. Look up Beatnik on Wiki if you are unsure. It started in the late 1940s and lasted into the 1970s.

To keep up my flight certification (required by State) we agreed that six times a year I would rent a jet (paid by State, fly to Rabat, and fly the ambassador to a State Department meeting held for the African Nations in the coastal city of Accra in Ghana. On the other months I rented a Cessna propeller plane (paid by State) and flew around the city and back to the Tangier airport to keep my license/log book current. They called that exercise: Touch and Goes. Let's just say that maintaining a valid pilot's license ain't cheap.

You have to make so many takeoffs and landings to keep your license active so pilots rent a plane and fly the traffic pattern and come down low enough to chirp the tires on the runway, then lift up, go around, and do it again to make the required quota by FAA rules. Yes, the tires actually chirp when they contact the pavement.

Let me tell you, there are not a lot of airports in Morocco. Only the largest cities had one and they were always a single runway and general aviation was even scarcer. Airport terminals were small in Morocco, and services minimal. To find a jet to rent I have to go all the way to Tetouan, Morocco. Morocco is similar in size to California. And northern Morocco is also on a major tectonic plate boundary and can get horrible earthquakes. That is why all the ancient Roman buildings are ruins.

On one of the flights we took to Accra I had time to hang out for the five hours of the conference and spent part of it in the shallow hotel pool or on the beach. I honestly considered staying with the jet at the airport, I could bring a book or my computer and get work done but Steven is so interesting to talk to I decided to tag along with him instead of guarding the Citation.

When I walked along the hotel beach I had several children walk up and hold out a hand asking for money, of course I had none to give them, only my passport and badge. I realized that if I produced a wad of bills I'd jeopardize my safety. Instead I kept walking and mostly ignored the adorable little African kids running around on the sand.

In the distance I saw an oil tanker stuck on the rocks. Judging by the lack of paint I'd guess it's been there for a long time, but the hull still looked intact above the water line. I thought I saw maybe the bow was broken but nearly in place, maybe shifted to the side a little. I'm not sure why I find the image of a large beached ship so compelling to my brain. I estimated it was about three miles away up the shoreline. You can see it on Gmaps, do a search for `Coco Beach House' near Accra on the waterfront and scroll west and you can see the huge tanker on the rocks.

Late in the day I walked from the Ramada Coco Beach onto Shining Beach. A very muscular young man in a tiny swimming suit ran out to intercept me and advised I was on private property. At least he was polite but firm about me not walking on their sand without paying. There were no signs and the sand looked exactly the same. I smiled and did an about face and walked in the other direction (eastbound) along the edge of the water. It surprised me how calm the ocean was, barely any waves. All I wanted to do was walk closer to the beached tanker but I guess that won't happen in this life. Then I wandered back to the hotel pool, which was shallow, more of a wading pool for kids. In hotel promo photos the pools look real, but in reality they were only knee deep. I thought that was kind of dishonest marketing.

Their meeting ended at 5:30 but Steven hung out for a while to shake hands and schmooze with politicians. We got back to the jet at 6:40pm and took off at 6:55pm. It's a 102 minute flight back to Rabat, and then I fly to Tetouan to return the plane and sign the bill to authorize payment. Then I take a taxi (30 miles) home. I actually enjoy being his personal pilot, and renting a jet saves him almost two days of frustration using commercial airlines in these smaller African cities.

I got a nice email from Jennifer, she wants to come here again for five days. It got me recalling mental images of her body and I felt a longing to be with her, so I emailed back and told her I'd love to have her visit. She wanted to come here in early December. The place she works in Austin has some pretty nice time-off policies, she can take off almost one week every two months of full time effort, but she's salaried and often works 14 hour days in her cubicle.

Speaking of work I came up with a note to tape to the glass in my office. The place I rent is about 12x12 with one plate glass window and a glass door, the walls are painted and the floor is tiled. I have a desk, chairs, sofa, fax machine, and plug-ins for a laptop. My laptop connects to 4g cellular locally. The note I posted offers instructions how to reach the US embassy (in Rabat) over the internet or by phone. It offers an outline for how to request a temporary passport, which is the single most common reason people visit my office. I do the paperwork and scan it and email it to the printing company in Barcelona.

Another note I posted on the window concerned crime in Tangier:

Dear fellow American travelers:

"Crime is a serious problem in northern Morocco, the single biggest threat to tourists involve pickpockets and con-men. But it's easy to visit Tangier and not fall victim to crime.

1. Never display cash in public, only spend local currency in stores due to fraud in the exchange rates.

2. Never carry a purse or backpack. Leave all your jewelry and valuables in your hotel safe.

3. Never display a cell phone in public, keep it in your pocket. Displaying a cell phone or jewelry attracts thieves. They may follow you for over an hour before making their move.

4. Never publically display your passport, you don't need to carry it with you to your hotel pool. Passports drowned in pool water are the #1 cause for visits to this embassy. You cannot leave Morocco without a valid passport. (That's actually not true, anyone can swim across to Spain or hitch a ride on a pleasure boat and sneak into Spain or Gibraltar).

5. Avoid making eye contact with strangers in public, go about your business and always be aware of anyone getting close to you. Avoid conversation or contact with strangers, especially if they are selling things on the street. Never allow strangers to touch you. Never carry valuables in your back pockets, never carry a purse.

6. Avoid un-lit areas and dead-end streets. Do not rent a car without insurance obtained in Tangier. Your US auto insurance will not cover you in Morocco. If your tourist plans revolve around the ancient city please understand most of the walled city has very narrow streets that do not allow cars. The ancient city is hilly so you need to be in decent physical shape to walk the streets of Tangier. Old Tangier is hilly. If you are confined to a wheel chair or are blind you should not visit Morocco. There are no accessibility laws or handicap ramps in this country.

7. You do not have USA Constitutional rights in Morocco.

Follow these simple guidelines and have fun in Tangier.

By email I got a note with the time and date of Jennifer's flights. This time she is avoiding the Rabat to Tangier leg by flying to Madrid instead of Rabat. Her visit is six weeks from now, the worst part is the final week before she arrives, trying to conserve sperm for an entire week. I scheduled my office closed the day before to the day after her visit and posted that on the door. It meant I had to stay open the rest of the month except the 25th.

I discovered there was a jazz and poetry festival planned during Jennifer's visit, the location was Merkala Beach Park. It was an outdoor venue on public beach property. The park has a large beach, visitors need to bring water and seats or rent a chair on the beach. In past years the festival attracted tourists (Beatniks and Hippies) from all around the world. City government suspends modesty rules on the weekend of the festival so it also attracts locals that use it as a time to cut loose and show flesh in public. I was certain the Modesty Police will arrive and take photos of Muslims breaking church law. Probably half the attendees will be from the EU. This festival was often referred to as 'Tanstock, the biggest outdoor concert in the Islamic world.' It's also had problems in the past with violence relating to intrusive off-duty Modesty Police trying to collect evidence despite being told not to. I heard it was a great place to get blackmail photos. I gave some consideration to defending my fellow Tangier citizens and going to the concert with a couple cans of pepper spray. Anyone taking blackmail photos at the event should be extremely visible and obvious.

The main attraction was the live concert, not the attendees; anyone concentrating in taking crowd photos was likely doing it with evil intentions.

During the next week I dealt with something most State Department employees dislike, the status of a US citizen being sent to prison for killing someone. His crime happened two years ago, and he was sentenced yesterday to life in prison. He originally admitted he lost control and beat the man to death over a dispute inside a cafe over his bill; things got out of hand and became violent. He admitted eating too much hashish-granola and to the act of beating the man to death, he described was extremely vivid and colorful so he kept punching until other patrons broke up the fight. By then the victim had a broken skull and no pulse, blood leaked from his ears, nose, eyes, and mouth.

I spoke to the man twice in prison but he was not requesting my help, he trusted the justice system in Morocco to do what was right. He mostly did not want to be executed for the murder, but life in prison in Morocco will be harsh. I doubted that was the first time he lost control of his mind while under the influence but I never looked into his criminal history in the States, he was from Boston. I was in court the day he was sentenced and heard the prosecutor speak to the judge about his history in Boston with multiple criminal charges related to drunk and disorderly, domestic violence, divorce, non-payment of child support. He came to Tangier hoping to disappear and found himself in the exact same type of legal problems he had since he was 10 years old. I guess he didn't realize the thing he was trying to get away from could be found in any mirror, not something he could leave at home. I've heard that Americans do not do well in prison here, even if they are big dudes that enjoy fighting. I pray he never fathered any children. I considered offering to kill him, but never did. If he begged for an American to kill him I could spray him in the face in the prison visitation area since there is no barrier. I could spray him and he could inhale deeply.

We had two deaths to deal with, both held American passports and died alone. Let me explain:

There are a lot of elderly (sometimes wealthy) Americans that came here during the Beatnik years of Tangier, late 1950s to early 1970s (some stayed forever). Beatnik was a counter culture movement after WW2 that was anti-war, anti-consumerism, anti-establishment, self-proclaimed free thinkers (that all thought alike). Beat sort of meant 'beat down' by society and the emerging controlled corporate media as broadcast television came into the homes of most Americans and took control of their thinking. Being counter-culture the Beatniks valued Jazz and non-mainstream music and poetry. Many of the Beatniks were taken in by political messages that were actually word salad poetry designed to promote Marxism and the downfall of capitalist countries, they also promoted censorship and elimination of the middle class. Many of those folks stayed in Tangier and became citizens but still felt American on the inside and valued things like freedom of speech and the press.

Jazz earned a bad reputation for being responsible for the downfall of youth in America. Jazz was also blamed in the media for the most famous murder in America, known as the Crime of the Century, the killing of Bobby Franks in May, 1924 by Nathan Leopold and Richard Loeb. Loeb did the actual murder in the back seat of a rented car with Nathan Leopold driving.

Just like in Bangkok, people came here because of reports that Tangier was a place that welcomed misfits and the counter culture. Tangier welcomed gays and Marxists when few other countries did. We see a steady trickle of elderly gays in their 80s and 90s that die here but want to be buried in the States. Young people come here today to sit in the shadows of their great grandparents in the exact same cafes and coffee houses in the hopes of smoking drugs and eating Moroccan food and listening to Beat music from the 1950s and 60s and hoping to have a life altering experience, like the Buddha under the Bodhi tree, but without attaining enlightenment first. Can one purchase true enlightenment? The myth of Tangier sort of sells it still to this day, 70 years after it started. Plus there is an entire underground sex fetish industry here too that goes largely unmentioned, and it never appears in the newspapers.

I'm sure every year they cremated a dozen dead street kids here, mostly due to drug overdoses. I've heard Tangier is a place like Bangkok where one can rent a child for an evening of sex. I pray the numbers are small. It's one of the many nice things the Islamic faith brought to Tangier, was the beginning of moderation that transformed the city to a safer place, but petty crime here is still out of control. Tangier will continue to be a 3rd world city until it conquers that part of their culture that decides to look the other way, as long as it's the tourists that are the victims. If the tourists stopped coming Tangier would soon experience significant financial trouble.

Yesterday I met a local attorney, he walked into my office on one of the days I was in the store for a 10 hour day, and I had very few walk-ins but a lot of calls to return. At 11am the bell rang above the door when he walked in and I was on the phone talking to the passport printer in Barcelona.

The nicely dressed man introduced himself as Benjamin Taleb. He said he was in the area and saw the sign and someone at the desk so he decided to say hello. We shook hands and took seats. He was a large guy and something told my brain to be careful with him.

"You know the sofa is much more comfortable."

The old man looked at the two plain wood chairs on the other side of my desk, then smiled, stood up, turned around, and sat on the much nicer sofa across the small room. As he turned I silently opened my desk drawer to expose the pistol I kept in my drawer, just in case. He began to tell me about some of the Americans he's defended in criminal court over the years, never for simple possession but usually for violent crimes: rape, robbery, murder, and a few sex crimes against children.

"The best thing Americans can do in Morocco is to never get involved with the police. I wonder how so many get the idea Morocco is a lawless country?" He asked.

"I think it's an old belief that gets passed amongst friends, Tangier was a party town back in the 1960s, lots of heroin was consumed back when it was grown in vast fields in Spain." I offered.

Ben interrupted, "And now they cannot compete on price with poppies grown in Afghanistan in fields guarded by American and Taliban troops. What do they guard against?"

"Probably local citizens who do not want their soil used to grow non-food items. Money from the sale of poppies goes in the pockets of powerful international criminals. Very little money is paid to the actual farmers working the fields."

He asked, "How big is the heroin market into the USA?"

"I'm not sure but I think it's bigger than anyone knows. The thing to understand is the poppies are processed in Mexico, not Afghanistan. The biggest problem with refined heroin is it's a delicate chemical and does not tolerate humidity, so it cannot be shipped across the ocean without considerable loss of potency and possibly contamination by mold. Growing in a field it tolerates rain just fine so they ship it nearly raw in sealed tubs to Mexico for processing into heroin and cocaine."

"How did they get heroin into the States before the airplane was invented?"

"Insulated crates on ocean going freighters."

"Why can't they refine it overseas and ship the finished powder to the US and bypass Mexico?"

"It doesn't work for many reasons, one being there'd be too many people involved. They would have to pay off customs and Homeland Security, which increased the risk and raised costs. There are too many eyeballs in shipping ports, too much scrutiny. Dope sniffing dogs are trained for the finished product, not the raw plants." I replied then added that like I said before, the humidity ruins the powder.

He smiled, sighed, and said: "In twenty years as an attorney I have never been asked to defend an American for possession of heroin." So I asked what happens if you are caught injecting by the modesty police. Ben smiled and said "They take your drugs and dump them on the ground, punch you in the face a few times and let you stagger away. It costs a lot of money to detain a tourist and confine them to prison for years, it's cheaper to send them home and make sure they never come back, and that they tell their loser friends to stay away from Tangier too. The strategy seems to be working."

"Why don't the modesty police stop pickpockets and Gypsies?"

"They do not arrest people, they are not actual police. They enforce the laws of God, but not so much on tourists unless they blatantly violate our laws of acceptable public behavior. They seem scarier than the police because they are everywhere and seem to come down harshly on women. To protect women there are more rules on how they should dress and behave in public, we do this for their safety because Arabic people know how Arabic men behave, and Arabic women are very alluring. They are hard to resist."

"Yes, I have noticed, they are beautiful. But I think the Modesty Police should decide that theft is against the laws of God and they should beat the pickpockets and eventually they'll leave Morocco too."

Ben smacked his hands on his thighs and said it was time for him to move on, lunch was coming up soon and he missed the call to prayer at 11am. I said it was nice to meet him. The man stood and reached into his sport coat pocket and pulled out a stack of business cards and set them on my desk, asking me to promote him as a defense lawyer. I stood to shake his hand and he turned to leave. He stepped out the door and vanished into the crowd, I closed the drawer that hid the pistol, always cocked and ready to fire.

I had no idea if that guy was honest or on the take like so many wealthy local people. I tossed his business cards in the trash can but kept one and dropped it in my drawer. He should take out a Yellow Pages ad and not expect me to do his marketing.

Just after Mr. Taleb left the courier arrived with an express letter from Barcelona. An hour later two vacationing Americans arrived for their temporary passports. They became necessary when they got in the pool and forgot about the passport in a back pocket. When I travel I always keep mine in a quart Ziploc bag.

Twice in my life I got out of a hotel pool and started patting my pockets for the room key and felt my cell phone and passport had gone swimming too.

I locked the office door and walked home at 6:01pm. It was a nice evening, the city smelled like ocean tonight instead of sewer gas, which was more normal here. You just had to get used to the odors. Almost every walk home my nose always detected the scents of incense, marijuana smoke, cigars, and cooking food. This city is totally obsessed with food today, and it's not really African. The food here is a blend of Spain and Arabia.

When I got to the last block of my walk home I saw some flashes in the sky and the power went out in eastern Tangier, my guess was a bird landed on a transformer and got instantly flash broiled.

Seagulls understood fish, but not sharks. They understood fishing but not power lines. Pigeons understood power lines but not fishing or sharks. Sharks snatch birds floating on the water watching for small fish or flying low above the waves. Almost no birds understood large plate glass windows. I bet the number of power outages caused by sharks was pretty low compared to squirrels and birds.

I got to the hotel and they had the oil lamps lit. I was escorted up the stairs to the fourth floor, I made it the rest of the way to my door without help. In my room I lit a candle and then the big kerosene lamp. My laptop has a good battery and I got connected to wifi which was on a back-up power source. I got an email from Jennifer.

She told me she bought her plane tickets. This time she was flying tourist class from Austin to Atlanta, and then across the ocean to Madrid. After that there was no first class and the planes were smaller. She was flying on Royal Air Moroc (RAM) from Madrid to Tangier; they only flew regional jet size aircraft built in the EU. From Atlanta to Madrid she was on KLM, and AA from Austin to Atlanta. I never asked how much her tickets cost but I suspect she has little else to spend money on, except her cat or her mom. My guess was she spent about $1500 round trip.

She had a one night layover in Madrid, which was cool. I told her there was no way I could drive over there, I would surely cause an accident. With my spatial perception oddities I can barely walk on these very narrow sidewalks without tripping or bumping into people, so I am better off leaving the driving to someone who knows the roads and has experience.

Jennifer says she does not mind the 'security theater' hassles at the airport, its entertaining most of the time and she considers pat downs to be like a free lousy massage.

I replied and told her what type of clothes to pack, considering winter started a couple weeks after her trip. I told her to pack for daytime highs of 65 and lows around 40, plan for rain, fog, and wind. I wrote myself a post-it note to put a sign on the embassy office door that the office was closed during those dates in early December, please call the embassy in Rabat, or use online services. If it was an actual emergency the embassy in Rabat would text me.

I must confess I've had fantasies and dreams about her visit; it's only three weeks away. We were a good team in bed. We both knew exactly how to torture each other with precise pleasure. And we were both completely unembarrassed about our own desires when we discussed sex. Jen told me I was the only person on the planet she masturbated with, and she felt she could tell me any of her secret desires and I would still respect her. I told her she was one of the only people I'd masturbated with, but that's not entirely true. She has no idea how open I was with Daniel in college about sex and secret fantasies. We told each other our biggest secrets (when drunk). I never told her but I was surprised how simple and uncomplicated Daniel was about sex, he was Mister Missionary. I never told Jen that I blew Daniel twice (that I could remember) when he was pretending to be passed out. I think he faked it several times hoping I would blow him again, so he didn't have to ask a guy to blow him.

Daniel was raised with an old-style Protestant set of morals, like: one did not discuss sex out loud with anyone, ever. He liked oral sex but was reluctant to discuss it. I might have been the only person he talked about sex with. I could tell he really wanted to whip it out and use his boner as a visual aid but he was too afraid to actually do it. But one thing funny about Dan is no matter how uptight he may be there is an amount of alcohol that causes all of his barriers to open wide. He'd never be a good spy. Get him drunk and he'll tell you anything.

Two weeks before her visit I took a city bus around the waterfront to see how the set-up for the Jazz Festival was going, over on Merkala Beach. That park was west of Tangier on the north shore of Morocco, the beach faced north.

The park looked like a modern version of Woodstock, I saw a long line of porta-pottys, vender booths, a big stage with overhead lighting, and a couple EMS clinics set-up inside empty semi-trailers in nearby parking lots. I'm sure they were going to have plenty of Narcan for the festival which was well known to junkies from around the world. They were expecting to have `round the clock live music starting 3pm Friday and ending Sunday morning at 8am. This year it was something like the 64th Annual International Jazzfest-Tangier. Each year the local mayor talked about a crackdown on wild behavior and drug use/sales but they know if they did it another city would host a similarly named event at the same time and promise to welcome everyone, just clean-up afterward. It brings a huge amount of much needed wealth into the local economy. The biggest problem was keeping the local religious zealots away from the park, so there is a local volunteer anti-modesty patrol. They use legal harassment to chase them away and protect festival goers.

Most of the wild behavior happened in the beachfront park, not around the city. In the past there were topless young girls sitting with boyfriends on beach blankets soaking up the sun, some topless girls played volleyball and waded into the icy ocean water. Bare tits on public display really upsets some people, especially those that hold onto their pearls and pretend to be offended. Yet on the same beach guys can walk around shirtless without anyone taking offence. Naked little children run around on the warm sand and everyone thinks it looks cute. In Tangier there is probably a modest increase in calls to police about drunk fights in bars, etc.

Last year whenever the Modesty Police showed up inside or near the park the volunteers surrounded them, shone dozens of flashlights in their eyes, shot video and took photos, yelled insults through bullhorns, and sprayed them with vinegar until they left. After all that negative attention and publication of their photos many had to leave Tangier forever because everyone would shun them. They do not like their photos and names printed because most of them have been in serious trouble before. Working Modesty patrols in some cases is an alternative to probation or prison.

Four days prior to her arrival I remembered to reserve the family bathroom on her second day in Tangier, for 9pm to midnight. Tangier is 7 hours ahead of Austin so her internal clock will be messed-up, I reserve her arrival day for lite eating, alcohol, and lots of hand holding and quiet conversation. One of her favorite ways to recover from jetlag is to lie on the bed beside me, naked, with her nipples pointing at the ceiling; I use my fingertips to gently oil and massage her body. When Jen is naked and receiving all the attention she looks truly happy, relaxed, and satisfied. She likes to relax on her back, naked, while I pour warm baby oil on her flesh and rub it in with my finger tips, from her neck to her thighs, with extra attention on her nips and belly button. She told me this time she is packing more and warmer clothes, her laptop, and lots of cash.

Jen works for a software company in Austin that sells retail business software that runs cash registers, credit card terminals, and back office management (scheduling, payroll, employee records, training, and insurance). She is a VP of product design, her job is to make their software easier and friendlier for the user. She says at work she is the `Chief Anti-Nerd Nerd.' I've heard you can hear her cackling laugh down the hallway if her office door is open. She is well paid and works a lot of hours. And they let her bring her cat to work too. She says her cat behaves more like a dog, which is why she brings him.

Last week while I was on one of my daily trips to the harbor to photograph freighters I decided to take pictures of the neighborhood along the waterfront, southeast of the walled city. It's a much newer part of Tangier (1980s), the buildings are more modern. They have elevators, indoor plumbing, AC, wide streets and sidewalks with taxi and bus stops. I looked into the cost for a studio apartment in a ten-story apartment building along the beach, I took photos of it from the port and documented it had a view of both harbors and across the waterway to Spain on a clear day. It essentially the same view as my camera has now from inside the walled city. So I rode the bus over there and toured the newer apartment and took photos out the windows, checked into their internet service, and the bit rate they got, and sent that off to INR for possible approval. The cost was similar, maybe 100 bucks a month more for a studio on the 9th floor with a similar view of the Strait.

I'd be giving up maid service and the intimacy of the old neighborhood within the walled city, out at the new place I'd be amongst the fast food places that I really detest, like McFakeburger. There is even a KFC on the first floor of the apartment building I toured today.

The place I looked at had one main room with a small kitchen area, refrigerator, and a small bathroom with a tub/shower, toilet, and small sink. It was furnished with a sofa, full size bed frame with mattress, two arm chairs, and few small tables and two lamps. It also has a connector for cable TV of some type. In one corner was a track on the ceiling with hooks to hang a floor length curtain for some isolation between the bed and the sofa. There is a small closet near where the bed goes. The rental office lady said most local stores sold `floor to ceiling curtains' that fit perfectly on the sliding hooks.

I got quick approval from INR to move the camera, and spoke to Ambassador Steven in Rabat and he gave me the go-ahead so I raced over there and put cash down on the studio apartment. Then I filled in the purchase agreement that authorized payment from State to the apartment manager. And with this place I have to establish my own utility services. 24 hour building security is included in the rent. The apartment has a 20 gallon water heater and they said the other renters were middle class locals, younger people, almost no kids, no dogs, no smoking indoors, small patio on the roof, and quiet parties on the square. During my tour I noticed sprinklers and smoke detectors too.

The apartment overlooks the beach, where the ocean is bone chilling cold all year. They've also had shark attacks in very shallow water, less than knee deep!

Back at my old apartment I boxed up my stuff, uninstalled the camera and modem, put my clothes into plastic bags, and put all of it into my trunks and carried them one at a time down to the lobby. I'd gotten to know and like the elderly owners of the hotel and shook hands with both of them (Christians cannot hug Muslims with the modesty police nearby) and sat on my trunks waiting for their grandson to arrive with a cart to roll my trunks out to the street to flag down a taxi. I am definitely not going to miss the old city and the 12 foot wide 'streets.' In some places the streets are only seven feet wide.

In case I never said it before, the only part of the entire Tangier metro area where cars are not allowed is within the walls of the ancient city, and even then only about 85% of the old city blocked cars. One big advantage of that is the old city is rather quiet except for the sound of tuk-tuks and an occasional scooter.

An hour later I was at the new apartment rolling my trunks into the elevator, praying the power didn't go out. Up to the 9th floor and out into the hallway with the painted concrete floor. I moved one at a time to my door and rolled them inside. It was nice to see outlets and a cable for TV signals. This place was furnished but it was a very small apartment with a killer view of the strait and the beach. First, I plugged-in the camera modem and my laptop power supply and then started unpacking my clothes. I realized I needed sheets, blankets, and stuff to cook on. Dinner tonight would be at KFC, which is eight stories below my feet! I imagine by this time next year I'll hate the Colonel and vow to never eat there again! I do like their coleslaw.

From my higher vantage point now I can barely see straight north were the Roman ruins in the Spanish town of Bolonia, and a little east of that are the dramatic white stone cliffs in the mountains, and the Moorish Cave. From my apartment Tarifa is due northeast. I cannot see The Rock from my window, it's too far away and the side facing Tangier is covered with trees.

I got some cash out and went downstairs and asked about where to shop for household items and he recommended two stores in the area, one was in walking distance, so I walked three short blocks east to a store that had a name I could not pronounce but I think it started with a K-sound. I don't speak a word of Arabic, nor do I recognize any letters in their backwards calligraphic script.

Being conscious that I had to hand-carry everything I purchased I only got essentials, food prep stuff, bedding, cleaning, and bathroom stuff. I knew I'd probably be back here again later today.

At home I started a new shopping list. This apartment complex had a coin-op (in another building) so I needed detergent. I also needed a small frying pan, sauce pan, cutlery, spoons-forks-knives, more paper towels, and then I noticed they didn't sell alcoholic beverages. I walked downstairs and asked at the front desk where an American can buy wine and he said `nowhere in this part of town.' He asked me what I wanted and I said a case of red wine, Merlot, like 12 bottles. He said he'd have it tonight. When I stepped away he picked up the phone and called someone that would deliver to the front desk, and while I stood at the elevator doors he shouted "Fifty Euros" so I walked back and gave him the money and ran to get the elevator before the doors shut. I think he said the wine was from Spain. For fifty Euros I hoped it was at least as good as Two Buck Chuck merlot.

The light in the elevator flickered during the ride up, "Oh please God, not now." I prayed that the lights didn't go out again during the ride up. I started to consider just using the stairs from now on. I also considered buying a used bicycle.

Jen was due to arrive in three days, she's going to be thrilled, I hope. This area is like a miniature version of suburban America, except the cars are all European and most of them here run on diesel. I don't know how crime is here; it's much more open and modern too. But it's literally beside the beach so if there was a volcanic earthquake that caused a tidal wave on the Mediterranean this neighborhood might get washed away. I have no idea if they followed much earthquake construction techniques. These third world countries are well known for crumbling during earth quakes and a big fault line practically runs underneath Tangier. It actually kind of skirts around the city, sort of like how the San Andreas Fault skirts around Palm Springs.

Day two I made two more trips to what I started to call Kmart, but I really have no idea what the actual name is (even the register receipts are printed in Arabic). It's got inventory stacked to the ceiling and every inch of shelving is tightly packed with merchandise. It's kind of like packing the inventory of a Super Walmart inside the floor space of a Walgreens, but they don't sell clothing or shoes and very little frozen food. They have a butcher but he's always out of pork.

By the end of day #2 I had a minimally functional kitchen. It has no dishwasher so I got detergent, towels, and a dish rack. My bathroom had stuff for two people and the one and only bathroom cabinet was now stuffed with stuff. The tiny sink cabinet and medicine cabinet were also full. I put a tiny clay oil lamp in the soap dish holder on the wall since another soap dish was built into the sink top. Same with the shower, it had a soap dish and I got a rack to hang on the shower nozzle for a tube of shampoo and a place to hang a disposable razor.

One thing I really like about Morocco is they steer people away from single use plastic containers, lots of things come in glass here. Glass can be recycled and once the industry is set-up and going collecting and recycling glass is rather easy as long as you are not fussy about color and purity of colors. Lots of grocery store items here came in recycled glass bottles so there were always streaks of green and brown in the glass. They liked corrugated cardboard and news print paper. So junk mail was outlawed unless it was printed in plain newsprint paper. Glossy newsprint was not allowed.

Milk came in returnable glass quarts, no gallons jugs here, same thing with beverages like Coke and Gatorade, all in returnable glass. People here actually did that for a living, they pushed carts around picking glass out of trash cans and broken glass off the ground and selling it to the recycling centers. There was no plastic allowed at places like American fast food joints, all they allowed was recycled paper or waxed paper. Coke was available but hard to find and it only came in 12 ounce returnable glass bottles, and it was made in the EU so it contained sugar and not HFCS. Littering in public was a crime in Morocco.

By the end of day #2 I was exhausted so I went to bed early and stretched out on the sofa and listened to the sounds of the 9th floor. I heard (next door) the sound of a woman groaning, maybe in pleasure, maybe she was in labor? I have no clue but eventually it stopped, but there wasn't any crying or wailing just moaning, like tongue rubbing her magic spot type moaning. I assumed that Jen was probably already packed and ready to get a ride to the airport. It would take her almost two days to get here. It's about 5200 miles from there to here if you don't count the added distance flying to Madrid first. Madrid is about as far north as Chicago.

Day #3, I was ready and anxious for Jen. I'm sure I forgot things but the store is close, she might like the place because it's small and packed tightly. I mean you almost have to shoe horn stuff off the shelves. And this store does not even have a parking lot or shopping carts, they expect all their customers will get here on the bus or a taxi or walk, and bring their own carts. I need to purchase a folding cart for shopping and hauling laundry. This area is nothing but apartment buildings, all of them are ten stories tall, and they're all painted white and look like they were built by the same people at the same time.

I got a text from Jen she said she was leaving for the airport in 15 minutes, she was trembling with excitement. I told her I had surprises here waiting for her. I'm sure she assumed an engagement ring would be one of them! But the big surprise was the new apartment with indoor plumbing and air conditioning. If we want to watch TV we'll be using her laptop or mine because I don't own a TV (but I do own a radio).

Her flight was due to land in Tangier at 4:30pm. I had my cell nearby just in case. I texted her to let her know I was ready to meet her at baggage claim in Tangier, she texted back that she was on the plane at Madrid waiting to depart for Tangier, she was super excited. In the past once she got here we went out for dinner so I did some restaurant research. Unfortunately, I live in fast food alley. But six blocks down the road is a fish place, locally owned and caught fish, cooked anyway you want.

At 2pm I took the bus heading west across the city on the main east-west boulevard, six lanes wide and 40mph speed limit. It took 100 minutes to cross the city, but it made lots of stops and was full most of the way with people standing holding onto the straps.

I got off the bus at the sign that said 'ARRIVALS' in English. I went inside and found a place to stand waiting on her near the baggage carousels. Tangier only had three carousels. I heard her flight landing announced and which carousel their luggage would arrive. She usually only carried a small case because she's a minimalist with most things, except sex.

About 25 minutes after they announced her flight landed I saw a surge of people coming around the corner and gathering at the only running carousel. I had no idea what she'd be wearing. A few women caught my eye as possible Jens then I saw one with curly red hair and large glasses and that sort of bewildered look and my eyes instantly filled with tears. She had her case strap over her shoulder and walked casually looking left and right for me to pop out of thin air. She had to walk around the carousels to exit the baggage claim area. It looked like she forgot Airport 101 class: "Head for the main exit in baggage claim." She seemed to wander around as if she was looking for me or a lost child.

Then our conversations and emails seemed to click in her brain and she suddenly looked at all the exit doors, picked the closest one and marched directly toward it. I quickly stepped from the crowd and put my arms around her and I felt her body twitching as she cried, then I cried too and tried to walk us outside. Finally I got out of her grip and pulled her outside.

Out in the taxi waiting area I whispered to her again, "Meeting in the airport, always go to your baggage claim carousel and walk outside via the nearest exit door to your baggage carousel, that's where I'll be." She whispered back that was no way to greet a girl friend. "I'm sorry but we've done this nine times and it always goes wrong. You don't need to walk around looking for me, I'll be watching you, I promise."

I pulled her hand toward a taxi and we got in back and I gave the driver the address but Jen didn't notice the new address. By taxi the ride should only take 22 minutes instead of 95 minutes on the bus.

We sat side by side in the back seat, I told her I had a surprise; she looked at me and smiled and waited for the news. "Okay, well I just moved into an apartment with indoor plumbing, a kitchen, AC, and a killer view, plus it's surrounded by American fast food chains." She rolled her eyes when I said that, but I wanted her to know before we got there and she saw all the ugly signs. I mean she flew all this way at all that expense to get away from that crap. I'll explain later that the apartment had to meet the needs of the INR, I bet their RF sniffer worked better at a higher altitude above the ground.

The ride seemed to take forever but he finally stopped in the circle driveway, I paid ($48 Euros including tip) and we got out. I led her inside to the lobby then up the elevator to the 9th floor, out the door and down the hallway to the last door and opened it with the key and walked her inside my new bachelor pad. She set her case on the table in front of the sofa and walked to the wide open windows and marveled at the view. It was bright flat sandy beach and shoreline in both directions as far as you could see, through the haze straight across (14 miles) was Spain. There were dozens of small boats and huge freighters out on the strait slowly marching left or right. I pointed out the camera mounted outside aimed to monitor the harbors and the waterway. She knew enough to keep her mouth shut about that.

Next she examined the kitchen, the tall but narrow stainless steel refrigerator and the tiny kitchen counter with four cabinets below and six above. It had a light in the ceiling. I had dishes, bowls, silverware and utensils all ready but no toaster or microwave oven. I showed her I had a non-stick fry 6" fry pan and sauce pan, both had glass lids. I had a case of (forbidden) wine on the floor and two in the fridge.

Behind the sofa hung a curtain and behind the curtain sat the bed (this was a studio apartment) and dresser and a tiny closet with a few extra hangars. I showed her the spotless bathroom and the thick fluffy towels, and each area had an oil lamp, and my two big oil lamps (kerosene too) for power outages (daily).

She said she loved the view and she needed to take some tylenol and maybe rest her lower back from all that walking and sitting. We took turns using the bathroom (last trip we did that together but this time she went alone and shut the door). Then I stripped to my gym shorts and went to the kitchen. She left the bathroom and stood behind the curtain and stripped to her gym shorts and tank top and crawled on the bed but never pulled down the bed spread, she told me she was ready. I lit some incense, turned off the lights, and joined her on the double-size bed, and told her the mattress was in a heavy gauge plastic cover since it was a furnished apartment.

"You check for bugs?"

"Twice."

Then all conversation stopped and I got beside her on my side, she was on her back and I swear in thirty seconds she was sound asleep! It was only 6:45pm and the sun was already down and the sky was a dark blue, the stars were starting to appear.

I think I spent two hours on my side watching her chest rise and fall as she slept; too bad she had a shirt on all night.

Day #2 of Jennifer's visit to Tangier. I said it that way on purpose because I wasn't sure exactly if she was visiting Tangier and me, or me and Tangier. I'd probably find out soon once she realized I didn't live within the old walled city any more. I think she really liked the old city, you can see it from my new window. The city wall looks huge from across the bay, big parts of it are lit on the outside to impress the tourists.

I got up early and checked the refrigerator, I think I had everything to make her a nice breakfast, but I had no idea how much sleep she needed. She died last night before we could talk.

By 8:15am she was up, showered, and ready to start the day. She seemed happy and excited. I asked her if I could make breakfast and she said 'why of course!' and plopped her butt on the sofa and watched me cook for her. She told me not to burn the toast, so I confessed I didn't own a toaster yet. But I had some sliced white bread and lightly pan fried it and made us scrambled eggs. Sorry but there was almost no pork anywhere in Tangier, so no bacon for anyone! I told her we should ride the ferry over to Gibraltar and smuggle back several packages of bacon. She laughed at the idea of smuggling bacon, but admitted it might be fun if there was nothing else going on. Then something clicked in my memory so I told her about a possible activity for today, the Jazzfest.

She sounded interested but neither of us recognized any of the artist names, but we decided since the bus stop was very close we'd ride over and have a look-n-listen from outside the festival. I was hoping she would have said she wanted to stay home and screw all day. I sort of expected she'd want do that sometime this trip.

An hour later we were dressed for windy/cool/hot sunshine and went downstairs to catch the waterfront boulevard bus line, it ran through the festival area. I brought my tiny camera and my tiny spray cans of Anthrax and pepper spray too just in case.

The ride around took 40 minutes even though Merkala Park is only on the far side of the walled city. The bus was packed and we were halfway there before we got seats. A bunch of people always get off at the stop to board the ferry across to Spain.

We got off at the beach park area, the crowds were huge and the line to get on the bus was long, it looked more like a mob.

When we stepped off the bus we were on the wide sidewalk and viewing platform above the ocean, overlooking the beach to the west of Tangier on the north shore. In the distance to the north was the bottom of Spain.

We saw dozens of booth set-up selling everything from hand puppets, to hats, sunglasses, pop music CDs, stickers, jazz CDs, old vinyl jazz records, balloons, and about every type of snack food allowed by the Islamic culture. Jen soon pointed them out, the Modesty Police standing around silently watching everyone. I told her they were told not to show up here around the festival.

As we walked closer to the entrance the music got louder and the people looked happier. Of course for many jazz bands the use of a saxophone is mandatory. After a while it gets tedious and I found myself wishing they could give the sax a rest for a while and play something else, perhaps, maybe? We stood by the wall and looked down on the beach and saw thousands of people on the grass and on the beach. Many were partying, some were swimming, some were dancing to the music, some were swaying and bouncing to the beat, some were sitting motionless as if they were manikins. I told her the music runs non-stop until early Sunday morning. We saw some guys in scuba suits with spear guns watching for sharks, they also had long poles chase any large fish away from the beach. The last thing Tangier needed was a child eaten alive during the festival. Although it might make a great M Night Shyamalan horror flick! There seemed to be a volleyball tournament going on too.

We sat down on top of the concrete wall and looked down at the huge crowd all across the area. When you paid admission they painted something on your hand that took days to wear off, which was proof you paid so you could leave and re-enter anytime during the festival.

I sat on the wall with my legs spread and she sat between my thighs and I rubbed her shoulders and leaned back into me and we people-watched and listened to the music for two hours then decided when the line to board the bus died down after 2pm that we'd leave then, so we rode back to the east side of the city. On the ride back I pointed out the old apartment and the corner of the crenellated wall around old Tangier.

In some parts of the old city the wall is wide, like the China wall. In other parts it's tall but maybe only three feet thick. Some sections of the wall are totally gone today, probably due to earthquakes.

This time she said we should stay on the bus a little longer and get off at the store and get some more stuff to cook at home. We spent about $150 Euros on things I didn't have, like sugar, rice, chopsticks, wheat, yeast, crackers, frozen veggies, frozen pizza, a pizza cutter and pizza pan, spatula, pre-formed half pound beef burgers (frozen in a box of 12), buns, steaks, and a box of aluminum foil. She also got me a pan to bake bread, and I remembered to buy a folding shopping cart. We carried all the stuff back to the apartment and found places for most everything. She started a new list that included a pack of lighters, flashlight batteries, baby oil, edible massage oil, and a pint of extra virgin olive oil. She said olive oil might also work in the antique style oil lamps I had around the apartment.

While I unpacked stuff she stood at the living room window and admired the view and the vast empty beaches, then she hollered, "OH! Alex, come here quick!" I ran over and she pointed at the beach and I stood behind her pressed against her back side and stared roughly where she pointed, the empty beach. I asked what was so important and she told me to look for a shadow in the shallow water, down there. She pointed down at the beach, at the edge of the sand nearly straight north of our window; I looked closer and scanned slowly then saw it. "Holy fuck, I never seen one before!" It was the unmistakable shadow of a small shark checking the beaches for juicy young legs. But like always, the beaches were empty. I thought that today with all the undercover Modesty Police at Jazzfest there'd be people on the beaches today, but no. Like always they're totally empty. We agreed the shark was almost four feet long.

There seemed to be a strong current along the shore that pushed against the shark, but its tail was swaying side to side at a decent pace as it swam along the beach in shallow water, maybe two to four feet deep. We could see the entire waterfront and there wasn't a single person in the water or on the sand. The city maintains a very large beach park and nobody uses it. Then I wished I'd sprayed a couple of 'them' at Jazzfest, but there were too many people too close to us to use it. Those guys are often religious extremists, self-appointed cops and vigilantes; it sickens me as an American to think they have such power here in Morocco and the rest of the Islamic world. I've heard most of them have criminal arrest and drug arrest histories, so modesty cop is also like a jobs program to keep them off welfare. Sometimes it's offered as an alternative to prison.

We stood at the window for a while; I moved behind her and pressed myself against her back. She leaned her head back and rested it against my shoulder, then I put my arms around her and we started to sway to the beat of the tiny waves lapping against the sand. Then I said something to her that I immediately regretted, but I meant what I said, "I missed you so much."

She turned around and we stood against the wall and made out slowly for about five minutes then went back to getting food ready for dinner in an hour or two. I poured us glasses of wine. "Where'd you get the wine?" She asked.

"Black market, sort of like Prohibition in the US a hundred years ago, you call a guy and expect to pay black market prices." She chuckled.

Then I told her I didn't know squat about Islam, or any other religion for that matter. But I've made a few friends here and all of them are Muslims and they're always very nice, honest, and trustworthy people, except for some reason they don't seem to like the Berbers. Otherwise they are very down to Earth people. You don't ever hear of them committing huge crimes here because their own church and society will come down hard on them if they give Islam a bad name.

Jen asked what we were having for dinner and I said she could decide, so she said we should make the frozen pizza since it's cool outside and we got all the stuff. So I agreed and she got out the box to see what temperature to preheat the oven then said I needed a kitchen timer too. She added it to my list along with a meat thermometer, one of the cheap folding digital ones for $9 each. She added batteries to my list. And without saying anything she added Bubble Bath to the list too.

I turned on the radio to a station that carried the Jazzfest live, so we played that softly in the background on my clock-radio by the bed.

She said we had over an hour 'til dinner time, "What you want to do till then?" I smiled at her. We decided after all those hours on the road we should take showers, which turned into showering together, which turned into we carefully hand-washed every square inch of each other in the shower. I was hard most of the time, but I could tell from the color of her areolas that she was not fully turned on. They weren't the right shade of red and didn't have that upward angle yet. Another giveaway is when she gets super horny she instinctively reaches for her crotch.

If she is not turned on her areolas are pale red, but when she's fully horny they turn the same color red as her tongue, and they also aim up higher when she's standing.

After the showers were done I asked if I could clean her belly button and she said yes, so she stretched out on the sofa after I covered it with a towel. Then I got the peroxide and Q-tips and started cleaning it. She only wore some skimpy gym shorts but slid them down to her spot. I noticed she shaved her entire body before she left Texas. I never shaved myself, but I used a beard trimmer. Before Jen arrived I trimmed my entire crotch except areas I couldn't see, like behind my balls or between my butt cheeks.

I've said it before but I don't understand why a wide-deep belly button looks so erotic to my brain, but it does. I cannot stop staring at hers. It's almost as wide as a shot glass and over an inch deep, plus the flesh on her belly starts to curve down into the hole way out, that makes it look much deeper and wider than it actually is. Of course the head of my dick fits perfectly. Jen is embarrassed by it, which is sad. I think she should wear short shirts and walk around in public with it exposed. I suppose if I find it very erotic some weirdoes might find it irresistible and endanger her life. Mexican girls would be proud of that thing, but red headed Texas girls.... maybe not so much.

After I boiled her hole three times I rinsed it and wiped it clean then rubbed my face all over her stomach. It was squishy and velvety soft. I rubbed my nose over her hole several times then went up to her chest and gently kissed her nips. She moaned softly when I sucked one of them inside my mouth. If I did it exactly the way she taught me she got really turned on. I could smell warm pussy on the sofa so I went down and licked her. She grabbed my skull when I did that and pulled my mouth into her mound and then said she wanted to change positions. I think that meant her train was ready to leave the station.

She put me on my back on the sofa and sat on my hips and guided my boner inside her and put her fingers between us and started sliding back and forth on her fingers like they were train tracks to Orgasmville, and she pressed down hard and trembled sometimes. I got close to coming when she had her orgasm and collapsed on top of me and panted and thanked me several times.

When she rode me like that I loved it when she closed her eyes and worked her fingers, the expressions she made as the sensation got stronger, I got turned on watching her firm small breasts pointed upward and how they bounced. In my imagination I pictured milk slowly dripping off the tips and collecting inside my belly button. When Jen starts to come her body twitches a lot. Sometimes she grabs one of her tits and sucks it herself, sometimes she does it to mine.

After she came Jen softly admitted something to me, "You know you're the only person I can do that with."

I asked, "You can't do it alone?" and she shook her head no. I thought it was sad that she couldn't wank alone to an orgasm, but like Daniel predicted, she really does have complex sexual stuff going on. I never would have guessed looking at her in the airport.

I softly shushed her and held her firmly against me. She turned her head and took one my tits in her mouth and sucked it hard between her lips and stretched it out until it hurt, and then she licked both of my tits with her tongue and did it for a while and released my very tender nipples.

After a while we got up, she turned on the oven to start pre-heating it. I handed her a paper towel to wipe between her legs. The sensation of stuff slowly oozing down your thighs is never pleasant.

Then she called me into the bathroom and had me stand against the sink, she lowered my undies and hand washed my semi limp dick then we went back to the sofa and she blew me, but I told her I wanted to come on my stomach. When my orgasm started I warned her and it fell from her mouth and I spurted across my belly and chest. After a strong orgasm my entire body has aftershocks, like involuntary whole-body muscle contractions. They look like I'm getting strong electrical shocks, but they're involuntary. I hear some guys get them, not just me. Jen gets 'em too.

After that we put the pizza in the oven after we added some mozzarella and crushed red peppers and olive slices. Twenty minutes later the cheese stuffed crust pizza was done and we ate the entire thing and finished off a bottle of wine.

I told her there was a patio on the roof of the apartment so we decided to change and investigate. Holding hands we took the elevator to 'ROOF' and walked out onto a semi-finished patio. There was some furniture but I think you were expected to bring your own lawn furniture. They had a structure for shade during the day but it looked like nobody had been up there in a while. Dust settled on the walkway, that was the giveaway.

We sat on the bench seat and watched the boats slowly move across the Strait. Down below near my old apartment the street lights looked like Christmas. Being a mostly Arabic state there are almost no Christmas decorations anywhere, it's just another day in December. It was at that moment I realized I never got anything to give her for Christmas before she left. Oh shit, I am such a dick! Lots of people in Tangier celebrate their own version of Christmas (especially if they have kids) but not so much with lights and decorations.

We got in bed that evening and talked for almost an hour about her job and living with her mother and how she seems to be getting worse with dementia and her Christian obsessions about her death. That evening when we got in bed she told me she liked snuggling in the small twin bed in the old apartment.

Day #3. I offered to take her back to Jazzfest but she declined, and said she'd heard enough saxophones for the rest of the year. I honestly considered going and sleeping on a blanket there one night but if Jen isn't interested then that's fine too. These days are all about what she wants to do. But what she wanted to do today was to go to the old city and walk around the Central Socco and maybe buy something retro like some Beatnik sunglasses and maybe some Beatnik lipstick colors too. I don't recall ever seeing Jen wearing lipstick. But she does use a little eye liner and eye shadow. Her natural colors are actually very nice, she almost doesn't need any makeup.

We ate at Burger King a block away for lunch after spending three hours in the old city window shopping. I was drained and sore, she looked satisfied like she crossed off a goal from her 'To-Do in Tangier' list. We held hands most of the time. I told her it made me uncomfortable holding hands when mine were sweaty, I thought that was gross. But she said she didn't mind, sweaty palms and all, it was a barometer how I was doing and it didn't bother her, in fact she liked holding my sweaty hand, it reminded her of us on the sofa during sex. I appreciated her honesty but thought her answer was weird. But I've known Jen since we were little kids and she was weird then too (like me). I'm sure she thought I was weird too, so there, we're even! I wanted to tell her I loved her but was afraid to cross that line. But I have a strong desire to be honest with her and tell her how I feel about us. My attitude toward her has changed, I think she should know. It would be nice if we could get married part-time, maybe three days a week, 35 weeks a year. If there was a way to do that, only be together 3-4 days a week I'd sign up tomorrow.

I'm afraid if I told her I loved her she'd go back home and without discussing it she'd get herself transferred to her employer's office in Madrid, then she could fly down here every other weekend, then we'd end up getting on each other's nerves and break up. I like her at a distance and I like not being pressured, and it's not really her, it's me! I need to be alone for part of every day. I also like the freedom that comes with being single. I also like the freedom to suck dick if it presents itself. I think if she lived in Tangier I might never see another erection but my own. She's hinted that she could fall in love with another woman but never had the chance. She says she knows I blew Daniel years ago.

And here in Morocco I have no clue how to legally flirt in public, especially with the possibility of an undercover cop watching for infractions of Islamic laws. I just don't understand my rights here. They're totally too complicated having civil laws and another unwritten set of religious laws too. The local people seldom mention it because they grew up with it.

Oh yes and another thing is with the modesty police, how do gays meet here? I'd love to meet a local boy and go out once in a while and do stuff. How do they do it with the constant threat of ending up in the slammer? Gay (sodomy) is illegal in Morocco, yet there a lot of gays in Tangier, so how does that work? I've read that getting busted fucking another guy can get you a decade in prison, if you survive that long. In other countries near here getting busted fucking another boy can get you publically executed, and they're not nice about it either. They don't use lethal injection it's something like getting shoved off the roof of a ten story building with hundreds of people cheering and whistling. At least it's fast, three seconds of blur and lights out. I bet it's painless but probably scary as hell and it looks bad. I bet 98% of those poor folks pass out during the fall.

Day #4 it was our last full day together.

She wanted to walk along the beach holding hands, which is allowed in public. In fact, it's done a lot by young Muslim couples here. It's nice to see them raising families; those little Arabic children are totally adorable. I love watching them play on the beach with Mom and Dad nearby. I don't think children are allowed to be free range in Tangier.

We walked the entire beach and it dawned on me that it might be a totally natural sandy beach. Most of the coastline along the Mediterranean is rocky, but here it's flawless flat sand. It looked machine manicured but I think it's actually natural. There was a sidewalk near the avenue and some benches to sit and watch the huge freighters slowly march by. We sat there and talked for almost an hour.

"You know I love you Jen."

"Yes, I know. I can see it in your eyes. You got that look of hunger, sometimes I think you see through my clothes too." Then she laughed at her statement, but it was true.

I laughed and grabbed her hand and she cupped my hand with both of hers and held them on her lap. I looked around behind us and around the area to see if any police were watching us but I didn't see any one, they might be busy at Jazzfest still. I'd love to kiss her but we better not start that in public, it might be offensive to someone. I wondered how to say Karen in Arabic, and whispered that to Jen but she didn't understand. I can't even fake an Arabic accent, Daniel could do it but not me.

We went out for dinner that evening, there was a fish restaurant (locally owned, called Cafe Vintage) down the street to the east and we got seated right away. The menus were in French so I had to ask for help and the waiter said the English version was on their web site so Jen tried to find it, but she kept mistyping the URL so we ended up leaving and walking to the store and purchased some allegedly local fish fillets and took them home and baked them in the oven. I thought they turned out great, but Jen did most of the oven supervision. She cooked them on a sheet of aluminum foil with some olive oil and butter, with lemon juice with pepper. We also baked a large russet potato and split it.

After dinner we watched a movie on the computer and snuggled together on the sofa. We watched the 1942 classic Casablanca. I told her I've been to the airport there and its nothing even close to the movie, it's not even near the city and it's surrounded by desert. But I conceded that in 1940 there might have been a different airport. And Casablanca is more flat than Tangier and not as big. They still rake in the tourist dollars because of that movie from 80 years ago. But it got Jen in the mood, so we made a nest on the living room floor out of blankets and sofa cushions and made love for two hours, slowly at first, with a sweaty ending and she orgasmed again, twice.

When she came she was totally wet and panting and working hard and seemed to be totally in her own little world. But it was neat to watch, all I had to do was stay erect and thumb massage her nipples and belly button. She really got aggressive and that was one of the times when her inner Tomboy was on full display. She moved and acted like a super horny guy, and shoved my body into whatever position she needed. I remained silent and totally cooperative like a big Gumby toy with a boner.

That time she pulled my head into her breasts and ordered me to nurse on her tits, hard. "HARDER!" She barked a few commands. Then she had me do her missionary style with her fingers on her spot and again she ordered me to push harder, because it smashed her fingers into her girl parts. After her second orgasm she was on the floor beside me totally drenched in sweat and panted hard. She told me that was the first time she came twice in one hour.

After she cooled off I rolled over and pressed my face into her tummy and licked her belly button then gently nursed on her tits. I got hard again and wanked on her chest and licked some of my semen off her nipples, which I really like doing.

After that we showered and went to bed.

Day #5. Jen leaves today. We had to get to the airport in Tangier for a 6am flight to Madrid, its only 450 miles and her flight was on a regional jet (Royal Air Moroc). My alarm went off at 3:30am, but she got packed late last night. This morning I cooked her scrambled eggs and coffee (I still don't own a toaster). We got the first bus of the day, it runs down the street outside my apartment. That early we beat most of the commuter traffic and got to the airport at 5am, and the line at security was short, maybe 10 people. I stood outside the barrier and we talked about her trip home and her mom. Finally, we hugged and kissed (cops were watching) and parted ways. She walked through the metal detector and her bag got x-rayed. She turned around and waved once she passed the checkpoint. Jen should be on the flight to Atlanta around 9am and on the flight to Austin around 4pm, home by midnight.

I rode the bus home but stopped at my office and checked the store, I hadn't been there is almost a week, the note on the door said I'd be open tomorrow. I had some mail stuffed in the slot low on the door. None of it was for me, mostly advertising for businesses. So I went home and did a kitchen inventory, especially stuff that would turn moldy soon, but she didn't let that stuff accumulate.

I could not get Jen out of my mind most of the day, so I took a nap at noon and woke up feeling better. Whenever she leaves here it makes me feel like a good friend just died. I guess I actually love her, I should tell her more often.

Jen left yesterday and I still feel her absence. I find myself checking the time constantly wondering how she's doing, but she should have got home late last night. I thought about her sitting cramped into the tiny airline seats staring at the seatback in front of her, wishing she could lie down somewhere and sleep. I don't think either of us was good at sleeping in a seated position.

She texted me at 11:30pm last night that she got home and went straight to bed. I looked at some of the pictures I took of her with my cell on the waterfront walkway near Jazzfest with three Modesty Cops crowd watching in the distance behind her. I wish I could take video of her riding on top of me, naked, and glistening with sweat, her tits red and fully erect like she was about to burst from sexual pleasure. She's told me before I was the best she ever slept with and the only guy that she orgasmed with. I took that as a high compliment. She also said she likes it that I trim and not shave my pubes because her shaved whiskers against mine would not feel good. Thinking about her I reached down my pants and wanked and came inside my underwear, but I pulled my hand back so I could feel it pump and squirt inside my undies. It makes a helluva mess but it feels nice. I pulled my hand out but it got on my fingertips. I stuck one finger in my mouth and sucked it clean.

Suddenly the sofa started to tremble and I heard a creaking/cracking/snapping sound and jumped off the sofa thinking it was about to collapse but I felt the floor swaying side to side. I ran to the window hoping to not see the building was about to collapse, but I saw some people outside standing weirdly and holding out their arms for stability. We must be having a big earthquake. I checked the time and noticed how it felt like the vibration and sway changed to something like vertical waves. Then I tried to count the seconds and realized it was almost half a minute and it was still going on. How long do these last? Outside I heard car alarms and breaking glass. I stayed by the window hoping I didn't get tossed out, so I lowered to my knees so my chin was at the bottom of the window frame. As soon as I got down the shaking stopped and the power went out. The floor became still and for a few moments everything was totally silent. Out on the beach the water was totally flat calm, even the waves stopped.

I ran over to the door and stepped into the hallway, about the same time as most of the other tenants on the ninth floor. Everybody had a look of surprise and fear on their faces but nobody else spoke English or Spanish, so I waved and went back in my apartment and watched for any signs of a tidal wave approaching. The sun went behind the mountains and suddenly the beach started to get dark and the ocean remained unusually calm. The thought crossed my mind to evacuate the building but where would I go? If a tidal wave was coming there was no where safe to run to, so I stayed in the window and kept an eye on the sea. I also turned on the radio but none of it was in English or Spanish, then I found an AM station from Spain but it was apparently not felt so much up in Spain. Time to take a chill pill, I drank a glass of wine and went to bed and thought about Jen, hopefully feeling better by now. If anything happens to her it'll be my fault. I texted her that we just had an earthquake, probably the biggest one I felt in my life.

I looked on the internet; there is a plate tectonic fault directly under Tangier that is what formed the Atlas Mountains along the coast. The two plates (Europe and northern Africa) are pushing together, forcing the land to rise around Tangier. Maybe in a million years the Strait of Gibraltar will only be twenty feet wide and ten feet deep. Someday some Frenchman will have to finance and direct the construction of a canal to link the Mediterranean to the Atlantic.

Actually, long ago there was a canal across France. I'm not sure if anything bigger than a fishing boat can cross it today, but it runs from Sete, France on the east coast to Bordeaux, France on the Atlantic side. The purpose was to bypass the trip around Spain to lower shipping costs. As with most canals in history, soon after they open and start making money someone builds a train line beside it and puts the canal boats out of business.

The Panama Canal still has a train line (it was there operating long before the Canal project started in the 1800s) that parallels the canal, and there is another one in Mexico that runs from Salina Cruz to Coatzacoalcos, Mexico. A canal there would put Panama out of business. But the Mexican rail-canal competes with Panama 7-days a week today. What the world needs is a very wide sea-level canal across Central America. Nicaragua might build a canal some day, which is probably the next best place.

I wonder what the tidal water currents would be like if someone dug a sea level canal across Nicaragua, a three hundred foot wide and 80 feet deep. Even with today's technology it could take twenty years or more. But without dams, locks, or electricity it would dramatically lower the cost to build and operate. Panama today would not exist without the canal. It would still be an impassable jungle province of Colombia. Online do a search for Nicaragua Canal. If it's not a sea level canal it will eventually fail, just like Panama may eventually. For information about canal water currents also read about the Cape Cod Canal.

My first day back to work was busy; I had four temporary passports to hand out, people waiting to fly back to the states, each one of them lost their passport in a hotel pool along with a cell phone. I've done it too.

The weekend after she left I went to one of the more notorious cafes in the old city (TangerInn Pub), in my old neighborhood near the waterfront. It's an old pub in the old city, they are allowed to serve mixed drinks from 10pm to 2am daily, and otherwise they have a decent menu and good coffee. I sat at the bar, elbow to elbow with tourists from all over Europe. I think the guy beside me was trying to flirt but I'm not good at it, never have been. I'm too stiff and awkward for flirting in a bar. He had what I think was a New Zealand accent, said his name was Charles. He looked to be about 50 years old but was in decent shape.

"What are you doing in Tangier?" I asked.

"Sightseeing. I'm actually staying in Gibraltar and thought I'd visit the old city, check the vibes. I read about this place online." He shouted back since the music was rather loud. They had a live small jazz/blues band playing in the corner. When he asked what I did I told him I was a fugitive capture cop for the US hunting people hiding from the law. He laughed thinking I was joking. He said he was a sheep rancher (wool producer) back home and was visiting Spain with his brother; they're business partners visiting carpet mills in Madrid, their largest customer.

I reached out to shake his hand and his grip was rather odd, like he didn't want to let go. Finally I let my arm go limp and he immediately released my hand. Then he wanted to buy me a beer, and then he wanted to buy us a pizza. It was the first time I ever had goat pepperoni, but it tasted fine. Two beers after the pizza Charles invited me to his hotel bar, so I went along. We walked about a half mile toward the port and into a small hotel with a small bar and a limited menu. He ordered beers and what the bar called Casablanca Chips, which was basically a fried corn chip with spicy cheese topping but no meat. We talked about the economy and the EU and how he felt it wasn't going to last after the next country dropped out, maybe Poland.

An hour later it was getting close to closing time he invited me to his room to decompress after all that loud music, he ordered two tall beers and carried both of them and we left for the elevators and went to the third floor and into his room; here he was alone, no brother that I could see.

We ended up having oral sex that evening, but it wasn't as good as with my Jen. But it was nice to finally see a way to meet guys in Tangier: at the pubs.

Nine days before Christmas I had the job of capturing a wanted felon in Rabat, I took the train down and stopped at the embassy to verify the warrant. He had a reward of $20k for live capture, and $5k for dead capture. The guy was supposedly wanted for aggravated rape in North Carolina and was scanned (passport) getting off a flight from Canada in Rabat. They had a photo and description. The guy was Glen Kash, with warrants in two states. He skipped out on bail in West Virginia on a charge of felony DUI (repeat offender). His rape charge was at gun point and the victim killed herself months later. The dude was 5'9" and 220lbs but looked more like 250, so he wasn't going to beat anyone in a foot race, but he was known to carry a pistol.

Supposedly this guy was visiting (hiding out with) someone in the 'section-8' housing in Rabat. In that part of town they're all six story white concrete high rise buildings with lots of bicycles and scooters and very few cars. I think the government charges a premium for a car ownership permit that makes it difficult to afford. In the US practically anyone can own a car but in many foreign countries it is a very restricted activity. Morocco is not designed for everyone owning a car. And so many places are so old the streets are too narrow for any vehicles except emergency vehicles or deliveries. There are not many gas stations in Tangier either, a lot of them have just one pump, one hose.

The INR tracked this guy and his cell phone to a particular high rise building on the south side of Rabat, not too far from the Embassy. I tried the delivery food bait again and it worked like a charm. I rang the doorbell and a shirtless teen boy in PJ pants answered the door I asked, "Is this apartment 26?" The kid smiled and nodded yes so I held out the bags and he turned around and called Glen, he walked up with no shirt on and just shorts so I pulled my automatic pistol (with the laser on) and told him to turn around and put his hands on the counter, spread his legs apart, then I cuffed his wrists behind him and checked him for weapons. I had the boy get his shirt and shoes on. I got him dressed (which I didn't have to do but he was not being an asshole) and we walked downstairs and I waved down a taxi and drove him to the central police station in Rabat and asked for one particular officer that handled fugitive warrants and then we did the paperwork, and I took pictures and got a receipt. I was surprised how easy it went. I wondered about the apartment and the boy that answered the door and wondered if they were involved with each other, if the kid might have been a sex slave, but I handed him over to the cops since he was a minor and could not be left alone in the residence.

I got on a late day train for Tangier and got home around 6:45pm and wrote an email to Jen about my excitement. At the end of my email I told her I still think about our party on the floor by the window and she told me she had the same problem! She thanked me for the Christmas card I sent her already.

I celebrated Christmas by attending services at one of the two Catholic churches in Tangier. And it totally slipped my mind while Jen was here to buy her something so I was able to order a gift on Amazon and had it delivered. I got her two queen size wool blankets with images of a camel caravan on the desert with the sunset in the background and the silhouette of a mosque and a tall slender minaret too (made in China). She said they were too pretty to use, she was going to hang one of the blankets on her bedroom wall.

Contact the author borischenaz at mailfence