“…Do you know where the bus to California is?” he asks me. His accent is American. His English is perfect. He sounds like he just stepped out of a movie. The question is absurd. This is Cambodia. Even with my lousy knowledge of geography, I know there ain’t no busses to California here. He’s got…
…”What’d you say? You got a problem?” I ask, like a badly written character in a Roger Corman film. We stand there for a few seconds eyeballing each other… I know I’m not really going to get into a fight with an amphetamine pumped Moroccan waiter. I can picture them plopping my entrails into…
…the town has become a bit of a pilgrimage for pot heads in the last ten years, because the hill country is full of huge marijuana crops… I ride into Chefchaouen with a sporty gent in his elegant ’70s Merc’ coupe. The steady climb up the mountain roads makes me alternately sleepy and dizzy, but…
..I head out to the edge of town, and walk up a scrub covered hillside. I see a small stand of trees and think I’ve found my home for the night. unfortunately, a band of stray dogs has beaten me to it. They seem less than thrilled to see me, so I change…
I almost get knocked down by a kid who comes barreling round a corner and dives past me. In hot pursuit, a panting, red faced woman wielding what looks like a chair leg with murderous intent…