crab sandwich

While on the road, it’s been fun to read a novel that takes place where we’re traveling. In Cape Town, I got caught up the murder mystery of 13 Hours, which all goes down right around where we were staying. When we get to Tangier, I suppose I’ll have to have a binge reading session at the Hotel el-Muniria, where William S. Burroughs wrote The Naked Lunch, and for Andalusia I plan on re-reading The Alchemist. While I will always prefer reading a paperback, Amazon is an amazing thing … want a book? Boom. Here it is in your Kindle.

Anyway, at the beginning of the novel I’m reading right now, The Sheltering Sky, there’s a passage that resonates:

He did not think think of himself as a tourist; he was a traveler. The difference is partly one of time, he would explain. Whereas the tourist generally hurries back home at the end of a few weeks or months, the traveler, belonging no more to one place than to the next, moves slowly, over periods of years, from one part of the earth to another.

Kelli and I do our best to keep a low profile, take things slowly and just go where the map takes us. We’d like to think of ourselves as travelers and not tourists …

But seriously folks, who are we kidding?

WHO WANTS TO GO ON A CAMEL RIDE!?!