Missing In France


Where is Buffy?

Keeping up with a two year old is trying in the best of situations.

In our travels through Europe, I found out the meaning of the word panic. The first incident occurred in France. We had went to the train station, resting on our sleeping bags. I closed my eyes for just a moment. Buf was sleeping peacefully. I had not rested very long. Evans had went to get us a snack. I opened my eyes and she was gone. I looked all around. Evans came back and we began our search. I was sick to my stomach, and my head was spinning. All sorts of thoughts went flashing in my mind. What if a stranger had taken her?  My baby!  At about the time we had no hope, over the announcement speakers came, “We have a young American child, would the parents please come to the central office”.

It seems she had wandered off and made friends with a Frenchman that was on a ladder painting. He had given her a pastry.

puff_pastry_france

In France puff pastry is called pâte feuilletée or feuilletage or mille feuille

Not seeing anyone with her he took her to the office.
We knew we had to be more careful. Buffy was such a good child. She was very friendly, we had instilled trust in her and with her inquisitive nature we knew the next time might not have a happy and joyous end.

In Tangier we had to let her down, and besides she was a sturdy little one. She would climb on the high walls in the medina, it would make my heart skip beats. She was fearless.
I remember another time she had been playing with a few children, laughing as they do.We were getting directions from someone and poof she had vanished! When you are in the medina, all the dwelling places look so cold and gray. We started knocking on doors. At one of these dwellings, they invited us in.

Tangier_Medina
Medina

We went down a narrow corridor and like in the Wizard of Oz everything changed. There was a beautiful courtyard with fountains and the trellis was overflowing with Moroccan Roses and Jasmine.

The music was mellow and very middle Eastern.
There in the mist was my child.
We had found her once again.

Jasmine Remains

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Tangier Journal


We first arrived in Tangier by way of a very old over crowded bus. The  dirt roads, rolling hills separating Ceuta from the port of  Tangier. We had come across the Straights of  Gibraltar.
It was a long ride. We had to stop constantly because of bad roads, cows laying out in the noon day’s heat. Not to mention problems with the bus brakes. A 29 mile harrowing adventure.

Our first impression of Tangier consisted of very young boys trying to sell us kif and hashish.

Pension Miami was the first place we stayed. Rhea was not completely potty trained and the balcony came in handy to air out our sleeping gear. 

Later, we rented a very nice apartment at 62 Rue Delacroix with two bedrooms,a balcony, a nice roof top and pull chain latrine.

Our camera and all pictures were confiscated by the Moroccan police.

Here is a link to some great pictures of  Tangier,Morocco

Halloween in Tangier

Halloween at any time is a strange time, but I will never forget October 31st 1971. We had decided we would drop white lighting and go to the disco (Underground). I was going with the girls, and Evans would stay home with his latest love interest. The acid was so pure. The big pits in the ground looked like huge craters, and all the black cats were arching their backs and looked like panthers. We made our way to the club. James Brown was playing on their sound system. The beads I had on broke and looked like they were falling in slow motion. We had a blast.

In the morning light, the smell of the Moroccan Rose and Jasmine filled the air, it had seemed so much heavier the night before. The pure white was wearing off. I went to the bakery and picked out fresh loaves of bread, tearing the insides out and leaving just the shell. Then I brought some to the apartment and Evans made coffee.

I must tell you what happened Halloween Eve. Evans and I had taken Rhea to the store to get her some Moroccan chocolates. We could not afford the snickers that she wanted, which she was not very pleased about.

There he stood! A man looking like Jimmi  Hendrix, flashy clothes, big wads of American money. I looked at him, and he started walking towards me. I whispered to Evans that I thought perhaps we had been dealing with the wrong people. He gave Rhea a snickers and candy to every child in the store.

He came very close to me and invited us to his shop.

I was very interested.

His name was Ahmad.