From the Annals of a Writer’s Distraction

When I was a young man, I suffered a young man’s distractions. An example: the year is 1990. I’m driving my beater of a Ford cargo van through the parking lot of a Star Market in Cambridge, Massachusetts. It’s summertime. The van is an oven, even with the windows...

You Say, “Recession,” and I Say, “Depression”

In recent weeks, as the stock market has logged all-time highs, and leading economic indicators have suggested that the U.S. has nearly recovered from the Great Recession of 2007-2009, I’ve been thinking back to another recession — my recession — the...

Note to self: write better notes to self.

I just finished up a note to my future self. I did it with an Extra Fine Point Sharpie, the tool of choice for such things, since Sharpie ink isn’t likely to wear off over time, and any Sharpie, even the Extra Fine Point version, makes big bold letters. This will be...

Getting the Royal Treatment in Fez

It was our last night in Fez. The next day, we’d be leaving Morocco, and we wanted to do something special for our superb guide, Youssef, and our stalwart driver, Mohammed. Youssef had booked us all a table at a fancy restaurant, the Palais la Médina,...

A Letter from Our Man in Merzouga

Before we came to Morocco, I did a little homework — too little, for someone visiting such an ancient and complex place as this, but as much as I could manage as I went about the business of detaching from my everyday life. As usual, my self-imposed assignment...

What to give the camel driver who has everything

Suddenly, we were on the hook for nomad gifts. I’d opened the door for it in one of my emails to Youssef, who was arranging our tour in Morocco, by writing, “I think we have everything we need, but we’re open to suggestions for any special items you...