...who got away & did not turn into a laurel tree, after all.A toe touched the tip of North Africa & I took off, ran, ran, ran along the beach,* shouting over loud waves, too loud for the Med, really, about finally getting to the continent. Possibly I was shouting in my head. Only recently 18, one would've thought I'd journeyed that long to get there. I knew it would be a long haul to get from there to the rest-of-there. Must always remind people, "Africa is a continent, the largest."
Three companions & the beach caretaker (who became a self-appointed guardian & two-week Arabic tutor), maybe they were rolling their eyes. It was the far end of dusk, so I didn't see & for once I didn't care what anyone thought about my exuberance.
*I love these photographs by Rengim Mutevellioglu. They remind me of the eastern Mediterranean shore (the top one is marked as 'Beirut' here, but not on RM's CV, nor on Kropp Creative Database). Definitely check out Rengim's portfolio - a 19-year-old Russian living in Paris.
NB: re pix & labels. I know Lebanon is not in Africa, people, but I was near Carthage & that means something to me, if no to one else. Additionally, that first NA trip coincided with the beginning of the Lebanese civil war...the story of begging an unaccountably smitten young English diplomat in Tunis to get me, g-damn it, on a plane to Beirut or Damascus is for another time. (I've possibly said too much already & have to check.) I conflate those two places because they conflated & collided simultaneously in my life & in other people's lives, many whom I'd yet to meet.
