Will the tramp be sold for the sum of five camels in a Moroccan village? I couldn't say for sure. Read the stories below for details.


  • (continued from carpet kidnapping – part 1 and carpet kidnapping – part 2) “I have no idea. I can’t even see the end of the maze,” I said, standing on my tip-toes to try and find a high point we could focus on to walk towards. “Madame, c’est perdu?” I looked down to see a tiny child tugging at my …

  • (continued from carpet kidnapping – part 1) — Back in the carpet cave… — “Yes, my boyfriend’s a football player,” I said, immediately sensing how ridiculous and unpractical the statement was. Oh, so you have a huge boyfriend, what the hell is he going to do to save you when you’re in the middle of a medina in North fucking …

  • carpet kidnapping – part 1.

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    When I was nineteen and living in southern Spain, I convinced my friend Lokelani to go to Morocco with me. When I say “convinced,” I mean I told Lokelani that we were going windsurfing in Tarifa, a small town in southern Spain, when I knew there was no wind, and then expertly shuffled her onto a boat headed for Africa. …

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