Finished reading Murakami’s book, last novel was “A Shinagawa monkey”. While reading the story of forgetting and recalling, I was wondering what the title has to do with a story and how Murakami will connect the two. At the end, obviously, it just took a little bit of usual Murakami’s magic.
A totally different parfume that I planned for hot summer. Not easy-breezy-fresh- citrusy. Not light and summery. Shop assistant said people ask her what’s she’s wearing when she’s wearing it. I smiled. And I loved when I tried. The most expensive parfume I have, yet another Guerlain. My favorite scent.
After yoga class in this expat city I was thinking that actually yoga is highly competitive. At least it became after the teacher said: “And don’t compete with anoyone!” Also it’s interesting how differently people finish it off, what they grab first, their mat, their bag, the shoes. In the silent end of shivasna when everyone was supposed not to think, I was thinking, what’s in their heads.
Marrakech reminded me instantly of Hauff’s fairy tales full of dust and magic of the Middle East. The Medina was full of secret-types dressed in long dresses disappearing between the many streets and gates of the old town. Vendors selling miraculous oils or lazily sleeping in the afternoon heat when only white skinned tourist dare to walk around Jema el Fna.
Marrakech is also full of cats, just like Istanbul. But unlike there, no one feeds them here and they walk around skinny. Everyone’s trying to cheat tourists, although hotel staff is at least trained to strech their smile as wide as possible.
Upon leaving I thought it’s a perfect place to write a book.
On a dreamy afternoon like yesterday, I was sipping the tenth glass of lemon tea and packing my things. For a trip to Marrocco I managed to buy red short skirt, white shirt and a print shirt. Two books of South American author and some yoga balm possibly are coming with.
