no matter how i try

well, i'm back from the wilds, at home and warm. africa did not claim me in the end though i begged it to. too bad i didn't upset enough people. i would often lay at night, waiting for the door to be kicked in, leaving the lock undone. but to no avail. i'm back. but all in all, it's not that bad. i got to be home for christmas and see a lot of people i had been missing. though there are a few i still miss. and still need to see. your day is coming. keep waiting, i'll be right on time. so as i try to get over my malaria i'll relate two more stories for any who are still interested. i like them. they keep me warm at night.

the entire time i lived in fes, i told myself i would one day climb the mountain that lives behind the city and that taunted me as i stood naked in my window drying out of the shower. so one day i set off. took a taxi to the edge of town, bought some water and a pastery and started walking. and i walked. and walked. and sat down. and walked. i met some kids behind the city wall who showed me a place to stand where you could lean out over a huge hill and the wind sweeping up from the valley below was so strong it held you up. and so we screamed at each other over the wind just to have some fun; me at the skinny, poor kids and them at the crazy tourist with wild hair, a backpack and a pastry. so i walked for hours. i walked all day. and after those kids on the hill just under the watchful wall, i saw no one. and for hours i walked alone, over hills and through orchards. and still i seemed no closer to the mountain. finally i found a dirt road and decided it would be eaiser to follow than the freshly plowed feilds. and so i walked on it for a ways until finally i met some kids going the opposite way, back to the city. and they had a turtle. well, they asked where i was going and i said the top of the mountain and they told me not to go up there. "you'll die," they said. "al-quida is up there. they will kill you." so i laughed it off and started to keep walking but they grabbed me and said, "no. we will not let you die." so at that point i thought i might listen to them. plus they had a turtle. so these guys offered to walk me back to the city. they let me hold their turtle and i gave them my pastery. they asked me all sorts of interesting questions: fc barcelona or real madrid, beckham or ronaldino, israel or palistine. as we walked through hidden valleys and heaps of trash and it was getting dark and i realized these poor kids could easily mug or kill such an idiot as me, i thought about that last question. and even if i were the holiest of jews and was wearing my funny little hat with aminiature copy of the torah next to my heart i think i would still have answered palestine. that bought me some high fives and i got to hold the turtle again. finally we got back to the city and the kids asked for money and i laughed at them and said no. and got in a cab and went home. away from al-quida, away from that mountain, away from that neat turtle. it wasn't until a week later that i found out al-quida also opperates out of a building that i had walked by almost every week. how close i was to knocking on their door. "lose me," i would beg.

my second story comes from the great country of spain. it invloves a fat british man, an empty pub, old country music and lots of candles. and beer. but unfortunatly i have to leave. off to pick roger and jarrod up to go on another trip. out west. i'm not sure where really but it's becoming something of a tradition. five guys pile into one van and drive for a week util they feel sufficiently wandered out. but i'll be back soon. and i'll tell you my story. it's my favorite so i hope you're excited about it. and it involves coming home, quite the opposite of being lost. one to make you all fuzzy inside. just like a bedtime song. let that be enough.