On
New Year's Eve 1999, my
beloved and i were in the middle of a tour of
Morocco. This is what i wrote up afterwards about that evening:
Telouet, Atlas Mountains, Morocco
The Dusk of a New Year Settled Shadows from High Atlas Peaks to Smoky Ruined
Kasbah, and on up to us as we waited for the stars to appear and our watches to
synchronize at 00:00 on '00 AD. The requisite comments about the
Millennium were repeated,
salutations were given to other countries already celebrating, and, ohexcuseme, was it all for nought? For some of us, all of our senses were at their peaks, despite being peaked. I myself was punished for my wit: several helpings of
cous-cous churned through my
digestive system. While the earth spun the starfield,
my stomach flipped. Less than an hour 'til midnight and i was squatting over a hole in cement, holding my breath as outside a gentleman discoursed on how he abhorred the very revulsed action i was taking. Afterwards i lay on our bed, feeling
pathetic,
ill,
myself, and very
human. This was the way the year would turn? Not for me and my iron stomach!
Soon, i was back on form, guzzling
whisky, waking people having a wee
nap. One of them screamed at my nudge. At midnight or so, spluttering
sparklers were somewhat lit, cheap
champagne was quickly quaffed, crossedhands held while circling around a hearty bellow of
auld lang syne, and people were
hugged,
kissed,
blessed,
smiled on.
My beloved, entranced at the midnight stroke, witnessed a
shooting star zip up the brief exposure to world
communion. Or were we, up here, apart from the rest of the world? the one
mobile phone in our group was out of network coverage, and the only other noise of the Valley were the careening bellows of dogs who were howling, we imagined, that there were people all over the world making a racket over something and get indoors before the
fireworks start. On a
shooting star, i wished family and friends in my home country a best of times from the end of the
century.