I am looking for a place to just hole up for a month and do some writing. In this current introspective state, it takes a certain amount of effort to accomplish any small task that involves interacting with the people. Today I needed to do two things: extend my stay at the Hotel Sindibad, and call Darkah.
The Hotel Sindibad guy gave me a thumbs up, so I guess that means I can stay again for the same rate. I haven’t deposited a credit card, there has been no receipt, nothing. It makes me a little wary because I want to make sure I have the price I that I signed up for (150 dh/night=about $15.00). The hotel is probably on the pricey side, but the maids are great here.
Yesterday, I did my laundry in the shower and hung it to dry on the balcony, pretty sloppily, really. My technique was to throw all the clothes on the shower floor, shampoo my hair and wash my body, with the idea that the clothes would get their initial cleaning that way. From there I washed each individual item and rinsed it, and hung it over the shower-curtain-bar. When I returned to my room that evening, all of the clothes I had left haphazardly strewn on the balcony had been put neatly on hangers. I appreciated that- it must’ve taken the cleaner an extra fifteen minutes.
I hate using pay phones, but I had to get in contact with Darkah. She is a local that I connected with through Couchsurfing.com. If you don’t know what that is, well, it’s a website- basically she said she would be available to take me surfing this weekend: just waves, not couch. My strategy was to use a phone for free at a store.
What ensued was a scene at a cell phone shop where my minimal French skills, under pressure, became non-existent. The store owner brought out fifteen different cell phones, naming the brand for each: “Sam-soong, al jay, No-kya, al jay, Samsoong,” (Samsung, LG, Nokia). At the end of this display, I managed to convey that I needed to think about it, but in the meantime, I wanted to try out a phone to call a local friend in Tagazhout (Tagah-zoot). See, I already knew that probably none of the phones she had shown me could make the call, but that she would let me use her personal cell phone to make the call. Darkah answered,
“Oui?”
I introduced myself, and she said that she was working and that I needed to call her back in a couple of hours. I realized it may have been easier to use a pay phone. And two hours later, I knew it was.
TIP#1: If you absolutely have no access to a pay phone
pretend to want to buy a cell phone and get the store
worker to do it for you.
TIP #2: If you go to Agadir or similar, just go and find
lodging once you arrive. Or, get lodging for the
first night, then part of your first day's
acclimation will involve negotiating a price for
a room- remember- it is all negotiable here.
TIP#3: If you are not comfortable with couchsurfing, at the
very least, use it as a resource- contact hosts at
your destination, and ask where to stay, etc. They
are all happy to help, responsive, and have their
respective teeth clamped at the jugular of the city.
I retreated to the nearby restaurant for lunch. A nice table facing the square, the place to myself, enough shade to see the screen on my computer- I anticipated, having mostly accomplished my two main human interactions for the day, a productive and introspective day of writing. What happens next is a sporadically recurring segment we will call FUNNY SCENE, and it will absolutely not be typed in Final Draft, and will, just for today, absolutely be starring YOU:
HURTING TANNER
Day. Ext. Moroccan Café looking out over square. Locals bustle about. Stray kittens seem to multiply by the second. YOU are alone, and sit typing.
MAN IN RED SWEATSHIRT: “Deutsch?”
YOU are typing and just finishing your second café au lait.
YOU (guardedly): “No. Canada- Vancouver.”
MIRS: “No. America.”
YOU take off your glasses and repeat the lie.
YOU(firmly) : Vancouver.
YOU see no recognition in MIRS’ eyes.
YOU: Vancouver- Winter Olympics?
MIRS: Yes, yes.
YOU try not to stare at the man’s left ear- completely covered in a white bandage.
He is mid-fifties, wears several silver chains. He wears a tomato-red, hooded sweatshirt that says, “NIKE.”
His bleached hair is gelled and spiked.
YOU: My last name is German.
MIRS: Ahh, yes! We have plenty of that name in my village.
MIRS takes a seat opposite you. He waves frenetically at the waiter.
MIRS: Coca! Please. Cold one.
MIRS reaches into his pocket and takes out a small leather pouch.
MIRS: Silver- you must buy silver here.
YOU look politely and make admiring, appreciative noises as he extracts
a thin silver bracelet accompanied by a matching necklace.
MIRS: Guess how much.
YOU hesitate, not wanting to undercut the price-
The jewelry look cheap and too lightweight to be something YOU would want.
YOU: 500 Dirhams
MIRS: 200!
MIRS opens his mouth and widens his eyes in his version of a triumphant look.
MIRS: Ahh. But you cannot trust these people.
YOU nod somberly. The WAITER, a slender and mustachioed man in dark clothes brings MIRS his Coca-cola
and opens it in the lifeless way of a man who serves European tourists for a living.
MIRS: See this? I had a boy and he hit me with a bottle.
YOU continue to nod, widening your eyes to imply shock at the violence.
MIRS pauses his tale and says,
MIRS: I’m TANNER.
YOU give him your name and he continues, briefly acknowledging YOU.
TANNER: It used to be, you come here a boy says 150
Dirham, it’s 150, that’s it.
YOU were not expecting him to be gay, and YOU were certainly not expecting him to
spout a hard-times whoring-story. Still, YOU appreciate and are fascinated by this odd man who
is so willing to share this insight into so many topics YOU have never known:
-Homosexuality
-Living in Germany
-Living in Morocco
-Prostitution
And a wholly new topic that emerges out of all of this:
Perils Faced by a Gay-German While Whoring in Morocco
TANNER: This boy, he has blue eyes- you never see blue
eyes here.
TANNER brings his loosely clenched fist close to his face. He looks lovingly at his hand, inhales and shudders, thinking of the boy.
A beggar enters, holding out his hand towards TANNER, lowing something, clearly looking for money.
TANNER snaps around to the man, holds up a finger and makes a tsk-tsk noise while shaking his head ‘no.’
TANNER: I offer the boy some vodka, you should never give
these boys alcohol. And after we are finish. He
asks for more.
I say, ‘easy, easy.’
TANNER’s FLASHBACK TO HOTEL ROOM:
INT: seedy hotel in AGADIR. A tanned and wrinkled old German, TANNER, stands nude, and is wiping himself off with a towel.
TANNER is not alone.
BY the bathroom vanity, a boy of, say, 21, ALI- male prostitute, fills the plastic hotel cup with vodka, drinks, repeats.
TANNER: That’s enough, now.
ALI: ees okay, ees okay.
TANNER: Enough.
TANNER fastens the towel around his waist and walks to the boy, pausing to admire him.
ALI ignores him and pours the last of the vodka into the cup and downs it.
ALI: 450 Dirhams
TANNER: It was 150
ALI: 450.
TANNER puts his hands on his hips, juts out his pelvis in defiance and shakes his head ‘no.’
BOOM!
ALI smashes vodka bottle on counter and holds it menacingly at TANNER’s throat.
TANNER: Don’t you-
ALI and TANNER struggle and TANNER is hit in the back of the head and the top of his earlobe is cut.
The boy searches and finds TANNER’s wallet, pockets it and leaves, dropping the bottle as he exits.
TANNER wakes in a pool of his blood the next day and staggers downstairs.
INT. AM- TANNER’s FLASHBACK CONT.:
Hotel Mohammed Breakfast Nook. Stray Moroccan cats mix freely with the diners,
patrolling both the restaurant and kitchen. We see TANNER alone at a table by the window.
He looks like he jumped ship before the whaling boat could finish its processing.
The HOTEL PROPRIETOR, ASSAN, approaches as TANNER calmly eats breakfast.
ASSAN: Five meen-uhts!
TANNER is moving slowly today. He nods at ASSAN and eats on.
ASSAN: There was a prob-leem wit boy las night.
You go. Five meen-uhts.
TANNER: I have all of my things, and-
ASSAN: You lookee like you try eat the boy
TANNER: I was-
ASSAN: I don’t GEEVE a fuck. FIVE meen-uhts.
We see TANNER rush from the table, not paying. ASSAN has his arms folded to imply that he knows a good area in the town for dumping body or two.
END TANNER’s FLASHBACK
YOU are still at Moroccan Café, nodding along at the recounting. During the story,
YOU have picked up a grey kitten with white paws. It is not skittish like the older ones.
TANNER: So I end up here, Hotel Sindibad.
YOU: Unbelievable. Wow.
TANNER: I not come here anymore. I change my ticket,
go home early.
Old days, I have three boys, one cooks, one cleans, one
with me, then they switch.
Mmm! In those days, 150 Dirhams means 150 Dirhams.
YOU have nothing to say to this, and look at the kitten who has groomed it’s lower abdomen with so
much saliva that the brown in the fur is accentuated and is so wet YOU think the cat has shit itself on your leg.
YOU set the cat down and try and get some information pertinent to your journey.
YOU: Is there anywhere in Morocco that is better? Or
Africa? I’m looking for a
good, but cheap place to write and be warm. Maybe
stay awhile.
TANNER: Nah! All Africa is bad people- they bad in their
blut.
YOU: Tanzania? I-
TANNER: Nah! Can’t trust ‘em. Bad blut.
YOU flag down the waiter and pay for TANNER’s Coca-cola- he gave YOU a story after all.
Also, YOU like the German word, ‘blut’- more direct and urgent than the soft, drawn-out sound of ‘blood.’
YOU: I appreciate your stopping by. We’ll catch up. I have
to call my friend for surfing.
EXT: local square, payphone in front of Moroccan version of convenience store.
We see YOU getting change from a shop keeper,
buying a Coca-cola, and sipping it while using a pay phone successfully. YOU
manage to make contact with and set up a surfing date for tomorrow.
It is a small victory for YOU. YOU hate payphones and do not trust them.
INT: Lobby, Hotel Sindibad. Evening.
YOU enter with a slight, victorious swagger, having arranged, without difficulty,
to surf tomorrow with a local girl you met via Couchsurfing.com
TANNER is there on the couch. YOU sit and take out your
Laptop, hoping for a signal.
YOU: I am going surfing tomorrow with a local girl.
TANNER: Girl? Ahh. You will have to pay money.
He motions across the room to the man at the hotel reception desk, and says,
TANNER: Local girl. He pays money, yes?
The man behind the desk gives him a ‘go fuck yourself’ shrug.
YOU are waiting to see if you can get an internet connection.
A GREY HAIRED MAN sits on the other side of TANNER- it is a
TANNER sandwich.
GHM: Internet es NO GUT
Man behind the desk looks up.
GHM gestures at him.
GHM:Do some-ting.
YOU see your computer has connected-
YOU: it works tonight!
GHM: Ahh. Must be de weather. No gut.
TANNER: she’ll want money, this girl. They all do here.
YOU: look, this is couchsurfing.com.
TANNER: can I see this?
YOU look over at the computer. TANNER notices and holds it up for YOU to see.
TANNER: On this all the time.
The website YOU see:
GAYROMEO.COM.
YOU are astounded by this man’s audacity, and
YOU have no choice but to let him
do some homoerotic online chatting while
YOU write in your notebook a bit.
Thankfully the internet service fades back out, and
YOU head to your room. TANNER is just down the hall.
INT, hotel room, night:
There are two beds in the room, outside we hear Moroccans cheering for a soccer game
At a bar across the square, and we hear little kids playing: squeals, laughs, running about,
perhaps they are chasing the stray cats.
YOU settle into your bed and begin typing while finishing your coke.
A knock.
YOU ignore it.
Another knock.
YOU hear a voice outside-
VOICE: It’s TANNER...
YOU get up slowly and open the door, standing in the threshold.
TANNER: may I come in.
HE enters and begins taking off his jacket.
TANNER: I need your help with something.
My back is hurt from the bottle.
Can you?
TANNER folds his arms across his chest to demonstrate.
YOU wonder if somehow asked for this by being polite.
YOU: I should crack your back?
TANNER: I do it to you first.
TANNER gets behind YOU and your back opens nicely,
pops all down the line of the spine.
TANNER: You like?
YOU nod, as he readies himself.
YOU get behind him and lift him- he keeps his body tensed.
YOU go again. It is almost like he is tensing on purpose.
What does he want YOU to offer him a back rub and a blow-job
to ease his pain?
Probably.
Obviously.
YOU try again.
His back pops.
TANNER: YOU did it!
I asked a big strong man to do this
Just yesterday, and he could not.
How many kilos you weigh.
YOU: Look. I don’t know kilos, I am 195 pounds, but..
TANNER: ahh. I think it is 83 kilos. How old.
YOU: 27. And
TANNER: YOU have your whole life ahead of YOU, and
At thirty, YOU get second wind.
YOU: I could use it.
TANNER: Already YOU could use second wind?
TANNER looks invitingly.
YOU: I don’t mean to be rude, but I have to finish my
writing.
TANNER quickly picks up his jacket.
TANNER: YOU want me to go?
YOU nod.
YOU: I have to finish. I’m sorry.
TANNER: Okay. Later?
YOU nod and he retreats into the dark hallway.
Is Tanner the Monkey?
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