In Spite of the Hour
The hotel owner, who would become my first friend in Morocco, was waiting for us at the Stedman. The desk staff greeted us and acknowledged our Starwood membership. Charles was wide awake and alert, as if the day had just begun. The Arabs didn’t seem to be in any hurry at all.
Dozens of sidewalk vendors were still plying their wares all along the major avenues. I found five or six other conferees already assembled. ‘You don’t know what you’re getting into,’ one of them told me.
The Captain welcomed us aboard, and the meeting was well attended. Three strong papers examined the extent to which nineteenth-century Independence movements were a precursor to modern experimental dance. The weather was so mild that we were able to dine on deck. There was no evidence of life either in the village or in the fields. I quickly recognized this to be one of “those moments,” and immediately God had my attention.
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