I looked at the man in the bazaar. He looked at me.
"Two hundred," he said.
In the back of my head, a little forgotten gear gone almost rusty started to turn again. "Two hundred ... No. One ... hundred? ... I mean: one hundred!"
Just like that. I was haggling again.
I've been back from Morocco only about a week, long enough to dive into dissertation research and phone up a few publishers from Brazil, Argentina, and Mexico. Now I'm typing up the last of it before packing my laptop back into its case and catching a bus to the airport, destination Florence.
There, I'll be participating in a seminar on digital publishing with Slovenian, French, and Italian students, aaaaaaand of course sampling the local cuisine by night. (It's only natural.) On the way home, I stop for 12 hours in Madrid to see what I can see, then it's back to Morocco for my final visit to the sister, and then finally - finally - I land back in Britain.
No volcanic ash has caught up with me yet, but my goodness if this hasn't been a whirlwind month.
I'll write more about how it goes trying to speak 'e-book' with Slovenians. Meanwhile: ciao.
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