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  A Christmas story from 1979. I had just turned 24 and was teaching English in Madrid to business executives. Another teacher and friend, Phil Budinger, and I decided to go to Morocco and hitchhike around. Not the best of ideas, right? (The trip wasn't good, though later I hitchhiked around the Algarve, in Portugal, and had a really good time.) Phil and I took the train to Algeciras and then a ferry to Tangier. From there we stuck out our thumbs, with no destination in mind. We just wanted to roam, and not go to the regular tourist sites. We wound up in Ksar el-Kebir, some town in the interior. People followed us around, offering to sell us many products, some of them illicit. It was unpleasant. We could not shed them and walk on our own. It was Christmas Eve. We sought shelter from the pestering people in the bus station, and then took an overnight bus to Casablanca. It was crowded. During the night, a suitcase fell on Phil's head from the overhead luggage rack. We arrived in...