From Marrakesh we started our drive early, heading southeast, through the Atlas Mountains (spectacular), to the Moroccan part of the Sahara. Around Tagounite we switched vehicles and drivers for something more appropriate as we came (literally) to the end of the road, and moved onto a vast sandscape. From there on, the driver could have been making up the route as he went, for all I could tell, but he did get us where we were supposed to be. This could be what infinity looks like.

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First, you have to take a cable car about a mile up the mountains. Then you hike even higher to get to the lodging options. Next, you ramble the high altitude forest trails, from one spectacular vista to another. Some, like this one, “Monkey Watching the Sea,” are named, marked with a sign in Chinese and English. Other signs/admonitions were posted as well. The first we saw I assumed was the Chinese equivalent of “Take only photographs, leave only footprints,” but the English translation was awkward, “To leave with the memory, please leave behind your virtue.” That could work.

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Some stale bread and croissant wrapped in a red napkin from dinner the night before. A wedge of cheese acquired somewhere along the way. Peaches from the lobby of the inn. Strong coffee. Maybe it’s just me, but the simplest makeshift breakfast in a French country courtyard feels curated, sophisticated instead of thrifty.

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For some years now, I’ve had a bit of a lazy streak when it comes to photographing Savannah. I used to carry a camera all the time, everywhere. Not so much anymore–my aging and reluctance to carry any weight, but also, too often, when I start to photograph something locally, I think, “Done that. It’s somewhere in the files. Why add another copy to that pile?” I assuage my conscience for not sustaining a “commitment to carry” indefinitely, with the idea the smart phone in my pocket means I always have a camera. I have made some photographs with the phone that I like, and I will never forget the message woven thoroughly into me by my mentor that images are not about hardware, but seeing. Still, the phone camera will never feel as serious to me; more like a niche art, like the Diana camera. So, a foggy morning tempts me to pick up my “real camera” bag and go for a walk, before the first cup of coffee, and gifts me with an unusual high tide along the downtown waterfront, a new picture.

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