Susan Orlean: The roads in the medina of Fez are so narrow that bumping into another person or a pushcart is no accident; it is simply the way you move forward, your progress more like a pinball than a pedestrian, bouncing from one fixed object to the next, brushing by a man chiseling names into grave markers only to slam into a drum maker stretching goat skin on a drying rack, then to carom off a southbound porter hauling luggage in a wire cart. It was that stoic expression, of course. But even more, it was seeing, in that moment, the astonishing commingling of past and present--the timeless little animal, the medieval city and the pile of electronics--that made me believe that it was possible for time to simultaneously move forward and stand still. In Fez, at least, that seems to be true.
Stefan Klein: The brain creates its own time, and it is this inner time, not clock time, that guides our actions. In the space of an hour, we can accomplish a great deal -- or very little.
Orlean: As far as I could tell, the donkey was alone; there was no one in front of him or beside him, no one behind. I wondered if he was lost, or had broken away from his handler, so I asked the porter, who looked at me with surprise. The donkey wasn't lost, the man said. He was probably done with work and on his way home.
Later: "Tell me, what is the price you want to pay?" Mohammed asked.
Ginia Bellafante: There used to be a time if you didn't have money to buy something, you just didn't buy it.
Morocco's Extraordinary Donkeys |
