A farewell to my Canon SD 700 IS
When I was in Marrakesh, I lost my camera.
I'm usually a very responsible person, and I've actually never lost anything of such value before. I was more so disappointed in myself than in the actual loss of the camera. So I'm going to tell my parents I dropped it or something, and ask for a new one for my birthday. I think that's my current game plan.
I lost it right after we visited a boring Moroccan garden with a hidden pool. The pool had varying depths but nowhere was shallow nor deep water marked. Anna and I watched as a young man (maybe eighteen years old) jumped in head first, only to hit his head. He turned over, blood oozing down his face, and Anna whispered to herself, "...his skull..." He had a chunk of skin hanging from the top of his head, and we could see his skull. I felt faint. A group of young boys crowded around him as he left the pool. Soon, the crowd dispersed. And he walked away, alone, holding a t-shirt over his exposed skull.
Guillian tried to get our minds off of what happened. Anna kept muttering, "I hope he went to a hospital. Oh, I bet he didn't..." And I kept silent.
We decided to walk back to the Medina, but the top of Guillian's feet were too sun burnt for her to walk long distances.
We hailed a cab. As usual, Anna haggled for us. Since she is half French and grew up with her mother speaking to her in French, she has no accent when speaking the language. We didn't want people like taxi drivers to know that we were American, because we knew that they would rip us off. The truth is that no matter your nationality, if you aren't Moroccan, you'll get ripped off anyway. The cab drivers really have two sets of fares: one for Moroccans and one for tourists. End of story.
So before we set foot in the cab, Anna started to haggle with the driver. He wanted thirty durham, ten for each of us, to go maybe a mile. Anna got it down to ten durham total. We got into the cab.
He then started to blast his music (western music) and tried to change the price. Guillian and I sat in the back, while Anna sat in the front. He would touch her arm and say, "Trente durham! D'accord?" She would tell him that we'd already agreed on ten, and he would touch her again, insisting on thirty durham.
Finally, he stopped in front of the outside wall of the Medina. Guillian exited the taxi. Anna and the driver started to get into a heated dispute. I was afraid and tried to get out of the taxi as quickly as possible. This, however, was impossible because I was wearing Guillian's over sized wrap skirt. In order to get out of the cab without having the skirt fall off, I had to secure it onto my body with both hands as I shimmied across the backseat to the door opposite of traffic.
I felt like I had left something behind, but Anna had finally thrown ten durham at the driver and joined Guillian and me on the side of the road. I didn't want to have to deal with the driver anymore, so I ignored my feeling. Five minutes later, as we walked to the Medina, I realized what I had left behind and quietly declared, "I left my camera in that taxi."
I filed a report with the police. I even went to the transportation services lost and found twice. But I knew that I would never get it back. The camera has a faulty battery, so I hope that whomever took it (probably the unscrupulous cab driver) became frustrated with it quickly.
I lost all of my pictures from Barcelona (including the photo I took with Juli's friend Emilie, whom I randomly ran into one night) and the first half of my trip in Marrakesh. I bought a disposable camera for the rest of Marrakesh and for Essaouira.
As a homage to my lost camera, I think I will post pictures from the last few trips I took with it--Venice and London.
I'm usually a very responsible person, and I've actually never lost anything of such value before. I was more so disappointed in myself than in the actual loss of the camera. So I'm going to tell my parents I dropped it or something, and ask for a new one for my birthday. I think that's my current game plan.
I lost it right after we visited a boring Moroccan garden with a hidden pool. The pool had varying depths but nowhere was shallow nor deep water marked. Anna and I watched as a young man (maybe eighteen years old) jumped in head first, only to hit his head. He turned over, blood oozing down his face, and Anna whispered to herself, "...his skull..." He had a chunk of skin hanging from the top of his head, and we could see his skull. I felt faint. A group of young boys crowded around him as he left the pool. Soon, the crowd dispersed. And he walked away, alone, holding a t-shirt over his exposed skull.
Guillian tried to get our minds off of what happened. Anna kept muttering, "I hope he went to a hospital. Oh, I bet he didn't..." And I kept silent.
We decided to walk back to the Medina, but the top of Guillian's feet were too sun burnt for her to walk long distances.
We hailed a cab. As usual, Anna haggled for us. Since she is half French and grew up with her mother speaking to her in French, she has no accent when speaking the language. We didn't want people like taxi drivers to know that we were American, because we knew that they would rip us off. The truth is that no matter your nationality, if you aren't Moroccan, you'll get ripped off anyway. The cab drivers really have two sets of fares: one for Moroccans and one for tourists. End of story.
So before we set foot in the cab, Anna started to haggle with the driver. He wanted thirty durham, ten for each of us, to go maybe a mile. Anna got it down to ten durham total. We got into the cab.
He then started to blast his music (western music) and tried to change the price. Guillian and I sat in the back, while Anna sat in the front. He would touch her arm and say, "Trente durham! D'accord?" She would tell him that we'd already agreed on ten, and he would touch her again, insisting on thirty durham.
Finally, he stopped in front of the outside wall of the Medina. Guillian exited the taxi. Anna and the driver started to get into a heated dispute. I was afraid and tried to get out of the taxi as quickly as possible. This, however, was impossible because I was wearing Guillian's over sized wrap skirt. In order to get out of the cab without having the skirt fall off, I had to secure it onto my body with both hands as I shimmied across the backseat to the door opposite of traffic.
I felt like I had left something behind, but Anna had finally thrown ten durham at the driver and joined Guillian and me on the side of the road. I didn't want to have to deal with the driver anymore, so I ignored my feeling. Five minutes later, as we walked to the Medina, I realized what I had left behind and quietly declared, "I left my camera in that taxi."
I filed a report with the police. I even went to the transportation services lost and found twice. But I knew that I would never get it back. The camera has a faulty battery, so I hope that whomever took it (probably the unscrupulous cab driver) became frustrated with it quickly.
I lost all of my pictures from Barcelona (including the photo I took with Juli's friend Emilie, whom I randomly ran into one night) and the first half of my trip in Marrakesh. I bought a disposable camera for the rest of Marrakesh and for Essaouira.
As a homage to my lost camera, I think I will post pictures from the last few trips I took with it--Venice and London.