Cosmic Prose

Natasha Regehr

Tag: driving

Remote (out of) Control

October 28, 2018 / / 1 Comment

Do you like the idea of going to remote places? If not, you will find this piece quite funny.  You will roll your eyes a lot, and wonder why I’m like this.  You will also spend the next few minutes thanking the merciful heavens that you did not join me on this vacation.

If, however, you do like the idea of going to remote places, this post might be just what you have been waiting for.  I, on your behalf, will visit a remote place, and tell you all about it.  And then you will laugh, roll your eyes, and think twice about your own vacation preferences. Continue reading

Do Not Enter

September 13, 2018 / / 1 Comment

Three years ago I had a disastrous encounter with a maestro who shall not be named.  It would not be a stretch to say that there were elements of trauma to that evening.  Before you go any further, you should probably read the amusing, but heart-wrenching account of my first audition experience in Casablanca.

Now, three years later, I did the unthinkable thing, and repeated the experience.  Same never-ending round-about.  Same obscure church entrance.  Same ghastly maestro.  Same everything.  But not the same me. Continue reading

Holy Cows, Batman

July 3, 2018 / / 0 Comments

I dearly wish that I had had the wherewithal to prendre un photo of the cows that ran me down, but alas, stampedes do not lend themselves to portraiture.

Fortunately, I have words.

Do you remember the days before the touchless car-wash? Do you remember its predecessor? The one with the big, sudsy brushes that advance on you and engulf you, while you sit helplessly in the car and wait for it all to be over?

Wait, let’s back up a bit.  And by “back up,” I mean, reculer, in case you didn’t know.  But of course you did.

My day started with to-die-for jam (peaches and spice) and conversation around the breakfast table at a farm in the Southern French Alps.  I learned that the French drink tea out of rather big bowls, and that parapente is the French word for paragliding.  More on that later.

Scene Two: I am in my rental car, fiddling with the GPS, and then setting off ever-so-slowly down the winding mountain road to my first activity for the day.  I am leaving early, so I have plenty of time to get lost or have some other disaster befall me, both of which, of course, happened.

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Villains and Fiends: The Day I Joined the Mob

August 22, 2015 / / 0 Comments

In Morocco, I measure my successes by kilometres travelled and items purchased. To get anywhere, and buy anything, is pretty much always an ordeal in one way or another. And my own fears have prevented me from accomplishing either of these tasks independently for far too long.

Fear of what, you ask? Pickpockets? Lewd men? Crooked taxi drivers? Corrupt policemen? I was warned about all of these, but not nearly as emphatically as I was warned about that most notorious of North African villains: the Moroccan Driver.

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