The short answer:  because I could!  The longer answer is that the Allen World Tour 2009-10 was a way to fulfill some of my peculiar dreams.  Such as:

• Flying around the world, business class.  (That’s the airline brat in me.  I grew up flying standby, and as a grown-up I’m always forced to squeeze into teeny tiny seats in the back.  Time for me to be the jet-setter, sipping sparkling wine before take-off and changing continents on a whim.)
• Exploring continents that were unknown to me:  Africa and South America.
• Completing my long-postponed Poland trip.
• Returning to beautiful New Zealand, and showing it to the Mrs.  Ever since I visited as a teenager, I promised myself I would return.
• Living in interesting, beautiful cities, like:  Krakow, Cape Town, Melbourne, and Buenos Aires.
• Living the nomadic lifestyle:  a small suitcase and a laptop; a different apartment in every country.

And now, almost a year later, what did I learn from the whole thing?  It’s still early days, but here are a few observations:

• Flying business class around the world is decadent, and not really cost-justified, but I have to admit it’s fun.  I dislike craving luxury, but business class is the difference between looking forward to a 13 hour flight, versus dreading it.
• I’d much rather do another round-the-world year for two than buy a new BMW 5-series.  (Cost us about the same.)
• I took more interest in every other country’s politics than in my own.  Before we left on the tour, American politics just irritated and depressed me, so I avoided it.  But after seeing how other countries are moving forward, under much more difficult circumstances, it’s inspired (shamed?) me into trying to help find solutions for our own problems.  We need to get our act together, and what’s my excuse for not pitching in?
• A country can come back from annihilation (like Poland) and have a bright future.
• New Zealand is still shockingly beautiful.
• Further confirmation that I’m a city lover.  I’m happiest in a walkable neighborhood with pleasant parks, diverse eatin’, and a good library, with nature not too far away.
• There is no shortage of delicious, cheap wine in the world.  No espresso shortage either.
• I love not having stuff.  I want to be free.
• If you have hot water, climate control, a flushing toilet, comfy bed and chairs, ATM card, credit card, and internet at all times without drama, you’re 80% of the way there.  The next level up the needs hierarchy is peace and quiet at bedtime, easy cleaning, easy laundry, and a kitchen with counter space.
• I want a Swedish-style summer house, near an Australian city, set in New Zealand’s and the Western Cape’s natural beauty, with South African and Argentinian wine, and unlimited access to empanadas, kebabs, roast chicken, ceviche, pierogis, rusks, Moroccan mint tea, and Portuguese corn bread.  (While we’re dreaming, let’s have it at Polish, Turkish or Argentinian prices.)
• It is possible to get work done on the road.  In fact, life with some work (and, occasionally, a lot of work) is much more enjoyable than life with no work.
• When you travel, you need to stay in one place long enough for the weird to become normal.  Then you can truly know if you want it to be part of your life or not.
• Plan to bring the best of what you’ve learned back to your ‘normal’ life.  Don’t forget how great certain things were when you return to the old routine.
• Having nothing to do forces you to find what you want to do.

What do I take away from all this?  The way I like to put it:  the Tour gave me new dreams.  In the process of living through some of my old dreams, I found some new ones.

Is there anything better than having fresh new dreams?

A rumor that Pope Benedict XVI might be stopping by to see their work turned out to be false.  But then another rumor popped up that el Presidente Obama himself might be stopping by.  Either way, they were way ahead of schedule for any visiting dignitaries.

After a private tour of the palace, we were hungry for a certain Portuguese pastry…

Halfway between Marrakech and the seaside at Essaouira, it’s time for the usual ‘quinze minute’ rest break.  The missus couldn’t resist the charms of this Moroccan super-plucker, playing furiously underneath this highly relevant information.

Every rest stop poses a question:  Can you risk that fresh-squeezed orange juice, or espresso shot, knowing the next loo might be two hours away?

Argans are endangered trees native to Morocco.  In olden times, goats would climb (yes, climb) into the trees, eat the fruit, and poop out the pits.  The pits would then be ground by hand to make a delicious and healthy oil even better for you than olive oil.  Modern methods for processing argan oil are boring and sanitary.

Argan oil works for cooking and salads, but also makes its way into cosmetics and anti-aging creams.  It’s full of essential fatty acids and other great stuff.  And the world’s entire supply argan oil is produced by co-operatives of Berber women.  (Though they do allow the men-folk to work behind the scenes or, in the case of this shop, in the attic.)

Twenty or so open-air stalls beside the harbor will grill the catch of the day for you.  All the prices are fixed, so the fierce competition for diners depends on the charm and persuasive powers of the stall-keeper.  Or their ability to push the other touts out of the way.

The piles of bones and fish heads on every table are evidence of good eating on the Moroccan Atlantic.

Our nomad driver, Abdulrahim, told us that he worked as Brad Pitt’s driver during the filming of Babel.  “Brad Pitt is good man, shy man,” he informed us.  We drove up the mountain road where the bus shooting scene was filmed.

Luckily the sand had stopped blowing, so we weren’t confined to our mud huts.  Behind me on the right, you can see where our nomad guides spent the night.  Back and to the left, you’ll find the 100 meter sand dune we climbed the day before, giving us the chance to look across the Erg Chigaga and see nothing but endless sand dunes.

I guess everyone needs to find their desert.

All the nomads we talked to also made a point of noting that the desert was a great place to be because there were “no police”.

Nothing can prepare your rump for its first camel ride, especially a long one.  The first half hour I would best describe as being racked at a slow, steady pace.  The downhills on sand dunes are particularly tricky.  But for those few pain-free moments when you’re riding without consciously thinking about it, it’s a trip.

The experience gave us new-found respect for camel jockeys.  We cannot imagine how to stay on-hump at a full gallop.

Our hosts at the hotel in Ouarzazate took pity on our car-less state and drove us here themselves.  Morocco being Morocco, we had to stop and greet every uncle and cousin before crossing the river (by donkey), where we visited more cousins.

A burning issue that wasn’t resolved during our visit was how the concept of Berber carpets lost its way. How did the the beautiful colors and patterns of desert Morocco become the beige shag of modern day trailer parks?