Released in 2019, the popular Netflix series “Crash Landing on You” is about a paragliding mishap dropping a South Korean heiress into North Korea — and into the life of a North Korean army officer, who decides he will help her.
This is a love story that overcomes the hardships of world politics–what is there not to like??
After incredible political complications, they separate due to those hardships; but they have already given their hearts to each other. And through the tricks of screen writing they reunite, in the tear-jerker of all time, on the dock in Iseltwald.
Meanwhile, the 400 residents of Iseltwald, a quiet Swiss village on Lake Brienz, rarely visited by tourists, have, most recently, seen hundreds of thousands of #CLOY visitors from Korea and East Asia. Quiet village? No longer.
What do you think about that?
Me? What do I think? Human emotions and their links to the landscape–mysterious, diaphanous, beautiful, arcane–they are the stuff of my books, like Tangier Gardens, link–https://amzn.to/3HLrtyv
An American university student, majoring in landscape architecture, has one more design class to complete for graduation—a term abroad and he has chosen Morocco.
Using the beautifully tiled, colored and patterned public water fountains in the medinas, he plans to count people—a simple ‘turn-up-every-day-and-count’ metric exercise.
Captivating
He thought it would be simple; but it wasn’t.
Ayisha Qandisha and other djinns from North Africa and West Africa are determined to get a piece of the Western fresh meat.
The next two books have CJ in Saudi Arabia, Thailand, Switzerland and Egypt…BUT
…springtime in these Swiss mountains and lakes has been so enchanting that I have had to go outside and walk and walk and walk. My novels suffer. Yenbo Palms and Crystal Vision will be published before the end of this year.
Every morning, around 8AM, I would be awoken by shouting from a man walking down the street outside my apartment window. Where was this? Ville Nouvelle in Meknes, Morocco.
He was yelling NaNa, NaNa…with a lot of nasal. He, wearing qadrissi pants (characterized by a wide and low crotch that reached to the knees), was walking with his donkey. And the donkey’s two saddlebags were chock-full of freshly cut mint clumps for making mint tea at home.
Fresh mint–the only way to really enjoy it is the Moroccan way. Grab a bunch of freshly picked mint and just add a pinch of black tea, too much white sugar and a sprinkle of orange blossoms on top. The water should be too hot to touch, too hot to drink. Got to slurp it. Hospitality without words.
This is local-agriculture-home-delivery. I had seen it once before in the early 1950s where I grew up on the East Side of Detroit. Then it was a local baker–up and down neighborhood streets. What kind of neighborhoods then? One car per family used by father to get to and from work. Neighborhoods sized by cars–not by pedestrians–no walking–only driving. But late 20th century–Meknes, Morocco. It was walkable and local. I loved it.
On the twelfth day of Ramadan, Maalem Hamid and I arrived at the shop about 8AM. Maalem Hamid finished the outstanding work. I watched him do the final touches. I helped where I could; but I was tired and mostly watched. He did a lot of detailed tooling; his assistant did leather stamping.
When they finished the first book, the maalem proudly offered it to me for examination. I took it. I hefted it. I felt it. I inspected it. I paged through it. Yes, it was beautiful–content aside, it was every bit as delectable a product as I could have ever hoped for.
About two in the afternoon, when he had finished the details, he wrapped the five books in thick brown paper himself. Then he ceremoniously presented to me the final five books. I placed the balance of what was due for his services in his hand. Then we shook hands. He was proud. I was proud.
And honestly, it had been such a pleasure to watch the exceptional craftsman handle his tools, and produce such a refined result in appearance, in touch, and in technical strength. I thanked him.
He walked with me to the Place El Hedim where I took a Petit Taxi. He and I both waved until he was out of sight.
Almost sunset when I arrived in the Ville Nouvelle. Lights on in Tom’s place. Knocked and showed them one of the final copies. My time in Morocco was up. Over the past six months, Tom and Marcela had given me shelter every time I needed it. I owed them.
Arranged to have dinner together at a 5-star Ville Nouvelle hotel restaurant the next night.
I spent the day packing. I took Marcela and Tom for dinner at the Hotel Transatlantique with a full-blown late-night Ramadan Iftar buffet special, filled with more options than I could list. It didn’t make much difference to me because all through the Iftar dinner I was dreaming not just to be home for Christmas, but of a White Christmas.
***
Christmas Now
The morning of the fourteenth day of Ramadan–couldn’t believe it–my personal last day of Ramadan–my last day in Morocco!
Tom drove me to Casablanca airport. We left early in the morning when it was still dark. Three hours on the road–a Moroccan autoroute. Raining and gray, low clouds all the way. The earth was sucking in all the moisture. Plants looked happy. The ride, though, was a slog.
I was emotionally depleted. My last Moroccan memories like the first–sensually extravagant. We had parked and I was walking. Just at the pedestrian entry to the airport terminal–my sense of smell was assaulted by–clusters of Eriobotrya japonica trees in flower–excessively sweet to the place where fragrance meets odor. Goodbye Morocco.
Finally, I was off the ground. Casa-Brussels-NYC-home. I was outta there! Phew! Never thought it would happen. Relief.
But then there was also sadness. Ma’salama. I’ll never be the same. But then I mentally blinked–twice–reset.
Wonder what Santa will bring?
Back home. I paused in transit in New York, had to go through passport control and customs. Outside, it was snowing. Thanked my lucky stars to be standing there where at least I hoped I could live happy in the land of the free. The country where we can sleep in peace at night when we lay down our heads.
Last flight…after gathering my luggage, I looked around and thought, I am starting again. LittleWing was the first I saw, then Kate and Sam–they all met me.
Kate joked, “Look who got a Med sun tan.”
Sam observed and, with a smile on his face, gruffly asked, “Did you order this winter wonderland snowstorm?”
But Sachy was the first to wrap her arms around me–eyes all aglow–a huge smile on her face as she ran up to greet me. Hugged me hard and in my ear she whispered, “Home for Christmas!”
I stepped back, looked deeply into her eyes. It was her, Sachy, in real life, in front of me. Could this be? I held Sachy by her shoulders and said, “Lovely weather for a sleigh ride!”
I put my arms around her again, pulled her ever so close and, in the tightest of hugs, I whispered in her ear, “This is not a dream–my heart is warm–I couldn’t have done it without you!”
***
CJ made it home; but Morocco, unbeknownst to him, lingered.
***
If you wonder what actually happened during CJ’s six months in Tangier, pick up the eBook, Tangier Gardens–out of the classroom into the real world–via plant portals, here: https://amzn.to/3HLrtyv
4.1–The Oval Garden experiences inspired me to address the things that were at the very heart of landscape architecture. In this tale, I talk about the sun and sunlight.
4.2–After my Oval Garden visits, I went over and over my portal experiences, trying to understand logically what happened. I, in this short tale, share my own conclusions.
4.3–I used my own forest experience to construct a short tale in which I talked about forests in the landscape, their life beyond the senses and salubrious exchanges.
4.4–I described what I was missing in Tangier. But I did have a rooftop garden terrace with a view over the Strait of Gibraltar.
Who is CJ and why is he writing these tales?
In June 2000, Christopher Janus, a senior studying landscape architecture at a mid-west America university, finds himself in Tangier on a term abroad design study. The strange culture, the North African landscape and Mediterranean gardens are not what he expected. CJ, as his friends called him, could not wait to be home for Christmas.
To complete his term abroad design study, CJ documented his strange culture, landscape and garden experiences in Morocco in a series of 43 short stories that are being released on Amazon Kindle Vella everyday between now and Christmas Eve. The first 3 are FREE! You can find them here: Tales til Christmas Vella link ASIN: B0BNZDYKKC
