You don't know how good something is until it's gone, says the old adage. Yes, a travel partner as experienced, energized and communcative as Dana is impossible to find, and now he is gone. Back to Toronto, to the world of single family houses, bikeable streets, business suits and fiddleheads.

Me, I'm open... saying my goodbyes to Africa as I head to Barcelona, then France and Paris through rural Europe. I am underdressed for the cold, and I am expecting the shock of culture and 10Euro meals to hit me hard. But for now, the delight of Morocco is fresh in my blood. I am open...

When alone, your eyes are open: a sight or sound is just for you, there is no elbowing your pal to say, 'hey check that out.' There is no verification, and when the stick looks like it bends in the water, a self-reminder is in order.

The bus pulled out of the station, and I struck up a conversation in French. I never know what I'm going to get, Arabic, French, Spanish, English. But I'm only half listening to my new friend, the wheels of the bus are each screeching a perfect tone that achords like a harmonica. Meanwhile, my seatmate, Omar, sings the Moroccan blues, 'there is no work here for engineers. I must save money to go to France.'

Cigarettes and safron. Tumeric and tajine.

Tangiers shocked me. I was here 5 years ago and it was a small port town. The way between the port and the medina was covered with garbage and people who scared us into a taxi-ride. This time, there are European cafés right down to the biggest port in Africa. Where there was a souk with fresh and rotting vegetables, there is now a fountain. In a month there will be a Jazz festival. In five years Expo Tanger. Yes, it's changed.

Life is good. I'm riding the wave with a smile.