I hoped, I wrote, that the cities appeared untethered to their countries-an atlas of a borderless world. Towns in which I turned in my sleep unsure of where I was, whether I was bathed in sweat or in tears, or if I lay beside a lover or a travel companion.

My first email was a list of all the towns I had slept in during my travels, at least for a night. I began to exchange emails with a relative who requested anonymity. Or a boat unmanned in the middle of a river, seen from afar. Or an underfed dog, rummaging through rubbish for a glinting bone. Sometimes it is the wind, sputtering against the window of the car I am in. I envy the ardor in their gait, a lack of hurry, as if by walking they possess a piece of the earth.Īwake or in a dream, faces and images and gestures from my travels return to me in great detail. I am moved by these swaggering bodies, dressed in their finest, walking to houses that look only seven feet high. I watch them from behind, and think of the word swashbuckle. The men wear long, loose-fitting garments, mostly white, sometimes light blue. I see all this with my nose pressed to the window. Men are walking back from mosques, women and children trailing them, sure-footed and celebratory. I see a duneland, and then houses built as if to imitate matchboxes. On impulse, before anything else, in a white E350 Ford van I drive into Mauritania at sunset.

Empire total war borderless window