Ozmandias Calling

I wonder about living in a foreign country -the idea behind the film "The Passenger" has always intrigued me-where one needs no excuses, simply disappearing from one place (down the rabbit hole) and reappear as a completely different soul in another.
The thought occurred to me when I was in Egypt-but in a romanticized version: ala Paul Bowles in Morocco. It's so easy to dream. The truth of the matter would be a bit harder, as I know I could change myself to a degree and leave a lot behind, but the artist would still be with me as would my love. In short, I'll need to do this in the next lifetime. Shucks.
But traveling back (in memory) is not the worst thing. In some mountain-top town in Sumatra, listening to the Muezzin's call, I can still see the gigantic moth flitting around the aura of one of the few street-lamps. Looking up and walking was a true challenge as the cobblestones were so irregular and there was always the threat of knocking over a charcoal burner and inspiring the wrath of one of the locals. One of my other favorite memories was coming down some gangplank or other to a Thai island (Phi-phi?) and slipping and falling into the water-how or why this was memorable I can't say. But somehow it's filed with the good stuff.

Adventure.
Wouldn't it be great to momentarily put on another life like a change of clothing?