September 14 2010 / Casablanca, Morocco

Uploaded a couple days' entries in bulk, so start at the entries that are lower than this in order to read chronologically. 

Woke up in the morning feeling like death personified.  My runny nose/sore throat combo had definitely stepped its game up, and because I hadn’t gone to sleep until 12:30 and woke up automatically at 6:00 without being able to fall back asleep again.  I felt horrible but went over to Julie’s room and told her that there was no way I would be able to make it today to the spa/massage place, and felt really bad about it.  I just felt completely sapped of energy and emotion.  It was kind of a downer mood where I didn’t really want to do anything and felt really energyless to begin with. 

Around lunchtime I went up and grabbed some food.  I saw Lorelei and Dasha and sat with them, talking about our trips.  I realized that I needed more stamps for my post cards (these stamps required there to be two on a post card to get to the states) so I agreed to go out, even though I really didn’t want to.  Dasha gave me some weird three-dose capsule thing to take for my cold, though thus far it’s only intensified my runny nose.  On the way off the ship we walked by Julie, and I felt really guilty because I felt like it was like I hadn’t wanted to go out with her but now I was going out with these other girls, which wasn’t at all what it was.

We went to the medina in Casablanca, which was infinitely more cramped than the Marrakech one.  The people there really didn’t want to barter for some reason, probably because it was such a tourist area, and we got catcalled at us a lot (when we were walking through the port, a guy drove by us whistling and Lorelei and I flipped him off at the same time).  Otherwise it wasn’t too bad—no one had “grabby hands.”  But my god, what a dirty city.  I bought an ice cream at some point and ended up having to throw the wrapper on the ground—there were just no trash cans or anything for blocks and blocks.  I did, however, find some Aladdin-esque parachute green pants for 90 dirham, which I thought was reasonable.  When we left we got orange juices, and Lorelei, who had had a stomach ache the entire time, promptly got sick everywhere.  Yes—we were those awkward tourists.  I was sniffling, Lorelei was sick, and Dasha was trying far too hard to barter with people who had fixed prices.  I was all too happy to buy some stamps and cookies with the last of my dirham and get back to the ship.  The medina in Marrakech was much more of my thing, where it was a game to the shop owners and you had to play the game too, and win respect by playing it well.  All in all, Casablanca was sketchy and blah, while Marrakech and the Berber villages I visited seemed far more genuine and amazing. 

On the ship I mostly just hung out writing blogs—SO much happened over the past couple of days that it’s hard remembering it all and writing it down.  With other overnights I’m definitely going to have to bring my laptop so I can at least take notes well.  I ate dinner with Sarah, a girl from my post-port group, and some of her friends.  Then I kind of just wrote more blogs waiting for post-port discussion groups to start up.  The post-port groups were pretty fun because although most people had positive experiences about Morocco, some didn’t, and others didn’t like the same things that I liked.  For example, a lot of people felt really uncomfortable in the marketplaces, while I had felt like I was thriving in playing that game of trying to get a price where you’re not getting ripped off and the shopkeeper is still making money.  I also hadn’t had any horrible experiences happen to me as a woman, while many of the other women felt violated.  So it was pretty interesting hearing other people’s sides to their trip.

I’m pretty glad that I have this… ahem, “time off,” to work on classes and just relax from not running around all over everywhere.  I don’t know what I’m going to do in Takoradi, Ghana, yet.  But Morocco definitely exceeded my expectations greatly—I didn’t feel attacked as an American or as a woman any more than I really would have in the states, and the people had this friendliness that in most instances (outside the market, anyway) was incredibly genuine. 

September 13 2010 / Atlas Mountains, Morocco

I woke up a couple of times in the night, once when the donkeys got into one of their many braying wars and another at 4AM when the call to prayer happened.  The minaret was located directly in the town, so it was quite clear cutting through the silence of the morning.  I sat up to listen to it because it just seemed so inspiring.  Though the roosters seemed to think that after that it was morning time, I just went back to sleep.  I only woke up next to a donkey braying at 6:30, which was apparently our “wake-up donkey.”  I got up and had a quick breakfast of bread and cheese and after a little bit we set off down the mountain.  It was a nice wide trail with not too many rocks (trucks must have used it or something) so it was very mellow.  It only took us 45 minutes to walk from the village up to the buses, where we spent time throwing small rocks at a larger rock down in the valley as we waited for the slowpokes.  It was definitely a make your own fun adventure.  I have found that although I don’t have very many super close friends on this trip, I don’t really feel too lonely.  There isn’t really any time for it and it’s working out just having just little friendships here and there to last you.  Maybe that’ll change as time goes on, of course.

We stopped in the same town as before, where I bought a soda called “Hawai” and a little loaf of bread that looked sketchy initially but was delicious.  At the train station back in Marrakech we had an hour to wander around, so I bought some postcards and stamps and filled them out for a little while before playing “Cheat” with my deck of cards with a group of people.  On the train itself I sat with Julia, Chris and Collin, and we played Crazy 8s, Hearts, and Would You Rather until we got back.  The train was, unfortunately as Chris said, very caliente.  So very caliente. 

It took FOREVER to get on the ship which was tough because I wanted to write an email SO MUCH to check on my parents and the pups, due to being so randomly anxious about it earlier.  Then I immediately took a shower, which felt amazing.  Dinner was underwhelming after the amazing food that we’d eating during the Berber villages trip, so that was pretty meh, but it was also awesome because I FINALLY saw Desmond Tutu at the meal and pretty much gawped at him the entire time.  He’s always smiling!  :)

After the meal I came back to my room to write some of my blogs and got through the 10th before starting on the 13th when Julie came by.  She wants to go to this Roman bath house that only women are allowed to go to where you can have really cheap spa and massage stuff.  We hung out and talked about Morocco animals, Bot flies and BDSM lifestyle, the last two of which made me feel really squeamish.  I told her I would go to the bath house because that seems like a nice way to end in Morocco.  I kind of wanted to go to the Hassan II mosque, but I did already see the outside and I don’t know if I want to go in the early morning like some people want to.  I am starting to get a sore throat and runny nose from who knows what, so hopefully I will still feel okay by tomorrow. 

September 12 2010 / Atlas Mountains, Morocco

I woke up only once, which was actually pretty incredible, because I had fallen asleep on my back, and when I opened my eyes the stars had changed positions dramatically and the milky way was now diagonal instead of horizontal.  So that was pretty amazing.  After that I crashed out again until about 6:30, when everyone was called awake to get some breakfast of stale-ish bread.  I was happy enough with it.  Afterwards we packed up and thanked who I think was the man who owned the house all individually.  He asked me in French if I was married, and when I said no he said to come back when I was married.  He was so kind and funny.  :D 

A note about the bathroom situation: there is no such thing as toilet paper in Morocco.  You just have to bring your own and hope that works.  Oftentimes, there is also no toilet at all, and there’s just a hole in the ground.  I used the hole once.  Not a fan.  I also didn’t bring toilet paper so I relied heavily on other people’s tissue donations and hand sanitizer.  I was not prepared for that. 

The mules were packed up once more with our backpacks and the first group left around 7, 7:30.  It was so incredibly amazing, because the mountains were just covered in this blanket of fog, and the sun wasn’t out yet.  The stones all looked very pinkish and white, and I definitely enjoyed getting up earlier so I could enjoy the coolness of the air.  We passed small villages with a valley on one side of us, tons of goats and sheep speckled below us. 

The guides had told us that we were going to go in a sort of M shape through the Atlas Mountains—up the mountain, down, then up, and down.  Well, let me tell you this right now—we did not do an M.  It was more like a MMMMM.  While yesterday was purely desert, today was purely mountain terrain that had not been paved or made safe or anything.  We literally climbed along crumbling slate mountain deer paths that were a foot and a half across with a huge drop to our right during the first hour.  I wasn’t too scared, but the guy in front of me was apparently terrified of heights.  Still, the terrain and the view was incredibly gorgeous—I took so many photos, because I just know I can’t do it justice in words.  It was definitely the most exhausting hike ever.  When we saw the second group walking along the dry riverbed below us, we were pretty grumpy—they were totally cheaters!  Still, they probably didn’t get the incredible experience that we did.  We also walked through several more villages, the people there stopping to stare or greet us, depending on how they felt. 

After a couple of hours, we stopped inside this pine forest to rest—our first rest.  Group one is definitely exhausting, but I’m not complaining about it or anything.  I’m really taking it upon myself to not be a whiner.  We ate some Moroccan trail mix (dried figs and dates, peanuts, little dried bread things) and admired the forest—it was so bright green.  Aside from the desert shrubbery, when there is green in the mountains, it is REALLY green.  At that point we were on top of one of the mountains, which was pretty incredible because there was nothing but blue sky above us instead of more mountains to climb.  At one point, we ran into a very strange house—it was built with bricks and was actually rectangular, with solar panels, pens for its cows, and pepper and tomato gardens.  This must had been a summer home for some wealthy European, because there was no way that it was part of any of the villages we walked through.  It was still pretty interesting to see though.  At that part we were on a fire road or what seemed like it.  It was much wider and a lot more gently downhill.  Still, to the side of us you could see Africa stretched out as far as the eye could see, with little towns here and there.  I wondered which one was Marrakech and where we had started from.

We kept going for three and a half hours—it would have taken us five if we had taken breaks like normal people, but we booked it hard.  It definitely wasn’t easy, and I was absolutely dying.  We climbed through tunnels practically made of cactus and lept across gorges.  We also found the only water hole in all of Africa.  I said “The water hole? What’s so great about the water hole?” and no one got it, which was tragic. 

We arrived at our lunch spot at 11:30, four hours after we started.  It was a little forest besides the path, with a great bike open spot perfect to lay blankets down for food.  But of course, just  because we had hiked hard didn’t mean everyone else did.  The last group got in TWO HOURS later than us for lunch—and they didn’t even have any lifelong learners with them!  But anyway, we munched on some of the same vegetable salad, some plain pasta, and some fish.  There was the spicy tuna like last time and there was also what looked like whole sardines, assumedly just out of the can.  I popped one in my mouth and was not a fan, but then again, I’m not really into fish.  The donkeys frequently decided to talk to each other in loud, semi-hysterical brays.

We stayed there for another hour after lunch so that the mules could rest, so I took an orange that hadn’t been eaten and cut it in half, wanting to offer it as my thanks for them carrying all of my stuff—they were troopers.  It was funny seeing one of them slurp one up, juice dripping from his mouth, and another one wandered over to me for the other piece.  I made two friends, haha.  I kind of rested my eyes while people threw orange peels at each other (that’s what college kids do, apparently), but then we were up and away.  This was nice because we only had one hour to hike now, and after hiking up a mountain we were basically free to walk along this fairly stable dirt road to the next village.  This one seemed a little bit larger—there was a minaret in this one, which was pretty neat.  The traveler’s home we were at in this town had THREE stories and two traitorous roofs, though they needed people to go over to a smaller house with two roofs, so I went over there with a couple of other people.  Once again I set up my mat outside on the roof, and was really excited to just dangle my legs over the side of the roof and watch goats be herded by beneath me.  A couple of us played a card game called Phase Ten which was incredibly fun and I think I will have to pick it up at home.  Nearby, a little girl was singing in Arabic.  Someone said that she was singing passages from the Quran, which was just… incredible. 

I went to dinner at the opposite house when it grew dark, which was lamb and bread (even staler) as well as some roasted carrots and potatoes, which were great.  I sat with some lifelong learners this time around and had a good time just quietly listening to conversation.  I’ve become more comfortable with not being super active in a conversation.  Afterwards we had some delicious yellow melon, which seems to be everywhere in Morocco but I’ve never seen it before, and then I headed back over to our houses to prepare for the night with my mat and pillow and covers.  Dasha, Steve and I stayed up for a little while talking and looking at the stars together, but we quickly fell asleep—we’d had an exhausting day.  :)

September 11 2010 / Atlas Mountains, Morocco

We had a 7:10 wake-up call at our hotel room, so after a little grumbling I went down to get breakfast.  Breakfast was out by a really beautiful fresh-water pool, and I sat outside to munch happily on my bread and butter, as well as yet another glass of orange juice.  There was a cat outside as well, lurking under tables and begging besides chairs like a dog for food.  I gave him a little piece of bread and gave him lots of head pets—he closed his eyes and got the hugest smile on his face.  It was pretty cute. 

We went out to the buses and climbed inside, though we had to wait for an extra thirty minutes because four girls had not gotten wake up calls and had slept in too long—they’re going to be hit with tons of dock time (three hours for every fifteen minutes D:) which sucks.  The girl next to me said that it was partially her fault that they’d been late, because apparently they were up until four in the morning at a club, which I can’t imagine doing the night before a big hike!  But anyway, we drove off and soon were outside of Marrakech.  The scenery quickly became very rock deserty again—the terrain that I have seen predominantly here is definitely a rock desert.  There weren’t too many interesting things around—there was a pottery “shop” (a shop as in all the poetry was just by the side of the road) that went on for like a half mile, and Steven joked that there was more pottery there than some countries had entirely.  There were also lots of buildings that were being built out of concrete, though there was no one working on it—I wasn’t sure if that was because of the holiday or if they had been abandoned projects, but many people have said that Morocco is on the rise, so they were probably still being constructed. 

After about an hour we stopped in a tiny town so that we could get out and buy gigantic water bottles for our hike.  I bought two of them for only 20 dirham and then wandered around looking at things.  There were great big huge meat carcasses hung up on hooks outside, what looked like lamb.  Flies and wasps were buzzing around and chewing on the meat as it dripped blood to the ground, signifying that it had been freshly killed today.  No one seemed to mind the bugs, though, and later I watched a man fling a torso of something over his shoulder as apparently he walked home with it—I could still see a little bit of spine.

We continued our drive into the middle of nowhere into the desert.  The blue mountains, the Atlas Mountains, were rising up before us.  But we stopped shockingly far away, in the middle of nowhere with just a small stone house and about ten donkeys and mules were all assembled.  We were instructed to take one water bottle and put the other with our backpack, which the donkeys were going to carry—I’ve never seen so much stuff placed on a mule before, but they looked fairly okay with it.  And then off we trekked through the desert.  It was almost entirely flat but very rocky.  We walked through dry creek beds, and besides very old irrigation ditches, which I thought was really cool (later, when we were in the mountains, I discovered that they were still in use!).  After an hour or so of walking, a guy on one of the mules asked me if I wanted a ride.  I said no because I thought he thought that I was tired, but when another girl got up on one and he offered again, I decided to hop aboard (which was really difficult, being as that there wasn’t really a saddle or stirrups but just a blanket).  I rode just about five minutes when we stopped for lunch near this field that was sparsely speckled with trees.  The guides lay down blankets and cushions for us to sit on, so we took off our shoes and flopped down.  Lunch was a vegetable salad, bread and cheese, rice, and canned spicy tun, as well as tea in tin cups.  Moroccans love tea.  It was actually pretty delicious but I was next to some Debby Downer woman (a really young lifelong learner with a superiority complex) who kept talking about how it was all washed with their water and that we’d “wise up after getting sick in Morocco and Ghana.”  Some guy told her that he was just going to try everything, which was a pretty polite “shut up.”  I don’t even know why you would be on this trip if you’re just going to act superior to everything and not try anything new. 

THEN IT WAS A POTTY ADVENTURE.  There will be lots of potty stories because in this trip, there were virtually no pleasant bathroom experiences.  But for this one, I wanted down a road until I found a large bush and got down to do my business, which just didn’t happen because I felt way too silly and awkward, mooning anyone who could come down that road.  When I finally left, some ladies hollered at me asking how it was.  When I said I couldn’t do it, they were just like “Well honey, you’re just gonna have to try again!” in their incredibly Southern accents, which was hilarious. 

Anyway, off we went again.  We split into three groups.  I was almost always in the first group, which was the fast group, which I both liked and disliked because we plowed through everything quickly but didn’t get any breaks.  We started going up hills towards the Berber villages at this point in the adventure, and there was a little kid on the donkey in front of us from the village we were going to stay at.  He didn’t speak any English and not much French, but he was really energetic and was definitely the leader of all the kids at the village.  We dubbed him Justin Berber. 

The villages we went through were incredible.  They were made of dirt and stones and frequently the cows/chickens/donkeys/whatever were in the same houses that the people were in.  They were very run down but occasionally would have a satellite on their roof, which I thought was kind of interesting.  The people would come out to stare at us as we tromped through, which I’m sure was an odd sight.  There were also lots of speckles of green fields of mint, I think, amongst the brown of the earth, which was pretty jarring to see. 

When we finally got there we were pretty relieved.  The town we were staying in was only a few houses along the dirt road we were travelling—a well, no cars, a couple of cows, chickens, and dirty dogs running around.  The next village was all the way across a valley, and we were nestled right at the foot of the Atlas Mountains.  The house we were staying at was some kind of traveler’s house—it didn’t seem like anyone was living there.  We discovered we could sleep on the roof so I immediately took my pad and ran up there to stake out a spot.  It was really cool because there was an opening from the roof to the first floor, so we could see what was happening. 

Dasha and I talked about boys for a while before she and a couple other people decided to go down the road for a while.  We ran across four little girls filling up a bucket of water from the irrigation ditch outside of their house and tried to talk to them—only the oldest spoke a little French.  We told them we liked their henna tattoos, and they ran inside and did it on our hands!  They ran out midway through my second one, so I have one and a half henna tattoos.  Their grandmother came out and greeted us, though she only spoke the barest of French as well.  We left and came back with little gifts for them from our backpacks—a rice krispy treat, some oreos, a blow-up globe, some bubbles.  The little girls told us to come inside to see their chickens, but to be quiet so we wouldn’t wake them.  It was crazy that they just lived inside with the people.

Meanwhile, outside Dasha was having difficulties.  Another woman had come up to her and taken her camera from her, hoping she could have a picture of her family (or maybe the camera, we don’t know).  It was definitely an awkward difference of haves and have nots.  But they otherwise were really kind people, and I felt incredibly excited that I had met REAL people, not people in the marketplaces. 

We went back to the house for some “donuts” (fried bread crisps) and tea.  Some men were preparing dinner, singing and creating a sort of drum circle with huge plastic crates and drums.  I didn’t know if I was allowed to but I did some music making with my tin cup and spoon because it was just so cool.  When they saw how enthralled we were with it they came out and sat around and sang while we clapped and danced.  The Arabic singing was incredibly beautiful and powerful—tribal but very refined at the same time.  I was glad to get some of it on camera.  On the roof later we placed some Mafia, and afterwards I went behind the house where Dasha and Steve were teaching some of the little kids how to throw punches and duck away.  It was like a little Moroccan Fight Club. 

Before dinner the girls decided to try the hamam, which is kind of like the village steam bath.   There is a really hot sauna room where you leave all your clothes, and then the second room has three deep trenches.  In one of the trenches there were two pits filled with very hot water, and the other ones were empty.  There was also a cold water faucet.  Unfortunately for us, the hot water pits were very low and when we scraped the bottom, we also got a good lot of sand as well as hot water.  So I did my best to wash my hair, but a lot of it was filled with sand.  However, I did exceed my own expectations by bathing at all on this trip.  It was definitely one of the most interesting bathing experiences I’ve ever had, as it was sort of a mash of communal nakedness and not so much bathing as dripping sandy hot and freezing cold water on you.  I loved these rocks that you used to scrub your skin, making it feel smooth and soft. 

Dinner was pieces of lamb—I don’t remember eating too much, even though I had been walking all day.  There was the most tiny black cat wandering around though, a very thin kitten.  The people in the Berber villages don’t really feed their animals that are “pets” and just sort of let them fend for themselves.  I stole some pieces of fat and lamb and threw them outside for the dog—the dogs here get no love.  They just get stones thrown at them from the kids.  I coaxed one over to me and gave him pets and he tried so intensely to cuddle up next to me.  It was a little sad that they don’t get more love, but I guess everyone has to work so hard the pets kind of come second. 

Speaking of pets, by the time we went upstairs to the roof at nightfall (a good 80% of people were on the roof, if not more.  Also, Berbers tend to just go to sleep when the sun sets, as they get up when it rises) I was feeling really anxious, because I kept forgetting to ask my parents about how my dogs are doing.  The more I fixated on it the more anxious I became.  I knew it was a dumb thing to get stressed out about, but I couldn’t help it.  Still, I curled up under my wooly blanket nearby Steve and Hans and Dasha and just stared up at the stars.  I don’t know if I have ever seen stars more beautiful than that night—there was just no light pollution, so we could see the milky way perfectly.  I thought about home and all the people there, and wondered if they ever looked up at the stars and thought of me… it’s strange to think that we all stare at the same stars, even halfway around the world.  It was a little lonely and I wanted to give my parents a big hug.  But as I was tired, I eventually let myself drift off to sleep. 

September 10 2010 / Marrakech, Morocco

Once again Ellie woke me up because my alarm is so temperamental.  Still, I was able to charge into the Union to be able to make it pretty expertly on time.  I found Steve (a guy a couple doors down from me) and found out that he was going to the medina in Marrakech, which is the massive outdoor market where you do all your haggling.  Being as that I didn’t want to be considered a prostitute, I asked him if I could tag along, which was fine.

Going to the train station was pretty neat—we must have just missed the call to prayer, because many cars were stopped directly in the road, and there was a crowd of people just praying together in what would have been a busy street.  I wish I had gotten a picture.  We went off to the train station around eight o’clock to catch an 8:50 train to Marrakech, but it was hugely late because of Ead (the Islamic holiday that is practically like Christmas, which comes after the month of Ramadan).  We didn’t actually leave until 10AM.  that was fine for us—Dasha amused us by giving us mind puzzles: fill in a 3x3 grid with the numbers 1-9 where all crosses, lines and diagonals equal 15.  I finished first and was ridiculously proud because I never get those things very easily, and she gave me a coconut candy from Puerto Rico—NOM NOM NOM.  It took a while to find a compartment but we finally found one a little away from the SAS main car.  Many women and men sat in the halls, which I felt bad about.  We talked a little about school and we were very communal about sharing our box lunches.  I gave them a couple of riddles as well as the story puzzle about the albatross, and then I looked outside for a while as they took naps.  Taking the train through Morocco felt a lot like what I felt looking at the Old West would be like—tons of cacti, red and brown earth and rock, donkeys, towns made of plaster and  mud, mountains and valleys of rock.  It was all very Clint Eastwood. 

After three hours or so we arrived in Marrakech and walked to our hotel.  I’m still not used to people wearing head scarves (though otherwise they dress pretty conventionally, though conservatively), but there were a lot more women on the street here in Marrakech, which was nice, as there were none in Casablanca, which kind of crept me out to be honest.  But we walked a couple of blocks with our guides (Mohammed, “Momo” Mohammed, and Hussein) to the Hotel Oudaya, which I could only remember the name of because it sounded like Obadiah who was the baddie in Iron Man (yeah, I know, I’m geeky).  I had a room with a girl that I didn’t know, Camille, but that was okay even if there was only one key.  The room and bathroom were small and okay enough (it wasn’t amazing), and we had a rather large patio with a garden, which was pretty neat.  But I went downstairs to find a big group of people who were rearing to go to the markets. 

We went out and got some dirham at the ATM (I pulled out 1000 dirham, which would be a little over a hundred dollars).  People stood around all anxious about getting a cab, so I held out my hand and flagged one down immediately.  We haggled for a while (he wanted 20 dirham each to the market when we knew that 20 period was reasonable) and I jumped in the cab.  Though I was the first one in the cab, I belatedly realized that people drive like crazy things in Morocco—there are no lines on the road and people drive very aggressively.  Our cab driver would get actively annoyed if he had to stop for a red light.  Still, we beat the other cab there (four people packed into the tiny car).  There was a minaret on one side, and the market on the other, so we headed over.  Because it was Ead, not everything was open, and there was a huge empty space that was usually filled with stalls—but today, it was filled with snake charmers, people who would frequently hang snakes around your neck (whether you wanted them to or not) and then demand 200 dirham.  I knew that they would demand money if you stopped to watch, so I circled while pretending not to watch.  I’ve heard lots of stories of how they train the snakes—some people say that they blind the cobras so that they just hear the music and react to it, others say that they place glass in front of the cobra so that it hurts itself while striking out and so learn to not do it.  I thought they almost seemed drugged, the cobras kind of lulling to the side.  There were cobras and what looked like rattlesnakes, and smaller snakes they would hold around people’s necks.  Needless to say, I did not stop  by.  There were also women calling people over to try to do henna on their hands.

The medina itself was amazing—my objective was some lightweight pants for the hike and a scarf.  The exciting part, however, was the haggling.  The shop owners always name a ridiculous price and then try to wheedle and guilt you into accepting it.  The trick is to find something where you both feel as though you are getting a reasonable deal.  I found a dress I thought was really cool—it looked as though it was two pieces, with one part being a jacket, but in reality it’s just one piece of cloth that goes between your legs and tucks over your arms.  I really thought this gray-blue one with gold embroidery was pretty, so I bartered it down from 350 to 200 dirham, which I thought was pretty good (at the time.  Dasha told me later she’d bullied it down  to 150).  Anyway, I also got this BRIGHT ORANGE scarf that I LOVE because it’s my favorite color of orange, and also a “magic box,” which is very difficult to figure out how to open.  And I got ~*~A GIFT~*~ for Cassy, which I really hope she likes!! :)  A hint: It’s really pretty. 

I was especially proud of my haggling skills for the box, which started at 300 or maybe more and I got it down to 150.  Haggling definitely needs to take time if you want it to pay off, which is why I was probably only third best in the group of six I was in—Dasha and Hans were willing to take lots of time to get the price they were fixed on, while Eric, Steven and I wanted to run around and explore more, because we only had four hours of free time.  Still, I felt like a badass Capitalist (though I probably still got screwed on all of these).  The streets “outside” were very bright while the “inner” alleys were small, darker and felt slightly cramped, with everyone’s wares practically out on the street.  It was kind of dirty and trash was littered all over—there isn’t really a garbage system in Morocco.  There were TONS of stray cats, as well as lots of tin teapots, spices, shoes, and rugs at the booths.  I really wanted to buy loose leaf tea for Bryson but apparently that’s not allowed on the ship (germs?).  I suppose I’ll have to find tea bags in India.  I found a single place that was selling paintings, but nothing mom and dad would like.  I WILL FIND SOMETHING!

One really cool thing that happened in the medina was when we were in the alleys, one of the megaphones attached to the roof began to start the call to prayer, which happens five times a day in Islamic cultures (I’ve only been able to figure out that one happens at 4AM and one at 4PM).  It was so incredible beautiful—very rhythmic and singing, even if it was in Arabic and I couldn’t understand.  No one really did anything in the marketplace (it’s more of a reminder to pray when you finish up whatever you’re doing, for the most part) but it was still incredible to hear.  It made my hair stand on end, and Steven said that he felt the same thing.

Another thing that we did that we probably shouldn’t have done was gotten freshly squeezed orange juice from one of the many vendors out in the square.  It was only 4 dirham, which is like 50 cents for a huge glass, and it was SO GOOD.  Probably the best orange juice  I have ever had in my entire life.  Definitely worth the potential diarrhea factor that the doctor had warned us against eating fruit in Morocco that you hadn’t peeled yourself (for the record, I didn’t get it anyway, which makes it even more worth it).  Go big or go home is still my motto on this trip.  Though, I’ve also noticed that I’ve needed to “man up” lots of times and just done something, and I’m proud of my effort so far, but I’m grumpy that I don’t have a more gender-neutral term for it.  Thoughts? 

What I really liked about the medinas was that the shopkeepers, totally against my expectations, were incredibly respectful and friendly.  Undoubtedly it was because we were tourists and bringing in money, but it was still appreciated after being afraid that I would not even be acknowledged due to being a woman.  In fact, all of them did business directly with me, and two out of the three shook my hand when they had finished, which I’ve been told they only really do if they respected your haggling effort.  I was also expecting to get hassled a lot more—if I said that I didn’t really like something or just wandered away after thanking them, I wasn’t chased after.  So that was pretty cool. 

Anyway, we went back to the hotel after a while.  We were really tired and the taxi drivers going from the medina were a lot more adamant about their prices than the ones on the street, so we ended up paying ten dirham each.  Which I guess is a buck, but was still kind of lame.  Anyway, I took a shower and got into my new Moroccan dress for dinner.  The only problem with the dress is that if you have a long stride, like me, your leg shows all the way up to your hip, so I’m going to have to bobby-pin it a little bit.  It was only happening on one side, and Dasha was having the same problem.  But it was still really comfortable and lightweight. 

Around seven thirty we boarded up into our buses and found ourselves quickly into a “sketchy” part of Marrakech, which really just meant that it was a little more run down than the main streets.  What was really cool that although it was completely dark, the streets were packed with people, motorbikes, and cars, I think because everyone was celebrating Ead and going to and from homes.  It was really cool to see it packed with so many people though.  When we got out we walked through twisted streets, past closing tiny shops and people to duck, finally, into this incredible restaurant called Dar Zellij.  It had round tables, rose petals everywhere, and lit with red light.  There were two men playing Moroccan drum beats.  It was stone and there were trees inside, and if you looked up, the stars were right above you.  It was completely hidden, quite the diamond in the rough.  Steven, Dasha, Hans and I sat together at a table, and we were later joined by a Stacy and Sarah who were doing the camel trek. 

The food.

Oh my gosh, the food.  Well, even though people of the Islamic faith don’t drink, they had a wine list, so Darsha and I had a bottle of red wine together while the guys tried something pink (we did a bit of mixing and matching).  It was really different from anything I’ve ever had from California, Italy, or France, which all have really distinct tastes.  For some reason, I couldn’t describe it other than it tasted like Morocco—a little more spicy and flavorful, not fruity but not incredibly dry.  Dasha said it was mellow and then had a little kick at the end, but aside from that, I’m not sure how to describe it.  It was lovely though. 

Anyway, aside from the wine, the first course was small plates of vegetables that we mixed and matched as we pleased into a salad.  Many were spiced specially, like the sliced carrots, and something else that looked like caramelized onions but did not taste at all like that.  Someone said it was eggplant.  That was awesome, and we also had Moroccan bread, which is kind of a flat, circular bread—really good.

The main course was cooked tagine style, which is cooked in clay ovens that slow cooks the meat.   It was chicken and lemon, and it was. the. BEST. chicken I have ever had in my entire life.  It was just so tender and moist and unlike anything I’ve ever tasted before, cutting up little bits of the lemon (… rinds? I’m not even sure, but it was really delicious) and eating them with the chicken pieces.  I didn’t want to say it was the best chicken I’ve ever eaten in my entire life, but the more I ate it the more I realized it was true.  It was incredible.  We just kept saying that we couldn’t even believe that we were there right at that moment, eating the most incredible chicken in Africa, in Morocco. 

Dessert was this strange crisp pastry with this cream sauce on it, and everyone said it tasted like cereal, which I still think is pretty weird because it DID taste like cereal, though after the chicken it was kind of eh.  Then we had some green tea—Moroccans LOVE tea, especially dumping tons of sugar in it.  After that there was a little bit of a belly dancer show, though it wasn’t the belly dancing that I’m used to,  where women can actually control the muscles of their stomach.  Mostly it was just hot women dancing around in bikini tops and pretty skirts, which was fine too.  They would pull up guys to dance with them, which made us all laugh and cheer. 

We walked back to the buses later, stuffed and satisfied.  I was really sleepy and we had to wake up around seven in the morning to leave at eight thirty for the Atlas Mountains, but a lot of people wanted to go to the hookah bar.  Dasha and I promised each other we would leave by 1:30 so as to not be utterly miserable, so when we got back we went with a great big group of like twenty people to this cool little locals’ hookah bar.  I got an orange juice (not as good as the medina and twice as expensive!) while the guys took care of business.  Dasha, Hans, and two guys named Chris and Luke were at our particular hookah, which the flavor was this very lemony mint.  I tried it a couple of times, but it kind of made me sleepy, so I just chatted a little bit with the guys about the Meyers-Briggs test and horoscopes, of all things, before Dasha and I headed back to the hotel around 1:15ish. 


I’ll be a little slow updating with these but I’ll do my best, guys.  A lot has happened within the last couple of days and I’m definitely gonna be playing lots of catch up, most likely tomorrow (the 14th).  

September 9 2010 / Casablanca, Morocco

MOROCCO!  I didn’t sleep too well last night due to the Mermaid of Err making an unexpected reappearance, having apparently caught up to us in the Mediterranean (the Mermaid of Err is our nickname for the squeaky noise that sounds like a wailing woman that happens sometimes outside our porthole while we’re at sea).  I got up early to go to the Health Clinic, because I didn’t have malaria pills (lawl) and have been having TD for a while (google it).  The doctor I talked to was really nonchalant about malaria, and was pretty much like “look at this list and figure out what you would need.”  Apparently the most expensive malaria pills are ten dollars a pill, or the 95 cents a pill ones you have to take for a month after leaving the malaria zone… and apparently you’re really prone to yeast infections which is NO THANK YOU.  I will happily spend more money to avoid that situation, because I can’t even imagine traveling with that business happening. 

I got dressed for the cultural and logistics pre-port, which was in the Union and was very loooong but interesting.  It was a lot of the “don’t wear tank tops and shorts, have a man with you if you’re out in public as a woman, don’t draw attention to yourself as an American tourist, be respectful” and etc.  I’m trying to put my best face forward in Morocco, but I really hate the fact that I have to have a man do my bartering for me, because that’s who the vendors pay attention to.  It’s my money, so pay attention to me, you know?  Apparently if you are alone/are acting independently as a woman you are also thought to be a prostitute, which is fine with me as long as no one harasses me.  I feel like I can put a pretty fierce game face on though—I’m a big woman and I have a pretty tough hawk-eye when I’m not in the mood to be jerked around.  I think the most important park of it (at least that’s what my New Yorker friend Lorelei said) is to just be confident and to not let your guard slip, EVER.  You’re a woman, you’re American, and so you don’t have room for error or no one will take you seriously (she did all her bartering herself and she said she did fine).  But that’ll be an adventure for tomorrow in Marrakesh when I’m bargaining for lightweight pants and a shawl for my hiking.  Ellie is such a sweet Kentucky girl, so I hope she’s able to get by too—she seems pretty psyched to try. 

A couple of diplomats came on board but they didn’t really say anything interesting aside from one of them saying to go to Rick’s Café, which he had heard was good for food (which got a good laugh out of all of us, because a professor had lectured 20 minutes earlier to not buy into the movie culture when Casablanca wasn’t even filmed there).  It was all pretty dull and I was rearing to go, so I was pretty excited when they announced that people going on the day trips could depart, so I quickly stuffed my backpack full of three bags of beanie babies, and one stuffed cat that Cassy wanted to get rid of.  I had to double back for my yellow ticket—almost forgot it!  But then we were outside and down by the buses.  I was surprised that it wasn’t as sweltering hot as it was in Spain—it was hot, definitely, but there was also a cool breeze, probably from the ocean.  We hopped on the bus, which was far more small than the last ones we were on, and I sat next to a girl named Julie.  She is also going on the Berber Villages trip with me tomorrow, so that is exciting—I feel like I’m getting to know a lot more people than I was able to find at the beginning .

We drove out of the port area, which seems super dangerous and sketchy, so I’m glad they’re having shuttles to get us through there.  We drove past the city area, hugging the coast pretty well—I saw Rick’s Café as we passed by, though it was only the back!  It was interesting seeing all these fast food places like Pizza Hut and KFC with Arabic script next to it.  We also passed by the Hassan II Mosque, which is the only mosque that non-Muslims can enter (though only with a tour group).  It was ENORMOUS—a professor said that it was second or third in size only to the Mosque in Mecca, and I could believe it.  The minaret (the tower for the call to prayer) was huge, and all white and green-blue tiled.  We didn’t get too close to it but I really hope I have enough time to take a taxi with some people over there on the last day maybe, because I would really like to hop into a tour so I can see the inside , even if it’s only a French tour (apparently there’s only like one English tour in the afternoon). 

The streets were really crazy.  First of all, the entire city seemed like it was covered in a layer (depending on the status of the business/house) ranging from light dust to grime.  There were hardly any women on the streets—maybe for every twenty men we saw there would be one or two women.  The ocean was a murky brown green, so I don’t think I’ll be hitting up the beach.  As we got away from the city, there were just these unfenced in brown fields were the occasional dirty black and white cow would be hanging out, or there would be donkeys and its foal.  I even saw a little boy chasing after sheep to herd them and turkeys that were just out and about as men sat by the roads.  Not a lot of animal control—they must learn to stay out of the streets. 

Anyway, once we got to George Washington Academy, which is a private high school where children whose families can afford to send them to a good high school were hanging out.  It was a shock seeing bright green grass fields, as so much of the country seems so brown and dirt oriented.  There was a little bit of a tour, where I could see this cluster of girls playing what looked like Four Square (I don’t know how many of you guys played that when you were in elementary school but I sure did… it was a pretty cool realization) while all the boys hung out in a corner, talking and wrestling and teasing.  They even had a track where some of the older students were walking laps and talking.  But we didn’t spend too much time there, as then we were off to the SOS Children’s Village. 

The Children’s Village was… wow, where do I start?  It was up a little bit of a hill, with lots of little white houses, and with occasional fields of grass.  Near the front there was a jungle gym while towards the back there was a basketball hoop in a communal paved circle area.  Donkeys brayed out of sight, and stray cats and even a kitten were everywhere.  It looked really well maintained.  The director of the program came out and gave us a bit of a presentation in French, translated by our guide, but I was pretty distracted by the children that slowly snuck in and sat down or stood to listen as well.  We then split into two groups to tour the area, which I followed one but me and another girl sort of stayed towards the back of the line, talking to two of the fourteen year old girls that lived there.  They had both been there for ten years and they had henna tattoos on their hands to celebrate the end of Ramadan, which was today.  I did my best to communicate and help translate for others in my battered French, as they spoke Arabic and French mostly, but only a little English.  We talked about their favorite subjects to study (English) and favorite animals (hates cats, loves horses).

The preschool areas were really cool and friendly, with lots of paintings done by the kids up.  There was even a room called the “Salle de Projection” which was just a lot of fun stuff around in it, which they explained that when kids first came to the program they were feeling pretty depressed (given that their previous life experiences would be abusive families, poverty, war-torn countries, or death of their parents), and that it existed solely to boost their mood.  It was impressive that they didn’t only care about sheltering the children but also to help their mental well being as well.  The older kids went to school in the cities, so there were no buildings like that, but we also looked into one of the “homes.” 

When we went to enter, a tiny girl ran out to give us all hugs and a kiss on the cheek, which made my heart pretty  much just melt.  Each of the homes had about nine children living in it, each with their own “mother” (a woman who was unmarried and had no children of her own).  She would cook for the children and be their “foster mother.”  The director took the “father” role himself.  The kitchen was tastefully in white and blue, and was clean, though I’m sure with nine kids it could quickly get crowded, and the kids all showed me their rooms, some of which were bright pink. 

I was really impressed by how genuinely loved the kids seemed to be by the director and by the group mothers, who would affectionately tease or pat them.  Other kids too would occasionally slap each other lightly in a teasing sort of way, always accompanied by laughter and smiles.  It made me so incredibly humbled that these kids have far less than I have been blessed with and yet they seem so happy together.  It really makes me so happy that organizations like the SOS Children’s Villages programs exist. 

After the end of the tour, we all hung out together in the communal sports area together.  I played basketball with some of the boys, where half the game was playing keep away dribbling the ball away from each other.  When one of the boys saw that I played aggressively like he did, he kept taunting me by coming closer dribbling the basket ball, even when I’d left to talk to some of the girls.  The girls were a lot more quiet, preferring to talk than play sports.  They were really excited over a sheet of paper that said English phrases in French and Arabic, so they were happy to help us with the pronunciation.  The kids also got a HUGE kick when we would give them our cameras and would take pictures of us and gaggles of their friends.  They were all very polite and thanked us all the time for letting us use them. 

At one point I decided to go over to the director with my bag and explain (in broken French) about my bags of beanie babies.  He decided that we would go over to the “head mother’s” house so that she could decide how to best distribute them.  It was the same house we had looked at earlier, and the kids were overjoyed to see the bags I pulled out of my backpack.  Even the little boys, who almost certainly had outgrown playing with stuffed animals, thanked me profusely, and when I handed the little girl who gave so many hugs earlier the stuffed cat of Cassy’s, she gave me a big kiss on the cheek.  It was an incredible experience.   I left with a huge smile on my face and even a little choked up.  I’m so happy that I brought them, I feel like the SOS kids are going to get so much out of them—more than I ever did, and I adored them at that age. 

After a little while it was time to go.  We said our farewells and headed back to the bus, where the children tapped on the glass and waved goodbye, sometimes giving big kisses on the window.  It was just so cool.  I’m so incredibly happy I’m going to more service visits like this one. It was an incredible experience to see how happy these children were with so little and how close the community was. 

Back on the ship I grabbed dinner and then set to work on my first of many poems, this one dedicated to Spain.  It is pretty terrible so far but I think as I work on it, it’ll get better.  Then I wrote this blog which is far too long, but I just had a lot to say.  :D 

Berber Villages trip is tomorrow, so I won’t be blogging for a while.  I will probably start posting again either the 13th or the 14th, just depending on how busy I am.  I hope you are all enjoying my blogging as much as I am.  :)

September 8 2010 / Seville, Spain/MV Explorer

So we went to bed at six in the morning and woke up at ten minutes to nine, so that was pretty exhausting.  We walked back to the train station with relative ease and saw the Torre del Oro, which is a watchtower that was built next to the river as a deterrent from boats trying to get in through the river to the port.  It’s said that it used to have been gilded in gold, so that was kind of neat to walk by.  At the train station we all just kind of put our heads on our backpacks and rested a little bit while waiting for the bus.  On the bus we all pretty promptly conked out—we were pretty exhausted!  It was exciting seeing the ship again, once I woke up yet again just pulling into the bus station.  The ship has definitely come to be a secure presence to see.

Once on board, I took an intensely long shower.  I hadn’t showered at Seville and at one point I had kicked up dog crap onto the back of my leg (remember when I said that people don’t pick up after their dog in Spain?  I experienced this firsthand.  It was disgusting), so I felt pretty nasty.  I also hadn’t really packed very well so my clothes were totally dirty.  It made the shower all the greater though.  It felt nice coming back to my nice little room.  :D 

After working on my blog a little bit and writing up my royal family homework, I took a great big nap.  I couldn’t help it!  I woke up later for dinner, which was a bunch of Moroccan foods to get us prepared for TOMORROW, when we will be in Casablanca, Morocco!  It’s crazy that we will have no downtime between ports, but I’m excited all the same—at least we GAIN two hours tonight!  A little after dinner we went to post-port discussions, where we talked about some of the things that we enjoyed or didn’t enjoy about Spain and what we were looking forward to/were anxious about in Morocco.  It was a pretty good time and it was nice hearing what other people had done—I talked to a girl about her trip to Barcelona a little while afterwards.  I wrote in the Piano Lounge for a little while (I’ve missed hearing people clunk around on that piano!) and then wandered up to Deck 7 to get something to munch on.  I got something called La Paz Patchoy, which is kind of like a cup noodle except a lot bigger and Filipino.  It was delicious. 

A song called “We Speak No Americano” that played at the Flamenco night during our dance party was playing on someone’s laptop out on deck 7.  It is an international hit across Europe, so you guys should download it and be the first ones to know about it for when it hits the USA.  :)  I’ll have to download it when I get home! 

I definitely enjoyed Spain, though I feel as though I loved Barcelona more than Seville and Cadiz.  I’m very proud of myself for spending almost exactly the amount of Euros I took out of the ATM at the very beginning of getting to Spain (100 euro, so 130 in all).  I felt that I was pretty thrifty.   I am disappointed I could not find bull testicles to eat, though I did try fried barnacles and octopus, as well as jamón ibérico.  I hope I will be just as adventurous in trying new foods in the future (I’m sure I will be).  Overall it was a good starting place for getting acclimated to traveling to foreign places, because I thought it would be easier than it was to communicate and get by in Spain (Barcelona spoke far more English). 

Morocco is going to be pretty interesting during September 11, as the country is 99% Islamic.  I wonder if they even acknowledge it, as of course it wasn’t an attack by Islam but by a tiny political faction, but it’s still something interesting to think about in how they react, especially since apparently some asshole in the USA is organizing a Qur’an burning.  It’s like… I want to disaffiliate myself from assholes like that, but not away from the tragedy of something that happened in my country.  Most likely I won’t even hear much about it, as I will be up in the mountains with rural villages for the majority of the time.  

Tomorrow I am going to an SOS Children’s Village in Morocco, which I am extremely excited for, and the day after that I will be travelling into the mountains to see the Berber villages and stay with the people there.  I will most certainly blog tomorrow, but in the mountains I probably won’t be able to blog until I come back on the 13th.