¡Qué frío!

Today, when we woke up, it was 0 degrees Celsius outside. I can still see my breath.
That´s all.
Oh, except for the fact that I saw a man walking down the street today with a curly, gray, balding head of hair. The kicker, though, was that he had about fifteen scraggly, thin dreads coming down from random places. It was not the best look ever.

The meeting of the Blogs: Jenny and Talia tear up Europe

Saturday, November 21, 2009

12:19 PM

On Sunday I got back from spending a week with Talia. We had some laughs, cried some cries and even ate some hotdogs. She came here on a Friday and stayed through Tuesday. Then she left for Barcelona and on Wednesday I met her there. On Friday we jetted off to Copenhagen. Kinda complicated, but really fun. While we were here, we made an impromptu trip to the Sierra Nevada, through which I hiked with my little ballet flats and stockings on. Talia proceeded to make fun of me the entire time, while continuing to force me up the mountain. C-tita. The next day we went up to the Alhambra (Al Hambra, as Talia says) and froze. After having been there three times already I think I did a pretty good job as a tour guide, although picky Talia got a little upset with my lack of or over explanations sometimes, and would get distracted. Child.

After our hike up to the Alhambra we rewarded ourselves by buying matching parachute pants. It was an epic moment. Now that I own a pair, I can elaborate on some of the best features:

- They are the most comfortable pants that have ever been created because your legs are free inside there, but you never have to worry about flashing anyone (like you would it a skirt).

- When it’s windy they catch the wind in the middle (like a parachute), and actually help you walk faster. Well, actually that’s not true, but it could be.

- They are all sorts of elastic going on around the stomach and the ankles so you’re really sealed in there.

- The patterned part of the cloth that’s between your two legs as you walk becomes visible to the world (much like a peacocks feathers) when you do a leap. I tried it several times in several different directions. It’s breathtaking every time.

- They go with everything. Well, actually, not really.

- They remind me of Alladin.

When we got home we put on our pants and pranced around for a little before getting it together and settling down for some quality Sporcle time.

The next day, busy with class and other things to do, I had no time to spend with Talia. What did she do? Unclear. Did she leave the room? No. A successful Granada morning. In the afternoon, however, some shopping was done, some boots were bought, it got kind of European in there, and we won’t talk about it anymore. After my evening class I met up with Talia, armed with several shopping bags, and we walked over to get some Churros and chocolate. The next morning, she left, and on Wednesday evening, I met up with her and her friend Claire in Barcelona.

Unfortunately, en route, I almost missed my flight, lost my phone, had to pay 40 euro to check my bag, and sat in front of a woman who had to throw up the whole way there. Finally, after an eventful few hours I made my way to the hostel to find Talia and Claire talking to some Canadians. We had some beers, took a shower and went to bed. The next day we visited park guell, which is really cool. Some of the awesome stuff that we saw there:

- Gaudi’s benches

- 2 men dancing to Indonesian/Hawaiian music that they were playing

- A man playing an inverted steel drum. It was SUCH a beautiful sound (not being sarcastic).

- Barcelona, which looks a little like a slum from the top.

- People selling stuff

In actuality, it’s a really cool park that is actually a lot bigger than I thought it was going to be. I actually imagined that it was just the Gaudi stuff, but there are a ton of paths and trees and little lookouts all over the place, and it’s really fun to walk around in.

A couple weeks prior to this trip I made my first journey to Barcelona with Grady (friend from home), and we went to see the Sagrada Familia church, which is an awesome structure started by Gaudi in the late 1800s, and not scheduled to be completed until 2026 or something like that. It is massive, and there are plans to construct a central tower that is even bigger than the four that already exist.

The outside is covered with sculptures of biblical scenes, images of Jesus and the Virgin Mary, and even some of Gaudi’s classic forms. Apparently, according to Grady, Gaudi’s teacher said, while he was training him, that he was either going to be the most influential, talented architect to show himself to the world, or the worst, most horrendous example of a trainee that his trainer had ever produced. I guess people liked him, despite his odd, quirky style.

On our final day in Barcelona we woke up bright and early to catch the bus to the airport, and parted ways with Claire. Later in the day Talia and I arrived in Copenhagen, put on our scarves and gloves, and went back to Talia’s.

Despite the fact that it was rainy and cold the whole time I was there, I really liked Copenhagen a lot. On our first night we made a journey to a little hippy town (town isn’t really the right word, but I don’t know what is) called Christiania, and went to a vegetarian restaurant. I decided it was a perfect time to debut my parachute pants. I was not wrong. Christiania is a really cool little place with a couple shops, a couple houses, and a lot of middle-aged hippies smoking weed. I honestly don’t understand what it is or how it came into existence, but I liked it.

The next day we walked around Copenhagen, took in the wintry decorations, and saw a cool place that is apparently famous, even though I didn’t know about it. Everything was so cozy.

Funnily enough hygge is a word that Danes used a lot, and it means cozy. I didn’t understand why until I went there, and I felt like I wanted to use the word cozy to describe everything. Talia and I took some Christmas card pictures.

Look out for one coming your way in the mail.

We saw the royal palaces and a guard, which I obviously thought was really cool, so I took about ten pictures, and then walked home to have a snack of nutella and rice cake while watching Mulan. Mulan might be the greatest Disney movie ever made. Although, now that I say it, I retract it because I just know that it’s not true. Still, though, it’s pretty good. Afterwards, we went to Talia’s friend’s house to cook an American brunch dinner, which consisted of eggs, bacon and potatoes, the three foods that I probably eat the most of in Spain. Oh well. It was really good, and then afterwards we got to see Lisa Drennan! Fun! (I realized that I’ve been dropping a lot of names all over this blog without explaining who they are, so let me take a quick second to explain Talia and Lisa. Both are my sister’s friends from Wesleyan. Lisa graduated in May with Molly and is now playing professional volleyball in Copenhagen. Talia is my age, and is studying abroad there. If I mention any other names, I’ll try to give an explanation. Sorry about that). Anyway, we saw Lisa, which was exciting, and then it was time for bed. Talia got a hotdog and spoke to the vender in Spanish, English and Danish. The next day I wanted to kill myself when I got out of bed, but headed to the airport anyway. 15 hours later, I was home, finally Talia-free. Just kidding

Just a few observations

Wednesday, November 11

11:33 AM

Location: Work

So I know I´m a little (a lot) behind on my journal entries and my blog posts, but I got so bogged down by Morocco and work and everything else, that it has just not been going that well. Therefore, I´ve decided that, when I have random thoughts, I should just write them down and incorporate them into the journal/blog. So, about work: I am currently sitting in my own office, but it´s actually a huge room full of offices and I´m the only one who sits here (other than when Chris comes in on Tuesdays and Thursdays). It´s actually awesome because I can do whatever I want and I don´t have to be afraid of getting caught doing random stuff on the internet such as online shopping for boat shoes. Oops. Ironically, though, as I was surfing the web this morning, I went to El Pais, the website for the largest, most widely read Spanish newspaper, and was reading an article about lower productivity in the workplace because of unrestricted access to the internet. Also oops. Oh well. My boss called me up to his office today, though, because I sent him what I have been doing recently and he was really excited about it and said it was ¨muy, muy, muy bien hecho.¨That´s very, very, very well done. Three verys. I felt pretty proud of my personal productivity and so decided to come back down here and not work.

It´s been pretty cold in Granada these days. It´s in the thirties when we wake up and only gets up to the high 50s during the sunniest hours. I don´t even want to talk about cloudy days. Luckily Granada and the sun are friends. Anyway, so I´ve been on a frantic search for boots because it´s getting cold and I´m going to Copenhagen this weekend with TallBall, but when I finally found the perfect pair, they only had it in a size too big. Therefore I will just wait until they get it in my size, and will buy it then. Luckily, though, in this same store, I found and bought the most amazingly European sneakers of all time. To begin, they are brown faux leather, but are more or less the same shape as converse shoes. They have a very similar toe, except that it´s black, and so is the sole. They are high tops. Not only are they high tops, but the high collar is made of brown fur. The tongue (on the inside) is also made of fur. I´ve never seen something so incredible in my entire life. Naturally, because I want to show off the fur, I tuck my pants into the high tops and fold the tongue down. On the side of each shoe is printed a little sentence (kinda). It reads:

WHAT INSPIRE ME:

- You…Love…Year 27..Cats…Rain

In any case, they are the most European shoes that have ever existed.

Since I last wrote that, however, I traveled to Barcelona wearing those bad boys and I won’t get gruesome, but things are getting weird on my big toe. He’s suffocating in there. Right now I am in the Copenhagen airport waiting for TallBall to get herself here, and, because of my shoe tragedy, am wearing not nearly enough clothing for the 7 degree Celsius rain that’s going on outside. Luckily, though, I’m warm and happy inside the airport, looking at all the great Christmas decorations that remind me of winters in Boston. On my flight on the way here there was a 2-year-old sitting behind me who made the most unbelievable noises during the ENTIRE flight. It really astounds me that such a small thing can create such a ruckus.

Now that I am in Copenhagen, Talia and I have planned to eat yogurt and granola, go to the hippy commune, eat yogurt and granola, Sporcle, and be cold. I’ve never been so excited in my life. All around me people are speaking this odd language that is Danish, and I am truly blown away by it. In a way it sort of sounds like German or the other Scandinavian languages, but really it doesn’t at all. When I was in France, I could get the gist. When I hear Italians, they mind as well be speaking Spanish, same with Portuguese people. Here, though, I have no clue. Everyone is blond, beautiful, fashionable, and the fact that they speak a language that no one else speaks makes them that much more enchanting. God, I love Europe.

The final Moroccan Day

Stuff has been so crazy over here, what with our internet essentially not working for a week, trips all over the world, and a ton of school work. Anyway, you'll be happy to know that I'm going to put up two posts today. Yay!

Morocco, Day 3:

Day 3

On third day we awoke bright and early and had another awesome meal sitting around couches dipping warm bread into a communal bowl of honey.

Stomachs full, pants tight, and feet covered with pee, we walked over to our meeting spot to begin the day. The first stop was the brand new IES center in Rabat. IES, for those of you who may not know, is the program I am with here in Granada. It is an international study abroad non profit with around 30 programs. This semester is the inaugural semester for IES Rabat, so I was eager to see what type of kids would choose Morocco for a semester and what the center was like. Much like ours, the building and the facilities were incredible, and, from what I gather, in a pretty good, convenient neighborhood. Unfortunately only 3 of the 15 students showed up, but it was still incredibly interesting to hear from them. I don’t think I could do a whole semester or, as in the case of one kid, a whole year there.

Afterwards we headed over to Mohammed V's unfinished mosque and met with a tour guide who was to show us a couple landmarks around Rabat.

Instead of being a nice breath of fresh air from our awful tour guide, he was just as bad, if not worse. “Children, gather, please, I won’t yell please, we are here, please, listen, please.” Just because you say please, sir, does not make you less annoying. That’s a fact. Look it up. We saw Muhammad V’s tomb, and it was the single most decorated room ever.

There isn’t even one inch of the walls, ceiling, or floor that isn’t decorated with different Islamic Art techniques, most of which we have learned about in class. For Moroccans, Muhammad V is a symbol of independence, and because of this is buried in such a public way. Outside of the tomb there are four guards at the four entrances. One looked exactly like Barack Obama, so I took a picture with him. Naturally.

Our next stop was an old Roman Ruins. En route from one landmark to the other our guide, who, by the way, was wearing a white hat with a huge sparkly star on the front, talked incomprehensibly into the microphone of the bus.

I understood 0% of what he said, but I doubt it was that interesting considering the fact that as we drove past a beautiful cliff and view of the ocean on our left he was talking about how ugly the American embassy was on the right. Whatever. Our Roman ruin visit was cool, but after a couple of hours of our tour guide I think we were all ready for a little lunch.

When we got home, we sat down to a lunch of couscous, just what we had been waiting for since we arrived the day before! After it’s on the table already, they spoon some extra broth/sauce stuff all over it and everyone digs in. We had been eating for a couple minutes when I decided to go for a sweet bite I had been eyeing. It was just couscous and broth, and it looked like a great bite. What I didn’t realize was the following:

A. The broth was what was making the whole dish spicy, so a spoonful of it might be a little more than I could handle.

B. The food at the bottom is the hottest because it is insulated by all the other food on top of it, so the broth at the bottom is essentially the temperature of boiling water.

Not realizing these two very important facts, I put the whole huge bite into my mouth. I can’t know what noise or what face I made exactly, but there was definitely a noise and definitely a face that made everyone at the table begin to laugh. And they continued to laugh as I began to sweat and tears gathered in my eyes from the spice and the heat. The dad, who had previously been pretty quiet, started to talk to me and poke fun at me as I wiped my brow and fanned my face with my hand. Then they taught us the words for spicy (har) and hot (schun). It was actually, despite the fact that I couldn’t taste anything for the next two days, a really great moment.

In the afternoon we met with some young Moroccan men who wanted to work on their English, and went for a walk through the market place. I was terrified. Jake bought a knife. After our walk we headed to the Hammam, or the Arab Baths as we know them. Everyone walked into the tiny changing room armed with their scrubby tool and a packet of soap. Tentatively we began to get changed, some with full bathing suits on, others not so much. Then someone herded us all into the giant steam room, which was, let me tell you, REALLY hot. There were already two women in there soaping up (all over, if you know what I mean), and we all got our own bucket and were instructed to sit down, rinse off, soap up, rinse off again, and then scrub. What initially were signs of shyness and discomfort disappeared immediately, and within moments we were all washing off topless and laughing hysterically at the absurdity of this communal cleansing session. Several brave hearts opted for a massage from these ladies and it was, to say the least, very thorough. Some people may or may not have left with injuries. Although the image of the sweaty ladies washing off in the steam of the Hammam is one that I will NEVER forget, in a weird way, the whole experience seems like kind of a dreamy blur. Was I really in that room full of naked ladies? Did I really wash my hair sitting down on the floor of a huge steam room? Did the masseuse really massage Mary so hard that she pulled her hamstring? Who knows.

In any case, after our bath we headed off to get Henna (which I chose not to do) and then went home. Early the next morning the group met up at our meeting point, and piled onto the bus for what Anna said would be a 45 minute to a 1 hour ride. Remember how I said that Anna was two things and one of them was “not nice?” The second of the two is completely incompetent. During the course of the trip she had known nothing about any of the places we had been, had arranged for a terrible Moroccan tour guide, had gotten us mixed up in some sticky situations with her lack of Arabic, had read to us off notes that she carried in her pocket, had handed out silly sheets for us to become more educated, had known NOTHING, and then, as the cherry on top, told us that our bus ride was 45 minutes.

When we arrived 3 and a half hours later, dripping sweat from the swealtering bus, none of us were that happy with her. Before I continue, though, I do have to tell a quick story about our bus ride.

The roads in Morocco are pretty thin, and our bus was pretty unsturdy. What’s more is that our bus driver was a maniac. At one point during the drive, we were flying down a tiny road in the middle of nowhere, and a car was driving towards us in the opposite lane. No big deal, right? Right…had there not been a man biking on his bicycle going the same direction as us and in our lane. Instead of assessing the possible dangers of this situation, Mr. Bus Driver went right on driving at top speed, until we came right upon the tail of the biker at the same time as the car coming towards us was passing. Essentially, we couldn’t swerve into the oncoming lane because of the car, but continuing on our path would have meant a very dead and very flat biker. We swerved as much as we could at the same time as the biker swerved onto the gravel path beside the rode. My heart was beating, and I was sure the biker was going to die or that we were going to get into a head on collision going 100 km/hr. Astoundingly, and luckily for everyone, things went very smoothly and nobody died.

We arrived in a small town a little while later and took a short hike up to a house on the top of a hill.

The owners were a man named Muhammad and his wife, and they live there with their 5 kids. We made ourselves a picnic, and then ate some couscous they made for us.

I avoided an embarrassing scene. Afterwards we sat down with them and talked about their lives, our lives and the world in general. It was interesting to see how in touch they were, despite their rural setting, with the world and current events.

After chatting, playing soccer, and having the worst stomachache of my life, we left the village and set off for a town called Chefchaouen

for our final dinner and some last minute shopping. The next day some of us chose to get up early and go for a short hike to the old Spanish Mosque in Chefchaouen.

All in all it was a very uneventful event, except for when a pack of wild dogs (not actually wild. Actually owned by a group of hippies) came racing towards us and may or may not have knocked Jillian on her butt. Sort of not funny, but actually hilarious. And then, after a quick border hop and a ferry ride to the mainland, we were back home.

The trip, in a lot of ways, really changed my life. It really took me out of my comfort zone, and because of that I think it's a trip everyone should do. It's impossible to imagine what Africa or Asia or even Europe are going to be like without experiencing them first hand, yet everyone has many preconceived notions and judgments founded on almost nothing. Although some parts were challenging, and I dont think I could ever be in Rabat for a whole semester, it's the type of trip I want to do again. And with that, I’m finally finished writing about Morocco, almost 3 weeks after I got back. Phew!

Hey Friends. Sorry it has been so long, but my most recent blogworthy event was a big one and I'm still working on it. Therefore, I'm going to just post it in pieces. Great idea, pat on the back!

October 27, 2009

9:34 PM

Well, I just got home from Morocco. I think it’s safe to say that this journal entry is going to be VERY long. The longest one yet, I would venture to say. To begin, let me start a day or so before the trip began, way back on Wednesday. Sydney and I left our art history exam half an hour after it was supposed to end, hands tired and minds blank. We stopped for Tapas on ourway home, and Sydney, in an uncharacteristic moment of fatigue, called it an early tonight and went to bed…before me! (I never thought I’d see the day) On Thursday morning, the day before our departure, Sydney awoke feeling terrible, and spent most of the day in bed, only getting up for our trip to the cafeteria. Optimistic through her sickness, she vowed she would go to Morocco the next day no matter what. Unfortunately, despite taking Tylenol, drinking water, resting and willing herself to get better, when Friday rolled around, she was feeling just as bad. Saying goodbye and shutting the door behind me was one of the worst feelings I have had in a long time. I felt so sad and alone arriving to the group without her, and it was awful to tell everyone that she wouldn’t be coming. There were a few moments when it looked as if it would be possible for her to meet us in Gibraltar at night, but in the end no such thing ocurred. So, although we were headed off on an exciting adventure, it was a bittersweet moment to pull away from Granada leaving Sydney sick and very alone at the dorms. That’s the preface. Here’s the story:

Day 1

Our itinerary for day one was to make the drive from Granada to Algeciras (about three hours), and then spend the rest of the day in Gibraltar. For those of you who do not know, Gibraltar is an English territory at the very tip of Spain. Our drive was uneventful, except for the couple of minutes during which large white splashes began to fly against the windshield. Oddly enough, the crazy bus driver (whose ring tone, by the way, was “Born in the USA) didn’t use the windshield wipers to clear anything away. The splashes were not silent splashes, the way a light rain might be, but instead were loud splats against the glass. Javier (our program director) and I looked at each other, and he promptly asked the driver what odd event was occurring.

Without blinking an eye he responded that we were driving through a huge swarm of bees, and that the little white splats on the windshield were there guts. Yummy. They were still there today when we got back on the bus after 5 days. Delicious.

We pulled up to our hotel at about one or two in the afternoon. It was, in typical IES fashion, swanky and stylish. After a quick picnic we walked over to the border and entered Gibraltar. Immediately the street lights, the signs and the trashcans are completely different. It’s one of the weirdest feelings ever to walk across a border, in case you were wondering. Right on the other side there is a huge air force base from which the Royal Air Force was doing flying drills. Probably the loudest/the coolest thing I have ever heard/seen in my life. What was even more awesome, though, is that the runway is perpendicular to the main road that leads to the border, and when there is a plane taking off, they have to stop traffic. Essentially, in case you are having problems visualizing, which I would be too if I had just read my horrible explanation, the road and the runway form a “t,” meaning that when something is driving down one, nothing can be driving down the other. You see? Yeah, me neither. Whatever, it’s fine. The important thing to take away is that, because of the Air Force drills, our buses got stuck in horrible traffic, and we got to watch the helicopter drills.

Watching huge army helicopters take off may or may not be a life changing experience. It’s also terrifying when they lift off the ground about 30 feet and then just hover there for a good 30 seconds, going absolutely nowhere. You never know whether they’re actually going to make it, or whether they are going to have a horribly gruesome crash landing. We saw none of those. Phew!

Eventually, after opening the road again we walked across the huge runway to the other side, and awaited our buses at a gas station. We heard some local school children (I feel that is an appropriate way to identify them because they are English) talking to each other, and, weirdly enough, their conversation was in Spanish. Gibraltar confuses me a lot. Our buses pulled up and we got on in two separate groups. The driver of our bus had some normal name, but told us that he “likes the name Pepe more, because it sticks to the lips.” Direct quote. Anyway, the little paper sign at the front said Pepe, so Pepe it was.

He gave us a brief, very rehearsed tour of Gibraltar, during most of which he told inappropriate jokes about disabled people while we sat in traffic. I also didn’t understand a lot of what he said because of his bizarre accent. It almost sounded like he was an Andalucian who learned English, but spoke it with an accent. At the same time, though, his English was perfect in a way that a non-native English speaker’s wouldn’t be. It was really strange to hear, and today when I tried to imitate it for Sydney it did not go over that well. I sounded a little Australian, a little Chinese, and a little Russian. Awkward.

Despite Pepe’s shortcomings as an innovative tour guide, he was extremely funny and did take us to see monkeys. They were terrifying.

At one point they started yelling and getting in a fight, and I was afraid I was going to get attacked, naturally. That was the moment when I decided to take some pictures of the boats instead, and then quietly and calmly get back on the bus. We were dropped off at the end of the tour on a commercial type strip of Gibraltar, and had a quick 30 minutes for a snack before a “nice hour and a half hike to the top of the rock of Gibraltar.” Rock is a very deceptive word. Mountain would be more accurate.

Our leisurely hike began with a trip through the town, during which I spent a lot of energy taking photos and seeing the sites. After about half an hour I was regretting the choice to wear pants and a backpack, and was sweating profusely. Half an hour later a small group was walking together up an incline of about 45 degrees (I’m not exaggerating) singing Disney classics.

Singing actually isn’t the best word to describe what was going on. Gasping, breathing, mouthing would probably be better words. At one point I was so out of breath I thought I was going to throw up. It wasn’t that awesome of a moment, but I was revived when a comrade suggested that we sing Smashmouth's Allstar, (which is, ironically, the one song that everyone of our age seems to know all the words to) and I continued onwards, gasping the words loudly. When we got to the top of the mountain the sun had just begun to set behind the mountains in Algeciras.

We could see miles around us, and could even see the coast of Africa.

It was one of the most rewarding, breathtaking moments I have ever experienced. I was drenched in sweat for all of it, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. We descended and enjoyed a lovely meal at an English restaurant before heading back to the hotel for a well deserved rest. Since coming to Spain I have watched TV on a television approximately two times. Being the TV addict that I am, I craved it like crack when I got back to the hotel, so turned it on to the end of what I am assuming is High School Musical 2 or 3, considering that at the end they graduate high school, so anything after that would technically have to be called Post High School Musical. I don’t know. In any case, it was dubbed into Spanish (except for the singing parts) and I really enjoyed it. And so ended Day 1.

Day 2

The second day was to be the first of a series of very long and tiring, but fun-filled days. We got up bright and early at 6:30, stuffed our faces with complimentary breakfast and headed over to the Ferry, where we met our tour guide Anna. She was from Portland, and in May just completed a 2 year Peace Corps stay in a small village in southern Morocco. The first five sentences that she spoke went something like this:

1. Hi, I’m Anna, and I’m terrible at names.

2. I probably won’t remember any of yours.

3. I don’t know anything about the history of Morocco, but I heard you guys do.

4. I know a lot about the culture and the traditions of Morocco.

5. When I’m speaking to you please don’t stand far away, I’m not going to shout.

It’s safe to say that I did not get a great vibe from her.

Staying positive, we boarded the boat and headed to Africa. Anna proved herself to be two things on this trip. The first was condescending. On the boat ride over she told us that she would like us all to sit kind of close so that she could tell us some important things that we might have to know. Unfortuanately, she didn’t mention that until after the kids who had taken drammamine had already chosen a seat and fallen asleep in it. So, in a very lovely way, she said to the people sitting off to the side or by themselves “Please can you guys come over here so I can give you some important information?” When there was little movement, she said, “Yeah, that generally requires you to get up and move from where you currently are.” I loved her.

In any case, we arrived in Tanger safe and sound a couple of hours later and headed off to a women’s center. It was really cool and we got to speak to a couple of young Moroccan women.

One was a post grad in English literature, one had already gotten her masters, and the third was a senior in high school. Ironically the third was the best English speaker. We had a very interesting conversation with them about everything from their personal feelings about wearing the hijab (the head scarf) to finding work as a woman in Morocco to living with family and finding a husband. It was eye opening to talk to three very educated women in a place that I had previously assumed to be much more strict and male dominated. We enjoyed a lovely lunch that, at the time, I was a little too nervous to eat, and headed to Rabat.

On the way we pulled over on the side of the road at a beach full of camels. When I say full, I mean 7. Apparently there is a group of guys that goes out to this same beach every day and sits there for fifteen hours just waiting for people to pull over on the side of the road for a camel ride. If you have never seen one in person you cannot know how ridiculous camels are. Some observations:

- First of all, they are happier lying down than standing up, just like a cat or a dog. When they sit down they fold their skinny little legs under them, and the only part you can see looks like a pair of chicken legs attached to this huge animal.

- They chew their cud approximately 100% of the time

- The majestic sound they make as they cross the desert sands is a type of grunting scream. Really beautiful.

- They are incredibly knock-kneed. I think that they and I bonded over that.

- When they are standing up they look at every second as if they are about to fall over.

- Their eyelashes are really long.

- Their feet are the most awesome feet ever. Their surface area increases drastically every step that they take, which is so tight.

- Their poops are really tiny compared to their bodies.

Riding one was awesome, but also kind of difficult at the beginning and the end. Because they are so awkward, they get up really slowly and it’s tough to hold on. They stand up on their back legs first and for a pretty long while their front legs are still folded under them on the ground. You are essentially holding on to a huge camel sitting there at about a 45 degree angle. At the end, to dismount, they have to sit down again. Sedentary as they are, they don’t sit unless someone hits their knees with a stick. Eventually they just give out and their whole front half goes crashing to the ground…with yours truly onboard. After a couple of scary seconds they lower their back legs and sit down, but holding on during the interim is no small chore. Anyway, what’s important is that I can now add camels onto the list of animals I have ridden on. In fact, I just doubled my list from 1 to 2:

1. Horses
2. Camels

Several hours later we arrived as a group to a lovely home in the middle of a neighborhood in Rabat and divided into groups of two or three. I grouped with Mary and Jillian, and we were assigned a family that lived close by. The English speakers of the family were the two daughters, one who was 18, and the other who was 22. The younger one spoke better English, and, to my astonishment, had never studied it a day in her life. Her only knowledge was from American movies, TV shows, music, and the American students they have hosted in their home for the past five years. The older sister had the same basic background with 3 additional months of formal studying. They claimed it was an easy language. Compared to Arabic, I think it is. In any case, they were awesome, and I loved them. Not only did they speak Arabic and English, but they also spoke French (as everyone in Morocco does) and the younger sister even spoke Spanish and wanted to be a Spanish literature major in University. What a stud.

They walked us in the dark through a series of narrow alleyways and finally through a market to their home. It was on the second floor of a two-story building and was one of the cooler houses I have ever been into in my life. In our homes here or in the States we walk through the front doorway into some kind of foyer or front room, and throughout the house there are different rooms that all connect to one another. The structure of this house was more or less like my high school. In the middle was a large square of space open to the air.

It probably measured something like 20 feet by 20 feet. The rooms were all off a hallway that went all the way around the open-air column (for lack of a better expression). There were three bedrooms, a living room/den, a bathroom and a kitchen. The sink and laundry area for the bathroom were under the hallway awning, not in their own room. This is maybe the worst explanation ever, but I really can’t think of how to explain it better. Oh well.

Each room is different than our rooms, too, because there is a bench that runs along the edge of the whole room, the only gap being at the door. The bench is covered with cushions and pillows, and there is nothing but a table or two in the center of the room. They have really high ceilings. As beds, each person uses a different section of bench. The eating/den room is the same, but instead of sleeping there, they eat there. Here’s what is important to take away from the living room image: everyone sits on these couch/benches around the table and, after finishing, only has to reposition his or her head/body so as to be oriented towards the TV. Such a great idea. Anyway, I’ll stop trying to describe the house now, because it’s too confusing. Sorry.

I will, however, happily move on to the meals. They are also completely differet from anything that I have ever experienced, and I have decided that they are far superior to our meals. On our first night there we were told that dinner was ready and headed into the dining room. We each took a seat on the couch/bench, and waited politely for our food to be served. All of a sudden the mom came out and put a huge platter of French fries on top of chicken in the middle of the table. Immediately, the family launched into the most awesome feeding frenzy of all time. Armed with nothing but a piece of bread (that’s right, no spoon, no fork, no plate) Mary, Jillian and I joined in, too. Everyone feeds off this huge central dish of food without transferring anything to a little plate before hand. Some people use their bread, some just go at it with their hands. That takes a significant amount of skill and a special technique that I did not have, though. In any case about 15 minutes later, hands and nails covered with food, bellies full, minds completely confused about what just happened, and a plate scraped clean in the middle of the table, dinner was over. The table was covered in olive pits, scraps of food, drops of liquid, bread crumbs and dirty napkins, and I loved it. Eventually we had an orange for dessert and helped to clean up by dumping every food scrap and piece of trash onto the central plate and carrying it into the kitchen. Such a simple dinner strategy, yet so unknown in the States. Anyway, I think it builds character and community, so I’m going to implement it in my own household (when I have one).

After dinner, tired from a long day, we washed up and went to bed. However, washing up and going to bed wasn’t what it is at home. Our toilet was, as they say, a Turkish toilet. What does that mean? A hole in the ground, essentially.

And, despite the fact that our family was obviously not particularly poor, the bathroom smelled absolutely horrible. So, for about a half an hour we milled around discussing our trip to the bathroom, and then, in an act of sheer heroism, I demonstrated to my comrades how it was done. Unfortunately I did an awful job and peed all over my foot and sandal. That was exactly the thing I had wanted to happen when I knew I wouldn’t be able to wash my foot for a full 24 hours. So, foot covered in pee, I walked back to my room, changed, and went to bed. During the night we were awoken several times by loud chants and drums going through the streets. The next morning our sister told us it was a wedding. Pretty sick. Day 3 is yet to come...