Hello My Name is Adventure

My travel blog chronicling my time studying abroad in Rabat, Morocco.

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Back in the Magehrib: June 18th-21st

I experienced a very strange sense of deja vu landing in Casablanca. It was my fourth time flying into Casa and not much had changed since my last flight, six weeks prior. Even the instrumental covers of once popular songs that played in America which are the bane of my existence were there to greet me (flute covers of Celine Dion are the absolute worst).

I felt a lot older since my last time in Morocco. I guess going through the airport reminded me of the very first time I landed in Casa five months prior and knew only one word of the local language “balek” which means watch out.

The train to Rabat wasn’t leaving for another hour so I searched the airport for Meditel and purchased a SIM card. 30dh (approximately $3.50) got me a SIM card with 30 minutes of talk 100 texts and 20dh of credit. My sister had given me a cell phone to bring with me but it turned out to be locked and I made a note to go shopping in the medina later for a new phone.

The train ride was uneventful as I had made the trip several times before. When I arrived to Rabat Ville it was like re-experiencing my city for the first time. The view from the exit of this train station was the first glance of Morocco besides the airport and the train I had and Centre Ville still holds a special place in my heart. I walked to Hotel Centrale which was the first hotel I had stayed in way back in January. Instead of struggling in broken French to book a hotel room like I had when I booked the hotel for Sara, I conducted the transaction in Darija without missing a beat. I wasn’t sure if I would spend the night there but the 120 dh ($15) was definitely worth having a place to relax in and leave my stuff while I ran some serious errands.

It was really empowering being in a country that isn’t my native one and knowing exactly where to go to get the items I needed.

First stop: Boumalek. A not so small cafe near the Bab el-Hed tram stop. Boumalek was the first cafe I had ever visited in Rabat and I knew they usually had fairly reliable internet. Not this time, however the delicious cakes and tea more than made up for it.

Next stop: Carrefour. Carrefour is a grocery store and it’s found a few other countries as well. I went in to pick up some hubz (bread) and fromage (cheese) for breakfast. The plums smelled really good as I walked past and I bought four, along with two bottles of water.

Third Stop: Medina. The medina is the old city and is a big area for shopping and also living. I went to the electronics section to pick up an unlocked phone. I got the cheapest “dumb”phone I could find the Samsung GT-E1205T in life vest orange. It was 250 dh about 30 dollars. The man showed me it worked and showed me the charger worked and put in my sim card.

I powered up the phone and called my old host father, Aziz, who is also in charge of my internship. He told me he would tell the girls to open the door and to bring all of my stuff to his house.  I checked out, and got in a taxi across from parliament. The driver and I had a great chat in darija on the way to Agdal. He didn’t believe me when I said I was American and traced back my family tree, asking where everyone in my family was born.

A girl i didn’t recognize answered the door. I thought she was a cousin and she started speaking in nervous French. I caught something like, “I’m an American student,” and then asked if she spoke English. “I’m much better with English,” I said in my regular not quite Philadelphian accent which threw her really off guard. I explained that I was also an American student and that I would be teaching with her host father during the summer.

Aziz came home and so did his other host daughter. We piled into his Range Rover, which I had never been in before, and drove to “the other house” a place which I had always heard about, but never seen.

The other house is a five story villa in a neighborhood I had never heard of, about a ten minute drive south of Agdal but out of reach by tram. There are two terraces, multiple sitting rooms, bedrooms, and bathrooms on every floor, and it’s a block away from the beach. A floral scent that I haven’t yet identified wafts through the air. The best part? This is my home for the next two months.

My bedroom now was my old host mother’s room before she was married. I’m staying with her mother and cousins and brother and nephew. The little boy is about 3 years old and is very sweet, but very wild as most boys his age are.

The school I will be teaching in is about a 15 minute walk from home. I haven’t met most of the students yet because testing for the BAC is going on and most are taking their time off from language study to practice for this important exam. Habib is the full time English teacher at the school and has me sit in on a few classes and helps out. While the students do worksheets we talk about American and Moroccan cultures and the differences in dialect between British, Canadian, American, and Australian English. Habib tells me teaching during Ramadan will be difficult.

Aziz drives us home after work. Tea is served late, at 9:00pm, which has me a bit worried. Dinner is then served at 11:00/11:30pm depending on what we’re having.

Ramadan starts in two weeks and it looks like I will be joining the fast. I am fine with fasting and have done it alongside friends or for the 30 hour famine before with no problems. However, my friend who ives here says it reaches over 100 degrees Fahrenheit during Ramadan which has me worried. I have never fasted in such heat so I am making plans to stock up on emergency food and water as I don’t want to risk being sick. My friend has told me that his mother has offered to cook food for me if I need to eat during the holiday and can’t find food. We’ll eat at night of course but it is nice to know my friends are looking out for me. Other than the heat, Ramadan sounds like fun. According to what friends here have told me there are a lot of parties on the beach and in the streets that go late into the night.

This is my first weekend back and so far it’s shaping up quite nicely. After my host family walked me around the neighborhood and gave me lessons in pronouncing it (shbanat is a bit of a mouthful) a friend picked me up in his car for lunch. Most of my time last semester was spent on foot or on public transit so having a car was nice. We had pizza in the medina and then drove down the coast to Temara, the next city over, known for it’s beaches. It was hot today, and the water was beautiful.

Tomorrow, I have plans to visit more old friends and see some parts of the city I used to go to a lot. A lot of stores are having pre-Ramadan sales and Marwa, a store I frequented, has a dress I almost bought on a nice clearance with a nice additional discount that I now plan to purchase. I also want to check out the beach, and maybe sign up for some surf lessons.

I’ve only been here a few days so far, but returning back to the country I studied abroad has been such a positive experience. I am much closer to my host family, there is less of a language barrier, and I feel that I am having more of a cultural immersion now that I am working in a Moroccan language school instead of just studying with other American students abroad in the same building all day. My host grandmother takes me shopping, and for walks along the beach, and even started teaching me how to cook.

[hellomynameisadventure]

London Calling: June 16th and 17th

I always knew that one day I would visit London. My best friend growing up was born in Cheltenham and would always go to visit family in London. I was accepted to a university in London as a freshmen but sadly couldn’t afford it. Finally, on my way to Morocco for my summer internship, I was to have a day and a half in London and on my way home three full days in London. It worked out to actually be $100 less to book two separate flights (One from New York to London and one from London to Casablanca) than it was to book one flight from New York to Casa.

I stayed with a friend in Kennsington and Chealsea. He picked me up at Heathrow and we took the Picadilly Line of the tube to Earl’s Court. The Picadilly line runs above ground for quite a stretch and the glances of the city I got from the tube were exactly as I had always pictured England, but with less green. After seeing some of my friend’s photos of England when I was four or five I was convinced all of England was a garden and always wanted to see it for myself. Having read more about the city and the history has changed my ideas of it. The architecture especially was just what I pictured and it was even foggy and a bit gloomy while I was there my first day. People watching on the tube was quite fun. Mostly the people were silent but a teenage girl near me chatted loudly on her phone until her friend joined her on the tube. They were making plans to go out to eat as a group that night and I overheard her ask, “Have you ever tried that diner? It’s a real proper American place. They serve the food in baskets. I had the vegetarian hot dog.” It made me chuckle quite a bit to hear her notion of a “proper American place.”

He took me to see a lot of the main sites: Big Ben, the London Eye, Buckingham Palace, St. Jame’s Park, Hyde Park, Chinatown, The West End, Oxford Street, Picadilly Circus, and Oxford Circus. It was really exciting to see all of these places that I’ve read and heard so much about but first hand. The one thing that did surprise me was the amount of Arabic in Kennsington. There were quite a few signs that I passed by that were written in Arabic.

I’ve never had a problem with jet lag before this trip but here it hit me hard. I was only able to sleep 30 minutes of my transatlantic night flight to London and the first thing I did after being shown my room was sleep. I was quite literally handicapped with jet lag and it was really uncomfortable.

Shopping in London was physically painful. The conversion rates from USD to the pound sterling are awful. Walking around the extensive shops on Oxford street was fun but I didn’t leave any of the stores with a purchase. My shoe broke in London and I just super glued it back together (good as new) but my friend insisted on buying me a pair of Birkenstocks from James Lewis. It was very kind of him but the price tag on the label made me feel very bad.

Heathrow is a very nice airport and during my wait to find to which gate I would board at (they only announce it 60-minutes prior to your flight if it’s a flight within the EU). I stopped at Boot’s (I guess the equivalent of CVS) and purchased a magazine. I knew this from my friend but in England the magazines come with really cool stuff attached. I don’t typically buy magazines but my reading selection was made purely based on the ciate nail polish duo that came with the Marie Claire magazine I ended up reading on the plane.

[hellomynameisadventure]

Back in the US of A

I've been home in the US for about two weeks now. It's been an interesting time. I went to a pot luck dinner and an old friend introduced me as "Jessica, who is visiting from Morocco." As we were leaving, we decided it was a bit like leaving Narnia, that when we returned we would be stepping through the wardrobe and back into the "real world." However, unlike time spent in Narnia, the real world doesn't pause and time keeps moving forward. 

When I was picked up at the airport in New York City, I was told I looked like I had lost weight. When my strep throat reappeared and I had to go back to the doctor, it turned out I had lost nearly 15 pounds while abroad. It was a bit surprising as we felt all we did was eat a  lot of carbs and sit around all day. Getting back to the US and having to drive every where made me realize how much walking you do when you need to rely on public transit. 

Going through the things I left behind in the US was a bit like sifting through the pieces of someone else's life. I felt really uncomfortable in my old clothing and sold/donated most of it. Slowly, I've been rebuilding a wardrobe. 

Another friend told me that when I left for Morocco I was just a baby, but now I've returned a beautiful woman. I guess you do a lot of figuring things out and growing up while abroad. 

Some of the foods I used to like, I can no longer eat. They taste very chemically. I also feel rather sluggish eating foods I used to eat with no consequences. My best friend brought chocolate chip cookies to the airport and they were delicious. 

Coming back, I realize it's the smaller things that I really appreciate. One of my favorite activities was going grocery shopping at Trader Joe's which I did my second day back. Certain foods and cooking ingredients have also really been nice. I have a lot more freedom and independence here too as I am not living with a host family. I'm also working, which means I have an income instead of just expenses. 

Things I miss about Morocco:

1)Fresh fruit juices

2) Junk food (Galaxy flutes, tango cookies, tagger, french pastries, etc)

3) The medina 

4) the tram and taxis

5) Affordability of travel (I have an overnight trip coming up to DC and it's already costing me more than most of my weekend trips in Morocco)

Things that were really odd coming back to the US:

1) Ordering food in English

2) Being surrounded by English. Menus, advertisements, speakers, etc

3) Grocery stores were really overwhelming at first. They're just really big.

4) Cup sizes. They're huge! I feel like I could go swimming in my coffee.

5) Everything is kind of spread out. I feel like I need my car to get anywhere. I guess this is especially true with my work where I commute long distances to photograph graduations at different Universities.

The good news is that I will be returning to Rabat in two weeks and will get to experience all the things I've missed! I will be teaching English for the summer with my old host family's language school. Due to the way my flights worked out I'll have a day and a half in London and a night in Madrid on the way there, and three days in London on my way home. I'm very excited to get back to traveling, and Rabat! I feel very tied to that city and I think it would be very weird if I never saw it again.

I would highly recommend to others coming back to the country to just try and keep yourself busy and establish some sort of schedule. It keeps you from slipping into depression. 

[hellomynameisadventure]

[hellomynameisadventure]

May 1-4: Tunis, Carthage, and Gammarthmos

We had a four day weekend due to Labor Day and that was how I ended up walking down the meridian of a four lane highway in Rabat around 3:00 am. In order to catch my 8:15 am flight to Tunis from Casablanca, I had to ride the night train from Tangier to Marrakech a few stops and transfer to the airport line. About five minutes into my walk, I caught a cab which dropped me off at the train station.

I followed a group of Spanish girls Marrakech bound onto the train figuring it was safe to stick near them. The closest I could get was at a group of seats with a man my age fast asleep. I sat next to him and put on my headphones and did a solid hour of sudoku before my transfer stop. Occasionally, the man would glance up at me and then fall back asleep.

Once I transferred to the airport line, I looked to my right and saw the man from the night train. This time he was with another man, chatting on the way to the airport. I lost track of them as I disembarked from the train and went into the airport in search of my gate.

It was 5:15am and though the departure sign read "enregistrement" for my flight, it was quite clear that the check in terminals wouldn't be opening any time soon. I was about to take a seat when the man from the trains came up to me and started chatting. It turns out he was also a student in Rabat. He was on his way to Nice, France for a few weeks. We kept each other company until check in opened and then parted ways.

I slept through most of my flight but I was very happy to have woken up just before landing. The views of our descent over the Gulf of Tunis were stunning, with shades of Mediterranean blues and greens peppered with cargo ships and reflections of fluffy clouds as far as the eye could see.

I ate my first meal in Tunisia at the airport to kill time before check in as my hotel for the first night was a bit removed from everything else. Going to check the prices on a cup of airport coffee I was really confused when the menu read Cafe 2000, Cafe au lait 2500, cafe latte 3000. I knew airport coffee tended to be on the pricey side but 3000 dinar would equate to roughly 1980 USD. I went to the bookstore to look at the prices and magazines were listed as 4200, and then as 2TD. I finally went to the tourism bureau to inquire: the prices without TD at the end were listed in centimes. At 1000 centimes to a dinar, my coffee menu changed into 2TD, 2.5 TD, and 3TD which was much more reasonable.

The Tunisian Dinar is a nice currency to convert in and out of: if you halve the price in dinar you get the price in Euros and if you halve the difference between the Euro and Dinar amount, you get the USD equivalent.  

Finally, my meal: An omelette served with a salad similar to Greek salad with a spice sprinkled on top. A plate of french fries was served on the side along with a plate of bread, and a small plate of sauces. The red sauce was Harissa a traditional Tunisian hot sauce. The white sauce was a garlic sauce and tasted exactly like the sauce that the Syrian restaurant in Rabat gives you to put on your falafal but I do not know the name of it.The waiter tried to rip me off by telling me my meal was 12 dinar. Having calculated the price when I ordered just in case, I demanded to see the receipt in a combination of French and Arabic. The receipt read 6.5 dinar.

Tunisia, though also an Arabic speaking country, has a different dialect than Moroccan and though my cab driver could understand me, I had a hard time understanding most people. Verbs are conjugated differently and I think it was this that tripped me up the most. I ended up switching into French more often than not for most interactions.

My first night in Tunisia was spent in Gammarth about 12 miles outside the city. I went to a resort for the night with a private beach and an all inclusive wristband. On my way to the beach a man in his 20's stopped me to inquire about my camera. We started chatting and he invited me to join him and his friends on the beach.

His friends were a group of men all around mid-20's who were on holiday (May 1st is Labor Day in Morocco and Tunisia). From what I gather one or two of them were police officers, and another was a hand ball player though I couldn't tell you which sport he meant by that.They offered me beer, cashews, cheese, and Tunisian crackers and we relaxed on the beach and chatted. Eventually some of their girl friends came over. Two of the men were definitely flirting with me but I didn't mind because they were being respectful about it and it was a nice change from most of my other encounters with men outside of the work/school spheres. 

I was asked to join them in swimming and I accepted. We went over to one of the hotel's pools and set our stuff down. The pool was playing the Beatles but some how it jived with the colored umbrellas and pastel adobe buildings surrounding the deck. One of the guys took my hand and led me to the pool, apparently the invitation had been to swim with just him and his friends oooed as he led me away. We had a nice time swimming and afterwards he asked me to marry him. As with the prior proposals, I turned him down. He insisted on at least giving me his number so we could go dancing at the resort's "night club" later in the evening and went off with his friends.

One of my 20 dinar bills had gone missing during my swim. I wasn't sure if it was someone in the group I met or another guest who had gone through my bag but to be on the safe side, I hid the remainder of my cash and credits cards inside unused sanitary napkins. It worked well and the rest of my money stayed where it belonged.

The resort dinning hall reminded me strongly of the caf at Dickinson except with more alcohol and worse food (perhaps the all inclusive alcohol was the reason they felt they didn't need to serve quality food).Most of the food was international and bland but I did enjoy a chicken noodle soup with whole chickpeas instead of chunks of chicken. I tried a Tunisian whiskey called Boukha made of fig. It was oddly sweet and burning at the same time. After dinner and over 30 hours without sleep; I went straight to bed and woke up with only a little before check out with just enough time to grab breakfast and walk on the beach.

From the hotel, I went onto Carthage for the day. I spent most of the time wandering around the ruins next to the Carthage National Museum. For 10 TD you received a ticket to visit ten sites in the area. 

I couldn't find anywhere to buy a ticket so I assumed I would be able to buy one on the tram. I was incorrect- no one came to collect or sell tickets and I ended up with a free ride into Tunis. 

I knew where my hotel was based off the tram stop but the line I needed to take wasn't running due to construction. so I followed the signs for central Tunis. A man made a comment and grabbed at me- apparently the no touching rule I've come to love in Morocco doesn't apply here. I slip off into the crowd and cross a crazy round about and continue to the main street. I hit Avenue Bourgiba and I see metal crowd gates running up and down the side  and middle of the avenue, reinforced with barbed wire. I continue walking, crossing quickly to the side with pedestrians. Armored vehicles with soldiers in or  near by are scattered throughout this makeshift perimeter. They watch silently as the pedestrians walk by.

I was hungry and a little unnerved at first by the barbed wire. I thought maybe something had just happened or was just about to happen so I headed down a pedestrian walkway and just wandered around Tunis for a few hours. When I found a Carrefour, I stepped inside to buy some Harissa for a friend (note a friend brings you a souvenir from their trip. A good friend checks her bag for the sole purpose of bringing you hot sauce from Tunisia), and picked up some water. Prices in Tunis were way lower than prices in Rabat and I contemplate buying some pasta for lunch for the next week ( 30 cents USD a kilo versus 1.20 USD a kilo in Rabat). I found dental floss for less than half the price for the same brand from the same store and picked some up as well.

From Carrefour, I followed a tram line to a taxi stand. I tried to find a cab but many of the drivers told me they were not working. The cabs that were working were already full. I finally managed to hail a cab and they had no clue where my hotel was though I had land marks, an address, and a name. Finding a cafe with wifi seemed impossible, I had asked nearly a dozen places already and nobody had wifi. Continuing up the tram I hit Avenue de France which I recognized from the map.

Avenue de France is also an avenue in Rabat. In fact it's also the name of the tram stop you use to get to Amideast if you were to take the tram. I found out later that Avenue de France connected to Ave Bourgiba. I followed Avenue de France until I bumped into bab al-Bahr.

Bab al-Bahr is the main medina door. It was knocked down by the French and was rebuilt to look like l'Arc de Triumph. I saw a sign for a hotel. It wasn't the hotel I had originally planned to stay at but I was planning to shop around for prices any way given a chance. The location was perfect as it would give me easy access to both the medina, and the ville neavaux, as well as the train should I decide to go to Sidi Bou Said (a trip I wish I had done but just didn't have the time) This hotel was less than half what I originally had planned to spend. It was by no means grand or even nice but traveling around on a student budget has taught me not to be that picky. It was safe, had a bed; and a locking door.

I settled in for a nap around 6:00pm and woke up around 9:00pm. I was still hungry and hadn't eaten lunch that day because I was too busy exploring. I heard dogs barking and a thunderstorm and decided to stay in bed and sleep through the night.

The next morning I woke up early to the sound of birds around 6:00 am and spent some time reading Gabriel García Márquez's "One Hundred Years of Solitude." In my experience, medinas are not early risers so I waited until 10:00 before slipping outside. 

The medina had the standard medina affairs. Most of the stuff was the same as Morocco: jewelry, spices, perfumes, rugs, shoes, and purses, and they even sold argan oil. I told all of the shop keepers I was from Morocco and then they stopped trying to sell me Argan oil. I bought some black coriander, and a small bird cage, a specialty Tunisian hand craft. I popped out of the medina once onto Ave Bourgiba and saw even more soliders so decided to head back in. Walking through the labyrinth of the medina I came out into the clothing souk and crossed the street in search of a quiet breakfast.

On the main streets, I bumped into more soliders and more armored vehicles. The second vehical I passed had its lights flashing a police where in the streets with riot sticks tucked into the back of their shirts. I quickly changed directions and ended up a the central market which was comfortingly similar to Reading Terminal Market in Philadelphia. I bought a wedge of Edam cheese, a loaf of bread, and a 1/4 kilo of strawberries for breakfast and found my way back to Bab al-Bahr to eat underneath it just on time. Three minutes into my meal the sky opened up and people crowded around me to stay dry.

  After exhausting the medina, I found my way to a cafe with wifi, which was even shakier than Moroccan wifi. I sat for an hour with a cafe creme, and then found my way back to Carrefour to buy more water, and snacks.

Dinner was a rather boring affair at what I thought was going to be a nice restaurant and turned into a sports bar atmosphere. Luckily, the waiter sat me next to two intoxicated men. The only lucky part about this was though they tried to talk to me a lot they weren't super obnoxious. I told them I was married and that my husband was at a conference for work that was running late. They said they didn't believe me and that I was just saying that to get out of going home with them. Thinking fast I used the restaurant's wifi (really the only good quality the restaurant had) and pulled up some pictures of me with my male friend during spring break as "proof."

That night, I heard a protest outside the hotel, somewhere in the neighborhood of 3:00 am. I rolled back over and fell asleep. From digging around on the news I think it was a protest over economic support of Israel. 

In the morning, I had the task of spending the last of my dinar before going to the airport. I bought gifts to bring back to Morocco and to the US including a kaftan and some baklava for my new host family who I had just moved in with two days before I left for Tunis. After my taxi ride to the airport I still had approximately 14 dinar and 1500 centimes and had to play the buy over priced items at the airport to get ride of my dinar game (Tunisian Dinar aren't supposed to leave the country). I ended up with a water bottle, a small bottle of fig liquor, and a box of Loukham (essentially Tunisian Turkish delight). The airport switched my gate at the last minute and I boarded through a gate that said Destination: Tripoli and hoped the airlines had sorted everything out properly.

[hellomynameisadventure]

Merzouga and the Sahara Desert, Morocco

[hellomynameisadventure]

April 18th-20th: Solo Trip to the Sahara

The Sahara Desert is one of the trips I had been looking forward to the most in Morocco. The pictures I've seen online are breath taking. After waiting for a while trying to find some one to travel with and having my friends change their plans, I decided to quite stalling and go on my own. 

I took the train to Meknes with a friend who was headed to Ifrane. Once we got to Mekenes she got in a grand taxi, and my language partner, Nihad picked me up at the station. She lives in Meknes when she's not at school and gave me a quick tour. I hopped on the night bus to Merzouga at 10:20pm and took a sleeping pill hopping to get a full night's rest.

I woke up in Merzouga around 5:30am. Merzouga was deserted, the only people were my fellow bus mates. A man approached me, and at first I thought he was trying to scam me into following him so tried to avoid him. He finally called out my name and I realized he was sent by the hotel to pick me up. We stepped through the gates and into the town.

The streets were lit only by the moon as I shuffled sleepily behind the strange man. Impressive adobe buildings loomed out of the darkness as we approached. The man led me to the dinning room and told me after breakfast he would give me my room since the guests hadn't checked out yet. Three hours and some rif later, I took a long nap on one of the firmest mattresses I've yet to sleep on.

I set out around 1:00 to explore Merzouga. There really wasn't all that much to the town. I think a 10 minute walk brought me around the entire non-residential area but I did make some stops along the way so it's hard to say for sure. A shop owner invited me and another customer to join him for tea, and we did. Usually this is a prelude to trying to push items onto customers but he just wanted some company. After tea, I finally found a restaurant and sat on the terrace to eat. It had a view out over the desert. Everytime the wind blew, a fine layer of sand settled over more or less everything. It was like being on the inside of a snow globe and I worried we might have a sandstorm that night. 

I bought a Berber scarf from the shop across the street from the restaurant. I believe that traditionally the scarves are blue with darker blue ends but they sell them in all colors. I found a white one with grey ends that I like and after I purchased it, the shop owner showed me how to wrap it to keep the sand out of my face. He laughed at my brown eyes and curls sticking out of the scarf and said I looked like a Beber. 

Back at the hotel, I went to wash my hands in the shared bathroom area. On the way I passed a man about my age who looked as if he had just gotten out of the shower.  Once I had reached the sink I realized his stuff was there and apologized for getting in his way after I dried my hands. I guess I've been in Morocco for too long when I start approaching people who I think are foreigners in French. He turned out to be the hotel owners son and asked if I was French because of my language. I switch to Darija and told him no, I'm an American studying Arabic in Rabat. He seemed friendly and offered to help me practice my Arabic. He asked if I was traveling alone and I said no, just to be on the safe side.

I went to my room to change for the desert trek and a knock came on the door. Thinking it was the hotel with news about the trek I popped open the door a crack to check. It was the man from the bathroom. He wanted to come into my room to "practice Darija." A big red flag went up in my mind. In Morocco, an unwed man and an unwed women alone together particularly in a hotel room is a big taboo. I told him he couldn't come in, that I wasn't alone. He knew the room had only been rented to one person and told me so and continued to insist. I asked him to give me a minute to finish changing and shut and locked the door. I grabbed my phone and book, and camera and put it inside my backpack. I peeked out the door and saw he wasn't there and slipped out. He saw me by the bathroom and came over. I told him we could speak outside but not in the room. When he realized he wasn't going to gain access to my room (nor my pants) he lost interest and walked away.

I was sitting on the terrace watching the wind blow the sand around when the Berber guides readying the camels saw me. They waved and shouted and once they finished setting up, came over and joined me. We chatted for a while and they were very excited to hear I could speak a little Darija. One retied my  scarf and they all laughed a little. They apparently agreed with the shopkeeper about me looking Berber, and decided to rename me Fatima. Two walked off to finish something for the trek and when they did the third asked if I would be interested in marrying him, and told me that Berbers have big and beautiful weddings in the desert. Needless to say, I declined.

The camel trek itself was very interesting. Luckily my suitor was leading another trek. Camels stand up from back to front so getting up is a bit tricky. They told me my camel was named Bob Marley but I think every camel at every desert outfit was named so. Bob Marley was a very unhappy fellow and I had to hold onto the steel bar very tightly if I didn't want to eat sand.

Aside from the pain, the trek was almost ethereal. The sand rises in dunes on either side of you and at some valleys you could spy other camel treks through the fine mist of whirling sand. The dunes constantly change, albeit slowly, as the wind carries the top sand off with it.  Seeing a lot of 4x4's spoiled the mood a bit but was reminiscent of an old car commercial. The 4x4's got stuck often and one group of 4x4ers called after us, cursing us for having chosen the camels which kept on trekking. 

Being a solo female traveler sometimes has its perks. When we got to the base camp, the staff had apparently moved out of their nicer tent so that I could have a queen sized bed to myself. They sleep in the regular travelers tents that had smaller beds or just pads on the floor. It was a nice change from the hotel where the mattress was actually soft. 

At dinner I met the other travelers. There was Jack, an middle aged gentleman from Holland. Alex, a Candian roughly my age who was studying abroad in Madrid and was here on holiday with his family. Jess was a young  British girl here with her family on holiday as well. A Spanish couple Arturo and Vivian were also visiting from Madrid. A man and his friend who's names I didn't catch were from Tangier and Ceuta respectively. The woman from Ceuta was rather frustrated because everyone was speaking English and she couldn't find anyone who spoke Spanish (before the Spaniards arrived). Once they did things got better for her. Part way through the conversation, she turned to her friend from Tangier and started speaking in rapid fire Darija. At a break in the conversation I turned to her and introduced myself. She was very excited to be able to communicate with me in Darija though she had a much better grasp on the language than I do. 

Dinner was two types of tajines served at the table. I got a lot of looks from the Canadians and Europeans for eating with my bread but I explained to them if it comes out of a tajine we eat it with bread. Pasta and salads can be eaten with forks. And omelets that aren't made in a tajine. It's uncomfortable for me otherwise, a bit like how I'd imagine eating soup with a fork would feel. Dinner was followed by a musical performance and lessons in Berber drumming.

We woke before the sun to watch it rise over the Algerian border. Afterwards we "saddled up" the camels and headed towards Merzouga. The Spanish couple wished me a happy Easter as we passed on the way back. Passing another caravan I heard an American accent. I called out to the rider and we chatted a bit. He was here from New York City on holiday. Our caravans parted ways and that was the last I saw of him.

Over breakfast, I exchanged emails with my new friends and packed up my bags. The bus from Merzouga to Meknes had sold out so in order to get home I would have to take two grand taxis one to Rissani, and then one to Errachidia, and then a 10 hour night bus from there to Rabat giving me a total travel time of 12 hours. The hotel owner was headed to Rissani and made me join him in the taxi. My friend had been in Errachidia the weekend before to visit his language partner and told me there was nothing there to really do or see so I was hoping to not have to go until it was closer to my bus's departure.

I arrived in Errachidia at 12:00pm a full ten hours before my bus was scheduled to leave. The taxi driver had pointed as he dropped me off in the town and said "CTM that way." These were among some of the least useful directions I've received in Morocco. I headed that way for a while until I bumped into the medina and decided to kill some time by browsing. A man selling dates gave me a sample and I inquired about the price since they were good. A few minutes later I left his stall 50 dh lighter (roughly $6) but 3.4 kilos (roughly 7.5 lbs) of dates heavier. It is a good thing my airline has fairly generous baggage allowance.

After finding what I think is the only restaurant in town that serves lunch, I sat down to a beef tajine. It was definitely the best beef tajine I've had with a light vegetable broth base instead of a heavy tomato sauce base. I took a cab to the bus station to see if I could catch an earlier bus. I was attracting quite a lot of unwanted  attention because it was clear that I was not from around there, though I was dressed properly. However, most of the women that I saw were not wearing western style clothing, but large scarves intricately draped to form robes. 

I called Doha to see if she had any suggestions of things to do because there were no earlier buses. She suggested a spring which I had read about in Lonely Planet. It was my first time taking a city bus and I probably won't repeat it any time soon. It was very over crowded to the point where I couldn't see the stops. Luckily mine was the very last stop so I made it there okay. On the way back, a group of teenagers harassed me the entire ride. The bus conductor came over and instead of yelling at the boys, pulled my scarf over to hide my neck. This angered me because it made it clear to me that in everyone's eyes it was my fault I was being harassed, and not the fault of those harassing me. Matters only worsened when I asked here where my stop was and she refused to speak to me in Darija, forcing me to switch to French. This made me more of a target to the teenage boys who now were completely sure I was a foreigner. My stop came and I got off and went to cross the street. The bus was caught in traffic and started to drive by. My harassers waved at me from the bus. I wanted to let them know that their behavior was unacceptable, and unwanted, but I hadn't wanted to put myself in danger on the bus itself. Safe on the street side, I gave them the finger as they waved to me and slipped off towards the bus station, ready to get back to Rabat. 

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Essaouira, Morocco

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April 11-13th: Essaouira

Friday after class Maria and I jumped on the train to Marrakech. It was a five hour ride in disgusting, stifling heat, on an over crowded train that kept breaking down. We didn't know if our second leg of transport, the Supratours bus from Marrakech to Essaouira, would still be waiting for us when we arrived an hour later than we were scheduled. 

We finally made it to Esaouira around 11:30pm making our travel time approximately nine hours. We entered the medina through Bab Marrekech and set out in search of our hostel. The directions provided online were fairly inaccurate but given the labyrinthine structure of medinas in general, we weren't all that surprised. After asking a few shop owners for help, we found the hostel, checked in and got some diner before returning for sleep.

We stayed in a mixed gender ten bed dorm in the hostel, my first hostel stay. The other borders were fairly friendly and we had a few conversations with them throughout our time there. In all we met a couple from Austria, a guy from Germany, a guy from Canada, a guy from Egypt, and a girl from California. We think we may have scared the Canadian a bit because both of us were very excited to talk with a male our age without it being about harassment. Speaking of which, Maria tells me that when I was in the shower, one of the hostel staff tried to offer her camels in exchange for me. Apparently the offer was quite high-- 25,000 camels-- and she was sorely tempted. 

Searching for breakfast proved a bit difficult. Essaouira appears to be a sleepy town in the mornings, hitting its stride around lunch time.We found a little place called La Catina which had a chalk board touting the best burgers in North Africa and promising full English tea with scones and exotic goodies like carrot cake and banana bread but when we walked in the owner told us they didn't open until lunch time. We went for a 5km walk on the beach and returned for lunch. The sign did not lie. The burger was at least the best burger I'd ever had in North Africa served with mozzarella, onions, and mushrooms. Maria had an equally delightful vegetable curry with rice. Though neither of us had ever been to England before, La Cantina felt like London to us. The owners were two women, one from England, one from Scotland, who appeared to be best friends as well as restauranteers. They cooked each meal to order behind a little counter, chatting about customers in English. Most of the other customers were from the UK but for the most part it was just me and Maria. Ordering lunch in English was a really bizarre experience for us but for the most part it felt like we were house guests. We each ordered a pot of black tea and  split carrot cake and chocolate cheese cake for dessert and picked up some fruit to eat later on the terrace. 

After lunch,  we set out to find Chez Marmouz, a restaurant owned by the family of one of Amideast's employees. It took us a very long time and we did some shopping along the way. Essaouira's prices on a lot of items tended to run high and shop owners seemed less willing to bargain given that a lot of British tourists would through and just buy at whatever price they were quoted. After another round of tea, this time the traditional Moroccan variety, at Chez Marmouz, we were on our way back to the hostel to change for dinner (most of what we did was eat in Essaouira, neither of us are very sorry to say), we stumbled upon one of the most beautiful carpets I had ever seen in Morocco.

The carpet was a sage green, with the occasional dark forest green stripe. What really caught my eye was the edging, white cotton cords tied together in a fashion that was reminiscent of lace. We asked the shop keeper about it and he told us the edging was made by sewing the cord in a pattern and he took us inside to shop us his workshop. After inquiring about the carpet outside he took it down and unrolled it for us. It measured a full 2 by 3 meters but was made of a thin soft cotton so could be used as a blanket or a tapestry even.  I really liked it but didn't think I could afford it but we decided it was worth asking anyway. The price was 350dh a good 1000dh or so less than either of us had guessed it to be. After a quick round of haggling, I got the price down to 300dh (roughly $38) and became the proud owner of large carpet. I plan to  fold it and wear it as shawl to get it home on the airplane. 

For dinner, we dressed up (or as much as one can reasonably dress up backpacking in a hostel) and went out to a French/Spanish fusion tapas bar for dinner.  We split goat cheese samosas, onion tarte, and salad with fish for our dinner and stayed so late they kicked us out because they had closed without us noticing. On the way back to our hostel a few groups of men kept harassing us and calling after us. We linked arms and strode off together but it was very unfortunate that a few moments later, Maria got tangled in a piece of fishing line laying on the ground. She had to bend over to loosen it, or risk falling over. The men quite liked that according to the noises they made.

On our way to the bus the next afternoon, I spotted a shop with a bin of 20dh items. We rummaged through it and I found a wide silver bangle with elephants on it. The shop had other trinkets too. We found in total three pairs of earrings, the bangle, and a little silver box that we decided to package together and try to haggle for. The owners would not budge on the price of 105dh since the prices were fairly low to start with. During the conversation (as haggling is often a long drawn out process) he asked us where we from. Having been told many times that I looked Moroccan. I decided to test this and told him that I was from Morocco and would not pay more than 90dh for the lot. Apparently, I've found a new, very successful bartering practice, as he asked the offer.

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Zaouiat Ahansal, Morocco

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April 3rd-7th: Beni Millal, Staying with the Sheikh in Zaweut Ahansal, and Marrakech round two

Our last of the school sponsored trips of the semester was a five day adventure to Beni Millal, Zaweut Ahansal, and Marrakech. 

We left Amideast early on Thursday morning and drove towards Beni Millal. Having heard horrible stories from the previous semester I wasn't entirely looking forward to this part of the trip. We were going to the university to have a cultural dialogue on urban life versus rural life with the students. Last semester there had been a mix up and the entire thing was conducted in French.This semester, thankfully, the dialogue was In English and was really interesting due to a large number of students participating. Everyone we met was very eager to talk to everyone in our group except for me.

I thought at first that maybe it was because I wasn't really approaching anyone myself as I'm a bit shy with new people. I tried saying hello, introducing myself, everything. The students ignored me completely, even when I had made eye contact. Even at dinner, they would talk around me to the other American students. Only once did someone unprompted  talk to me  to ask if I would like some Coke in Darija. Then it hit me. I think the students weren't interested in talking to me because they thought I was just another Moroccan student. Ever since I picked up a tan during spring break I've been looked at a bit funny when I speak my broken Darija, and people I met would be shocked to find out I was American. It never was a problem until this night. It was just very frustrating to try and reach out and be turned away because of my appearance. Dinner was fantastic at least: a three course meal of pastilla, tajine, and fruit.

The next day we moved onto Zaweut Ahansal. On the bus over, we had to sign a bunch of release forms. One said that we understood that kidnapping sometimes happened in the area and it was the program's policy not to pay ransom. Obviously, we had no clue what to expect.Going through the mountains we did see some snow! It was really strange because the sun was out and it was too warm for snow. We were at a higher altitude though which, from what we were told, explained why there was still snow. They took a stop for us to play around in the snow for a few minutes and then it was back on the bus.

Our group was split into two upon arrival. The larger group was led up to stay in the sheikh's house. My group was led to the sheikh's guest house. We partnered with a program called Atlas Cultural Foundation run by a woman from Montanna and her husband. We had Moroccan guides who spoke English but spent a lot of time in the area.The villages were tucked into the mountains. From far away, they were just a part of the landscape. We hiked around the area quite often and learned about projects Atlas Cultural Foundation was working on.Tea was served at every meal and in between every meal as well. The tea was made with herbs instead of mint. Often we had tea made with Thyme. I'm not sure what the other tea we drank was but it was not the traditional Moroccan mint.

One afternoon, we hiked to a nearby village and taught English for four hours. The children were very sweet and much better behaved than American children of the same age. After our English lessons, we hiked back home to change for a goat feast at the Sheikh's house.

The goat feast was a bit like what we'd imagine a medieval feast to be like. We sat at two long tables made up of a bunch of tables lined up end to end. First we were served tea, cakes, and cookies. A surprise for us was to see the sheikh running around and serving people at every turn. Women were doing henna for anyone who wanted it. I had my henna done the previous week so passed, which made it a lot easier to eat. After the cakes and cookies, water and coca cola made its way around the table. Slowly hubz (bread),kefta (beef), and chicken kebabs appeared. A bit later, the goat came out. Each section of table had its own plates of meat served family style. After the meats, a large selection of fruit was laid out. Of course after the fruit, more tea was served. 

After dinner, the tables were pushed aside for music and dancing. I wasn't feeling well. The sun is very strong in the area 10/12 on the UV index and the drums made my head pound. I decided to go to sleep early and not wanting to disturb anyone, went alone which we were mostly advised against. In addition to the occasional kidnapping, wild dogs roamed the area. I could see the path to the guest house clear in some "street" lights and the occasional villager walking back and forth and decided it was safe. I walked quickly down the path, paying close attention to my surroundings. A man in all black watched me from the rocks but made no move to follow me so I didn't worry about him. I bumped into a few wild dogs just as I was at the end of my ten minute walk. They didn't pay me any attention and continued down the mountain- staying out of sight around the bend. I picked up a rock just in case and continue to the guest house. I sat on the terrace for a bit watching the stars before turning in to the sound of the  river rushing by. With the village as remote as it was, the sky was clear and I have rarely seen the stars so well. 

After breakfast we hiked back to the other village to visit some saint's burial places. We also hiked to a hotel to meet with another non-profit in the area. One of the chaperones noticed I didn't look great when they laid out tea and cookies. Sarah asked me if I needed to sit away from people which elicited a laugh from the people surrounding me. I told her I felt a bit queasy like I was going to be sick. She then asked if I needed to go to the bathroom just in case. I told her no, I would know if I was actually going to be sick to the point of needing a toilet. Five minutes laterI ran out of the room and Sarah followed. I've never passed out before but as I sat with my head in the toilet, that's all I could think was going to happen. I felt a bi better after sitting on the floor of the bathroom for a while. They sent a bus to pick up the chaperones and took me with them so i wouldn't have to hike back to the guest house. I skipped lunch and opted for a water bottle filled with my own mix of water, the juice I squeezed from an orange, and a pinch of salt, for rehydration.  

On our way to Marrakech, we stopped at Ouzard Falls. It's a large water fall located near Beni Millal. Recently though it's become a big Moroccan tourist attraction. We expected hiking trails around a water fall. What we found was shops and restaurants lining a staircase to the bottom of the falls. We were still glad we got to visit as it's a bit difficult to get there without a car or a tour group. 

We stayed at a really nice hotel in Marrakech. After checking in, I went swimming with two of my friends at the hotel's pool. Coming back inside we decided to just run to the elevator in our swim suits and towels. We made it upstairs without any problems but then found our key had stopped working! We joked that we had given new meaning to the term "walk of shame" as we took the elevator back to the lobby still in nothing more than a towel and swimsuit (not covered enough at all to be culturally appropriate). The guy at the front desk gave us a new key and sent us back upstairs: still no luck. Two more trips downstairs and he finally sent us up with a manual key as the electronic locking mechanism had stopped working. A bit embarrassed, we went inside changed and headed out to Djeema al Fina for dinner. After we ate we browsed around a perfume shop. A few men heard me speaking English with my friend. "Excuse me," they called me over. "Are you Moroccan?" They didn't quite believe me when I said I was American and pressed again. When I said no again they asked about my family. Still no. I told them my family was English, and Romanian. They insisted, saying I looked like I came from the Atlas mountains (which I literally had just traveled there from the Atlas mountains but ancestry wise, still no). 

The next morning we ate breakfast at the hotel before a shopping trip in Marrakech. We stopped in at an Argan oil co-op and the women there gave us a session on how Argan oil products are made, and had us try and taste every product. Katie and I both left with some Jasmine scented argan oil, and an Argan oil lip balm. Katie also bought some Almou a nut spread made with honey, toasted almonds, and argan oil. All in all I returned to Rabat with some bangles, a pair of hammer pants, the argan oil, and some henna lipstick. Apparently the neon green tubes of lipstick we've seen in the medina were henna lipstick all along. It looks like a toxic neon color but actually goes on a nice rose tint that changes depending on your skin. 

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Spring Break March 14th-22nd

For spring break, we were given a week off from classes. Everyone traveled during this week and the group split into branches. Some went to England, others to Turkey, some more to Marseilles, some stayed and traveled in Morocco and I went with Ben for a combo of Spain and southern Morocco.

In total we spent an hour or more in Tangier, Algecirus, Malaga, Granada, Marrakech, Agadir, and Ouarzazate. We went to Spain via ferry from Tangier which was a neat way to appreciate the land unfold as you traveled rather than sitting inside an airplane the entire time. We spent a night in Malaga through an Airbnb post that was decent but had a rude host who later reviewed us as being rude. 1:00am lost in Malaga by the Picasso Foundation with no way to contact our host, a hangry friend, and food poisoning from our school's sushi lunch was not how I envisioned starting my spring break. It worked out though and even though we stayed with a bad host on terrible mattresses on a very dubious handmade loft we had a place to sleep in Malaga that night.

Granda was beautiful, and very hilly. One of the most impressive things in Granada was the street art. Absolutely stunning images spray painted onto the walls throughout the city. We stayed in the old Jewish quarter --again through AirBnB-- but with a much more pleasant host. Marissa gave us a map with circles around the best places to see. Architecturally Granada felt a lot like Morocco. Even the little tourist shops were named "Marrakech" this and "Marrakech." Ben pointed out that Granada was a lot like Morocco except on the Euro.

The Euro was a scary beast to handle especially after living in Morocco for two months where one dirham is roughly the equivalent of $0.125. I think our favorite part about Spain was the food- as many pork products as possible, and of course a glass of Spanish wine. We ate most of our long meals outside under the sun and stars, the perfect way to unwind from a half semester of study. Of course we paid a visit to Alhambra, the last strong hold of the Moors in Spain. It was definitely like being transported back to Morocco. The Generalife gardens were a bit of a disappointment but it was a great tour and we trekked down the mountain to get some frozen yogurt. We spent two days in Granada total and then walked to the train station around 5:00am to catch a train back to Algecirus where we had the worst (and most expensive) Moroccan food we had yet to taste. That afternoon, we took the ferry back to Tangier and wandered around before our train.

I don't think Ben really believed me about the street harassment in Tangier until he spent some time walking next to me. Spain was a nice escape from it all. Men would stop and turn and follow us, calling after me in Spanish, French, and Darija. It was really uncomfortable for me but there was certainly less harassment than my prior trip to Tangier where I walked around with two females. 

From Tangier we took the night train to Marrakech. We stayed in couchette class, which meant we had beds. In our compartment were two sets of bunk beds. I was assigned to the top and Ben to the bottom of the other bunk. A man we didn't know was assigned to sleep across from me on the top, saw this and put all his stuff on the bottom bunk. I guess out of respect for me, or maybe for Ben, the man didn't talk to me at all. Ben said he seemed like a nice guy and was reading a fantasy novel in English. Aside from the heat, the train was fairly comfortable and I rolled over to sleep and woke up in Marrakech.

Marrakech is a beast of its own and I think was a bit of an overwhelming welcome back to Morocco after Spain. We met up with a friend of ours who had been in Essaouira for the weekend and stayed together in a quaint little hotel tucked back in the medina, right off the infamous Djeema al Fina.

The Djeema al Fina is a public square in Morocco where snake charmers charm by day and performers perform at night. It's a UNESCO world heritage site and i is said that the performances have been going on for roughly 1000 years. Today it is a huge tourist attraction and is lined by shops and restaurants, and littered with fruit juice stands. At night, pop up restaurant booths set up shop. Marrakech definitely had some of the best food I've had in Morocco but the restauranteers at the square were anything but pleasant. In English, their sales pitches went along the lines of "Hey homies come eat here. These restaurants all sell the same shit but we have a lifetime guarantee no diarrhea." Each place I would say "another time inshallah" in Darija and eventually we had a small following of restauranteurs calling "Arabia, Arabia" after me. One sales pitched involved "and look I'm not even touching you." And on our second go around just as we were thinking of sitting down at his booth he said "but would it help if I touched you?" and grabbed Ben's arm, a definite deal breaker. 

In the morning, Ben and I said goodbye to Iris at the train station. She was headed back to Rabat and we were headed to Agadir, aka "Sin City" via bus. It was a four hour ride from Marrakech and once we got there we decided to try and walk to our hotel. It took us two hours to find it and the lady at the front desk was a nightmare. Another frustrating housing experience and once we finally were checked in found the path to our room was under construction and we had to creep around the edge of the swimming pool. Ben was afraid I would push him in when he wasn't looking and would make me go in front of him. We spent a nice evening walking along the promenade (board walk) and I watched the sun set over the Atlantic while running up and down the wake with my camera. Ben hating sun, water, and fun stayed on the promenade and watched my shoes. We ate at an expensive place called Jardin D'eau which was the only restaurant we'd ever seen in Morocco that bragged about being organic. Agadir was a very touristy place. A lot of people from the UK head down there for the beach.

The next morning, after a failed attempt to find breakfast, we took a cab to the bus station. Luckily, the bus station had plenty of small places to eat. We took a six hour bus ride to Ouarzazat. It's faster to go directly from Marrakech but it traverses a fairly dangerous mountain road that buses have fallen off on occasion so our school makes you go through Agadir or Merzouga to get to Ouarzazat.

Ouarzazat is a small city in the south of Morocco known for it's film studios and kasbahs. Lawrence of Arabia, Cleopatra, Jewel of the Nile, and Game of Thrones were among things filmed in the studios.Some call it the Hollywood of Africa, others refer to it was Ouallywood. They were working on a Nicole Kiddmann movie while we were down there. We saw them filming something with people in leather gladiator type costumes. Our hotel offered us a private driver for a half day and we took it, figuring it would be easier to see everything that way. The driver thought we were husband and wife and wouldn't talk to me. I spent the entire drive sitting in silence in my designated place behind my "husband." When Ben asked about a good place to eat couscous, the driver asked, "Doesn't Gazella cook you couscous at home?" Amusing but no. 

While not being talked to out of respect was better than being harassed, neither were particularly fun. I prefer to be treated like a human being, not like someone's wife. Studying abroad in a culture where the distance between man and woman is greater than your own is challenging at times. It constantly makes me think about how I define myself as a woman. 

From Ouarzazate, we walked to the airport. The first time we saw it, we actually laughed. It is so small we had to read the signs to be sure it was really the airport.  We caught the only flight of the day. Landing in Casablanca was a weird mixture of deja vous and nostalgia. We had both entered the country for the first time through the Casa airport. For some reason, in places that want to appear classy, flute covers of Celine Dion, the Beatles, and Hotel California are very popular. They make us want to gouge our eyes out. Getting on the train to Rabat was a bit weird. Ben had picked me up at the airport in January. All we were missing was Sara and it would have been like day one all over again. 

I never would have thought  that I'd be traveling around Spain and Morocco with the super sassy kid who sat in front of me in AP bio, but it's funny how things work out. I also never would have dreamed that I'd have an international spring break experience like this. Being in Morocco for so long really had an impact on what we appreciated the most in Spain: faucets that produce hot water instantly, real donuts, and bacon to name a few. 

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March 29th: A sleepy Saturday in Rabat

This is my first full weekend in Rabat in maybe six weeks. I'm always off traveling. Last week, we were on spring break and spent time in Granada, Spain before returning to Morocco to explore Marrakech, Agadir, and Ouarzazat. Returning to Rabat for studies was a bit disappointing after a big adventure. I am determined to make this weekend a big adventure in rediscovering my city. My friends from school are all busy and since I know maybe 47 people in all of Rabat (with  a good handful of those being security guards of schools on my street) things sometimes get a little lonely. At home, I do much by myself so I am determined to prevent a lack of company prevent me from exploring while I am here. After sitting all morning at home, mostly goofing off on the internet, I decided a change of scenery would be nice. I didn't want to go to Amideast where I spend most of my time already. I remembered a cafe near Centre Ville where we had spent most of our time in my first few days in Morocco. It is popular with the students who live in L'Ocean because it is close, inexpensive, has delicious pastries, reliable wifi, and you can sit there for hours undisturbed. 

At the Avenue de France tram stop, I bumped into two classmates. They gave me directions to the cafe as it had been two months since my last visit. It started to shower a bit and I regretted not bringing my coat. Once at the cafe they arrived later and told me more students were upstairs. I guess Rabat is a small place when you know 47 people. I arrived long before the other students and left long after. 

The showers had picked up a bit when I left the cafe. It was a dark and chilly night, the kind that is perfect for staying in bed with a good book. On the tram, the conductor asked me if I was cold without a coat. I just smiled and said I was fine. Reaching Place Al Joulen, I got off the Line 2 tram to switch to Line 1 which goes through Agdal. The rain was a steady drizzle threatening to turn into a downpour at any moment.

I heard someone calling to me. Typically on the streets, especially alone, I avoid people calling to me. It is usually beggars or men trying to harass me. A few seconds later, the rain above me stopped. A young woman about my age had run up next to me to share her umbrella. She was also switching to the L1 and walked with me to the tram. We stood together as men made comments and took seats next to each other on the tram. She was also a student and told me her family lived in Casablanca and she is in Rabat alone for her studies.

The tram offered a warm refuge from the rain. During rush hour, the tram is packed tighter than  a barrel of plastic monkeys. Now there a few people but the rain seems to bring them together in its way. An autistic boy runs up and down the aisle, pretending to be a conductor and asking to see everyone's tickets so he can validate them in the machine. Everyone smiles and obliges as his father watches him carefully from his seat. The student chats with me sporadically throughout the ride, each of us shy at first, but easing gradually into a conversation.

She follows me off the tram. I ask if she lives in Agdal and she says no, she just wanted to chat a bit more. We exchange numbers and she tells me if I ever need anything she is in my service. 

I've had several bouts of good news this week, returning from a great trip, finding out the school owed me money, being selected to lead a delegation to an international youth meeting in Peru, finding I had gotten a promotion at work, but still was feeling a little blue.This night cheered me up quite a bit. I guess the little things in life are by far the most important: they erode your being and shape you in ways you rarely notice, flowing freely over your surface, in the same way water carves rock into canyons. 

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The abandoned and partially excavated city of Lixus, Morocco.

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Plages des Sable D'or

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March 8th: Solo Trip to Larache and Lixus

Saturday, I took the bus or "car" as they call it when it travels between cities to Larache or (El Araich) approximately 160km to the north of Rabat. It was described as a "sleepy little town" in the Lonely Planet guidebook which was fairly accurate. Still in the Spanish shades of white and blue, and right on the coast, Larache was fairly relaxed. I had a map and directions to the hotel and walked there. My hotel was off of a wide pedestrian only street.

Walking around was lovely. No one harassed me. I did get a few really long glances from men and women alike and then I realized  I was the only foreigner. It was a very strange feeling wandering around being the one who  clearly stuck out, especially coming from an area that's fairly diverse. 

I walked into to the hotel and using the best French I could summon, checked into the hotel. The second I told the woman I had a reservation she said, "Oh, you must be Jessica." Apparently, there were only two other guests there for the weekend. 

My room was a quaint street facing room with a little balcony wide enough to hold maybe three adults side by side. The sun streamed in across the quilt and in the bathroom door. We're always very happy when we have a shower in the hotel room because we can take long hot showers without having to worry about using all of our host family's gas. 

I caught a cab to Lixus, a partially excavated city that was inhabited by Phoenicians, Romans, and Arabs. It sits on a hill overlooking the Loukkos river. Mostly in ruins, its still a breath taking site. The security guard was very bored so he volunteered to give me a free tour. Usually he charges about 50dh a person but I was the only visitor to the site. He even hailed me a grand taxi to get back to Larache. 

I wandered around Larache for a while up and down the markets. There wasn't really that much to do but walk around the shops and observe. I accidentally wandered into a shanty town at one point. I got a few looks but most people figured I got lost and left me alone, other than to try and sell me the occasional fruit. 

It was a nice day trip but I sort of wished I had gone home that day. The only buses available left at 8:00am the next morning. I had more or less seen everything there was to see by the time dinner rolled around. I had a very nice seafood pasta- being so close to the coast seafood is a specialty there. 

[hellomynameisadventure]

March 6th: Temara and La Plage des Sables D'or

On Thursdays, I have only one class so I decided to go on a day trip. The weather has been getting nicer so I figured a trip to the beach was in order. There is a beach in Rabat but it's fairly dirty, so I took the train down to one of the beach cities between Rabat and Casablanca: Temara.

Temara was a 20 minute train ride and the next stop over from Rabat. Disembarking from the train I was quite shocked. For being one of the more popular beach towns in the area the train station was in quite a state of disrepair. Hardly any trains bothered to stop in Temara, whipping past so violently they shook your very core. I wondered what I had gotten myself into. 

I decided to walk towards the beach. Countless times I was followed briefly in cars, honked at, and literally cat called. Not a "hey baby, touta, or zweena," but literally noises I would use to call my cats to come back inside the house. It was a bit uncomfortable but I tried not to let it bother me as the day was beautiful. The beach was further than I thought it was so after a while of walking and thinking I was heading the wrong way, I hailed a cab.

 The cabs in Temara are a bright sea foam green. The driver dropped me in front of the sign that read "Plage des Sables D'or" and offered me his number so I could catch a ride back.

The beach was nearly empty when I arrived. Those who were there were mostly men fishing, men with their dogs, mounted [men] soldiers on horseback, and the occasional men with their women. I walked north along the water's edge, taking the occasional photograph. The tide was very calm as there were large rocks that acted as a buffer between the sand and the beach. I climbed over to one of the rocks but didn't get too close as the water would crest over the top of the rocks periodically and I was afraid to get my camera wet. 

I found a nice secluded tide pool and sat in front of it with a small collection of Jack London short stories. I had picked up the book in a small secondhand bookshop near Gare de Rabat (train station). It had a nice selection of reasonably priced books in English. I'm glad I bumped into a friend at the tram stop and that she took the time to bring me there. 

Two stories in, a cute Yorkie runs over and starts to play with me. Her owner is not far behind. He is about 25/ 30 years old and introduces himself as Ismail, and sits down next to me and we start chatting as the dog runs around. He tells me her name is Gazelle, and she is the love of his life, even though he has four other dogs at home. 

I was really excited because it seemed like I had found a new friend outside of the forced school socializing. I guess I got my hopes up too soon. Ismail placed Gazelle on my lap and leaned over to pet her. I wasn't really paying much attention and the next thing I knew his tongue was down my throat. I pulled away and he asked me to go home with him. I shoved his dog off my lap and said I had to leave. Luckily he left me alone after that and I relocated. 

The rest of the day was fairly uneventful. I returned to school, had a half kilo of clementines (my more or less daily afternoon snack), and did some homework. It's just a bit scary how fast things can happen. Luckily he stopped at a kiss, but had he tried anything more I'm not entirely sure I would have realized what was going on until it was too late. 

I talk a lot about harassment because it's something that happens to me here a lot. Most of the women, I would assume, wether native or foreign. While I do not approve of the behavior, I don't necessarily condone the men themselves for it. Obviously they learned this behavior some where. Just as in a naughty child repeating a swear word, you know they picked it up from someone. In order for street harassment to become less of an issue, it has to come in the form of institutionalized changes.