I walk back into my blog and I'm like, waddup? I gotta big cock! So I have been pretty downright lazy with tappin the black and white keys of late possible reasons include #1 ballin too hard errday #2 traveling like a fwarkin bowse or #3 ceebs - but in true big dog high calibre fashion I make plays when plays are due, and plays are due, plays to make y'all jelly, more jelly than your 6th birthday party, pew pew. P.s. because I'm almost certain only about 5 people read or have ever read my blog I'm going to shwang in more lingo than a dealer slingin rocks because I when im approx 30 years of age I want to lol at myself in a uncanny fashion whilst sipping on whiskey and smoking a phat Cuban near a fireplace, yeeeee. With the introduction out of the way lets delve deep into the unknown... Where French and Arabic are notional languages, Muslims cruise around Africa where donkeys and goats scale mountain sides, last but not least... the ownership of a woman can be sold by the right quantity of camels. Ladies and gentleman, drop your jackets, pick up your jaw and it puts the lotion on its skin for we, my friends, have arrived in Morocco. We fly into the hustle and bustle of Tangier, in the north of Morocco. We exit the airport and peer put the window to see seven people in a taxi, hitch hikers lining the streets, a juicy pair of bulls nuts handing from taxi's rear vision mirror, people clinging onto the back of trucks... Absolute mayhem. Local news reported seismic activities, the ocean retreated, cats instinctively found refuge and knees went weak - earthquake? No. The big dogs in town. Put on your seatbelt folks, now put on another seatbelt, as morocco whiplashes you with beauty, culture and trouble. Well, maybe I geed it up a little... But plays in bulk quantities were made regardless. But in all seriousness, due to the country being Muslim alcohol is forbidden, I never really got fwarked but rather indulged in moments which I recall sincere and euphoric manner... If any of that makes any sense then I did well, if not, I tried. We make epic transportation plays from tangier to super-touristy Marrakech. Our first hostel turns out to be down a little alleyway and and lacking proper facilities like working toilets/showers, oh and, our 'beds' were made from seats in this little enclosed bit of the foyer. Boosting around for a solid day we get a glimpse of what Marrakech has to offer. Venturing out at night we experience the highly popularized night bazaars. Bazarees are an absolute sensory overload - shop owners yelling trying to outcompete their neighbors, rich aromas of spices, herbs and smokey kebabs roasting over charcoal fills the air. The sounds of drums, snake charming, and people cheering as two children box. People are trying to throw moneys on your shoulder and wrap snakes around your neck. After our second day or cruising around we tuck ourselves away in the rooftop terrace at our hostel. Perched on a hill we can see houses extend far into the distance. Drinking wine and listening to music like fake plastic trees by radio head, the sun sets, blows its final crimson kiss as it drops behind the mountain. The Karan starts playing at 7 pm pumped out loudspeakers around the city. We all pop over the balustrade like meercats gazing onto Marrakech. When it stops I think "fuck yeah, culture". Re-reading the short story below I realize its fairly average but I'm ruthless. Eating lunch ontop of the terrace. Much Spanish was being thrown around as 5/8 group members are fluent. Being somewhat frustrated as myself and the other two were being completely excluded from conversation I announced "okay, from now on only English, no Spanish, this is a rule! ';..;'" They were somewhat startled, the conversation that was happening regarding an argument tobacco immediately ceased and concluded with Diana saying in English "I feel bad". Being such a simple response and immediately breaking the awkwardness it was the perfect response... Maybe you had to be there :/ * Be warned, another evening of serenity and bliss approaching* We made dinner ourselves on our second night in Marrakech. The lads bought food and the lass' bought the sweets (and sweet company, of course!). Sitting on the roof top terrace under candle light, we share cous cous, kebabs and Moroccan salad as well as stories of funny happenings throughout the day. The shisha comes out filling the air with the scent of apple and everyone melts into their seats. Keep in mind if y'all ever travel to morocco that NOTHING is free. Especially information. People attempt to get money for everything - directions, tour guiding and even pictures. So you think you're getting genuine help from a local, nek minute, you're scrounging around in your pocket to tip a few cheeky dirhams to some poor bastard that has been cruising around with you for 2 hours. In true big dog dis-jointed, cohesive tie lacking, flow of consciousness style... A stampede if children roll through the buses trying to sell tissues, water, chewing gum, shoes - everything under the sun. We figure that the best way to fend off people is to pretend as If you speak a language they don't know - so, we all became Chinese! They noticed we were lying somehow, fwark. Nevertheless the bus trip shall take us to our next destination - Essaouira! We are greeted by a town much more laid back. White buildings with blue windows and doors dress the buildings, seagulls flock around fisherman tossing scraps of seafood onto the rocks and waves crash on the shore. Essaouria, being a costal town, is known for its seafood. Lunch costs us 40 dehams (4 euros/$5.50) bought us barbecued prawns, cray fish, not cray fish, squid and octopus as well as salad and drink. Again, we finish the evening sitting around candlelight smashing into a tagine with wine. *fucking aye, editing all my notes is ridiculous, I have a lot of useless play making in here, fwarkin aye* After essaouria we got back to Marrakech and prepare to embark on an 4 night journey through the country. We meet our driver, Adbul, possibly the most eccentric person on the face if this planet. He is really, really energetic always laughing and smiling - an absolute champion. He would constantly quote relax, max, no fax (no boss). Abdul dubbed me 'camera man' as I am always taking photos. Also, when my gopro was attached to the extendable rod he would pretend it was a snake... Sitting around a campfire in the Sahara later there was a song made about me, but that's another story! Well, arriving at our first destination balls deep in the middle of nowhere (or otherwise known the Hollywood of Africa). We sit around the dinner table. Abdul is speaking and I nothing (as i assumed he is speaking spanish). He continues throwing chat the Spaniards all laugh, I don't, and say its because I understand absolutely nothing as he is speaking Spanish, my Spanish homies reply he is interchanging between Spanish, English, French and Arabic. The depth of languages the locals here know is amazing - they know at minimum Arabic, Spanish, French and English, even the children. When entering a shop they ask what's language is preferred... And to think I only know English makes me feel pretty so uneducated... I have learnt a few Spanish 'catch phrases' and now I endeavor to learn useful information so I can possibly even engage in a simple conversation in Spanish, big dog making educational plays, fwarkkkk yee. Abdul would ofter stop to give bottles of water to nomads by the road as we pass them (some ask for money too - haha) We stop and a Berber girl that approaches the car and is absolutely stunning. Don't know why I found this significant but I just did... OKAY?! *the following entry was a spare if the moment entry as this was probably my most fond memory of the trip* That actually just happened. Driving through a canyon in the pitch darkness of night with the van door open sitting, looking at a million starts swirling around the silhouette of the mountains. We are sit, feet hanging out of the van, all intertwined gazing out into the darkness listening to the wheels and wilderness. An absolute surreal experience. Surreal. The only word that gives this moment justice. *~* And now I am waiting at a kasabah (hotel) in the middle of no where, I have have absolutely no idea where I am. Lolz. We drive through a few gorges and through rose valley as some on the girls were christened with rose lays. The countryside here is incomparable to anything else I have ever seen. Natural rock formations and colossal gorges cut deep into the earth created by freshwater runoff from snow capped mountains in the distance. A very popular destination for people who froth hard over nature and shit. Pew, pew - I have also assumed the cameraman/joker of the group - at one point Laura, from Catalina, (Spain) said "you are not from this planet" and another girl referring to me as "uncle pat" which is an absolute amazing coincidence as this is a cheeky nick name from my homies back in Aus. Perhaps the name is derived from the relentless sexual jokes and absolutely inappropriate Spanish I seem to have picked up thy I interchange whenever I please because I do what I want! Fwark ye. Ha, fuark this was good. We are being guided by some homie around local houses and he says something and i reply with fo sho! The local than tells me fo sho in Berber (naive mountain/nomad tribes of morocco) loosely translates to beauty and can be applied to anything. Equipped and ready to flaunt my newly acquired vocabulary I look for the perfect opportunity. At the Berber village a woman is crouching down, leaning up against a wall cradling a tiny, new born baby. I approach her, crouch to the same level, everyone watches. The baby has cloth conceling its face the woman cradling it like a little baby jesus - i ask for permission to see, she allows me and unveils a precious, fragile baby girl. Looking deep into its eyes I say "fosho!" in the most sentimental voice I can produce... The ladies say nothing as they have absolutely no idea what I just said. The look at each other confused. My perfect opportunity back fired. Behind me I can see all the peeps i'm traveling with in stitches and I completely my sincere moment completely backfired. From that day forth I was partially disowned. The second last night we voyaged balls deep into the Sahara desert... lol jks, we didn't really, we drive like for like 20 minutes from the road across sand dunes. 'FF' now means fun fact - we were 60kms from Algeria! The day started with a blood orange sunset that sunk behind a think halo of airborne sand. Sleeping in the Sahara was nice. We all sprawled out on the sand and gazed up at the diamond studded sky raining stars. Everyone slowly drifted off to sleep in the hotel of five thousand stars. A nice moment. On the trip back to civilization we hop on a few camels. The novelty of a camel wears off. Fast. The thing fuarkin walks likes its drunk and isn't the most comfortable of beasts. Nevertheless we arrive back at the road. Levering myself off onto the ground I stretch my crutch and it feels like I've been railed by cockzilla. On a side note there is a a joke floating around that women here can actually be traded for livestock e.g. "yeah Laura, you're probably worth around 400 camels" I think really does have a grain of truth to it. Morocco can be a dangerous place, especially for women. But of course all the locals would only dare to catch a peripheral glimpse of the big dog himself as the prophets have scribed since big dog inception this will result in a slow and painfully smiting with the shwang. Well, I know this entry is a little late but I know I just needed to smash it out and keep going on blogging on. I hope you also saw the video I made and this has given you some more insight into the awesomeness. This was best way to spend spring break. Dusting off the sand I look forward to adventures ahead but for now I say farewell to the - Castles Made of Sand. Notes A massive indication of the Australian accent is our tendency to pronounce 'er' as 'a' e.g. Water sounds like warta or even warda of your accent and shwang (penis) is as heavy as mine. If the woman does not want to answer marriage directly she will prepare berber whisky (tea). The tea will either be bitter, meaning she wants to stay a single laday, or sweet which mean yes and that she will live happily ever after... With possibly 3 other mistresses as law permits this too. The small 'Slit' like burka means she's married and the open face = she's a single pringle ready to mingle. Diana from Barcelona mentioned that he read a couple of my first blogs saying that eshe "picked up on some Australian slang". My blog I probably the worst generalized representation of Australian slang... Perhaps also a little vulgar too but that just because dropping F bombs fuarkin emphasize plays made so errone knows who da real big dawg is. Berber people who are indigenous in morocco cruise around everywhere with goats. Visiting a rug store the man explains Berber symbols. They are nomads, always traveling using the stars as a guide, a symbol of fraternity symbolizes the lifetime loyalty to only one other woman So many Barcelona 'Messi' shirts. Dirty windows, guard rails and power lines are the three most annoying things when taking photos. Quotes "Look at the cat! LOOK AT THE CAT!" "Fo Sho!" "Concha tomadres!" "You are nicest and most discussing person". "Black with a white heart, a good heart" I'm from Australia "Australia? Kargaroo, kangaroo!" "You don't listen to the sad music, you listen to your own thoughts" - Reagan explaining to me her perspective on " Today time slipped through my fingers. I first time I looked at my watch today was at 530 in the evening. I get the impression that the whole of my exchange will happen like this".
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