Blondes in the Back

Bienvenido febrero! It has officially been a little over a month since I have been overseas. It has also been almost two weeks since I last posted so prepare yourself, this will probably be a long one. This past week was so exhausting. Every time I sat down to write, I would instantaneously fall asleep. It was like clockwork. I slept all of Sunday, however, so now I am rested and ready to tell about all my adventures of the past two weeks. 

Since I arrived in Spain 35 days ago, I have been to two continents, three countries, and seven cities. No me puedo quejar nada. This past weekend, I ventured to Africa for the first time, more specifically, Morocco. I have been to less-developed countries before. In high school I went to Guatemala where I was surrounded by all sorts of poverty; however, I have never been to a muslim country, which made this trip an exceptionally eye-opening experience. Not all of the women, but most of them wore headscarves. I went with four other girls and one boy so we made sure to dress very conservatively. This wasn’t hard considering it was still quite chilly outside, despite the fact we were in Africa. 

We flew to Morocco on Iberia Airlines on Thursday evening. When we walked up to the plane, everyone else in my group began to panic a little because the plane was much smaller than a commercial airline. (Dad skip over this part please...) The plane was indeed smaller than your average Delta or Airtran aircraft, but for me, this plane was much bigger than the ones I have been in and out of for the past year, since I started skydiving. Let’s just say Tori had to keep her eyes shut the whole time to keep from having an anxiety attack, while I couldn’t unglue mine from the windowsill the entire flight. We took off around 5pm and crossed into Africa at the pinnacle of sunset. The sky shown of pink and yellow just atop the peaks of snow-covered mountain ranges that were layered with puffy, white clouds. Moments like this are what make all the hassles and expenses of traveling worth wild. It was hard to even take in the scenery that lay 30,000 feet below me. When I pictured Africa in my head, all I ever thought of was a poverty stricken desert. In reality, though, it is a continent full of mountains, valleys, rivers, and bustling cities. To me, this is the true beauty of travel—stepping out of your comfort zone and seeing the world for how it really is. It’s not about fancy hotel rooms or dinky souvenirs, it’s about taking taking off those rose-colored glasses and experiencing reality, through all of its elegance and devastation.

View from the plane.
Top: Tangier, Morocco
Bottom: Málaga, Spain

 We finally landed in Casablanca around 8pm and made our way to the apartment we were renting out for the weekend. Our living arrangements could not have been more perfect. We rented a flat from a Moroccan couple in the center of Casablanca. It was pretty obvious they were wealthy (by Moroccan standards at least), but they were also extremely hospitable and kind about arranging taxi’s to the airport and train station, as well as, giving us advice about the city. The place was homey with two bedrooms, a kitchen, and a living room. The building, itself, was very safe, patrolled by a security guard at all times. When speaking with the couple, however, we were once again faced with another language barrier. The two main languages in Morocco are french and arabic, neither of which any of us knew. I took french in elementary school, but I don’t remember much past “hello”, “goodbye”, and how to count to ten. Luckily, the couple spoke a little bit of spanish and english so our main form of communication was spanglish sprinkled with bits of french and then topped with some universal sign language.

Panoramic of our place. 

Before coming to Morocco, I was told multiple times by my parents, brother, friends, family, teachers, students, you name it, to be very careful with my personal belonging when in public areas. When we landed, my father’s worried voice was constantly ringing it my ears while walking through the airport and through the streets to our apartment. Despite all of the fuss, though, Morocco was not the purse-snatching war zone that I had pictured in my head. Everyone we talked to was very nice and helpful, even though the separate languages made conversations much more difficult. Of course we still took precautions when it came to guarding our money. In Casablanca I didn’t ever carry a purse, I just stuck my wallet down my pants, literally. I decided not to bring my dad’s expensive camera out with me, so I can’t take credit for any of these photos. They were all taken with my friends iPhones, which were small enough the hide away in the depths of our clothing as well. Overall, I never felt unsafe, mainly just out of place. Other than Tori, I think I saw one other blonde in all of Casablanca. Marrakech, where we went on Saturday, was more diverse because it is a much more touristy city. In the markets, most of the venders guessed Tori and I either to be either German or Swedish. For kicks and giggles we usually just went along with it and said we were sisters from Berlin studying spanish in Spain. Other than the constant stares and occasional cat calls, though, I never felt like I was in any serious danger. This was also thanks to Sam, the sole male on our trip, who served as the father, body guard, and protective boyfriend to all five of us girls for the weekend. Let’s just say he received a lot of congratulatory handshakes from local Moroccan men on the street.

On Friday morning we started the day at a local bakery around the corner from our flat. This is where I came to fruition about the worth of American money compared to the Moroccan currency, the dirham. Every 8 dirhams is about 1 dollar. That morning, I bought two pastries and a coffee for 10 dirhams. My breakfast, which would probably cost about $6-8 in the U.S., only cost me a little over a dollar. We learned quickly that the local cafes and restaurants were the place to be, super cheap and super delicious.

After breakfast we walked to the coast where we took a tour of the Hassan II Mosque. Towering over the Atlantic waterfront, it is the largest mosque in Africa, and the third largest mosque in the world. It is also the largest mosque that allows non-muslim people inside to view it. Over the past month I have visited many incredible catholic churches, but none of them compared to the detailed magnificence of this structure. The most surprising thing about it was that the entire building only took six years to make but cost a lump sum of about 585 million euros. The mosque was a 24-hour construction project between 1987 and 1993, with people working in 10-hour shifts. We arrived at the exact time that a prayers was ending. Since it was Friday, the Islamic day of worship, there was a flood of people coming out of the mosque, having just finished one of their five daily prayers. It was mostly men, but some women, all wearing very conservative head scarves. In the muslim culture everything is separated by gender. Even in the mosque, there was a separate area upstairs where the women worshiped. Our tour guide told us that the mosque has the capacity to hold 25,000 people— 20,000 men and 5,000 women. Inside, the mosque was full of bright colors and elaborate designs. The builders used specific metal and wood that resisted the erosion of the ocean so that it will stand for many centuries to come. The coolest part of the mosque was the ceiling that can be opened up to reveal the sky to serve as a closer connection to Allah, as well as, a way to cool the building in the summer since it does not have air conditioning. 

During my weekend in Morocco I gained a much larger sense of respect for Islamic people. Muslims pray five times a day—before sunrise, at noon, in the late afternoon, at sundown, and then before bed. At these times the prayer is played through an intercom at the mosque and people kneel down where ever they are for the daily ritual, which can anywhere from five minutes to an hour to complete. Everywhere we went we saw people on their knees praying, whether it be on the side of the road or waiting on the platform at the train station. I can hardly find time to go to church on Sunday, much less pray 5 times a day. 

After the mosque we went on a quest to find, “Bob Marrakech”, a which turned out to be a small, local food market. We never actually knew what Bob Marrakech was while we were looking for it. Some people just told us it was a good place to see. So on our way to our unknown destination we got slightly lost in the slums of Casablanca. Although these parts did make my hair stand on edge a little more, I loved seeing the way the locals lived. Children ran through the streets and men sat outside their shops chatting. The roads were narrow, with poor apartment buildings surrounding each side. The stares were fierce here, though, so we were happy to find the market and then head on our way. I will say that spending a lot of time in that market could have quickly convinced me to become a vegetarian. Every part of the animals are used, put on display to be sold raw. I saw literal brains and intestines hanging from the vendor's stands. It was definitely a stomach churning experience.  

So many spices!

Despite the nausea, we departed for lunch at a nice Moroccan restaurant, where I ate the most delicious stuffed peppers with vegetables. I am huge fan of spicy food which is unfortunately not common in spanish cuisine. It felt so good to get that tasty kick back in my mouth.

We then took a walk through the medina, which is the street market for clothes, jewelry, and other goods. I bought a Barcelona soccer jersey for 100 dirhams, which is only about $12. Unfortunately it is a tad small but I felt uncomfortable taking off my jacket to try it on in the tiny side-street shop. It will make a nice gift for someone, though.

Dinner was spent at the infamous, Rick’s Cafe, from the movie Casablanca. The songs from the film played in the background as we ate on white table cloths by candlelight. The restaurant was a bit too romantic for our rowdy bunch, but being Alexa’s favorite movie of all-time, it was a must-see attraction on the Morocco list. I was still full from lunch so all I ordered was wine and dessert, which to me is always an acceptable dinner. And let me tell you, my chocolate lava cake was probably one of the most delicious things I have ever put in my mouth. I was almost temped to lick my plate clean.

We then headed back to our homey apartment to rest up for our 6:30am train ride the next day to Marrakech. 

The morning came to soon and we all stumbled into the pre-arranged taxies to the train station way before the sun had even thought to rise. I had wanted to watch the scenery on the three hour train ride but being so early in the morning, I snugged up the best I could in my uncomfortable passenger chair and slept the entire way. 

Medina in Marrakech

When we arrived in Marrakech, it was obvious that this city was much more lively and tourist friendly than Casablanca. There were people walking around from all over the world and cheesy souvenir shops on every corner. We made our way to Marrakech’s medina in the center of the city. The medina was an open square full of people and street performers... and that is where I saw them. Slithering around the street to the sound of their master’s instrument, the pungi, all I could pay attention to was their little tongues creeping in and out of their mouths. Snakes. Everywhere I turned there were more. As much of an outdoor adventurer that I am, I have always been set back by this one fear. They haunt my nightmares weekly, yet I have never had any remarkably bad experiences with them. Anyways, Courtney and Alexa headed straight up to the charmers and to get a picture with snakes around their necks. I stayed back and watched cautiously from a distance. Seeing my friends touch those slimy creatures was plenty of a thrill for me. Along with the snakes there were MONKEYS, which I loved seeing, however, they were constricted at the neck by metal chains, which made my animal-loving heart ache for a moment. 

Alexa and Courtney with the snakes.

Like clockwork, there were people constantly coming up to us trying to sell us anything and everything. Women especially kept pestering us about henna tattoos. It only got worse when we entered into the market. To come off less American, we only spoke spanish to each other and the vendors. This gained us a little bit more respect in the bargaining business, but not much. It didn’t really matter for me anyways because after trying to haggle for the first bracelet I bought, I realized that I did not get my mother’s negotiation genes. I was absolutely horrible at it and probably ended up spending a little more than I should have. I improved as the day went on and bought some knock-off Ray Bans for under $5, a steal in my book. 

We ate lunch at a cute restaurant right on the edge of the medina. I had an amazing couscous dish with vegetables. Over the past year, couscous has been a regular meal for me in Athens, however, this meal was much more divine than any of the boxed couscous from Kroger.

After lunch we had one goal in mind—camel riding. When we first arrived in Marrakech, we met a man on the street who told us if we came back at 4pm, he would take us camel riding for about 200 dirhams each. On the way back to the designated meeting place, we deciphered a plan on how to negotiate the price down to 100 dirhams per person. Everyone had a part to play expect for Tori and I. “Blondes in the back,” Sam said, referring to our total lack of bartering skills. Dawdling behind the rest of the pack, we finally made it to the meeting place, however, the man was no where in sight and we were back to square one in our search for camels. Morgan, keen with camel desire, marched right up to the nearest police officer and asked where we could find such activity. Of course, he didn’t speak spanish or english, and she didn’t speak french or arabic, so despite the hand motions and facial expressions, the conversation lacked any form of comprehension. Eventually, she whipped out her iPhone and showed the policeman a camel emoticon so he could understand. He then yelled out, “Oh chameau!”, and pointed us down the road a ways. We walked and walked but there were no “chameaus” to be found. When we were about to lose all hope, I turned my head to the left and saw 8 camels sitting in a parking lot. Morgan screamed with joy and ran as fast as she could over to the poor animals, almost trampling over the owner in the process. We ended up riding the camels for 80 dirhams a person (a.k.a. $10), which was an incredible deal. Granted the ride was through a slightly polluted orchard and not through a desert, but it was a camel ride none the less. Tori and I shared a camel named Shakira. She was a trooper for carrying us both. In the end, everyone was happy, especially Morgan who remained in a state of ecstasy for the rest of the day, all thanks to a camel emoticon. 

We spent the rest of the afternoon walking around the city and then took a late train back to Casablanca. The next morning, we spend the rest of the dirhams we had on pastries at the local bakery and then headed back home to Valencia. Just like when we came back from London, the sound of spanish was sweet bliss in our ears. 

Exhausted in the airport

Of course, the one weekend we left the continent was the time that my professors decided to assign two presentations and two papers, all due on Monday. That Sunday night, I felt like I was back in Athens again, fueling up on caffeine and only getting an hour of sleep before class on Monday. I guess no matter what part of the world you are in, some things never change. 

The week continued with more school work and siestas to catch up on my lack of sleep. On Wednesday we went to the top of the Torres de Seranos, the old entrance to Valencia when the city was surrounded by a protective wall, back in medieval times. It is considered to be one of Valencia’s best conserved monuments and also played a large role in the Spanish Civil War back in the 1930’s. From the top of the tower, you can see for miles and the view is incredible. 

Living the life.

After two weekends in two different countries, it was time for a rest. I spent this past weekend in Valencia, however, on Saturday, we took a day-trip to Sagunto, a small town about 30 minutes outside the city by train. As far as the actual town of Sagunto, there is not much going on. We went to see the remains of the Castillo (castle) that stood up on the mountaintop overlooking the city. The castle and its surrounding walls were built back in the 5th century BC but have a lot of Moorish and Roman influence as well. For me this place was a playground. I’m not sure if I should have been doing this but I spent the day scaling up and down all of the ruins to see how high/close I could get to the edge of the tall monuments. I was back in my element—climbing. The view was amazing. In front of me lay the ocean, behind me the mountains, and below, the white rooftops of Sagunto. I was on top of the world.

Climbing on high stuff :)

Amazing views 

This weekend I head to the thriving city of Barcelona! It is the one excursion included in the program so it is already all planned out for us. I pinky promise to be more prompt with my posting next time.

Ciao for now!