Morocco Part 2: When it rains in the desert

Sorry guys, this is a really late post, and to be honest a pretty crappy one.  No excuses, I just suck at making myself actually do things.

So, we left Fes at some really horrible time in the morning for an 8 hour bus trip down to Erfoud fueled by lots and lots of junk food.  Now, understand this, I absolutely hate long car rides and traveling in general.  A lot.  I can’t really sleep in a car unless I’m utterly exhausted and I get bored in about 5 minutes flat.  This bus trip though was entirely different-the landscape in Morocco is incredible, especially as you get closer to the desert.  First we drove through some foothills, and then, all of a sudden, there were some legit Colorado-style mountains, complete with snow on the top.  The landscape eventually got redder and redder, and after some mildly terrifying cliffside roads that I was convinced we’d go careening off of any minute, we arrived in Erfoud where we climbed into jeeps and headed into the desert.  Our driver was ridiculous-he played lots of Berber music, with the occasional old American R&B song mixed in (Akon, anyone?), every now and then letting out an excited trilling noise.  He didn’t speak English, but he spoke French and Spanish a little bit, so we ended up talking to him that way.  Until he decided to get out the car and run alongside it, that is.  Anyways, we made it to the camp in one piece, ate dinner (at 10pm) and headed to bed in preparation for watching the sunrise tomorrow.

We got up at 6am and walked about 10 minutes to a dune to wait for the sun to rise.  And wait.  And wait.  Until eventually the sun surfaced from behind a cloud quite a ways above the horizon and we realized we’d entirely missed it.  Ooops.  I immediately headed back to camp and passed out for the next 2 hours until we got to start our camel ride.  RIDING CAMELS IN THE DESERT.  Basically what the whole trip was about, and what I told people I’d be doing when I went to Morocco.  I ended up riding a smaller camel who I decided to name Eeyore.  Poor Eeyore seemed to understand the world was out to get him, and had decided to just accept his lot in life.  At one point my friend flat out kicked him in the face (not on purpose, though we’re still trying to figure out what she actually intended to do) and the poor guy didn’t even flinch (thankfully, since I’m not sure what I’d do with a flinching camel).  Anyways, we made it to this dune, where I learned exactly how out of shape I am.  After much huffing and puffing, I made it to the top, where 5 minutes later it started to rain.  What?  I hauled butt down the dune, popped a few more painkillers (it’s my theory that the embarrassing amount of exertion it took to climb up that dune caused all previous painkillers to flee my system).   We rode the camels a bit farther to a hotel in an oasis where some crazy people swam (did I mention the rain?) and I got some henna done.

After a thoroughly rainy night in which several peoples clothes got properly soaked, we made our way back through the desert in our jeeps, and piled back on the bus for another long ride, this time to Meknes.  I have never appreciated a shower quite as much as I appreciated the one in Meknes.  It took me precisely no time to pass out afterwards.  In the morning we got to visit the medina there-much much smaller than the one in Fes, and it sold a lot more everyday type things, rather than $1500 carpets.  I am now the proud owner of a fake Longchamps bag.  Apart from the horribly cheap gold painted zipper pull and the overly enthusiastic Longchamps stamp on the back, it’s pretty good, and for 12 euros I’m sure as hell not complaining.  I made sure to properly hide it to get past French customs (yeah right, we all just walked through). 

I’m back in Paris now and I’m still finding sand in some of my belongings.  Morocco was an incredible experience-but more than anything I think I learned how I interact with other people on it.  I’d love to get a chance to travel there again, with maybe a little less driving around the country and more understanding of the culture I’m visiting.  As I’ve traveled I’ve found that what really makes a trip meaningful is when you get past the touristy things for a bit.  I leave again in a week for Croatia and Prague, which should be much more laid back, and I can’t wait for either of them-but first I get to spend the week showing my wonderful mother around Paris!

Morocco: Really, I don’t need a carpet.

I’m going to preface this entry by saying that the world (or maybe just my body) conspired to make me miserable in Morocco.  The day before we left, I got a cold, complete with fever and inability to breath through my nose.  My first night there, I got the toothache from hell, which allowed me to get about a combined 3 hours of sleep (waking up every hour and entirely unable to go back to sleep).  After a couple of days, some wonderful pain medicine from my friend, and a bit more sleep, I managed to be restored to some semblance of functionality and in spite of the sensation of being stabbed in the jaw, I truly did enjoy the trip.

On Tuesday, I was picked up outside my apartment at 4:15 am (what?  That shouldn’t be a real time).  About 5 hours later I landed in Casablanca and was herded onto a bus, complete with bodyguard, along with the rest of the people on the trip.  We spent about an hour driving, ate lunch at a kebab place (delicious) and ended up by the ocean.  We’re not talking calm, quiet beach either.  These were hard-core waves, spraying up by the protective walls and no chance of actually swimming in the ocean.  After walking by several beach side restaurants, being photographed by Moroccan construction workers, and generally making a scene, we returned to the bus and headed to the Mosque in Casablanca.  It’s the biggest mosque in the country, has the world’s tallest minaret (as far as I can tell, this means tower), and is entirely modern.  The wooden ceiling can open to the sky via a mechanized process and the ornate hand created columns hide high-quality speakers.  We were allowed inside after bagging up our shoes-but not covering our hair-and took a tour of it.  It was definitely interesting to compare this Mosque to the one I saw in Kazan-you can see that one here , but both were built within the past 25 years.  After a quick stop in the small Medina (market), however, it was time for us to load back onto the bus and make the 5 or so hour drive to Fes.

We spent the night in a hotel there (see: 3 hours of sleep) and woke up early the next day to head to the Medina.  The Medina in Fes is huge and absolutely central to the city.  There’s something like 37000 alleyways, its crowded, and pedestrians constantly have to make room for the donkeys carrying their loads (one had an oven on its back).  What have to be the most badass cats I’ve ever seen rule the streets, especially in the food area, where meat of all varieties (but all raw) is displayed and hung in the open.  The Medina is also home to some of the most persistent salespeople I’ve ever encountered.

Our tour of the Medina was run by the hotel, and the guides definitely had agreements with the shopkeepers.  I have never in my life had so many people try to convince me I need so many things.  The first place we stopped was the rug store.  Let me make myself clear.  Almost NOBODY was excited about this stop.  Sure, it would be interesting to see these rugs, but most college students?  Not so interested in buying $300 rugs.  Not until these guys started talking, at least.  I’d be willing to bet that a sizeable majority of the group walked out of that store with their very own authentic Moroccan rug.  Even I was half convinced that buying a carpet would be a solid investment in my future, so I quickly adopted the strategy of hanging out in a corner with my fellow broke travelers and putting on my best Moscow metro face.  The next store did not see me quite so successful, however-scarves!  The guy who ran the shop was a half-incredibly creepy, half-adorable older bald guy with less teeth than most people.  He hugged everyone who made a purchase and got very excited about all the things he was selling.  I bought 2 scarves.

Next stop, a traditional Muslim pharmacy, and cue my tooth pain.  I spent most of the time here in a little bit of a haze, but I have to admit, they had some pretty cool stuff.  Argan oil, rose water, all sorts of lotions, lipstick that adapts to your skin tone, and of course, charcoal eyeliner. Yep, bought stuff here too.  I don’t want to talk about it.  After this, a break for lunch, where I still don’t really know what all I ate-but definitely some of the best couscous of my life.  At some point we visited a metal engraving shop, which was pretty interesting, but as I am not a jewelry person (losing every item of jewelry you own makes you not want to buy $60 bracelets), I avoided buying anything.  The last stop actually inside the Medina was a tannery-the largest in the medina and possibly the largest in Morocco.  And dear god, if the smell is anything to go by, I believe it.  We were all given mint leaves in an attempt to keep us from wanting to vomit up our lunches and we all spent the visit more or less trying to shove them up our noses (you’re welcome for that pleasant image).  The leather was stunning though.  I’ve never seen jackets that fit people so well and if I had the funds for a camel leather purse, you better believe I would be the not-so-proud owner of one right now.  Thankfully for my bank account, however, I decided to stick with my painfully obviously fake bag from Burlington Coat Factory (thanks mom!).  We finally left the medina, heading up a hill to the pottery section of town where we got to see all steps of the process for making cups and mosaics.  I for some reason decided I needed to buy one or two-student price! At this point it was sunset and we piled into our bus to head back to the hotel.

We had enough time that night to go to a music/comedy/something show, where we drank yet more heavily sweetened Moroccan mint tea and watched various members of our group attempt to belly dance.  At the end, they chose two members to “get married” in what is apparently traditional Moroccan clothing, and all I really have to say about that is: remind me not to get married in Morocco.  When we got back to the hotel, I was in search of whatever pain medicine I could find.  Thankfully, my roommate had some pretty blue pills labeled in Chinese (she’s from Hong Kong) that she let me have.  I spent the rest of the trip feeling a certain solidarity with Dr. House, but at least my jaw for the most part didn’t feel like it was being stabbed repeatedly.  The next morning we headed out for an entirely different experience-two nights in the desert.

Phonetics, or why I can’t understand French

After the grand success of my Russian phonetics class (Яблоко, anyone?), I signed up to take one in French.  My teacher is an older French woman who likes to talk with her eyes closed, and whose last name I, ironically enough, still can’t pronounce (seriously, Razakamanana?  What?).  5 lessons into it, the reasons I can never understand my teenaged host siblings have become clearer and clearer.  The French have basically designed their language to sound as good as possible, ignoring such nuances as the way the word is actually spelled, or what letters you find at the end of the word.  This is especially noticeable when you have sentences that start with the word “I,” or in other words, 75% of anything anyone actually says.  For example, take the phrase “Je fais” (I do).  If you’re in the south of France, or if you’re horribly sick, you might say it like this: “Juhfay.”  Simple enough.  That’s not how Parisians or anybody else ever says it though.  They omit the sound that the “e” makes and say “Jfay,” kind of slurring everything together.  Don’t worry though.  You can get even more slurred than that, creating a monstrosity in which the “J” blurs into the f, creating kind of a shh sound-“Shfay”.  Make sense to you?  Me neither. This happens when the J is in front of the sounds “p, t, k, f, or s” and makes an utterly unrecognizable melange of hushing noises that I am supposed to interpret as a sentence.  I’ll let you know how it goes.

In which I admit to being materialistic and a giant creeper

So, when I first got to Paris, I was mildly afraid that it was going to be like Moscow and I’d never ever see the sun or blue sky (seriously, sunrise at 10, sunset at 4?  What’s that all about?).  And the weather that first week was pretty, well, crappy.  Cold, rainy, cloudy.  But recently it’s been in the 50s and 60s and the sun’s been out.  To me, this means its time for sunglasses.  I live in Colorado where it’s seriously freaking sunny.  Like 300 days out of the year.  And if its not sunny right at this moment, chances are it will be in the next 20 minutes or so.  So sunglasses are kind of a necessity.  I always have 2 or 3 cheap wal-mart pairs floating around my car, purse, whatever since I’m guaranteed to lose a pair and you do not want to be caught driving without one some days.  Add that to the fact that from 3rd grade to about high school I wore glasses so sunglasses weren’t really an option and well, I’ve got a sunglasses addiction.  I love wearing them, I love buying them, and to be entirely honest, I love being able to blatantly stare at people with out them realizing (yes, I’m a giant creeper).

Whelp, Parisians don’t wear sunglasses.  Like, at all.  It’s 50 some degrees out and quite sunny right now, and I just went out to do my laundry and wander around.  Did not see one person wearing sunglasses.  I’ve only rarely seen people wearing them, and when I do it tends to be in the more touristic areas (hi fellow Americans)  I also got some odd looks with mine.  If it stays this way, it’s gonna be a long spring…

Impressions

When you’re hanging out in a city like Paris, it’s impossible to go out without being surrounded by history and culture.  I haven’t written much yet, and I suppose that’s because I’m still gathering my thoughts, but I thought I’d mention some of the sights I’ve seen since getting here 2 weeks ago (dear god).

First of all, my study abroad office is literally right across the river from Notre Dame.  You step out the door and BOOM, it’s there.  It’s free to go in (because, um, church) so that’s one of the first things I did.  It’s always seemed kind of odd to me, going in churches like this.  We’re basically wandering around being obnoxious tourists and taking pictures while people are sitting there praying.  Awkward?  I think I’d find another church.  Anyways, what really is striking about Notre Dame is its sheer size.  Yes, I knew it was big.  But its architecture makes it so imposing that it seems to take up 3x the room that it should.  It’s absolutely stunning and I’m glad it was one of the first things I saw in Paris.

We also went to the Eiffel Tower (excuse me, La Tour Eiffel.  How’s that for pretentious French?  Good, I’m done).  It was cheaper to climb the stairs, so of course, that’s what we did.  I’m proud to say that I haven’t entirely lost my stair climbing ability, so at no point was I out of breath, and I don’t think I would have needed to stop if I hadn’t been with others.  You have to take an elevator to the very top, so it’s not quite as impressive as it sounds.  And, of course, it was Valentine’s day that day. Ooops.  Spent something like 10 euros on a glass of champagne to celebrate my single-ness (bitter, me, what?).  I’ve never seen so many rose petals on the ground, and I definitely saw at least 3 people getting engaged.

We took a day trip to Versailles as well, which was excellent, though I have to admit, I’m a bit done with giant museums at this point.  It was beautiful, but I’d really love to explore the grounds a bit more on a day that’s nicer.  In other news, Marie Antoinette had a really interesting idea of how peasants lived.

Finally, and probably my favorite, we visited a little museum called Musee Marmottan Monet (thanks Louisa).  Now, what you have to understand is that as a kid I was obsessed with Monet.  There was a book called “Linnea in Monet’s Garden,” and well, you see where this is going, right?  My name was Linnea and her name was Linnea, and this was the coolest thing ever.  So I basically memorized the book and decided that one day I would be Linnea in Monet’s garden.  Impressionism is also kind of interesting to me, because, well, I’m freaking blind.  When I don’t have my glasses on the world kind of is like an impressionist painting in reverse-clear up close and blurry far away.  Anyways, this museum didn’t disappoint.  It had a huge collection of Monet’s paintings-the Japanese Bridge, Water Lilies, and anything you could think of.  It’s in this adorable littlish house in my arrondisement, within walking distance.  And the best news?  I found out that Monet’s actual gardens at Givenchy are actual close enough to be a day trip from Paris (not sure how I wasn’t aware of that before).  So definitely doing that.

Anyways, that’s probably enough for now, but I promise to try to post a little more often.