I’ll start with the freshest and most recent of things.
المغرب
Presently, I am recovering from what can most accurately be described as the most magical adventure of sorts to Morocco. I took the trip on somewhat of a whim with my housemates Diego and Charline and friend Aaron. Within the four of us we were fluent in English, French and Spanish, which covered the bases and we got around pretty well. We left from a Spanish city called Algeciras not too far from Granada and took a ferry across the Strait to Tangiers. Where we slept huddled in two combined beds in a room best described as moist, and a Turkish bath to boot (not the luxurious kind). For four euro a night there’s really not much to complain about.
The morning after we made our way to Alciras, a beautiful pueblo on the beach where we shared the same roof with a man called Alibaba, his children, wife, and a couple who didn’t plan to leave any time soon. That night his wife made us a beautiful dinner which we enjoyed huddled in their humble kitchen with her children peeking in simply for laughter’s sake.
View from our window_
Day 3, we took a very unnecessarily long bus ride to Chefchaouen, making various hour-long stops along the way for motives such as a) filling the bus up (and I mean filling up the bus) with imported goods to sell for double the price to tourists and b) la festival de cordero a.k.a. massive genocide of sheep, goats & animals of this type, all cavorting in the streets to buy/sell/who knows what. Luckily we left before the D-DAY on Tuesday.
Here’s us sleeping somehow amongst many a thing as 10 boxes of Pringles on my lap
We spent the next two days in Chaouen, a small city nestled in the Rif Mountains, taking in the charm of colorful shops and restaurants, swirling through a labrynth of homes stacked like blocks on a hill that discover you lost in a ocean of blue and white painted magic.
The “SMALL SHOP” =]
Beautiful view atop the mountains_
The view of the city (other direction)_
Drank lots of Moroccan Whisky (mint tea) and Spanish Rum (rum); ate lots of pastries and cous cous; made lots of “qqquué bonito” remarks and smiles; did lots of negociating and made lots of deals; talked lots of spanish; met lots of people and had lots of gratifying conversations; saw lots of beautiful things, beautiful moments; & etc, etc, etc.
Well, as all moments do, this one hit the pavement and sent us back to Ceuta, back on a ferry, and before I knew it I was watching Africa drift away while Spain was close behind my back. Back into rhythms and responsibilities. And sifting through memories to trace my footsteps back to where I once was.
I didn't leave Morocco feeling like I was more privileged than anyone, or that I'm lucky to live in the highest of the three worlds, where coffee is served hot enough to burn a whole in your wallet and people hold their smiles long enough to receive their tip. Where there is always a quicker way to do things and stopping to watch the sunset is like slowing down when the traffics just speeding up. You’ll get run down if you don’t keep up. And we all know the only time you really get to slow down back home is when you're stuck on the 405.
If Spain counts by 1,2,3’s and L.A. goes by half each numeral, then Morocco is more like 1……….2…………who knows, they might not even get to 3.
Well, I felt like things were slow in Granada, European cities tend to steal that relaxed and intimate limelight. Until I realized that people in restaurants don't smile because they don't get tips. And then I went to Morocco, and maybe a few smiles hid hidden agendas but the rest were pure and screamed truths louder than their speaker-driven five-daily prayers.
“La prisa mata.” Take time. There’s no need to rush.
I can’t complain though. Every place I see is special and different unlike the rest. I am in Spain. Sometimes I close and open my eyes just to realize where I am.
And how beautiful all these gifts are.
Hm. I guess I should backtrack, considering the last thing I said here was that I was going to Italy. Well, if you’ve seen the pictures I sent out, you’ll know that since then I’ve been spending a good amount of time in Granada, made a visit to Barcelona, and spent a weekend in Paris. And if you didn’t know, look into these things..
Well. To make things short and sweet I’ll give you the best, worst, and funniest moments of each. And the rest you can leave up to your imagination, knowledge of big cities’ tourist attractions, and the pictures I left up on Picassa..
Italy. Best was the FOOD and spending time with old friends. Worst was not finding Sonya at the huge train station in Rome. Funniest was the amazing dinner that we had in Bologna at a very fancy restaurant, laughing and eating and drinking and feeling like little kids in quite the bougy atmosphere.
(Florence)
Barcelona. Best was randomly running into this performance piece played out of an old building on La Rambla, the actors appeared from windows and the script was comprised of old Spanish films and music. Oh and the Dali museum. Worst was the prices (double that of Granada). and Funniest probably was not being able to use Spanish because lots of people didn’t speak it.
(Guy who offered to take a picture of us only if he could be in it)
Paris. Best by a landslide was Sigur Rós live at Le Zenith. Breathtaking. However a close second was the Eiffel tower sparkling at night time with Sonya, wine and cheese (for the complete French experience). Funniest – Sonya and I getting lost frequently, pretending like I speak French only to be completely lost with people’s responses, and having amazing random conversations next to historical sites. Worst was losing Aaron at the metro (this seems like a theme).
Whew. Felt like I relived it all just now. I need a nap now or something.
Well, as wonderful and rewarding as all these trips are, I’m always the happiest returning to Granada. Where the fall has rapidly turned into winter (with temperatures upwards of 30 at night) and the Sierras are topped with snow and heavy clouds. My apartment, even without central heating, is warm with the company of friends and my Spanish family.
School at this point is neither boring me nor challenging me. I see it more as a place to meet people and find I’ve learned way more in conversations with Spaniards and foreigners than listening to my English teacher ramble about curriculums and “learning to learn”. With an organization as poor as his british-spanish accent. Well, I shouldn’t be terribly negative about it. Here I have one more week until my holiday break, upon which I get to see my best friend in the whole world and go to Portugal. I couldn’t ask for a better gift in the world.
Other than that, keeping things real and thinking about all of you,Cheers and a happy holiday filled with love love love love love,
Jen
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