10 August, 2010

Left Marrakesh after spending two nights there. Aside from today's grueling voyage--woke at 5:30, couldn't find cheap breakfast open early in town and got punished by high prices AND crappy food on the train. That said, high price is relative... I think I spent between 1 and 2 Euros on breakfast...--Marrakesh was quite the sight. 2 days in town was enough, but it's going to be one of my most memorable experiences.

Unlike Rabat/Casa, I was able to meet hassles with clever responses, even fresh off the boat--er, actually it was an A/C-less bus. I would just say I don't speak the language, in my best accent, in whatever language a hustler used to address me. Got quite a few confused looks! But I also got good at telling the real friendly people from the fakes, and had a few more good passing contacts.

Marrakesh's medina put the others to shame. Although the food stalls of the vibrant central square, the Djemaa el-Fna, served what smelled like great food, the prices there reflected the fact that many of the visitors are Euro's or Americans who think they're getting a great deal at "only" $4 per meal. But by wandering away from the Djemaa el-Fna ("away" is a tough direction to find sometimes), I was able to find little squares crowded with no one but locals. The architecture, the products sold in the stores, can't be described without writing a book or two. But suffice it to say that Marrakesh is both a knick-knack-addict's paradise and the only place to go to buy a number of amazing items, useful, rare, and inexpensive... provided you're good at bargaining (e.g. a 700 Dh price really means closer to 100 Dh if the vendor thinks you look rich).

The nouvelle ville of the city reminded me of one big Club Vinyl (Denver). As I walked towards what I thought was a salsa club, I passed bros of every make in existence. As usual, they surrounded themselves with more bros, and sometimes with young women hiding behind their makeup. Two of them tried to befriend me and get me to buy their drinks. We got to the bar before the meatheads informed me that they had no money. I informed them that I was in no better situation... so I arrived at the Monte Cristo alone. It wasn't a salsa club at all, but an overpriced informal brothel with overpriced furnishings and overpriced American pop-hop blasting for invisible dancers. And I'm not exaggerating about "brothel"; an older French gentleman I met (the owner of a guest house in town) pointed out that the women in the room were "very professional." And they certainly were, arrayed in small groups around the room on couches or the type you might expect to see in Aladdin. This little epiphany reminded me how tired and bored I was, and I walked back towards the medina until I found a taxi (~$2) back to my hotel overlooking the Djemaa el-Fna.

In retrospect, I'm glad for the experience Morocco gave me. But I'd like to have seen more of it as well. Essaouira is actually the place to surf, not Casa, as I thought. Fes is supposed to be amazing. And of course, I missed that mountains AND the dunes! So maybe I'll come back, and maybe I'll sample other countries instead. But if I go with anyone else, it'll help a lot if we share the same sort of philosophy re: adventure. I don't think [removed] would have lasted beyond a day here without freaking out at me... or someone else. But on a positive note, I now know a really good way to really get to know someone. Adventuring through such a different country brought out the best and worst in me, and it would most likely do the same for anyone else. Hopefully I'll find someone who would come out of this kind of trip with the same sort of good feeling I'm leaving with. Hell, maybe I've already met her...

Back to the States tomorrow. I'm excited to wash clothes, sleep in a real bed, take a shower at my own pace, and see my family and friends. But I can also do almost all of that while living in Paris or Madrid or London or Bilbao or Donosti. There will be a lot of things I'll miss when I get back to Colorado. Make the most of one's situation, I suppose...

Love,
Sean

7 August, 2010

El-Jadida was been wonderful; first time I've bought 2 nights in the same hotel here in Morocco... about $12/night (120 Dh) for clean facilities, comfortable beds, and free hot showers, towels, sheets, AND toilet paper! But it's more the culture in this little town that I've loved.

Far from the business-first attitude of Casa and Rabat, El-Jadida is a resort town for Moroccans. I'm the rare one here. But I've never felt out of place.

I've met a group of beach toy salesmen my age at the beach, and am older man from Marrakesh at a cafe (la Renaissance), and I've constantly been fed, offered chairs, had my things guarded while swimming, etc. I've done my best to be a good guest in return--the proverbial "gift from Allah." I'm sure actual gifts helped too...

Marrakesh tomorrow? We'll see, I guess.

6 August, 2010

This might actually be a real journal entry...

Currently on the train from Rabat to Casa Port... changing trains there, then on to El-Jadida. Morocco has been strange so far. The first person I met in Casablanca wanted to sell me hashish for directions to the hostel and a lot of money (600 Dh, Moroccan currency). All I know is that it looked like a pretty small amount. I didn't give him that 600Dh, but before he knew I wouldn't, he bought me a the a la menthe (mint tea... sorry for the lack of accents) and guided me to the auberge de jeunesse (Youth Hostel).

I met an Italian couple and an English guy at the hostel, after spending the day trying to get to the beach. (The beaches in Casa really do suck, like everyone says... crowded, clouds of dust from football players, questionable water quality... didn't even get in).

After the beach attempt, I hung out with the English guy (James). We did a brief walking tour around the ville nouvelle, ate some snails in the medina, and had a beer at Rick's Cafe. It looked exactly like the move... but it was also far too expensive. Good for wealthy Americans perhaps, but didn't feel real enough for me.

I came to Rabat yesterday. My room was relatively cheap, but also kind of crappy. Same story as Casa with the beach: tons of kids, grown men acting like kids, and women swimming in full coverings. I'm tired of religious zealotry, but it also might be due to the fact that groups of young men (or large boys...?) harass any woman wearing less than the median.

Despite the disappointing scene at the beach, the medina was much better than Casa's. Winding paths among patchwork buildings, sometimes roofed-over by bamboo or palm fronds for shade, we home to stores whose wares I couldn't begin to name. I saw someone eating something that looked good, so I asked what it was and ordered one for myself. I've already forgotten the word for it, but it was goat milk butter on a sliced flat-bread, served with a side of an amazing yogurt (raib). I asked for a barley (?) dish after that, which the vendor gave me drowned in some sourish white liquid with curds in it. Excellent! I had some cactus fruit from a cart after leaving that little shop, and a tasty Moroccan pastry. Then I walked past the Palais Royal to the nouvelle ville for internet access. I returned to my hot, loud room to sleep.

I awoke this morning planning to find a cheaper, better room. I found nothing. So I bought a ticket for El-Jadida and I'm now on my way. Now regretting not taking more photos in Rabat...

4 August, 2010

I wrote this while traveling again. This time, I was on my way to Morocco from Paris after my classes had ended. Edited once again... this time because my sentences often didn't make grammatical sense...

Watching the Pyrenees of Euskal Herria fly by below. Thin ridges jutting through a layer of clouds. Covered by morning sunlight. North faces of the high peaks still have snow. Getting that feeling again... Imagining those mountains close-up from this general view. Valleys to explore, more potential routes than I can count... That feeling feels like longing... longing for the comfort of unfamiliarity... the comfort of Home. I'd love to be Home right now. Hell, maybe I'll come back... because Home for me is really just Love, Adventure, and the Mountains.

Weekend before Quatorze Juillet (Bastille Day), in San Sebastian, Euskal Herria

9 July, 2010

Some sort of free-form... poem(?) I wrote on the way to San Sebastian. Like I promised, it's edited a bit (meaning I dropped the dumb/pointless/embarrassing lines).

Buildings shrink low,
Drop down among strands of wheat, or corn.
Blurry little French cars dropping so far into the foreground
That they disappear.
Silence, minus a hum and a few clacks and clicks.
A sandwich on a baguette, split by sliver of steel, with too much cheese.
A peach, a tomato, and water to wash it down.
An old man walks by, blurts out "Shit!" (in French),
And his wife tells him to shut up (in French).
[dropped a couple lines]
A bottle of 5-Euro wine, opened by the tall bartended--
No, opened with the corkscrew she leant me.
Pines and the rest now, not so tight, but not plains.
Some clear-cut. Idle machines
Somewhat-alcohol-fueled thoughts through little towns, full of hicks
(Or whatever they call them here),
[some dropped]
Terracotta roofs in Bayonne, covered in moss, or mildew. Whatever.
[dropped]
Moving again, hemmed in by the trees they'd have cut down a few km back.
Empty seats everywhere.
Announcing Biarritz:
Looks more warehouse than Hemingway from here.
San Sebastian still ahead.
Hopefully a bit different.
[added]Hopefully some of that feeling I got from the books.
[dropped]

(I'm a slacker)

I'm back in the States, as many of you know. Spent the last couple weeks moving into a new apartment, starting new classes, finding wonderful new friends.

My mom reminded me that I never wrote after the first week in Paris. I should have written. Sorry!

I hope it's not too late though... I don't think I'll have forgotten everything. I kept a journal on paper. So when I have a spare hour or so (wish me luck with that one), I'll transcribe all of those entries here (after editing them a bit, mind you). I'm not sure if they'll tell the story accurately. I don't remember what I wrote. But I always wrote when I was alone--traveling through or to San Sebastian, Chartres, Morocco. I spent most of my trip with people I met on the road, and maybe I'll try to fill those parts in... They were the best parts.

I hope you're all well.

Love,
Sean