patron

(funny, as i was typing the title of this post, someone was rapping about patron, the drink, on the radio.)

anyway, so just as i was thinking about how lucky i am living for free at a place as beautiful as playa koralia, savoring freshly harvested and sliced mangoes on one many humid afternoons in a hammock on the beach with my book (been reading the feast of the goat by mario vargas llosa), i’m interrupted by the office receptionist. she has the hotel cell phone in her hand ready to call patricia, who “wants to talk to you”.

so i take the phone and me and patricia talk. she basically tells me that in the coming weeks, the hotel will have little to no guests, so my help will not be needed. and it was true; i’d only been there a week and i’d seen the visitors dwindle from (an already low) ten people to only about 4. and, all i was doing the last couple days was cutting mangoes, crates and crates of mangoes. but still, i thought, i just got here! i’d just put all my toiletries in the bathroom cabinet and figured out how to get the cool air into my room while keeping the mosquitoes out. also, let’s not forget this detail: where in the hell was i gonna go?!

luckily, back at corie and santi’s in bogota, i met the very generous eugene. he not only sent a few of us a free online program to practice spanish, but also offered for anyone to come and visit his apartment up in santa marta as he didn’t know anyone up there. so, as i found myself yet again stranded in a foreign country, i hit him up to see if his offer was still good. it was.

and now, i’m here in a little beach town called rodadero, sitting at an internet cafe with a tall, cute, way-too-young-for-me waiter serving fresh squeezed oj.

(as you say abruptly when you need clarification, kettia) pause: is anyone sensing a pattern here? i go to a country to work on a farm, and for some reason or another the first place where i volunteer doesn’t work out. just as i’m thinking omg! everything has fallen apart. what am i gonna do? i realize that i just met a friend of a friend who happens to have some cushion for me, and that cushion happens to be really easy to access. it’s like i have to work through a crisis before the smooth sailing. i don’t know what this is about, and it’s difficult to be traveling alone and be caught off guard with an urgent emergency. still, it’s equally refreshing when things work out anyway.

mommy says it’s jesus. and maybe she’s right. but whether it’s him, the flying speghetti monster, plain randomness producing it’s usual coincidences, or all three, i’m grateful for saving grace!

yesterday, i went on a 1.5-hour hike through the parque nacional natural tayrona ending at a beautiful beach called cabo san jaun. sadly, i don’t have an photos, because i conveniently dropped my phone in the toilet 5 minutes before we left the apartment sunday morning. don’t worry, it still works just fine, it just needed the exact amount of time it took us to go to the beach and return in order to recover. i think eugene took plenty of pics though. check facebook, i guess.

on friday, we watched colombia smash greece in the soccer world cup. it's interesting being in south america when the world cup is also in south america. there are collectables and souvenirs everywhere! 

on saturday, i finally had that job interview that i’ve been anticipating for about 4 months for a teaching job in bogota. (i don't think i've mentioned this on here before, but has been happening. lol.) the interview went quite well...and on sunday evening i was offered the job! eeeeee! omg, i have a job, something i haven’t been able to say in months! although it’s been nice working only 30 hours per week (only being able to call some of it work, as it was often fun, fun times!) traveling and chillaxing, living off savings ain’t fun. especially when you’re down to your last and you’ve got 3 more months of your trip left. :/

so i’m planning to accept the position, as a facilitator, teaching english and mentoring public school students of all ages. so now, it looks like i'll be in colombia until early december; ain't coming back 'til christmas.
it would be a dream come true if i can come home before that though. like, i'd like to come home now and stay until the program starts. but for now, that's only a dream, as i cannot afford such a trip. if you want to help me realize this, i am accepting donations!  if you want to send me some cash, it is best to do it through my mother. contact me if you want details for that. 

here are some photos i took over the last few days: 

me and one of the kitchen staff members at playa koralia (don't remember his name, but he was super cool and insisted that we get a pic before i left).

fosted flakes!...i mean, zucaritas...?

yeah, my fingers were mangled after i cut all them damn mangoes. i had 2 bandaids on my left hand by the time i left. 

a bug that i had to coerce off of the knife so i could finish cutting. he was persistent!

in santa marta, they pump the gas under the hood. 

me and eugene watching the world cup.

colombians after their team won. check ol' girl on the back left!

los animales

omg, every day i see a new animal. today, it was a crab. a little, blue crab hiding behind the washing machine. it was shocking and adorable! these animals are hilarious. the way they walk -- awkwardly sideways, with their tiny little eyes seemingly stationary -- is very interesting to watch. and several of the ones i've seen have one claw that is twice the size of the other one. i probably couldn't force myself to get close enough to even a dead one in science class to thoroughly examine it, but from afar, it's pretty fun. fun, albeit short-lived, as they love coming out, and then hiding in between tiny spaces. very interesting.
also last night, i went into the office to use the bathroom before i went back to my room (the office bathroom is just nicer...or so i thought) and there was a frog on the toilet seat chillin' with his friend, another frog who was on the tissue roll. the one on the seat was nice enough to get (hop) up for a lady. but the one on the toilet roll just sat there like a perv. like i was really about to use the toilet in front of him. please. so i had to use the one in my room after all.
every night, i catch a gecko or two in my room. welcome roommates, as they love to feast on the mosquitoes. but since i've been keeping the lights off at night (to keep the mosquitoes away), they haven't visited as much. though -- and i may have been hallucinating/dreaming, but -- i swear one of them was in my bed last night. if it's true, we were both too scared of being so close to each other that neither of us could move. somehow, i just went back to sleep and decided to deal with it in the morning. when i woke up, there was nothing there. i hope i was just paranoid and those things aren't ballsy enough to jump under my sheets with me.
speaking of mosquitoes, what the fuck!? seriously, i must be breaking some kind of record for the most bites on a human body at once. this is terrible. every time i step outside -- or stay inside, or just breath and live my life -- i feel like i'm surrendering my body to the god of mosquitoes and all his blood-sucking angels...demons! i can't live like this; i've been trying to stay zen and not scratch, telling myself the itch will pass, it will pass. but it needs to pick up the pace; i ain't got all day.
maybe i'll head into town tomorrow and get some repellent of some sort. this is getting out of hand.
and i still don't know the name of those reptiles, but i can feel myself overcoming my fear. i can actually continue moving when one of them runs across my path. now, i just need to calm my heart rate, and i think i'll be good.
damn, what have i gotten myself into out here?

playa koralia

so right now, i’m lying on the beach on the northern coast of colombia with this behind me:

and i’m looking at this:

beautiful, right? well, lemme tell you what happened before i got here:

first, i woke up yesterday morning, packed, had a big salad and an arepa, went to a cafe around the corner for some fresh juice with corie and santi, and then cabbed it to the terminal de transporte de bogotá. there, some dude started talking to me as i compared prices for 3 different bus companies to santa marta. after i told him it would be pointless to exchange numbers because it’s not worth the extra 40 cents per minute for the international call, i searched the station for the biggest bottle of water i could find. i realized later that this dude was following me around the station. why? i don’t know, because he never said anything to me after i rejected his phone number. maybe he was going to rob me. or maybe he was trying to muster up the guts to ask me again, but i left too soon (an hour later). i don’t know, but the worst he managed to do was creep me out for a few minutes. i mean he was an attractive guy, but i seriously couldn’t tell if he was a stalker, a thief, a loiterer, or all three.

anyway, i found the water then decided on the cheapest company, with an 18-hour bus ride for 70,000 pesos (around $35). i get to the window and there is a different employee there than when i originally asked for the details a few minutes prior. so i ask for a ticket to santa marta, and she tells me it’s 80,000 pesos. now corie warned me that people would hear my accent and charge me like a dumb, american turista. but i didn’t expect this at the bus station. still, i asked her why it wasn’t 70,000 pesos like before. then she looked at me, clicked something on the computer, and changed the price to 70,000. i asked her if it was the same ticket or if there was a problem, and she said “no, santa marta. no problema”. wow.

eventually, i boarded the bus, which was far more accommodating than any bus i’ve used in the states. the seats were large and soft, they reclined way back, and there was plently of leg room. there were movies playing with perfectly clear sound and the bathroom was actually pleasant...though of course there was no tissue. (it’s ok though; i brought my own; thanks corie for the tip!) the temperature actually required less than a wool blanket, and somehow they had it smelling like strawberry shortcake for the entire trip. they played three american films with spanish voice-overs. one of them was the most recent fast and furious. watching tyrese and ludacris dubbed in spanish was hilarious! (kinda like that chinese dude speaking spanish in granada...)

as the trip went on, i began to realize that 1. they don’t announce the stops; you just gotta pay attention. 2. many of the stops are just in front of some fruit stand on the side of the road. no way to tell...unless you’re the bus driver i guess. now that i think about it, this is common for buses in the rural areas i’ve visited, including spain and morocco. 3. vendors can get on the bus and sell they’re stuff, while also getting a ride to the next town to sell their stuff on the street. seriously, i’m sitting there watching terminator, and this woman is waving an empanada in my face. i felt like i was back in the barber shop. #nostalgic

after some beautiful scenery, we got to the rest stop about 6 hours in, and instead of a nasty fast food restaurant (which in rural colombia would seemingly be an empenada or arepa spot), there was a real restaurant with cooked meals. it was awesome. (i’m running out of money, so i opped for a bag of chips, instead. but) the food looked wonderful. i’m talkin’ fish filets, beans and rice, soup. mouth watering!

after the stop, i leaned back and got 9 hours of frequently interrupted sleep. (turns out those chairs were nice, but they ain’t no american first class recliners, and they definitely ain’t no beds.) i woke up to find that the the ride was actually 19 hours. when i realized we were at the santa marta bus station, i of course walked to the front of the bus to exit. but the driver told me not to get off. apparently he thought i wanted to get a snack or something and didn’t want me holding up the bus. damn, if this was 3 months ago, i would be lost somewhere in colombia because my spanish was como, nada. anyway, i told the guy that this is my stop, and he looked surprised until i repeated myself. we got off and unloaded my luggage, and i felt like i had just stepped into a new orleans july. it was hot as shit, and i was not prepared. after quickly stripping down to shorts, a beater, and sandals in the 900-peso-bathroom, i arranged a bus to the next farm, which is in a smaller pueblo called buritaca.

an hour-long bus ride ending in front of some food stand where the tortilla vendor also exited the bus with me + a short cab ride with the driver, his friend, and some kid they kept referring to as mono (monkey) = arrival at the gates of the beautiful koralia playa.

i had a short conversation with patricia, the manager, about my duties, hours, upkeep of my room, etc. she tells me that for my first few days, most of the help is needed in the kitchen. she said i can chill out for today, and tomorrow i’ll start volunteering around 7am for breakfast. meanwhile, a large turtle crawls into the office from outside and she pauses to feed him. what?! adorable!

i arrived right in time for lunch, so i was directed to the kitchen and served a plate of spaghetti. i decided to stand up and move closer to the table with the other volunteers, when slop! all of the spaghetti neatly slid off of the plate and splattered onto the floor. everyone laughed hysterically, as i scrambled for a...broom? mop? what is an appropriate cleaning utensil for this situation? i asked myself. after about 30 seconds, an employee (who reminds me a lot of you, aunt del) knelt down, picked the spaghetti up by hand, and carried it to the compost...all the while still laughing. i was so embarrassed, and i offered to help make more. but in all their hospitality, they refused my help. damn. what a first day.

later, i showered, had a little siesta, and then explored the hotel. i mean, it’s called a hotel, but it’s not like any i’ve ever seen; it’s not one big building with several rooms. it’s a buncha small buildings with hammocks on the front porches and palm trees, plants, and dirt paths in between. 22 of them to be exact, all made of straw, bamboo, and other natural materials. all the paths open up to the beach: playa koralia. it’s breathtaking.

on my way to the beach, i took a path that appeared to be less traveled, and had the shit scared out of me by large reptile scurrying across my path (i don't know the name of it, but here they've nicknamed it lobo, the spanish word for wolf. wtf!). thanks robert frost. won’t be doing that again!

i clenched my fists in fear and backed away from the area and back into the path more traveled by. and now i’m here, writing to you, for the first time in over a month. it feels good to be back.

hola colombia!

(5/28 - 6/5: Colombia)

vuelo

so my long flight from madrid to miami wasn’t first class this time, but it was still cool. it was in the middle of the day, so i didn’t miss the recliners too much. when i got to the states, i realized that i could make phone calls again… !!! but first, i had to get my shoes cleaned. 

yes, you read that right. when i entered the passport checkpoint, the machine asked if i’d been on any foreign farms or been in contact with any livestock. shit. i considered lying, but i was traveling on someone else’s confidence (thanks treece!) and i didn’t want no trouble. so...i had to pass 3 more checkpoints before i entered a large room with only 4 other travelers and some salty-looking airport employees. most of the employees were presumably there for the purposes of cleaning farm dirt and shit off the bottoms of shoes. so i sat around and charged my phone (because there were absolutely no phone calls allowed in this area) while this dude cleaned all of my shoes for me (thanks!). this took forever, so my 2-hour layover turned into 45 minutes, which dwindled again to about 20 minutes by the time i checked my luggage and passed the security checkpoint again.

once i got to the gate, i only had time to buy a salad then call mommy and stephanie for a bit.

as a consolation (gracias, universe!), i did end up in first class for the shorter flight to colombia. sat next to another rich white dude who had some encouraging words for a late 20-something who quit her job to travel the world: ah, you’re doing an early life crisis. that’s great. when you’re my age and married, a mid-life crisis won’t be so easy. maybe this will delay the mid-life crisis a bit for you, too.

thanks rich, white man. since you’re so understanding, can i get like $1000 off you though? that would make my crisis way more manageable!

don’t worry, i fought my urge to actually ask that...and i won. though i wonder just how he would have responded. lol.

after sobbing at saving mr. banks while washing down a medium rare steak with some dry vino tinto, i arrived in bogota around 8pm. unfortunately, my body’s clock was still in spain, where it was about 3am. i sleep-walked through the airport and somehow ended up in a cheap cab with my luggage (don’t even remember going to baggage claim). by the time i got to corie and santiago’s house, i was slap happy and chatty. we talked for a spell, and then i crashed around 11. few! long day(s).

bogota

so i met mi amiga, corie, the last time i left the country. i was studying with a group of 18 americans in vienna, austria and a few of us decided to take a weekend trip to paris. one of my friends (hey ann!) went to college with corie, who happened to be living in paris at the same time we were going. so we hung out with corie and her (then) boyfriend mark for a couple days, and it was a blast! (find details in my 2008 photos on facebook, if you want.)

coincidentally, corie and i also found ourselves living in chicago at the same time, and now here we are, doing a colombian coincidence too! (corie, i hadn’t thought of this before, but now i’m wondering what the next continent will be!)

so corie now lives in bogota, colombia with her sweetheart santiago, and they have one of the most interesting homes i’ve seen. i stayed there for a week while i tied up arrangements with the next wwoof place.

because i’m tired of writing, here are some highlights:

1. one night, corie threw a little potluck get-together, which ended up being a big, sort of house-warming party at her house. some dirty latin dancing happened, which i may or may not have been involved in. after a while, everyone was doing the macarena, which i realized that the body recalls as easily as riding a bike (seriously, put the music on and try it). then as much as corie tried to fight it, shakira happened too.

2. one early, early morning, corie, a few of her friends, and i hiked to the top of a very high andes mountain. it took 2 hours to get to the top, and i was almost out of juice. the view was cloudy at first, but eventually i could see all of bogota. vast.

we made it down ok, and then it was time for a long nap.

3. an italian guy who worked for a cheese company came to stay at the house through airbnb.com. he fixed us some beautifully authentic italian pasta for dinner. it was awesome. thanks luca!

4. i was introduced to colombian juice, which is typically the juice of any friut you order, plus water or milk, plus sugar. it’s what we call a smoothie in the states. but, as shakespear said, what’s in a name?

5. I biked bogota's ciclovia to the historical center!

and that was my entrance to colombia. i'm here!

hiking!

in bogota, all the sports stores are together, all the leather stores are together, and ect. this can be very convenient, or very inconvenient, depending on how you're shopping...

el centro historico: la candelaria

street performer in the cerrera septima

street performer in front of the primera cathedral

primera cathedral

la plaza bolivar

street art in the cerrera septima

did this head wrap for the first time. i dunno why i was so scared of it before; it's super easy!

dias ultimas

so after morocco, kettia and I returned to spain for one last attraction: the alhambra. after some hickups with timing and luggage, a crowded evening in tarifa during spain’s football (soccer) championship, and a randomly beautiful albeit shortlived hostel experience, we ended up in granada. that night, we ate at this dope, moroccan restaurant (where i smoked way too much tobacco and felt quite sick later. why did this non-smoker here think she could handle several hits in a very short period of time...and wine?) because we just couldn’t get enough tajin, even in spain!

the next morning, we woke up at the crack and headed over to the alhambra, ready to experience the greatest palace ever. and, while i’ve never seen any other palace, i’d argue that this one must be pretty high up there. especially when it was in its prime. even now, the numerous gardens and miradors were enough to take my breath away. as i’d heard several times, this place is like a small city. after a couple hours, kettia and i grew tired and hungry. since the only options inside the alhambra were shitty, cheap sandwiches and a fancy, overpriced restaurant, we decided to leave and grab some well-prepared, reasonably priced cuisine in the city. we ended up at this random chinese spot, where i couldn’t get over the fact that these chinese dudes were speaking spanish. i mean, of course, we were in spain; what else would they speak, beside chinese. but it was like talking a double foreigner. i don’t know how to further explain this without sounding like a dumb american (though it’s probably too late for that), but it was just weird.

anyway, the next day, we autobused it to madrid from where both our flights were departing. we hit up a couple bars there too with tapas for seriously 2 euros. it was cray.

i woke up almost too late the next morning for my flight (kettia’s didn’t leave ‘til the afternoon), but i made it, thank goodness!

and that was it for me and this chica! though i spent way too much money and probably could have planned better, we had a fuckin’ blast! i’d do it again in a heartbeat! i love you kettia, and in the sincerest words of cynthia fee of the golden girls theme song, thank you for being a friend!

مغربي

(5/17 - 5/24: Marruecos)

so i arrived at the hostel that kettia arranged in malaga, and did everything but call her mother when I couldn’t reach her for several hours. kettia was supposed to meet me in the hostel the afternoon before we traveled to tarifa, where we would then get a ferry to morocco. after 5pm, i did contact her sister via Facebook, and just as I was about to ask her if she’d heard from kettia, in walked the woman i’d been waiting for! i was so happy, i gave her 2 big hugs in a row. i think the reason for that second hug was the fact that i hadn’t seen anyone i knew in 2 and a half months. lol.

so this hostel was also damn nice: oasis backpackers hostel had a terrace with a full bar and music, fresh daily spanish tortillas for breakfast, and sangria with a spanish buffet for dinner. unfortunately, we were both so tired after dinner (and kettia was jet lagged, on top of that) that we crashed before we could visit the bar and had to leave before breakfast for our early departure to tarifa.

we arrived with plenty of time to store our luggage and get the 1-hour ferry to tangier, morocco. omg, i was so excited; i wasn’t sure if going to africa was gonna be my reality, but here i was, actually doing it. eeeeee!

tangier

so as soon as we stepped off the ferry, the “tour guides”, some of whom claiming to be “hired by the moroccan government”, pounced on us. they were ready with anything a tourist might want or need: moroccan dirham (currency) to exchange, moroccan leather, scarves, a ride or personal guide to their suggested hostel or hotel, a tour of the city, travel advice in any language, “you speak english? como esta? bon jour!” anything...anything! to get us to listen. omg, i’d never been hassled like this in my life! and it was non-stop. a couple dudes even followed us for several yards! kettia was far more prepared than me; i was all like “we’re in their country, we should be respectful, at least don’t ignore them, politely say ‘la shakran’ (no thank you), maybe they won’t take advantage of us, blah blah blah”. i mean, of course it is important to respect people, especially when you are a foreigner in their country...especially when you are an american in their developing country. but the line is drawn when they won’t respect you back. this line became more and more clear as the trip continued. i realized that i should have ignored those “guides” just like kettia did.

finally, the dudes left us alone, and we found a taxi closer into the city. kettia told the driver where to go (omg, i don’t know what i would have done without her french! seriously, it saved us a lot of trouble the entire trip!) and things were good. he was even telling us about his trip to france and some good music to listen to. but when he took us to where he thought we were going, the tables turned. as he stopped the taxi it became clear that he didn’t know where he was going, kettia made a suggestion and he said some pretty rude shit. told kettia that he could drop us off with the africans that look more like us (most of morocco is light-skinned and straight-haired), and then he told her that she needs to stop talking so much and listen. finally, he dropped us off in a large plaza, because kettia was fed up with his shit (all of this was in french, so i could tell something was very wrong, but i didn’t know he was insulting us until she told me later). kettia approached this other dude that looked a bit darker and who wasn’t hassling us. he was really cool, showed us directly to the hostel, and didn’t ask us for anything in return. few!

we stayed in a nice hostel, where we met the impressive owner. this dude was french with spanish parents, and he was living between spain, tarifa, and somewhere in italy. he owned 2 hostels, managed a third, switched effortlessly before our eyes between the 4 languages he knew, and was only in his early 30s! i was intimidated.

after we checked in, we had a beautiful dinner at the Populaire Saveur de Poisson:

the waiter was hilarious and very charismatic. the meal was like 28 dollars, but it was totally worth it. every time our glasses were half full, he filled them. each time our plates were half empty, another dish appeared: salad, tajine with couscous, fresh fish filet, tajine with chicken, fresh moroccan flatbread. and one of the best parts is that after all that heavy, heavenly food, they kept dessert simple: nuts and berries with honey, a large slice of watermelon, and moroccan tea.  it was crazy, and kettia and i could barely walk by the end.

we wobbled slowly back to the hostel and rested for a bit. then the owner of the hostel invited us out for a few drinks with his friend and a couple other people from the hostel. it was sunday night, so he said it would be short and sweet. fast forward 3 hours, and we’d danced our asses off at 3 different night clubs, for all of which he got us in free and bought most of the drinks. he even got this guy to come over to our part of the bar and play live drums to the music while we danced. it was seriously one of the funnest evenings (and mornings) i’ve ever had, ever.

kettia and i woke up hammered the next morning, and off to another adventure…

chefchaouen: the blue pearl

oh my god this is one of the most beautiful places i’ve ever been. it came close to making me forget all the other beautiful places i’ve seen.  first off, the city’s buildings are literally blue, which takes tranquility to a whole new level. on top of that, it is surrounded by the rif mountains and waterfalls for your hiking, viewing, and (my) meditating pleasure. sadly, we got there too late and left too early to hike to the famous waterfall (cascades) waterfall. but we did hike to the other famous bridge of god (pond de dieu), and even the ride on the way to the hike took my breath away. i tried to take pictures, but what’s the point? as i’ve mentioned before, my android camera can’t do this justice; you just have to go.
a few attempts:

so when we arrived, we checked into this cute, blue hostel, with this nice old man whose french was better than his spanish, but still not very good. neither of us speak arabic, so we did our best to communicate. we did a bit of shopping and bartering in the afternoon, and told one of the vendors that we wanted to see cascades. he told us that wasn’t possible because we wouldn’t be able to finish the (2+ hour) hike before dark. but he called his cousin to drive us to the bridge of god instead, which is only about 1 hour.

cousin abdul ended up being a super nice guy. he drove us to the hike, hiked it with us, told us all about the city and the bridge, hung out with us while we meandered for a bit, and then found us a safer route back down to the bottom of the mountain. on the way up, we met a couple who also joined us in meandering. after the hike, abdul took us to a delicious, local hole-in-the-wall where we smashed another couple rounds of tianjin and moroccan tea.

we left abdul and went back to the hostel to ask the manager if there was a curfew. he said “tranquil, tranquil”, which i interpreted as “no”. so we went out for more souvenir shopping with abdul’s cousin, whose shop is open 24 hours. and abdul was there, too! we chilled with them, bargained, drank tea, chatted in french, english, spanish. it was a beautifully tranquil evening...until we got back to the hostel. approaching the entrance, we found the manager sitting with the door open, shaking his head and looking at the clock. he shook his index finger at us in contempt, as we rushed in and apologized. i thought he understood us! or maybe he didn’t expect that two single women would stay out past 2am in a small muslim city. either way, oops.

fes, like the hat

so we got up in the morning and headed to fez, and our first day there was quite terrible. we followed these young “tour guides” to the biggest old medina in all of morocco: fes el bali. but after about 15 minutes of walking through narrow streets, turning dark corners (in broad daylight), and getting conflicting information from the young men we followed, we told them nevermind; we’ll find it ourselves. they insisted that we continue following them and became angry when we asked them questions about the route.

eventually, we turned around and just walked the opposite way. we figured that if we were gonna get lost, we might as well do it alone and for free (those dudes always expect cash after you finally arrive at your destination). and then the harassment began. they started hissing at us and yelling “chicky chicky, hey sexy, nice ass, chicky chicky”. they yelled it all the way down the street until they couldn’t see us anymore. later, after we found our way to the medina, we passed them, and they started right back up again, “nice ass, nice ass, hsssss, chicky chicky”. it was disgusting. kettia and i just wanted to leave the whole city.

later, when we were both confused about how to get out of the medina and angry about the hissing, we also got in an argument with each other. we ranted on the way home, and eventually reconciled before bed. but that day was shitty.

the next morning, somehow we were convinced to give fez another chance. kettia remembered that our taxi driver had suggested we get good tourist information from a hotel near the medina. we stopped over there, and this tall, suave manager dude told us the ins and outs of navigating the city without trouble. he told us that with “tour guide kids”, their bark is stronger than their bite; they may talk, but they can’t do anything more because they know that repercussions with the authorities are harsh. this made us feel a bit better, though we still avoided the stoop where we found them the day before.

this day was better; we shopped and navigated the city with ease. kettia bought a fez, and we visited a huge garden in the middle of the city.  we had more tagin at a beautiful restaurant, where we were the only customers. it was good, and the atmosphere was chill, compared with the chaos of the huge madina just outside. kettia even fell asleep (all of the restaurant’s seating was couches. beautifully decorated couches!)

pillows on the restaurant couches. excuse my bag of souvenirs. lol.

kettia, after her nap. 

at the pond in the middle of the garden

the tannery! this is where they dye all the moroccan leather for sale in fes.

omg. this kind of looks like a painting. this is where they hang the leather after dying it. 

it smelled like animal skin (before it's treated) up there, so they gave us mint to hold to our noses while we toured.

kenitra and rabat

so i forgot to mention that kettia met a moroccan couple on the ferry from spain to morocco, who invited us to their house in kenitra.

after fes, we traveled to meet them, and they put us up in their huge, very modern home. the wife used to be a teacher and then she owned a bookstore in the city. after her daughter was born, she became a homemaker. her husband was an engineer, but she described him as un homme d'affaires...translation: THE MAN AROUND HERE. apparently, they have people of high class over to the house all the time, but never no strange american women from the spanish/moroccan ferry. she told kettia, that we were the best guests she’d had in a long time (or ever; i coudn’t tell because of the french/english translation...and ever seems like an exaggeration, but thanks girl!).

anyway, when we got to her house, she treated us to moroccan tea and pastries with her neighbor. then she took us to dinner at her adorable mother’s house (she literally described her mother as adorable, and her mother was also actually adorable). in the dining room there were also beautifully decorated couches.

this flatbread, omg. i need this recipe in my life!

after dinner, they drove us around the city and gave us a quick history. it was dark, but pretty beautiful.

the next day was kettia’s birthday! the wife gave us a tour of rabat, the capital city of morocco. both of these places were super modern, and the woman described them as “the europe of africa”. like her comments about her husband, i didn’t know how to take that exactly.
anyway, i was super grateful that they took time out of their schedules and not only welcomed us into the home of their family and themselves, but also showed us around the country. what a happy, french-speaking coincidence. again, thanks kettia!

back to tarifa

for kettia’s birthday, we stayed at a small hotel called a dar, where the toilet was broken, the internet was spotty, and the employees knew nothing about attractions in the city. we then ran around looking for a good hammam scrub, but couldn’t agree on a place before they all closed. we then went to a cafe that the hostel owner highly recommended, but it ended up being really dirty and boring. on top of that, kettia had bought more souvenirs than she could comfortably carry, so there was a lot of awkward and heavy lugging involved. and we did a little bickering that day, too. regretfully, i don’t think kettia had a very good birthday. :/

the next day, we decided it might be better to go our separate ways before the ferry ride back to spain that afternoon. kettia took some photos around the city, did some shopping, and got a hammam. i bought some fruit, a couple last souvenirs, and got a hammam as well.

now, when i walked into the spa center, i knew what a hammam generally entailed: my body would be scrubbed down and i would feel good afterward. and both of these things happened, but it was far more intense than i anticipated. the spa i went to had pink robes, pink slippers, and pink roses everywhere. there were even pink mints in my personal lobby area. the steam room was extremely hot - uncomfortably so - but there was a cold shower in there, so the opposite sensations were heavenly. it smelled like roses and soap, and inhaling all that steam did my sinuses good.

now, i won’t get into all the details of the scrub, but let’s just say it was quite invasive. the moroccan hammam is not for you shy or conservative folks, and it definitely ain’t for sissies. by the end i felt like a newborn woman, and i drank a 16oz bottle of water in 10 seconds. after sitting and mumbling a few spanish words to the masseuse (i think i was trying to ask her about her family and work life, but i don’t actually remember what happened), i finally had (just) enough coordination to stand up and get dressed. after that i walked slowly to the beach and just sat for a half hour until it was time to meet kettia for the ferry.