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19 September 2010

Assalaamu Aleikum!


We disembarked from Casablanca, Morocco at 2100 on Tuesday, September 14th and have since had little time to email family let alone update my blog. As soon as we can no longer see the shoreline, classes and “typical” university activities are back in full swing. The 7 days and 8 nights that we spend at sea between Morocco and Ghana are all school days, meaning that today, Sunday, I got up at 0800 for class and will have two more classes before 1630. No complaints, but the words recuperate or relax have been almost completely stripped from my vocabulary.

Morocco was a whirlwind, and I predict that most of my future blog posts will begin with this sentiment. We arrived early into Casablanca and made our way out of the industrial (phosphate, yuck) port and into the city to be introduced to our first real taste of the term culture shock. Absolute chaos converged at a four-way intersection with people, cabs, donkeys, trucks, and about 100 bright-eyed and bushy-tailed American students trying to cross the street with no lights signals or assistance. It took us 15 minutes to make maybe 400 meters progress.

Thankfully, the first hour in Casablanca did not characterize the entire visit… but it did set the stage for what I’ll be up against as the voyage inches its way east.

Over the course of the next 4 days, I made my way from Casablanca to Marrakech, Marrakech to Essaouria, Essaouria to Safi, then back to Casablanca. I did not know what heat was until I stood in the Jamaa El Fna, Marrakech’s most famous souk and square, in jeans, a sweater, and a scarf (for modesty). I’ll tell you, it felt like death. I have so much more respect and empathy for Muslim women who absolutely boil in the Sahara or Middle East in their hijabs, let alone burkahs. Jamaa El Fna is everything that you’ve seen in National Geographic and more: snake charmers, monkeys, hookah, orange juice, spices, brightly colored textiles, mint tea, berber rugs, and more. Bartering, yelling, drumming, flutes – noise, noise, noise. It sounds silly, but in Marrakech I felt like I had stepped into the behind-the-scenes version of the Disney movie Aladdin.

Other parts of Morocco, however, do not proselytize this famous enchantment. Quite the contrary – the humble and bumpy bus ride from Marrakech to Essaouria told a story of devotion to Allah, family values, and hard work. A splattering of stony communities surrounded by maybe a dozen or so argan or olive farms were the only semblances of life that interrupted miles upon miles of sprawling dirt and rock plains. Approaching the coast, we traveled through a number of small towns – each one distinguishable from the next based on the uniqueness and stature of their Mosques – where men sat outside cafés drinking espresso and children played in the dirt. Finally, at the seashore, young boys littered the beaches and the mood of the Medina and souk is much more relaxed and easy.

It’s amazing how across the globe the differences between dense urban cities, plains, and coasts are so pronounced. My time in Morocco would not have been the same without each special perspective of lifestyle and sense of purpose.

I spent my last day in Morocco at a slower pace, beginning with a mid-morning misty visit to the Hassan II Mosque – second largest and most impressive to Mecca. Wow. Unbelievable. I’ve been lucky enough to experience some of the world’s most elaborate Christian holy monuments, but nothing compares to the marvel that is Hassan II. The Mosque is set on a cliff that overlooks the Atlantic Ocean, but on this particular morning the fog was so dense that the whole place felt like it was sitting on a giant cloud. The mosque was for the most part desolate so the reverie of the silence – next to the chaos that is Casablanca – was extremely humbling.

Faith is a huge, if not the most important, part of Moroccan culture. Luckily and unluckily, we arrived in Casablanca a day before the end of Ramadan. Ramadan is a month long holy practice that involves Sawn, the fourth pillar of Islam, of fasting during daylight hours. Beyond food, drinking, smoking, and sexual activity are also renounced from dawn to sunset the entire month as the entire community experiences solidarity in the practices of unselfishness and abstinence from desire. We were lucky in the sense that we bore exquisite witness to ending and subsequent celebration of such a sacred practice so close to it’s origins. We were unlucky because of our indiscrete American presence and the association we bore to the Floridian pastor who threatened to burn Korans. I didn’t run into any trouble, Moroccans are phenomenally hospitable, but some people I know did (and for good reason, to be perfectly honest). I approached the entire situation as follows: I am only one American, but my actions can work to remedy the ignorance and selfishness that define pockets of a nation. The Moroccans I communicated with received me kindly, and any inconspicuous thoughts they may have had about my culture or me were hopefully remedied by my respect and desire to learn about their families, their homes, their traditions. I could spend another 500 words describing the utter disgust I feel toward this pastor or whoever subscribes to his same worldview, but that too would be selfish and in the spirit of Ramadan’s close, I will refrain.

After some time to reflect, I realize that I left Morocco with only half the story. All of my encounters were with men. Men dominate this part of the world – banks, cafés, the souks, restaurants, taxis, tour operations, etc. The women were “around” but they were eerily silent. As most of you know, I’m absolutely fascinated by women and the Muslim tradition. I noticed the absence of female interaction maybe much more than my peers because I believe their experience to be especially unique to men. We stopped at an Argan co-operative in the middle of who knows where on the way from Marrakech to Morocco where I tried to make conversation with the female employees – much to my surprise, the women that did speak English-French were actually immigrants from Israel. Go figure. A community, a country, a world can only be half defined by its male population so I can’t leave Morocco with its entire truth.

I’ll come back to Morocco someday, and get the full story. For now I keep my short and wild time there in my heart as I continue my journey to sub-Saharan Africa: Ghana, another country of wonder and excitement, and the first of all Africa to gain independence from colonial reign.

Until next time, love to you all.
Ma’a salaama

08 September 2010

Tapas, Vino, Vida

Before I even start this blog, I feel like I should set the stage by mentioning that I'm using my personal computer with public WiFi, sitting on the steps of a giant Cathedral in middle of a public square in Cadiz where people are enjoying desayuno and café con leche at little cafeterias in the sun. To my right, a French-speaking family and some SAS students are chatting and to my left, a group of homeless people are enjoying white wine out of champagne flutes and asking the passerby's if they would like to share.

Spain is nothing and everything I expected it to be. Just like in the States, each city in Spain has its own unique personality. Los Angeles isn't just like San Francisco, and accordingly Madrid isn't like Sevilla or Cadiz. I'm so glad I've gotten to experience all three, you'll see why.

We made port in Cadiz, Spain which if you look on a map is basically the bottom southwest-ish tip of the country. I took a train with a new travel buddy, Michaella from CO, from the coast to Madrid where we spent 3-4 days taking in the city almost entirely by foot.

We made an effort to get to a few big ticket items (The Prado, Royal Palace, Reine Sofia, Plaza Mayor...), but wandering lead us to the best parts of Spain that were relatively untainted by the idealized and romanticized versions of Madrid that have been fabricated by the business of tourism. We both wanted no part of Flamenco, Bull-fights, or guided bus tours and therefore spent a lot of time navigating the metro, walking into bars asking for directions, getting flat out lost, and just stumbling into cool spots by accident. There is something so liberating about having absolutely no idea where you are, but knowing you're safe and will find a way back to where you need to be eventually. We probably walked three or four miles from wherever we got off on our first metro jump, and took in the most amazing sunset, sights, smells, and sounds before "dinner."

I put dinner in quotes because meal-patterns are probably the most foreign characteristic of Spain compared to other big cities worldwide. People rave about the food here, and I'll admit it's been fun, but I don't know how they do it! Spaniards basically eat some variation of the same thing for each meal: potatoes, olives, eggs, cured ham, tomato paste, bread, and cheese. The only place you can even get paella or any other "spanish" dish you've heard of can only be eaten at the restaurants with pictures outside the windows (tourist magnets). Oh, and beer, wine, or coffee is consumed all day long. Like seriously. Beer - for breakfast. Beer or espresso and potato crisps and maybe some toast and tomato paste spread.

Anyway, enough about food. Some highlights over the next 2 full days in Madrid included lots of time in the metro, some unplanned emergency shopping stops, great art, photography adventures, food, and countless attempts to order tap water, not bottled at the bars.

My unplanned emergency shopping stop? Zapatos. SHOES. Not even two hours into our second day walking around Plaza Mayor searching for El Rastro (a big farmers market type thing), my leather sandal broke! The part that attaches in-between your big toe and that second toe just straight up ripped out. We spent the next 45 minutes flopping around the square searching for shoes -- harder than you'd think because every store near us was either selling ham or postcards. I ended up blowing 15 Euro on a funky pair that I'll never wear again to get me through the day. We missed out on the market, but a good sense of humor led to other fun sights that day.

Michaella and I decided that on our way back to Cadiz we'd get off the train in Sevilla, put our bags in lockers, and see what the fuss was about because the SAS folks were totally raving about it. We spent the first hour trying to figure out how to get to the historic district and honestly, after all the hassle getting there, it wasn't even worth it. My experience might be tainted by just how tired we already were from our time in Madrid, but Sevilla is honestly the most touristy place I've ever been in my life. Uggh. We visited the big Cathedral, which was cool, but everything else was dedicated to that romantic imaginary Spain that I talked about earlier. Horse drawn carriages? Flamenco-style aprons for sale on every corner? No thanks. Don't get me wrong, I'm glad we made the stop, but only for the revelations that grew out of what we experienced. We opted to take an early afternoon train back to Cadiz where we parted ways and I spent the evening wandering on my own through this little fishing town.

The 6 hours last night and the 4 I've spent this morning walking around and dining alone,have been the most rewarding of my entire time here. Last night after I dropped my backpack off at the boat, I got as far away from the restaurants with menus printed in English and into this back alley little Cafeteria/Bar (everything is called a bar here) and ate all the tapas the bartender recommended and was treated to a glass of his favorite vino tinto on the house. :) I sat there for probably three hours just listening to all the people laugh, eat, and drink around me as I wrote in my journal. It was amazing. I felt relief and contentment in the truth of that place. Hard to explain.

This morning, too, has been equally rewarding. Just walking around, picking up some fruit at some side market, stopping for café con leche and listening to the chatter among groups of friends or neighbors. This pace and independence makes my heart happy! Tonight, we push-off at 8 pm and by late tomorrow afternoon I'll be in Morocco. So surreal. SO SO surreal. Go to sleep in one land, wake up in another. I've loved getting emails from you all! I'll get back to them when I can get internet again, in the meantime I'll say a mass "I LOVE YOU!" to everyone.

Adios for now! I can't get pictures to upload for some reason, I'll get some up sooner or later though.





03 September 2010

Across the Pond

Greetings from the Atlantic Ocean! My first six days at sea (and in school, let me remind you!) have been more full, frenzied, and surreal than I think I could possibly articulate on the amount of sleep I’ve been getting. I’ve experienced different variations of exhaustion throughout my young adult life, but sea faring has given “jet lag” an entirely new meaning. I advanced four hours from California to Halifax before I even handed over my passport. Each night the ship purser reminds us to set our clocks ahead one hour so by the time we arrive in Spain on Saturday morning we will have “eased” into our new time zone. The time-warp is only compounded by the effects of attempting to learn 700 new names and faces, taking new classes as we pass through 10-12 foot hurricane waves, and planning trips in foreign lands with friends I’ve barely just yet met. Sensory overload, much?

I don’t want to drag on too much about life on the boat and how strange it is to just be a speck in a huge ocean -- it certainly is strange -- because life is good, and I’m so grateful for every exhausted, frantic moment of it all. I will tell you that the food and workout regime has been a bit of an adjustment. There are about a dozen cardio machines that people have to sign up for at 1800 the night before, you can only reserve a 30 minute time slot with no double booking. They go like hotcakes! The food is standard cafeteria-style fare. I’ve pretty much decided that when I have to eat on the boat, I’m a vegetarian. Think back to your college caf and you pretty much get why. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner are some variation of refined carbohydrates, potatoes, a meat dish, and steamed veggies. Bring on the veg! For those of you who know me, I’m really not a picky eater at all… I’m just incredibly spoiled in California with great food, everywhere, all the time. Thank goodness for Amazing Greens Superfood Bars!! On the upside, ho-hum food makes the anticipation for our arrival even more exciting!

When we make port in Cadiz, a new friend and I will take a train to Madrid and stay in a cute little hotel near the Parque de Retiro. I hope to find myself sitting outside on the terrace of some humble cobblestone street near La Plaza Mayor with some café negro, my camera, and the sun beating down on my shoulders. I met a very nice girl in my Environmental Politics class who actually goes to college in Madrid, so she’s given me tons of great tips for wandering and experiencing the best of Spanish culture. I’m so excited!

I’ve seen Archbishop Desmond Tutu around a few times with his wife Leah. He spoke to us on the second day of orientation of his love for young people and the energy we bring a man of his age and his experience. I am truly a lucky girl to have had many people in my life who have loved and encouraged me as I’ve tried to figure out what I want to do or who I want to be… but when “You can change the world and don’t ever let anyone tell you differently” is whispered by this man, it just doesn’t get any more inspiring. I hope we cross paths at some point, I think we will. I’m hopeful.I’m realizing now, this entry is sounding a little more journal-like than I was hoping to impart, but it might be good for everyone to know a little about the springboard from which I’m about to jump out into the world from. T-minus 24 hours! I love and miss you all!