Jabberwalking

March 6, 2010
Well, since I’m lying in bed sick with some sort of flu, I thought it was a great time to do some updates. Today I was supposed to go to Gibraltar and play with monkeys and eat fish’n chips, but instead, my body decided it would rather catch the flu and stay at home fighting a fever and stomach pains. I’ve been chillin’ in bed since Thursday afternoon. It seems like as good a time as ever, however, to give you a little update!

Last weekend, I just took a little hop over to Africa for 2 ½ days. Yup, that’s right, I went to Morocco!! I left with a big group of fellow U.S. students on Saturday afternoon with a tour group called WeLoveSpain. We took a bus south to the Strait of Gibraltar and caught a super-awesome-deluxe high-speed ferry to the Spanish town of Ceuta on the northern tip of Africa.

It was a super classy ferry, and it whisked us across the sea in 30 minutes. Once we were on the continent of Africa (how cool is that?!), we landed in a Spanish town called Ceuta. The super-ferry actually carried all 3 buses used by the tour group, so we all hopped back on the buses for a tour of Ceuta. We drove through the mountains, and right one of the highest points to look down on the city:

Here, you can see the Atlantic on one side, and the Mediterranean on the other. The little middle bit is downtown Ceuta. It was SO windy up there, so I also have some mad-hair-blowing-crazy pics, which are always fun:

After seeing Ceuta, we drove to the Moroccan border, where our tour group collected our passports and handed them to border control. We all received our passports back, and a nice Moroccan officer (“Welcome to Morocco!!”) walked through the bus checking each of our passports to make sure our pictures matched our faces. Once done, we drove through the checkpoint and into Morocco. The border checkpoint reminded me a bit of the Mexican border… you could definitely tell that you were moving into some “rougher” territory. Morocco is a third world country, and you could see that going in. Well, actually, the first thing you saw going in were rows and rows of Moroccan flags along the highway:

These are set up all around, apparently because the king of Morocco was recently in town. And you know how kings like their flags. Anyway, we drove through the rain and dark into the big city of Tetuan. We showed up at our hotel, checked in, had a bit of dinner, and crashed.

Early the next morning, after some breakfast, we all hopped back on the bus and drove to a small mountain town called Chefchaouen. I should note here that we stayed in Northern Morocco, where it is mountainous and quite green. It isn’t until move further south, near Casablanca, that you start to see that iconic desert scenery, since the Sahara is further south. So, Chefchaouen is seated up in the green and rainy Rif Mountains, a small mountain range that runs just along that northern tip of Africa by the Strait of Gibraltar.
We drove up into the mountains in our big bus, and I tried to fall asleep to keep from getting nauseous because of all the winding roads. When we got to Chefchaouen, the 3 buses of people were split up into two groups to go with two different tour guides. Our tour guide was a very nice man who was obviously incredibly passionate about his city’s history and about cultural exchange. He was so eager to answer any questions about Morocco, Islam, or Arab culture. Also, he was just a cute old man.

We walked all through the little town, which, like Sevilla, was comprised of narrow streets running between the buildings. All of the building walls, however, were painted varying shades of bright, light-blue, to help reflect heat. The color is beautiful, and was so vivid that it’s the image of Morocco that most stands out in my mind even now. Sometimes bright green moss would start to grow along the walls, blending with the blue to create this beautiful mixture of green, blue, and turquoise.

We continued climbing through the streets (since it’s built onto a mountain, the town is sort of structured in layers; you climb a steep set of stairs to a layer, and then another set of stairs, etc.), and reached the river on the edge of the town. From the river, we looked up the road, and there was a bunch of young men thumping on drums and chanting and dancing. Once they saw us all, the got really excited and started singing for us:

Our Moroccan welcome band! Thanks dudes!
At the end of the tour, the guide took us to a small weaving cooperative, which provides weaving work (carpets, blankets, and scarves) for local artisans. Some of the artisans showed us their work, and then showed us the weavers working upstairs. The blankets and carpets were beautiful, and I had wanted a memorable souvenir, sooo…

I bought a rug! Well, actually it’s a small blanket woven with camel wool, but it’s thick enough to really be a small area rug. It has an Arabic design (other rugs had a Berber design), and I liked the colors because the white and blue reminded me of the buildings in Chefchaouen. Also, the bit of yellow thrown into the design made it TU-appropriate. I’m excited to show it off in the apartment next year!
That was also my first haggling experience. Really, the artisans at this co-op were supposed to sell us the products for fixed prices, and they told us that—especially since it’s a cooperative and not just some street-stall. The products were better made, and being sold by the very people who made them. However, those guys cannot resist haggling; it’s in the blood there. When I was upstairs admiring a scarf, which was supposed to cost about 20 euro, the artisan came up and said in a low voice with shifty eyes, “Which one you like best?” Honestly, I wasn’t a huge fan of any of the scarf styles, but I expressed mild interest in a red one. “Okay, I make you a deal. 2 or 3 pieces for that. Okay? 2 or 3.” I still can’t figure out if I heard him correctly, because that is a HUGE discount, more than a normal haggle. But I just said, “no thank you” and looked at rugs downstairs. When I asked the young man showing me the blankets/rugs how much they were, he said 35 euro. Then he dropped to 30. I said no thanks, and he asked “How much do you want to pay for it?” I played low and said “13 euro.” He just started shaking his head, and said “Pssh, 27 euro.” I said 18, and then he took it down to 20. I tried to push him to 19, but he was getting frustrated and had none of it. I was going to play the “walk away” move, but it didn’t phase him. From the body language, I read that he really wasn’t supposed to even be as low as 20, and couldn’t go further. I thought “hey why not?” and bought it. Then he tried to convince me to buy 2 for 20 euro: “One for you and one for your mother! This one for your mom!”
Me: “Aw, see, I really don’t think my mom needs more stuff.”
Young man: *Smiling, not quite understanding, still looking hopefully like I’ll take the deal*
I did not take the deal—sorry mom!—and got my rug and left to meet back up with the tour group. Haggle accomplished!

We then had about and hour of free time in the outdoor market. We wandered from stall to stall, trying to look completely uninterested, because if you even looking mildly interested, the vender swarms upon you with ferver, and bombards you with questions like “How much? You like? Tell me what you want! You want blue one instead? I sell you for university price!” NO! THANKS! BYE! It takes persistence to ward them off. I think OFF mosquito repellant could make some money off of a new product to ward off pushy vendors.
I ended up getting some cute earrings, similar to ones I’ve seen at Urban Outfitters, for 1 euro. At Urban, they probably would have cost about $14. Win!

This is a long entry, so I’ll tell you about the rest of my trip in the next entry…

Friday, Feb. 19
I have to say it. I have had it up to HERE with hard-boiled eggs and canned tuna. Look, I can handle one or the other to a reasonable extent (though I really don’t like the eggs), but together… those are two foods that can really make you gag if you feel the slightest bit queasy or icky while eating them. My host mother likes to put these two ingredients in a lot of her cooking (mainly salads), and we’re getting them a lot more now that Lent has rolled around. I have a feeling that this will become part of my Lenten sacrifice. Very well. I accept the challenge.

Today, Christy, Alicia, and I met up at the CC-CS center to research flights for Semana Santa. Christy and I have been trying to plan a trip for the first 7 days of Semana Santa, and then return on Holy Thursday to be in Seville for the end of Holy Week. Christy and I finally worked out a plan, and I’m SUPER excited:
1 to 2 days in Brussels, Belgium
1 day in Luxembourg City, Luxembourg
4 days in Paris, France
We’ll be flying to Brussels and then taking a train through Luxembourg and then to Paris. We just bought plane tickets yesterday, and I’m SOOO excited!! I’m also inordinately excited about Luxembourg… before our trip, Christy and I decided that we need to go to a country that people always forget, like Andorra or Lichtenstein… or LUXEMBOURG! Did you know that Luxembourg has the highest GDP per capita in the world? Did you know it was one of the original founders of the European Union? Did you know that Skype’s headquarter is in Luxembourg? Did you know that it’s supposed to look like a fairy-tale-land?

I sold you didn’t I?
Besides seeing that grand little country, Christy and I will be able to visit Kristin in Paris. I’m so so so excited, and am feeling so relieved to have tickets already.
In other news, Christy, Alicia, and I were all simultaneously hit by crippling Oreo cravings, so we made our way down Calle Tetuan toward Corte Ingles. This store is insanity. It’s pretty much the only department store here, and there honestly doesn’t need to be any other ones. It’s like Macy’s and Target had a baby, which mutated because of radioactive-department-store-waste. It has almost everything and is SO overwhelmingly crowded. We made our way down to the lowest level, where the supermarket is located. I have never seen such a hopping supermarket. You would think it was a Nordstrom’s sale. We wove through crazy people and found the Oreos—Eureka!! I had to express some amount of pity, however, because Spain has not yet advanced to the double-stuffed variety. I can only hope they get there.
I bought some Texas BBQ Pringles too, because I just couldn’t resist, and I’ve been wanting snack food. I have a feeling they won’t last long though…

After weaving through the weird, non-refrigerated milk aisle, and passing by some giant pig legs hanging from the ceiling (though this is so common here, it barely registered), we paid and quickly exited the store. Mission accomplished.

Thurs., Feb. 18
I know more real Spanish people now!!!
Tonight was the Intercambio meet-and-greet at the CC-CS center, and it ended up being SO much fun. It had some definite awkward beginnings but worked out. Everyone made their way to the patio at the Center where there were tapas, wine, beer, and soda. Each person had to wear a name tag, so everyone was awkwardly stealing glances at other people’s chests to see names and find their intercambios. Awesome.
Like I said, in the end it worked out, because it seems that all the Spanish intercambios are really cool people. My intercambio is a woman in her late twenties named Irene who works in business. She’s super nice, and easy to talk to. During the fiesta, however, I ended up getting into a conversation with a couple CC-CS girls, and a Spanish intercambio named Alberto. He is working on his master’s thesis in business at the University of Sevilla, and learned English from an American teacher in France. (And he said he would soon be going to San Francisco to learn French… I still don’t understand.) He was hilarious, and good company. He explained the Spanish way of life to us: sleeping, drinking, having a good time, and never arriving on time. He then explained how several guys at the fiesta were going to light up some “hashish.”
Me: Wait. Weed? Here?
Alberto: Weed! Yeah! We Spanish smoke a lot of weed… it’s really cheap in Morocco!
I did not know this. I thought it was just the drinking and the cigarettes… but I have to say it makes sense. Why are people always sleeping in? Late? Relaxed? All, “no pasa nada!”… it’s the weed. (This reasoning made Alberto laugh.) Alberto explained smilingly, “Spain is… how do you say… a country of vices.” And then he smiled broadly and helped himself to some more white wine.
We also started talking to his friend Pablo there, and he told me how Pablo was a professional sleeper. Pablo looked very proud after this statement.
Well, we continued to laugh, chat, eat tapas, and drink. (Don’t worry—just one tinto de verano for me, and then Fanta after that! It was a school night after all.) At the end of the fiesta, my intercambio Irene and I went to go look for her Mexican friend who was waiting for her by the CC-CS center. They had met in Rome when they were both learning Italian there, and he was visiting her in Sevilla. I ended up striking a conversation with him, and it was insanely refreshing. His accent was so familiar! We talked about a lot of the differences in Spain-Spanish and Mexican-Spanish, and had some good laughs (check out the word “coger”).
It was a fantastic night, and I’m SO happy to have really spent some fiesta-time with some españoles!