warning: don't expect a smile from this one
"A Cold and frosty morning there's not a lot to say About the things caught in my mind As the day was dawning my plane flew away With all the things caught in my mind"
Last night, while walking home from eating a “brownie completo” (aka: brownie with nuts, ice cream, hot chocolate and whipped cream) from Café de Indias, Sarah and I witnessed the most horrible thing. You’re always warned about watching your purse when walking down the street, but honestly, it rarely crosses my mind. Last night, as we were walking home on one of those really narrow streets without sidewalks (only about 3 people could fit across it), a boy zipped by on a Vespa and tried to swipe the purse from the older woman in front of us. She must have been holding it tightly because she went flying as he passed and smacked her head on the cobblestone street. She was knocked completely unconscious-not breathing, eyes open and not blinking. I am so glad other people were around to call 911-or-112...because I would have had no idea what to do or even how to describe where we were. That could have easily been either Sarah or I, we just happened to have our purses on the other side of our bodies. I couldn’t sleep at all last night, I couldn’t get the image of this woman on the pavement with her blank staring eyes and bleeding hand out of my head.
Actually, it's not just last night that I couldn't sleep. I don't think I've slept in about a month. There are days when I look at the past two months here and have a panic attack that it's already half over. And then there are days when I can't imagine being here for 2 more months. I think I'm feeling so torn because, yeah-I'm having a ton of fun, I'm getting to travel to places I'll probably never see again, and I've made some great friends from all over the United States, but I feel like the real reason I'm here is to improve my Spanish and that's just not happening. We speak in English all day except when we're in class (that we take with other Americans), and the only interaction we have with Spaniards is getting harassed by guys in the bars that say things like "fucking conmigo?" So, that's a little frustrating because I don't really know what else I can do about it. I'm sick of people answering me in English when I speak in Spanish.
Tried to go out Tuesday night with some friends, thinking that would be a good way to take my mind off things, which ended up being a horrible idea. Especially Wednesday morning, when I woke up at 9:45 still kind of drunk. I'd already slept through most of my first class, so I grabbed my bag, a banana and starting on a brisk walk to school. I'm walking as fast as I can, with my Marketing book in my hand trying to read about the differences between Japanese and Spanish diapers: the marketing strategy case that I was supposed to have read the night before...while getting soaked by the pouring rain. I arrived outside of my marketing classroom at 10:08 only to find the door locked. I realized then, that Marketing didn't start until 11:00, and it was pointless to go to the last 25 min of my Econ class. I am pathetic. I went down to the cafeteria, had some toast and coffee, picked some dirt off of my jeans, and waited for my hangover to set in. I'll look for my dignity tomorrow...
Mohammeds and bicycles
To start out this adventure, I feel it only appropriate to begin with the dream I had Wednesday night...
I woke up abruptly and immediately grabbed my phone to check the time. It was 7:58. I moved my phone back and forth in front of my face, unable to believe that I’d somehow slept through two alarms and missed out on a free trip to Morocco. I was supposed to meet my friends on “our corner” at 7:10 to walk to the bus scheduled to take off at 7:45. I called my friend Liz to see if the bus had already left, and she answered, crying, saying she wasn’t going. She told me her boyfriend just called to inform her that he got stranded rock climbing on some island, and that he was waiting for a tour bus with the city name painted on the side to drive by so he knew where he was. I hung up with her, and then my señora walked into my room to ask why I was still there. I told her, she gave me a hug, and told me she’d see if she could work it into her schedule to prepare lunch for me.
*This is about where I woke up for real, frumped a little bit, considered how much it would cost me to pay for a 3-day trip to Morocco because I believed I actually missed my bus, and then remembered that the background on my phone in my dream was different than what it is in reality... Relieved, I decided to check what time it actually was...it was 5:34am. I could go back to sleep for an hour. And I did.
On Thursday morning, we all hopped on a bus bound for Algeciras, where we boarded a ferry to take us to Morocco. The ferry was enormous had the most amazing, freshest glazed donuts I’ve ever eaten. :-) Not to mention the musical blast-from-the-past playlist coming through the speakers:
TLC-No Scrubs
Sisqo-The Thong Song
Will Smith-Just the Two of Us
Jennifer Lopez-If You Had My Love
Kevin Lyttle-Turn Me On
Marc Anthony-I Need to Know
LL Cool J-Control Myself
Black Eyed Peas-Hey Mama
Upon arriving at the border of Morocco, I exchanged 30 euros for 331 dirhams. We drove to Tetuán and were greeted in our hotel with some mint green tea and date-filled cookies. We drank this tea 3 times within 4 hours...
We met up with our Moroccan tour guide, Jamal, and he took us to “La Escuela Taller de Tetuán,” a workshop/school where they learn to make jewelry, tapestries, plaster and wood sculptures, etc.
For lunch, we had some typical Moroccan food...couscous, vegetables, chicken, some soup that kinda tasted like Chef BoyArDee, and beef kebabs. This is where Jamal helped us out with a little bit of Islamic culture. He began by telling us you couldn’t be from Morocco unless you had a son named Mohammed and a bicycle. And that women cost more than men...alive and dead ones. A rich man invited us into his home (palace) to take a look around. We learned that there are fountains in the middle of the house as well as music playing so that the children don’t hear their parents having sex. Interesting...
We walked through an outdoor market and had the opportunity to buy some handmade rugs. No price is final...you have to haggle. If you show interest in something, a salesperson will take you somewhere private where you can debate prices. A girl from my program got this gorgeous tablecloth and another rug for 90euros total, while another boy paid 160euros for the tablecloth alone. It made me feel really uncomfortable/claustrophobic...you can’t look at anything without someone breathing down your neck saying: “10 dirham, 1 euro, special student price, very cheap, you like, no?” I ended up spending less than my 30euros...I bought some tea, a handmade blanket, and a bracelet.
On Friday, we had a company visit in Tánger at Tulantex, a textile factory where they make professional uniforms (eg. the streetcleaner uniforms). The visit was very poorly run. We basically barged into this factory while people were doing their job (that they earn a depressing 200euros a month for) and treated them like they were an exhibit at the zoo. We were obviously a huge distraction for the workers, and I think the whole thing made us look disrespectful and inconsiderate.
The trip took a dramatic turn for the better after the visit when we got the chance to ride camels! We also got to visit Hercules’ caves...Looking out the cave at the ocean, you can see the map of Africa in reverse Here's my best attempt to capture that:
The best part of the whole trip was Friday night, where we got to have a cultural exchange with some Muslim students studying Spanish at a Cervantes Institute. We went to a local café, drank some more tea, and talked in Spanish. The girl that I talked with and I got along really well. We talked about our different cultures/lives/experiences, and when it was time to leave, she started crying and told me she hoped I would return and stay with her to talk to her family. It was really cool to feel the impact I was able to have on her in an hour and a half.
Saturday, we traveled to Chaouen, a small town nestled in the mountains with bright blue streets and white buildings. They paint the streets every 15 days, so they always look clean. I don’t even know how to describe how beautiful it was. We got to experience a little more of the Moroccan gastronomy ...we ate tortillas filled with pulled chicken and rice and topped with powdered sugar and cinnamon. After lunch, some girls and I got henna tattoos. Haha.
Now, it’s Sunday...I have a ton of homework to do for tomorrow, but we’re going to have a photo party to exchange all of the pictures from the trips and smoke some shisha...because like 25 people bought hookahs in Morocco. Tonight, we’re going to go out for Mexican food and go see
this movie...it’s been nominated for an Academy Award.
JAMÓN JAMÓN!!
Last Friday, some friends and I ran in a 12k race: la Carrera Nocturna del Guadalquivir. It started at 10pm, and we ran along the river and downtown, and we crossed the finish line in the Olympic Stadium. It was sweet. There were thousands of participants, and probably like 25 girls. I finished in 1hr1min. I´m going to run in an 11k in 2 weeks, and if I can get 9 other people to run it with me, we get a
ham!
I AM GOING TO PARIS!! Sarah and I bought tickets to Paris for 76€ last week. So, we´re going over Thanksgiving. i´m super excited!
Turns out a good ol´ botellón by the river is the best way to make Spanish friends...
especially 17 year olds...who idolize Will Smith?
the dollar hits an all-time low
1€=$1.4127
ugh.
OCTOBER 1, 2007
the day i got my ass grabbed by a 35 year old man in a suit in broad daylight.
gross
Ramblings
A funny experience...
Friday afternoon, Liz and I ventured over to the river and rented a paddleboat for an hour. As we pulled a total Austin Powers (we couldn’t turn the boat around) right in front of the bar we rented it from, an older Spanish man, who’d clearly been drinking Cruzcampos all afternoon, waddled over to us and yelled in broken English, “Don’t...Drive...Drunk!” He told us to be careful because the fish were dangerous and made exaggerated biting gestures. We took a nice little trip up and down the Guadalquivir...definitely saw a couple getting it on under a willow tree...After our hour was up, the same man (Enrique was his name) and his buddies were still there. These guys were dreamin’ by this point...dancing, singing, making up stories about being bullfighters..etc. One of them really wanted us to dance with him, but we declined as he took a break to go pee in the bushes. Enrique bought us some sangria that was, as he put it, “cold and delicious-like your face.” He claimed that when he was younger and had hair he looked just like John Bulushi, and then he sang us some Blues Brothers and Bob Dylan. If we understood correctly, he told us that he’s met many foreign women but his sperm belongs to Seville. He told us we were beautiful (even if Liz is a mujer cruel) but he’s “no Michael Jackson, fuckin A.” God bless you for your honesty.
On Spanish gyms...
I think that men here break every rule, written and unwritten, of gym etiquette. First, everyone wears flip flops to lift weights. I feel like that’s not only a little dangerous, but a little unsanitary as well. Second, they wear their fancy jeans, fully equipped with extra pockets, zippers, chains...bells, whistles...you know, the works. Oh, and the mirrors aren’t for balance and posture checks...they’re for flexing in front of and fixing your “carefully untidy” gelled hair/mullet/faux-hawk. I’ve even caught a guy right up next to the mirror cleaning his teeth...thoroughly. The weight plates look bigger than in the US too, so that you appear to be lifting more...which gives the Spanish man an excuse to take an extra long break to flex in front of the mirror...maybe even check his tan lines?
On Spanish music...
I’m convinced it’s non-existent. Everywhere you go, they’re blasting America’s has-been top 40. Spain loves Rihanna. I think every SmartCar that drives by playing music obnoxiously loud is under her umbrella-ella-ella-eh-eh. It’ll definitely be weird to come back to Wisconsin and not know any of the popular music...it takes a while for our hits to make their way to Europe. The club we went to on Friday night played TLC’s “No Scrubs”...dios mio! **breaking news: my host sister just hopped in the shower and is blasting “Umbrella” (the dance remix)...point proven**
On Spanish cell phones...
They SUCK. How does one go through 30 euros of “saldo” in 10 days?? I missed out on getting my first recharge doubled because I recharged mine on Sept 18th instead of September 15th. Thanks for telling me this on September 28th. I also got duped into signing up for this group “QTal!” that’s supposed to save you money on your calls/texts to a certain group of people...sounded like a good idea, so I signed up. Turns out it cost 6 euros to set up and 3 euros for each member of the group to join. Thanks, Vodafone, thanks a lot. This was the first negative experience I’ve had with the language barrier...very frustrating...but I did some therapy shoe shopping and ice cream eating. All is good now.
On Spanish bathrooms...
I had previously thought that bathrooms typically come stocked with toilet paper, soap and paper towels or an automatic drier. Definitely not the case. Consider yourself lucky to get one out of the three. I now always carry around my own TP and have invested in some antibacterial hand sanitizer.
Random note...
I like that dads hold their children’s hands as they walk them to school in the morning on their way to work. The school uniforms are precious... under the age of probably 6, they wear an art smock with little paintbrushes and crayons embroidered onto a fake pocket, and above 6 they get the knee-high socks and polo shirts.
