Cats, Cous Cous and Creepy Cloaks, my twenty four hours (maomeno) in Morroco

Yes, you heard right, twenty four hours in Morroco. Marruecos, en español. You see, the first day started off a bit unfortunately, and due to rain, wind, and cloud( or, some could say, G-d), all boats leaving Algeciras, España to the costa of Afrika were canceled. We were supposed to leave at about five pm on Friday, instead we left Saturday at noon. In turn, I spent a night on the coast of Spain, in a cruddy hotel, with a hole in the bathroom wall and a TV from 1973. The shower was more like a really tall faucet, and the floor was covered in ants. The weather in Spain was terrible, the wind so strong that literally, some of the thinner, weaker girls were blowing away, and the windows shook all night with what seemed like hurricane strength gusts. The next morning, we would awake to see fallen palm trees scattering the streets and Spanish citizens roaming in confusion after a night of powerful weather.



So what did we, college students, do to pass that time!? Mix Sangria and cheap Champagne, talk about other students in our program, giggle at are rudimentary knowledge of Spanish culture and ignore the dire state of our impromptu hotel accomodations!



The next day, after spending WAY to much time in a town that Rick Steve´s travel book described as a town ¨best for leaving¨ we finally boarded a rickety beast of a boat destined for Morocco. Although it was supposed to take forty-five minutes, it took about twice that time, slowly drifting across the choppy water and moving my stomach to nausea. A few vomited, and periodically one could hear the sounds of fellow passengers dry heaving, but I stayed strong, and deboarded shaken but still full of predeparture toast and café.



So, we arrived, in Spain. Yes, in Ceuta, a tiny town in Africa that is still part of the Spanish nation. We boarded a bus and finally arrived in Marreucos, many hours after we were supposed to. Gone were Spanish language things, well at least some of them, in came the scribbly cursive of Arabic script. Gone were the sexily dressed grandmas of Spain, in came the head scarfs and cloaks common in Morroco. Gone were the modern amenities of a European nation, and in came the dirty reality of a third world country. We were in Africa. But it seemed more like the Middle East to me.



We did not go to Tangier. We did not go to Marrakesh. We did not go to Fez. We did not go to Casablanca. Instead, we went to two smaller towns, Tetuon and something with a Che....Needless to say it was a bit off the beaten path. So what did my trip include? well, judging from the title of this entry (something I had been formulating and editing since my arrival in Morocco, something I think captured the essence of my little trip) lots of homeless felines, an array of colorful powders, lots of men, and a lot of feeling out of place.



Sometimes, it takes a trip to Morroco to remind you that Spain, although nothing like America when dipping down into the essence of a national cutlure, is still some much closer to what I would describe as home. Morroco was more muslim than I imagined. There were little to no women walking the streets, a stray older lady would pass, but every cafe or restaurant we passed would be filled with men, and only men. The majority of women wore headscarves, and although I never dress sexy, I found my own outfit entirely inappropriately flashy in the country.

Well....I think I gotta go, I will try to post more as soon as possible. Sorry about the abrupt ending.

love love love,
me