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Showing posts with label Moroccanisms. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Moroccanisms. Show all posts

Sounds From The Streets


Anyone who knows me can attest that I am a city girl. I love the excitement and energy of a big city because it feels like the place is bustling and alive. There’s something about the buzz of so many people doing so many different things that I’m really drawn to. After living in LA and constantly hearing the sounds of helicopters, sirens, music, lawnmowers, traffic, and so on, it’s taken me a while to get used to such a calm atmosphere in Morocco. Agadir is right in the middle of laid back and busy and maybe that’s why I like it. It’s not the “boonies” but it’s not Casablanca, either. There’s just enough going on here to balance out the tranquility of the natural landscape. However, there are a few sounds that I hear on a regular basis and I want to bring you into my world for a few minutes.


There’s a whole crew of people that work within the streets of the neighborhoods. They buy, sell, and bargain their way through alleys and rows of houses and apartments. Each person is different, but over time I’ve come to recognize them by their voices alone. You see, they don’t bother with renting storefronts or setting up shop in the souk. Oh no, my friend, oh no. Instead, they walk, ride, push, or pedal their way around shouting at the top of their lungs whatever goods they have available. Sometimes it’s fish, sometimes it’s bleach, and sometimes they’re just asking for money.

Over the past few weeks I’ve taken recordings of the cast of characters so you can listen and see what I experience on a daily basis. Ready? Here we go…

  1. The Beer guy.

    No, not that kind of beer. It’s more like “bier.” That would be the Darija word for “sell.” This guy is one of the most aggressive of the bunch. He pushes a cart around full of random junk in hopes that people will want whatever he has that particular day. It’s kind of like the world’s oldest form of eBay.  He calls out, “Beeeeeeeeer, beerp beerp beerp!” and that’s how everyone knows he’s coming. If you have something that’s broken or you just don’t want it, you bring it down to the street for him to buy. He’ll fix it if it’s broken and sell it later in the week, or just buy it from you and sell it later down the road. You can hear the guy from a mile away and if you flag him down from your window, he’ll stop. Then you’re able to peruse his cart full of goods and wares, and buy or sell as you please. He comes around a few times every day and he’s impossible to ignore.



  1. The Fish guy.

    There are a few fish dudes in my hood and they’re all unique. I can tell who it is by how they shout out in Darija, “HUUUUUUUUUD!! HUUUUUUUUUUD!!” 
    Basically, they go down to the beach or marina and pick up the catch of the day in the morning. Typically you can find sardines, sol, and a few other kinds of flat fish. They put in on the back of their motorbike or bicycle and it’s usually rotting in the hot sun. Sounds delicious, right? Well these gentleman don’t seem to bother with health inspections, so eat at your own risk. The perk for some people is that the fish come literally to your door. I guess an ecoli or salmonella infection is a small price to pay for convenience.






  1. The Gnaoua guys.

    A very traditional cultural music here is gnaoua (pronounced guh-NOW-uh) and you can hear it everywhere from restaurants to the souk to your front door, and there’s even a huuuuuuge music festival dedicated to it every year in Essaouira. Most times, the guys will get dressed up in classical regalia and parade around the streets rang-bang-boomin’ around in exchange for money from the unwilling listeners. Despite not being invited by anyone, they walk up and down the streets and expect you to open your windows and drop money down to them. If you don’t, they’ll keep playing. And playing. And playing. At some point, you’ll be annoyed enough that you’ll actually be paying them to stop and go away. Works every time.





  1. The Bleach Boys.

    They’re not takin’ you to Aruba or Jamaica, but they are trying to keep your house smelling lemony fresh. You can see a whole cart full of bleach, aka, “Juh-VEEEEEEEEEEL” and you can pick whatever scent you want. This guy also has a big selection of powdered dish soap, perfumed Lysol-ish stuff that doesn’t disinfect (just smells good), and he sells it all in recycled water bottles. I wonder if they have a scent called Kokomo Coconut…



  1. The Rolling DJ

    These disc jockeys can be seen in various locations around the city, but they’re definitely not wearing giant mouse heads or fist-pumping. Nope, they’re selling cds of the Quran. Someone had an idea to rig a car cd-player up to a generator on a rolling cart, and it caught on like wildfire. The young guys just stroll along with the Quran recitation blasting from a big subwoofer. In this video, you can see a “HUUUUUUUD!” guy makin’ a sale in the alley and then BONUS #1 you get to hear and see the kid with the Quran cart. BONUS #2 is that you also get to see 2 dudes pushin’ a pallet fulla bananas down the middle of the road. Totes typical.




  1. The Pied Piper of Agadir

    I have to admit, the guys with the flutes might be my faves. They roam around like the Gnaoua guys except it’s usually a one-man show with a flute. The first time I heard it, I expected to see children running at his feet and all the rats of the city running along with them…



7.  The Douche Guy

I'm not actually sure that this guy is a douche, but he mentions it several times in his unknown speech. I honestly have watched this video over and over again and all I can make out is, "Shower, kitchen, doesn't work"---and not in that order. There's something about a pressure cooker in there too, but I can't be 100% sure. This guy took things to a whole-nutha-level with his mini microphone (which I heard someone call a "meekro" and cracked up). I don't know what he's selling, buying, or workin' with but I don't care even slightly. All I know is that he's doin' his thing tryin' to make a quick dirham on the street like everyone else in the crew.





And that my friends, is a look into the alley of wonders.


EVERY DAY I'M HUSTLIN', Eh-EVERY DAY I'M HUSTLIN'...







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A Year in Morocco

Yeah I used a stock photo. So?



December 15th, 2010:  I packed my bags in the morning and prepared to leave London on the morning train to the airport. I'd been traveling from Los Angeles to Kenosha to Chicago to Dublin to London and this part of my trip was almost over. Not only was I leaving these places, I was also leaving western life behind.

I didn't really know what to expect when I boarded that plane. After I found my seat, I sat alone with my right shoulder leaning against the cold airplane window. I had a lot on my mind-- my family, my friends I'd left in so many places, and the new life I was about to begin. The last few days in London was full of chaos and charisma, trains and traffic. As fun as my travel blur had been, I was ready for some peace and quiet. Just as the plane took off, the sun was beginning to set. I watched out the window as we lifted above the cloud cover and it felt as if I was floating into an orange glow of warmth. The rays of the sun seemed to reach out and hug the plane. For some reason everything felt like it was going to be ok.








The first few months in Morocco revealed so many new things to me. It felt like a dream come true as I took each day in stride, unprepared for what was ahead of me. I traveled the roller coaster of roads through the depths of the countryside, into the mountains, through the modern capital city, small villages, beach towns, campsites, ocean-view cliffs, and back to Agadir again. I didn't really know what to expect before I came here and Moroco had its way of showing itself to me one day at a time.




The African coast is so beatiful, isn't it?


I eventually settled into my beach house in Tamraght and the pages of my life book turned quickly. Each day was different and the friends I had made earlier played a really important role in my life. There are a few people that helped me with their words, wisdom, insight and philosophies that really meant so much to me. There's one person in particular who really had a big impact on me. He used to talk about everything with me and his words stuck in my head. One day he told me to be positive always and rely on God. We sat in his truck one day and he said to me, "You just have to chase the Light." I never forgot that and it's been a big theme of my life since then.






Soon after I met an incredible banana cupcake gypsy lady named Cindy and she moved in with me for 2 months. Our adventures were at God's perfect timing and we both helped eachother in different ways. She needed me at the exact time I needed her. If you want to see what I mean, check out my post called Cindy-bindy .

Ramadan was just around the corner by the time Cindy headed to Spain and I was preparing for a new spiritual adventure. Fasting for 30 days straight was something new for me but I was ready for it. The whole month of August was such an amazing experience. Each day I would wake up around 4:00 am and eat a huge breakfast. Then afterwards I would pray and go back to sleep. When you fast, you can't eat or drink ANYTHING (no gum, no water, no nada) and you break the fast at sunset which is around 7:30pm. The days during that month were spent learning more about Islam, reading the entire Quran twice, and cooking the big dinner to break the fast (without tasting anything--just eyeballing everything). After dinner, everyone would go to the mosque for the extra evening prayers and sometimes we'd be standing in prayer for over 2 1/2 hours. It was incredible to feel the way I did. Here I was in the Africa all alone, yet I felt like I totally belonged here. The unity I feel when I'm at the mosque is like the glue that binds me to my faith. I'm so thankful that I've been able to develop in the surrounding that I'm in.


After Ramadan was over, Mohamed proposed to me. Ever since then, life has been a whirlwind. We've done so much together, learned so much about eachother, and traveled in between also. I've spent the last few months teaching him how to speak English and he's spent the last few months teaching me about Islam. He is truly a blessing in my life and I am so happy he found me. 


You know, when I came here I didn't really have a plan. But God did. He knew exactly what I'd be doing and how I'd live, survive, and make my way in this beautiful country. I'm now an official resident here and it feels really good to be here. I'm so happy I trusted my gut instincts and decided to pack everything up and just go. There's no way I can describe how empowering and valuable it is do just do your own thing. I really really really encourage anyone reading this to take a chance on whatever it is that you're thinking about. Is there something that's ALWAYS on your mind? Then do it. Seriously, why wait? What are you scared of? Just take the risk and go with it. You won't be disappointed. And even if what you want doesn't work out...you'll still have fun along your way. The people you'll meet will inspire you in a way you can never imagine or plan for. 


Big props to my girl Haydee who packed everything up from Beverly Hills and moved to Costa Rica last month. Now she's chillin' in a dope loft with a hammock on her balcony overlooking giant fields of palm trees. A year ago in LA at my going away party, she thought I was nuts for moving to Morocco alone...now look at her. :)  And to my friend Jen Le: it's time for you to move to Italy. The photography industry is waiting for a bubbly American like you to get it where you fit in. There are too many opportunities that you're missing out on every day. Set your plan in motion. Don't just talk about it, DO IT! 


See what happens when you take a chance?




I have so many people to thank for my sanity and my survival. First of course, are my mom and dad. Without their constant support, I'm sure I'd be a train wreck. (Dina Lohan: take note). To all my friends who email me to tell me that I'm an inspiration, thank you. People don't really realize how a simple little email can make someone's day. To all the strangers that I've never met that have stumbled upon this blog, thank you for all of your kind comments and emails. I really appreciate it. 


To everyone that's never met me:  Can you add a comment and tell me how you found this blog? I mean...I have page hits from over 100 countries so I'd love to know how you've all found me! :D


In conclusion, a year is a long time and a short time all at once. I'm very happy where I'm at both physically, mentally, and spiritually and a lot of it has to do with being here in lovely Agadir. I really miss all my family and friends so hurry up and book a plane ticket to come see me! I love you all!







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Thoughts and Scribbles


I’ve decided to post a collection of the random thoughts and notes from inside my phone. Almost every day, I encounter things that are unusual so I’m going to let you in on some of the stupidy, craziness, and goofy things that are a part of my day-to-day life here. It’s all short, random, and unrelated. Enjoy.

#1 Uhhhh…wudd-ju just say?
 Sometimes, it’s really cute to hear Arabic-speakers try to pronounce English words. One thing I’ve noticed is that the “r” is very difficult for them to say. An example and test of this is the word “squirrel.” Almost 100% of the time when I ask people to say it, it comes out “squiddel.” Haha!  One time, a litltle Moroccan girl was trying to explain to me that she needed a ruler but she didn’t know the English word for it. After I figured out what she was trying to describe I said, “Ohhhh, ok. This is called a ‘ruler’.” She said, “Ah yes.  Looler.”  So stinkin’ cute. Another example: the other day my friend’s mom was jokingly mocking me and I was saying “this flower”…but when she said it, it came out “shit sour.” No harm intended but many laughs resulted!

Pearl the Squirrel, aka Piddel the Squiddel

#2 Priorities
So my friend just had a baby boy. In the house. No doctor, no medicine, no epidural, no after-birth vitals check-up, nothing. After a few hours, it was time for baby’s first meal. Breast milk, you ask? No, my friend. A bottle full of diluted Moroccan tea. I mean, what baby doesn’t want to start life off with a fresh cuppa? Skip the pump, ma—hand over the tea pot. And who wants to look like a raggedy newborn mess whilst sippin’? Not to worry, as grandma had already applied baby’s first coat of eyeliner and eyebrow liner.  So with guyliner and tea bottle in tow, that little guy had a pretty good first day of life.


#3 That’s the Pits!
 No matter where you go in the world, adolescent boys do the armpit fart.
 It’s just a fact of life.


Wonder if that baby's wearing eyeliner...

#4  Untitled …because I literally have no words to say about this.
I was brushing my teeth today and while I was doing so, a friend of mine came up to me and asked what I was doing. Personally, I thought it was obvious what I was doing but around here it may not be something everyone’s used to.  She looked at me and asked me why I was brushing my teeth. She thought it was funny that I brush my teeth every day and so I asked her how often she brushes hers. In all seriousness she replied, “About 2 or 3 years ago.”  No comment.

Eww. Gnarly teeth much?

#5  I’m a Rebel.
Jevver drink water out of a bowl instead of a glass? Well you should. I tried it the other day at 4 am and I gotta say it’s way more fun than using a cup. Just hold it with one hand like you’re at a cocktail party. It’s like you know you’re doing something wrong kinda…but there’s no one there to stop you. The same applies for eating chocolate brownie ice cream for breakfast. Just a thought.

#6  Why Didn’t’ YOU Think of That?
My next topic is the magic dustpan. You know how most people have a set of “kitchen scissors” for cutting food or whatever? Well guess what? Moroccans have their answer to the kitch sizz. It’s the kitchen dustpan, or as I like to call it, the “Yuck-Dumper.” Here in Morocco there’s usually a crowd eating together and the meals are followed by fruit for dessert—almost always apples, oranges, and bananas. Oh yeah—nobody here uses individual plates so there’s always some debris left afterwards. Think about it: when you use a wet sponge to wipe down the table after eating, what do you do?  You wipe all of the table gross-ness into your hand. Eww. Instead, why don’t you invest a buck in a “Y-D” and swoop all the mushy junk into that? Brilliant. BONUS: It can even hang in an inconspicuous spot. BONUS #2: It’s more fun if you give it a name…like Bob The Dustpan. Or maybe Doug. Or maybe Fiona Apple Core Scooper-Upper.

Totes Gross.


#7  Working Girl
So I got invited to a huge party today and I decided to go. I knew there would be a lot of people, I just didn’t know what to expect. Right now I’m writing this on my phone from an apartment and I just counted: There are 67 people here. It’s a one-bedroom apartment. It’s also about 117 degrees in here with a surplus of small toddlers. If you’ve read any of my other posts then you know how much Moroccans hate any kind of breeze, wind, or air. Today is no exception as I click away on my BlackBerry. Everyone is singing and rang-bang-boomin’ around on some tambourines so I stepped away for a quick breath of (almost) fresh air.  ---  For some reason, I always get roped into being the “Lead Makeup Artist” whenever there is any type of group gathering. It starts when one person politely asks if I will do her makeup and results in a line forming in a bedroom. There’s usually about 20 people in a room about 9’ x 9’ .  I just finished doing some makeup but this day, I stopped after one. I’m used to doing makeup in Hollywood—we’re talking cash money in large amounts (sometimes), craft services, and most importantly…AC!! Today the requests didn’t stop at makeup—they also included hijab tutorials, aka “how to wrap a head scarf.” I try to wear mine differently and the Moroccan women have taken notice. I’ve been at weddings where the girls ooh and ahhh and ask me how I do it. It’s kind of ironic to me that the American girl is giving lessons to life-long scarf-wearers! I don’t mind, though—just as long as it’s not an inferno where we are. Ha! With all the makeup apps, scarf wraps, and boom-baps, I actually had a really good time at the party.

#8  Extremely Hot Quote of the Day
“Take off the fur coat immediately or I’m gonna puke.”

#9  Let’s Keep it in the Gray Area
No extreme emotions are allowed here. Crying is frowned upon (pun intended) whether it be from something really sad happening or something really funny. Either way, you BETTER not have wet cheeks or there will be consequences.

#10  Daddy Don’t Like No Knuckle-heads
Fun is strictly prohibited when Dad is around. (…and I don’t mean MY Dad of course as he is the King of Hilarity and Goofiness) There will be no loud laughing, giggling, shrieking, and certainly no flailing limbs at any time. Pipe down or fear the repercussions. It’s almost as if every dad here is like a Moroccan Archie Bunker… “STIFLE!”

QUIET!! A baby was boin yestaday!

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The Heartbeat of Morocco




Hands down, the best part of Morocco is the pace of life. Until you come here, there is no way to fully understand the way things work. Everything in the city is set to a slow speed and everyone in it seems to follow suit. There is no such thing as "hustle and bustle" and the sense of urgency simply does not exist. For example, the city bus does not run on a strict (or even loose) timetable. On the contrary, when I was living in LA I would walk to the clearly-marked bus stop at the corner of Fairfax and 3rd, and wait for the 718 to show up--exactly at 5:12 pm. You could say it was literally like clockwork. Every day, same time, same place, no variations. Here on the other hand-- it is the exact opposite. Yesterday morning I waited for the bus for about 40 minutes. Why? Because it just comes when it comes. The "bus stop" is actually just a cluster of short palm trees in front of so-and-so's house. No definitive bus stop, no bench, no sign, no posted schedule, nada. You just sit and wait. And if the bus doesn't come... wait longer. You never know what the holdup could be. Sometimes if the driver sees someone walking on the side of a dusty road, he may just pull over and ask if he needs a lift. I've even seen a bus driver delay the start of his route-- he got out of the driver's seat, locked the bus doors and took a 5 minute break to buy himself some ice cream. And this is totally normal and acceptable. So yesterday I was about a half hour late to work and my boss couldn't have cared less. Apparently, he's familiar with the public transportation here.

Another aspect of Moroccan life is the acceptability of naps. I mean really, who doesn't love a good nap, right? Well here they're easily integrated into daily life. (see my post, "Thanks, Chief"). As you walk through the streets you will most definitely find men in their vegetable carts just dozing off in the mid-afternoon.





The women are generally at home taking a snooze as well--and wake up to have tea and cookies with their girlfriends and neighbors. Even the kids in all levels of school get to take it easy--they have a break at noon and return to school around 3ish to finish the day. They come home, have a little lunch, take a nap, kick the football around for a while, and then back to the books.

The animals here are no exception, either. A few weeks ago I was at my friend Fatima's house and we found a random cat in the house. The cat wandered in, climbed up 2 flights of stairs, waltzed into the sitting room and made her little self comfy on the couch. We walked in and laughed because she was lounging in the sun like she owned the place. Fatima tried to wake her up to shoo her out, but to no avail. The cat remained on her side, did the famous kitty stretch, raised her head up to look at Fatima and I, then nonchalantly went back to her nap. She had this sort of look that said, "I'm here, I'm comfy, I'm not bothering anyone, what's the problem?" So Fatima let her continue her {ahem}...cat nap.


The general attitude around here seems to be, "Why rush?" and the longer I live here, the more I ask the same question. I take time to smell the proverbial roses. I wander to the beach just to watch the waves crash. I watch the orange glow of the beautiful African sunsets. I get up when I feel like it and I'm not bound to the daily grind. Although I've never had a "9-5", I used to work like a madwoman in Los Angeles. Gone are the days of 6-lane rush hour traffic on the 405 freeway, slamming down double-shot espressos to start my day, panicking about being 5 minutes late to work, and running around like a chicken with my head cut off. Instead, I take every day at a relaxed pace and melt away any traces of stress with a cup of that unbeatable Moroccan mint tea. And if that doesn't slow me down...there's always time for a nap.

---

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Thanks, Chief.



Despite the fact that I’ve been in Morocco for 5 months now, I’m technically considered a tourist. Nevermind the 1-year lease I just signed on my apartment, I am still in the mindset that I’m a resident here.  According to Moroccan Law, an American is allowed to visit for a period of up to 3 months. After the 3 months are up, the person must leave the country. Fine. Not a big deal. After my first 3 months, I dipped out and went to Spain for a few days. Upon entry back into Morocco, the customs official checked my passport and slammed down a fresh ink stamp onto it. Boom! Guess who just got another 3 months? Yep, me. Okay, well now my 2nd three months is about to be up and I really don’t feel like going anywhere. I’m happy here and I am just now  feeling settled, secure, and satisfied.  The good news is, I found a solution. A tourist can apply for an extension for another 3 months.  Yessss. So I took the bus from Tamraght to Agadir to file the paperwork with the police…only to find out I need to go to the station in Tamraght.  Excellent. I go to the policie station in Tamraght hoping to get the papers signed, filed, wham-bam thank you ma’am. Nope.



When I walked into the dusty, dirty, dimly-lit “station” I found it to be no more than the size of a bedroom with 2 adjoining “offices” aka closets. In the main room, I had to clear my throat extra loudly in order to wake the officers up.  One was dozing in front of what appeared to be some type of computer and the other one was sleeping on the queen-sized bed in the corner. Yes, that’s right, a full-on bed for taking naps. So there he was with shoes and socks kicked off, bare feet dangling off the edge—the whole nine. After about 10 minutes of speaking in Arabic, I understood that I had to get all of my documents certified and copied officially with stamps, signatures and a whole lot of waiting in line at the administration office. Where? Oh in Agadir of course. As the Moroccans say, “Note pro-blim.”

So the next day (and about my 100th trip to and fro) I wandered on into the station. Again. This time, I had everything I needed and I was ready to go. Certified papers the size of a phone book, passport copies, extras, blah blah blah.  So today I had an appointment to see the big boss. His office was something out of a movie. Smoke-stained yellow walls, stale air, and it was filled with furniture/equipment/paperwork from what seemed like some other era. Not bad. The demeanor of this guy was somewhat like the Godfather. After I handed him my folder full of papers, he tossed the folder on his desk, opened it up, and let his glasses slide down to the tip of his nose allowing his eyes to peer over the top edges. After 4 minutes of complete silence, he gradually reclined back in his thickly-cushioned 1950s office chair, the metal springs slowly creaking with each centimeter. With his Nike golf shirt untucked and glasses back in place, he stayed there for a while and eventually came back up to the upright position.  He lit up a cigarette, propped both elbows on the desk and slowwwwwly exhaled his smoke into the air. I stood there watching as the smoke danced circles all around the room forming swirling snakes of gray around me. As I stood waiting for his answer, I wondered what was going to happen next. He smashed his cig into the ashtray and told me he’d have to send the papers to Agadir and then Rabat for the final approval. I only have 10 days left and the post office here is less than speedy. I could probably walk the papers there faster. Luckily, I can get a temporary paper to say that I’m waiting on the regular papers to get processed. For now, I think I’ll go to the beach and let the waves clear my head…and the smoke out of my hair.

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Why Morocco?




The first question people ask me is, “Why Morocco?” and to that I have no answer. I've been thinking about this country since I was a little girl. Something has always pulled on my heart and I never knew why. When I moved to Los Angeles, people back home would ask me, “Why LA?” and to that I said I was looking for a change—a place with opportunities, things to do, new climate, a place that was fashionable, stylish, and by the ocean. I knew I could never live with snow and cold weather again so off to the West Coast I went. Following is a little background of how I came to live on the coast of Africa.

Part One: The City of Angels. I packed everything into my car and drove across the country with no plan, very little money, and I didn’t know anyone in LA. Somehow I just knew that I’d find a way. Before I got there, I sort of had this “dream list” of things I wanted to do and accomplish out there. At the time some of them seemed unrealistic but then again I had no idea how unrealistic Hollywood actually is.  Over the first few months I got to familiarize myself with the city and its people and I was amazed, shocked, intrigued and inspired. 



Pretty soon I found myself in situations I never imagined I’d be in—I was throwing weekly parties at the Thompson Hotel in Beverly Hills, designing custom bowling shoes for Gene Simmons, painting artwork for Kanye West, working on HBO shows like Big Love and True Blood, working production for different music videos and commercials, and I even got to work in the art department for an Eva Mendes movie. Not exactly what I expected to do when I left Kenosha.

That's a wrap!


After a while, I got tired of the pace of LA life.  I’ve always dreamt about Morocco and I found myself thinking about it more and more often. In September 2010 I decided I wanted to move there. I didn’t know how I was going to do it or what it would take, but I always love a good challenge. So I called my mom and said, “Mom, guess what? I’m moving. To Africa. By myself. In 3 months.” I’m sure you can imagine her reaction. My mom and dad have always supported me in every single thing I’ve wanted to do—whether they agreed with it or not. My mom said, “Jaim…at this point, nothing you do shocks me anymore.” So as long as I had the green light from both of my parents it was time to start planning.
I’ll make it really simple: I quit my job, sold everything besides what I could fit into one suitcase, and off I went. I of course flew home to Wisconsin to say goodbye to my family and friends and that’s when my adventure began.

My first stop was in Dublin. I had never really thought about going to Ireland before but most of the flights to London had layovers in Dub. So I figured as long as I’m going to be on Irish soil, I may as well stay and check it out for a few days. So that was fun. Next stop: London. I’ve been there before in the summer of 2005 and it was hot and gorgeous. This time, it was winter and freezing. I say it’s like Chicago—a Cubs game at Wrigley in the middle of July is nothing like standing in Millenium Park  in thu sub-zero temperatures of January. The season changes the whole experience. Either way, Londontown was fun. Now? Destination: Morocco…




Next Stop: Africa

The Airport:  My New Life

As I was descending the stairway from the plane to the runway, everything felt so surreal. It was so hard to comprehend that I was actually in Morocco. I was alone, but ready for my new life.


The December nighttime air was warm and clear. The sky was pitch-black and the stars sparkled like diamonds. I couldn’t believe I was under the African sky. It all felt like a movie. Everything I had dreamed about was coming true, and I was happier than I’d ever been.


Over the course of the next few months, my new life was like a fantasy. I did some amazing things that I never imagined I'd do. I traveled all over Morocco--to the countryside, Marrakech, Casablanca, Rabat, Imsouene, Essaouria, El Jadida, Paradise Valley, and Taghazout—multiple times. 


There was a lot I had to adjust to and it definitely wasn’t easy. I suppose the people here will never understand what I went through until they see where I came from. We accept eachother’s different cultures and do the best we can to understand that everyone is different.

There are so many details I’m leaving out, but I can’t really summarize 4 months in a few paragraphs. From now on, I’m going to post about what is happening currently, and if you have any questions about anything from before or if you want more details about something, just let me know and I’ll post about it. I get so many questions from people all the time and I find myself answering the same things often. I figured if someone posts a comment or a question, it would be a good way for me to answer whatever you’d like to know.   :)

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