Evenin' Readers

Or for some of you it may be mid-afternoon, or somewhere around there. But for me its late. Night time, sleepy time, squeeze in one more movie for the day time, etc, etc.

I have so much to report on my journey through Ghana. Sadly, you will have to wait until after my first test in a couple of days to get the detes. If I tried to write now, I wouldn't be giving it justice. So far the countries have been getting more and more phenomenal. I can't wait to go back to Ghana in the future :)

Talk to you all soon!

Lost At Sea

Oh where oh where did my blog post go? Oh where oh where did it go? It’s probably in an old green wine bottle floating across the Atlantic back to the States, but that could take awhile, so ‘til then I’ll catch you up on the happenings at sea.

Well, Morocco was amazing. I want to go back. For some reason I think I’m going to like the poorer countries more than the “developed” ones. What would be the point of traveling to new places if you still ate at the Hard Rock Café and shopped at H&M (both of which were in Spain)? In Casablanca and Marrakesh there were these medinas, which would be like a flea market or bizarre in the US. They are very culturally rich places and a great spot for people watching. Well male people watching to be more specific since the local women are mysteriously absent. I actually found them while walking through the maze (and I literally mean maze) of shops full of Disney’s Aladdin gear. The women were under the shops, or under the counters with their kids surrounded by pillows and blankets and they were watching T.V. I think I’d like being a woman in Moroccan society. 1) I would never have to deal with styling my hair, 2) I get to watch T.V. all day and 3) I wouldn’t get the same opportunities as men. Wait a minute, that last one doesn’t sound that great to me. That’s beside the point. Let me continue with the story of my travels.

The first night in Marrakesh, after the trip to the medina (after seeing snake charmers and henna artists), my group ate at this AMAZINGLY romantic little restaurant. We walked down alley after alley while people on motor bikes zoomed past us until we reached a huge door in the wall. But the door didn’t open. Instead a piece of the door was cut out to be another little door that we ducked down and walked through. We followed a hallway towards an amazing smell and rose petals and dim red lights. We entered this beautiful room with candles and tables decked out in stacked plates, multiple wine glasses and too many forks than any one person could feasibly use in one meal. During the entire meal a man in the corner played some sort of instrument that looked like a steal guitar which I thought topped off the whole ambiance very nicely. That is until a belly dance came out and stole the show! She was very fun and got some of the shyer guys in the room to get up and attempt to swivel their hips in the correct manner, and failed epically much to the audience’s entertainment. The night ended and we went home with full bellies and happy hearts.

The next day we traveled up into the Atlas Mountains. We were going zip lining! The guys who worked there were some of the happiest and excited people I have ever met. They were great. We were given an info session that lasted about 5 minutes. This didn’t really seem like enough time for me to really understand not only how to zip line, but how to feel safe doing it. But hey, when in Morocco right? (My mom might be having a heart attack right now, so someone please check on her for me, k?) So we get up to the first obstacle: a wood plank bridge that was about 150 meters long and A LOT higher up. Or the way I thought of it, A LOT further down that you would fall to your untimely (and unsightly) death. So I clip myself onto the wires that are on either side of the bridge and take one step at a time. Each plank was a couple feet apart, and I didn’t really want to test my gear quite yet so I went slow and steady. Apparently childhood fables lie and the instructor behind me didn’t think that would make me win, so he decided to swing the whole bridge and bounce on it until I started a light (hopping) jog. I tried to repeat the mantra “don’t look down” over and over in my head, but apparently psyching yourself out doesn’t work both ways. So I looked down, across, around, and up until I felt thoroughly comfortable with the idea that I was out of my mind. But I made it across. Onto the zip lines! Four of them to be exact. I remember doing one small zip line during a Girl Scout trip when I was about 10 and figured if a little girl could do it, so could I. I was sooo stoked. And while I still wasn’t quite sure how to technically do it, I figured “hey, what’s the worst that could happen?” then I told myself that that was a rhetorical question.

IT WAS AWESOME. (excuse my language but…) it was fucking INSANE. Like blow your mind insane. I was flying from red rock mountain to red rock mountain, landing on a little strip of land cut out of the mountain’s side. The final one lasted about 40 seconds, which, going that fast, is a LONG way. And then of course we had to walk back to our lunch area across a tight rope.

Now for lunch. Do you remember Survivor? I’m not sure what season 44 and 45 are like, but back in the day they would have 2 challenges. One for a prize, and one for immunity. Well the one that I partook in was for a prize, and the prize was the best meal I’ve had yet. AND it was set up just like the ones on Survivor. In the middle of seemingly nowhere, under a canopy tent-like thing, sitting on embroidered cushions, with 4 courses, lots of plates and silverware and glasses. So gourmet.

So all in all, successful port stop. And now that I’m back on the boat, I’m trying to get back in the flow of classes and all, but really I’m just counting down the days ‘til Ghana (day after tomorrow, woot woot).

I’ve still never been sea sick (knock on wood) and I think I like walking on a moving floor more than still land. Less boring. And I like living my life on the edge—or off the edge on a zip line :)

Casablancan Limrick

There stood a great big mosque outside,
It touched the sky and brushed the tide.
Because of my gender,
I was unable to enter.
Yet I could feel Allah without stepping inside.

Mojitos, Margaritas and Meringue (dance)

Even though the ship has already docked in Morocco, I have tales to tell from Spain. Before my pre-arranged trip with Semester at Sea (SAS --> remember that, if you chose to remember anything from my informative blogs) my friends Brian and Emillio (who coincidentally also go to Stanford, but no we didn’t really know each other before SAS though we had heard of each other, but weren’t really friends, and no we didn’t just group together because we go to the same school, we all just happen to be legit people who get along…can you see how many times I’ve had this conversation? Haha). Now you are so lost, and that wasn’t a full sentence, but there were so many details in parenthesis that I’m starting over. My friends Brian and Emillio and I planned a trip to Madrid for the first 2 days and one night. We took a very expensive bullet train to Madrid and explored the down town square after dropping our things off at the Hostel. It was the first Hostel I had ever been to, and lived up to my expectations, creepy old, metal, rickety elevator to boot. But it was safe, thanks to Brian’s mom for doing so much research for us (taking note mom :-P hehe). Anyway, we’re walking around and we get to a supermarket and they had some sample foods like at Costco, but since this is SPAIN and not dumb ol’ America, their samples were Mojitos! Of course us eager Americans line right up and get some of the first ones. They were really good! And I’m not a minty alcohol fan. So we walk out of the store (which was huge by the way) and start walking down the main street again back to our Hostel for some food then a Ciesta (nap time!!). Well we are all still holding our cups full of ice and some street performer is made up to look like a hair monster and he’s under a table with his head popping up through a hole. Two fake heads lay on either side of him. Now, I see what’s going on. He’s going to pretend to be a fake head then jump out at us! Thanks to my keen sense of observation, I also saw the whole crowd part way for the three Americans with their little cups pass unsuspectingly. I try to get Brian’s attention and save him from humiliation, but it was too late. Not only did the center head move and roar at us, one of the head I was sure was not going to move was attached to a stick and also jumped out at us. I stayed calm and controlled (of course) but Brian, my goodness. Brian yelped and jumped about 10 feet sideways away from the sound of danger all the while spraying ice and some Mojito out EVERYWHERE. It would not surprise me if he reacted in the same way had his leg also been blasted off.

So that was the start of Madrid.

After our meal of Tapas (little sandwiches with random stuff in it, anchovies, cured ham, Spanish potatoe tortilla, etc) and after our Ciesta, it was time to go out and see Spanish night life. We made our way to the famous younger’s club Club Capital (say “club” as “cloob” and “capital” as “capeetal” where the “a’s” sound like the “o” in “cop” and then you’ll get the right Spanish affect). But the lame boys I was with were denied entrance because they were in flip flops and tennis shoes. Tisk tisk. Time for plan B. Ask the locals where else we could go. Everyone was super friendly, and finally we stumbled across this group of men and women in their forties. The women were being pansies and wanted to go home, but these two men (who we have since conclude to be gay partners) were still ready for a hoppin’ night. So they brought us to a little local Salsa dancing club/bar. Unfortunately, us American’s have only been taught to “freak dance” or grind up and down on each other. Luckily, the two Spanish men were Salsa instructors! So we learned how to Salsa and dance to Meringue music and had an absolute blast. Upon crawling into bed, with insane blisters, around 4am, we were dead asleep. In the morning, or afternoon we had some Paetas (weird, gross mix of seafood) and I had some bread, we went to see the Museo Internacional de Prado and La Palacio (where the King lives…sometimes!) and felt like good American tourists. Then I left the two boys and made my way back to Cadiz via train so that I could make my SAS trip the next morning. Take that Holly and Madre, bought my ticket and made a train change all by myself. And in SPANISH. I couldn’t believe how easily I got along with three years of high school Spanish. I have a newfound faith: after Spain I pray to the God’s of Myndi’s memory.

Matadors, Madrid, Macarenas, and Sleep Deprivation

Getting super close to the first port.

 

I wrote that yesterday. I'm already showing signs of blogspot fatique. But today I AM HERE! I see land, I see birds, and I see some friendly construction guys. Remembe the game "sweet and sour" that you played in those awsome cars that had the back seat facing the rear window and you awkwardly stared at the car behind you? Except that it WASN'T awkward because you were 9, and it was flippin sweet? Yeah well that's what I did with the constuction guy. And he was sweet (for those of you who are like WTF? that means he waved hehe). Well, Brian is yelling at me that we have to get our passports and that this better be a quicky. But when I get back from Madrid tomorrow I will fill you in on all the insane deets of my trip. And then, the moment you have all been waiting for: PICTUIRES! (technically I haven't taken any yet, but they will be phenemonal and Coming Soon to a Blog near you)