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 :)