I was going to write this blog on Saturday (March 20), the day I got back from spring break, while I was on the train ride home from Milan. It was going to begin, "I would like to have a word with anyone who belittles the state of Italian technology, because I just found an outlet on the wall next to my seat, so I can plug in my laptop and type this blog before I even get home. Wooooooo!" Then I plugged in my laptop and found out that these must have been comedy plugs, designed specifically to get my hopes up, since they were not in fact connected to electricity and could not in fact charge my computer. Good going, Italy. So I have no picturesque beginning to this blog. In fact, no beginning at all really, since I seem to have started from the very end. Soooo back to the start.
I officially left for spring break on Thursday morning, making my way to Porta Nuova train station. When one travels from Torino, one does not just show up at the airport and give it a go. One must take a train to Milan, then take a bus from the Milan station to whichever airport they need, and only then (three hours later) may their plain depart. So I show up at the train station, trying to find Kate and Sarah. Kate tells me the train's about to leave, so she'll buy my ticket and I should hover by the train, making sure it doesn't leave without us (and by making sure, I basically only mean willing it silently, since that was about the closest I could get to controlling the actions of the train driver). One minute before departure, I see her sprinting towards the train, ticket in hand, yelling at me to start running. And so, we bolt for the train, only just making it (this is the first of many such experiences, although we didn't know it at the time). Pleasant enough train ride to Milan, pleasant enough bus ride to Bergamo Airport, and we made it with PLENTY of time to spare. So much time, in fact, that we let ourselves be gouged by the price of airport food and each got a slice of pizza. Then made our way through security (I had to take out my latop, turn it on, and let the guy wipe it with some cloth that made sure I wasn't going to explode myself or smuggle a laptop made entirely out of cocaine; Kate lost her shampoo; Sarah is better than we are at these things and was fine). Pleasant enough plane ride to Granada since a) I slept the whole time; b) my luggage worries were for naught, as my backpack totally abided by my budget airline's strict-ass regulations. I was mildly bummed that we had to pay to get anything to drink or eat, even water or peanuts, but it was fine really since I was asleep anyway.
Arrived in Granada!! Another bus ride from airport to city center, I had to sit next to a stranger, whose only real use was that she kept saying Spanish things to me in Spanish, which served to remind me that my Italian was hereby useless. Anddd then we wandered around Granada for a while, in an area that my hippie tour guide would later dismiss as "bourgeoisie," until we arrived in the old town part of the city, where our bitchin hostel was located. I suppose the trip so far has sounded like rather a lark, but I may remind you that at this point, we had now been traveling for over eight hours. But whatever, right? We check into our hostel, which is AWESOME, because all of the floors are open to one another and up through the middle of the hostel is a giant skylight/opening that extends through all the stories, and all the railings are decorated with tons of (maybe living) ivy, so it was like living in a jungle without the bugs, which is exactly how I like my nature. Went up to our room, may or may not have collapsed and taken a nap (no memory remains, I knew I should have kept a daily journal....). Went back downstairs, enjoyed our complimentary welcome sangria (first of many, we are so Spanish) and hung out in the communal area for a bit, meeting other hostel guests. Met an Irish girl, two American brothers, a Canadian guy (who pegged me as Bulgarian based on my appearance...) and some others. We were all downstairs because the hostel was providing a free tapas crawl for the night wooooooo.
I knew tapas was vaguely similar to aperitivo insofar as it involved drink+food on the cheap, but I didn't really know what it was, so I'll explain it for anyone else who doesn't know but is afraid to ask. You pay 2ish euros at a bar and you get a beer or wine + a small appetizery food dish, and you repeat the process until you are either full or drunk (full usually comes first, believe it or not). So we went to about four tapas bars, getting to know the people from our hostel and also getting vaguely acquainted with old town Granada, which isn't that big anyway, which is probably the only reason we felt like such pros navigating it.
If we're talking about Granada being memorable in a vaguely repulsive way, we can talk about the guy in the last tapas bar with the chronically unfortunate hair. Imagine someone completely shaving their head, save for a small patch in roughly the same area where a rat tail would reside, and then letting that patch become a dread. It was HORRIFIC. So we took furtive photos and went on our merry way. Arrived back at the hostel and promptly passed out.
Next morning! Hopped out of bed (in a manner of speaking) and headed downstairs for our free breakfast- cereal, toast, coffee, all very good- and met in the lobby for a free walking tour compliments of our hostel! Our venerable tour guide (who literally never told us his name...we guessed either Mika or Ben) led us out into one of the main piazzas to begin what was billed as a 'mildly strenuous' three-hour tour. Our party was small- me/Sarah/Kate, a girl from Texas, a Brazilian guy, and of course Ben/Mika- but it was rather good fun. He had the sort of expressive face that makes you believe that every fact he's telling is one of the most exciting things you've ever heard. As it turns out, Granada is a city basically built onto hills, or into the side of a mountain or something (for example, all the hippies in Granada live in caves that they've dug into the side of the mountain and they just put tarps over their cave hole when it rains, which we would hear many times over the course of the trip had just ceased after weeks of torrential downpour). We visited an Arabic school, gardens, a mosque, a lookout point or two, and generally roamed the old part of Granada (he refused to show us the more cosmopolitan part of the city, which was populated by "bourgeoisie bastards;" I should mention that he had dreads). We also saw Arabic baths and learned lots about the history of the town, i.e. Isabella (who apparently never bathed ever, which saved her from the plague...I already knew this, but I didn't want to detract from Ben/Mika's excitement and spoil the whole thing for him, so I kept my mouth shut) and Ferdinand used the city as the capital for a while. Also, there was one king whose name I have forgotten, who used to put all his harem women in the Arab bath and peek through holes in the wall and pick his favorite nubile young thing, at which point he would throw oranges and other fruit at her so she would know her pleasuring services were required. We learned about how the Reconquista and how all the Jewish people who chose to convert rather than flee had to change their names to Spanish things, which were assigned to them randomly and pretty uninventively (if your name was Antonio and there was a flag around, you suddenly became Antonio Banderas; also that's a tell that you're not really originally Spanish if your name is just an object or something like that).
We really did learn a ton of things that fascinated the hell out of me. They built their streets super narrow so that in a siege or a battle, soldiers couldn't rush the streets more than two at a time if they wanted to swing their swords about, since the streets weren't wide enough to accomodate that much activity. Other things happened, and we also went to a lookout called Plaza San Nicolas which was also where there was a mosque that we couldn't really see (more on this when I reach Morocco), but outside they were selling amazing green tea with mint in it in these really cute tea glasses, which we GOT TO KEEP upon purchase of our tea. Amazing deal. Wandered about some more, at which point the tour ended.
It was barely afternoon, so we went straight on to our next stop, the Alhambra, which was a castle/fortress/most impressive thing in Granada. Being an ingeniously located fortress, of course, it was at the top of a blasted mountain. There are easy ways to ascend, but they involve taxis and money and things which we lacked, so we decided to just hike up this path that seemed promising. Perhaps if we realized it was only promising shortage of breath and chronic shame, we would have changed our minds about the Alhambra (no, just kidding, it is historically important and therefore absolutely necessary to visit). Anyway, most of the streets in old Granada are paved with cobblestone, usually big enough stones that it mostly feels like concrete. Except for this path. It honestly must have been built at 45-degree angle and the stone were exactly the size to pierce my feet and make every step kill even more than the uphill climb already implied. The one thing about which I am proud of myself during this whole ordeal is that we didn't stop for a break a single time. This is probably because if we had, I would have given up, laid down and just rolled all the way back down to the bottom. So we kept up our breakneck pace of 1 km/hr and eventually made it to the top. Paid a million dollars (12 euros) to get in, since apparently there is no student discount. Had to wait for the time listed on our ticket, so bought some awesome postcards and sunned ourselves for a while in some place that probably had a name. A wedding came by! I took it upon myself to be an official photographer and creeped on their wedding shots, getting closeups of the bouquet and whatever else I wanted. Finished stalking an innocent couple, so it was time to line up. Stood in line behind a really funny older couple from Florida, who talked to us about college and their kids and other things that made me miss family. Then went in. It was AMAZING. I can't even tell you. It was a giant palace, every surface carved with intricate Arabic or decorated in stunning mosaic tile. This style was already one of my favorites, but i was bowled over by the place. The photos I took are an INSULT to the craftsmanship that I couldn't resist touching. I took a photo stroking one of the walls and pressing my face against it. I guess the staff frowns upon that. Saw the gardens and other awesome things. I guess Washington Irving stayed there for a while whenever it was that he was alive; he loved it, too (good call, Irv). I can't even think of what else to say about this place, except that I recommend it quite highly, I suppose. GO TO GRANADA.
Eventually tore ourselves away and descended (this was also hellish) back into old Granada, at which point we realized it was 5 p.m. and we hadn't eaten since breakfast. Tried really hard to be discerning and find a cheap place before giving up and walking into a place we thought we'd been the previous night (we hadn't). However, it was awesome in that they had paella and wine and Spanish soap operas playing in the corner. Ate, were exhausted, went back to the hostel to nap for a while which turned into three hours, woke up in time to do something that I have blanked on, although I do know that we also wandered around and stopped by a little tea salon that was selling Moroccan-ish teas and had Arabic music videos playing and which was generally awesome, especially because they gave you free chocolate crepes with purchase of tea. Obsessed. Came back out onto the street and were met by a solid block of about 20 men who seemed to be carrying a house frame on their shoulders/heads, although said frame had a tarp over it and a platform of some sort, on which many shrouded things were carried. My first thought (fear) was that this was some strange funeral procession, but it turns out that's how people move house in Granada. They even had a fun little procession behind them. Then we abandoned them because they were walking soooo slowly and instead walked back up to Plaza San Nicolas, where we caught a nighttime panorama of the city, which is surprisingly big. Tried to get back to hostel...got lost....fate smiled on us and we just sort of ended up back where we started, which was convenient. Went to bed early since we were leaving the next day for Málaga! Woke up the next day, ate our free breakfast again, took the bus to the bus station, took another bus (this one longer of course- 2 hours) to Málagaaa, aka a beach town with much to offer in the way of doing nothing (side note: I know Málaga has an accent, but it is infuriating to write it every time, so it is hereby Malaga).
Arrived in Malaga, got reasonably lost, caught the right bus and made it to our hostel, which was ONE BLOCK FROM THE BEACH. I could see said beach from outside the kitchen window...sooo close. Checked in, the place was really small in a good way, and the manager (and apparent only employee) was really nice. We took our sandwiches and snacks (oh yeah, we went to a grocery store in Granada and bought lunch things to save money, it was super cheap) to the beach and were only a little disappointed when we were thwarted by a distinct lack of sun. It was cloudy. Booooooo. But it was still warmer than Torino, so it wasn't even that big a deal. Took a nap again even though I slept on the bus, then we went grocery shopping to buy stuff to make fish tacos and salsa/bean dip. Took it back to the hostel and started cooking, during which time we met some of the coolest people I have ever encountered, a Finnish couple named Dita and Mikko. We talked to them while we all cooked, ended up eating our meals together and also hung out that night; we basically talked for a million hours about all sorts of things, and I can't explain it any better than that, but they were very cool and opinionated and intelligent and they were good to have around for the three days we were at the hostel.
The next day, we ate chocolate con churros which were soooooo good and super cheap at only 30 cents per churro. Also I should mention that "hot chocolate" in Europe is basically melted chocolate in a cup, very thick and delicious. After this, we went and laid out on the beach again....we willed it to be sunny, which met with middling success...gave up and went back to the hostel for lunch and a movie. Then another nap. Then maybe we did something. I honestly have a terrible memory. I can tell you that eventually we tried to go to this sushi place, only to find it closed, so we ended up at the "kebab" shop/bar across the street (Tooooony Shoarrmaaaaa- the name of the place, which we also lent to the imaginary owner who we pretended ruled with an iron fist and other nonsensical things that were only amusing to us). Ate some amazing kebab/fry concoction that was made even better with the addition of ranch dressing (ever elusive in Torino). Then we bought some drinks and took them back to our hostel for a night in. Sarah and Kate passed out relatively quickly. [OKAY. I've noticed my sentences are getting shorter and shorter, which makes me sound terse. To be perfectly honest, I am leaving for Sicily in three hours...that is how far behind I am on my blogs. I'm just trying to get this stuff done...we'll see. But yeah, I'm rushing, please forgive me and love me anyway.]
Next day in Malaga, we woke up and had a little beach time before heading inside for a short while since it started raining. Then decided to suck it up and head into the city center. Saw a sight that may or may not have been called the Alcazaba (it was basically a mini Alhambra) which was very nice, especially because it was free. We then went to the Picasso Museum. Encountered the most inept cashier ever, who could not process that even though we were traveling together, we needed to pay separately. Bullied her into counting out our money correctly (seriously, learn math) and then went into the museum. It was quite good, I do like Picasso and I liked learning all about him. I don't like all that abstract stuff as much, but I did really like some stuff he did of his wife/kids/lovers, they were very good. Having paid the combined price, we also got to see a temporary exhibit of another artist called Kupka. I guess this is weird but I liked his stuff WAY MORE than Picasso ( I guess it's a stylistic preference) but I recommend looking up his works, I very much like what he does with colors and vibrancy and also he seemed like a nice, thoughtful guy. After that, walked around the city a bit more and ran into some sort of parade and I don't even know what it was, but I liked it. Then gave up because our feet killed and went back to the beachy part of town to again try the sushi place. STILL CLOSED. So instead we wandered aimlessly until we found an Asian restaurant, which was overpriced but still pretty good, and the guy who ran it was very nice. I had California rolls, but they were baby tiny. But it's whatever, I was a fan anyway. Eventually walked back to our hostel (felt like a million miles, guess it wasn't probably) and crashed, as we were moving on again in the morning.
Next day, SEVILLE! Had to catch a bus at like 11 in the morning or whatever, once again we got lost and ended up SPRINTING to the bus station; by 10:55 I was convinced that we were going to miss the bus and was winded enough to intend on giving up, but Sarah and Kate forced me to keep running and we barely made it. The experience of running through Malaga with my inordinately heavy backpack and people staring and Sarah's clothes flying everywhere in the street because her backpack came unzipped mid-sprint was unique in its own fun way.. Anyway, it exhausted me so I slept incredibly soundly on the bus; so soundly that Kate took photos of me sleeping like a beached whale (at least that's how my mother describes it...thanks, Mum) and everyone was very amused except me because I was 100% unaware of anything except whatever I was dreaming about.
Arrived in Seville! Made it to our hostel with very little difficulty, checked in to another incredibly beautiful place, were given the keys and then we booked it out of there to explore Seville for the only day we had in the town. Started by visiting this INCREDIBLE cathedral (Cathedral of Seville? I don't know) which is the third largest in the world. Was built by Conquistadors possibly (Kate very helpfully read us information from her guidebook but my listening skills faded in and out, predictably...I promise I'm not inattentive, I'm just a visual learner, okay) but I did catch that their main goal in building it was to "build a church so big that those who see it will think us mad." For real. I now hope to approach every new project in my life what that same amount of zest and motivation. My life will probably be as awesome as this cathedral. Explored every corner of it, we thought, including Christopher Columbus' tomb and then ended in a big open area with a fountain in the middle and carefully planted orange trees. Then a man came up to us and showed us a photo he had taken of us from a very high angle (this wasn't creepy, he was letting us know something very important); apparently the bell tower was open to visitors and was FREE and wasn't even made out of stairs, it had a ramp that you could walk up (34 stories of ramp, but still better than steps) and all thanks to this mildly voyeuristic man, we made it to the top for a view of the city that we would have otherwise missed.
After this, we kept walking, I bought horchata (good if overpriced), and we went to a palace or whatever. I don't know what it was called, but it was a stone's throw from the cathedral and was another of Is&Ferd's residences. It is actually still a functioning palace although no one was there when we went. They had a reaalllyyyy nice garden set up...garden makes it sound puny, it was a grounds, frankly, and quite large. There were peacocks! I love peacocks..they are the only animal I like, so this was exciting. Then we found a secluded area and sunned ourselves for a while. Also sunned ourselves on a bench while taking ridiculous photos and getting stared at by tourists of all kinds. Eventually figured we should get a move on and ended up (after a long walk, through an important Jardín) at the Plaza de España, which was perhaps one of my favorite places of the trip. It wasn't especially especial, but it was a giant plaza that may or may not be where governing goes on and was fully made out of brick and ceramic blue/white/yellow tile (aka one of my favorite building material/color combinations). Took a bunch of photos that all made me realize I wanted to live in a place exactly like this, and then we once again got a move on. We walked through this part of town with a name I don't remember, but which was once again the oldest part of the town (as with Granada). Can't remember in what order this happened, but we either got tapas and then got horribly lost, or else we got horribly lost and then got some tapas. In any event, we ate quite well and also wandered fully aimlessly for at least an hour. Eventually an incredibly kind couple stopped and gave us directions to wherever.
Our plan for the night was to catch a flamenco show, and our hostel had helpfully pointed us to a free one that night. So Sarah and I stopped in a place for a final tapas combo while Kate went to the ATM. Mistake! The ATM ate Kate's card. The bank was already closed, she couldn't go in and get her card, we were leaving the next day at 11 in the morning, and she obviously couldn't leave her card in Spain, never to be heard from again. DISASTER. We processed the situation, decided to come back super early in the morning, and for the time being stuck to the plan of catching the flamenco show, which was unbelievable. All these people crammed into what was essentially a tavern, and eventually two men and a woman got on this tiny ass stage. The guy with the guitar started playing, singer guy started singing and the whole thing was a slow build from what was at first just vague noises and claps to a full-on flamenco assault. The singer was suuuuper into it, and his singing contained lots of ululations that sounded very Arabic to me (what up, Moorish influence), but even better than this spectacle was the dancer that accompanied it. She looked a lot like my Zia Maria, as I remember, and she was sooo good. We were told not to film, but I couldn't help it, when the stamps of her feet and this one guy singing were the only noises filling this big tavern. It was basically mesmerizing. After this, we stumbled back to hostel, soooo tired. Other things I forgot about Seville. They have really cool public transport, everything super clean and modern, wide streets, everything clean, and they have bike portals everywhere. By this I mean, people rent a bike and pluck it from this portal thing (like how you get a baggage trolley at the airport) and you just ride it until you're done and then drop it off at the nearest bike portal (I've said this three times now like that's the actual term for it; it's not.) and that was cool. I also popped inside a McDonald's to see how their menu differed from US/Italy. It did, if you were wondering. They sold donuts, onion rings, and whatever the NYC Crispy is. Anyway.
We awoke the next morning and Sarah and I departed for the bus to the airport. The plan was for Kate to take a taxi to the bank and beg for her card back and then speed to the airport and make it on time. So Sarah and I headed for the bus station again. This time we found it with 15 minutes to spare. Only wait, this time we couldn't find the right BUS. Two different employees gave us equally horrible directions, and with 5 minutes to find it, an intelligent resident of Seville told us that we had to turn a CORNER to find the right bus. Cool. So once again, we sprinted to the bus, only just making it. I can't even tell you how much exercise I got on this trip. Far more than I get from going to the gym every couple of days. So weird and unlike me. So, we take bus to airport, check in for our flight, get a little worried that Kate hasn't shown up, start to walk toward the security checkpoint and right as we walk past the main entrance, who walks in but Kate at EXACTLY the right time, my life is like a movie or something. And so, we make it through the gate to board our flight to MOROCCO!!!!! I can't even explain how eager I was to arrive; I've always been obsessed with the idea of visiting Morocco, and when better to go than when plane tickets from Seville to Fez are FIVE BLEEDING EUROS! I mean, is that fate or what?
So we land in Fez (which is in Morocco, Mum, not Egypt as I just found out you've been telling everybody). Our hostel had arranged for a grand taxi to pick us up from the airport and drive us to the place. We met our driver (he was holding a sign with Kate's name, it was so exciting) and it was only at this moment that I realized Moroccans speak French and Arabic, rather than English/Italian/Spanish. GO FIGURE. As it turned out, I was the only one of us who knew even the slightest bit of French (une petit peu- that's probably not even spelled right, but nevertheless, thanks 6th grade French class, you finally came vaguely in handy). Got to the hostel and it was UNBELIEVABLE. It looked like one of the rooms of the Alhambra but inhabitable. Huge foyer, glass instead of regular roof, three stories, totally tiled on every surface, a fountain in the foyer/breakfast area since oh hey there were tables with real tablecloths, and there were couches lining the walls, and so many damn fancy things that I realized paying 25 euros a night for this place was probably worth it, even though it pained me in my cheap, cheap soul. Upon check-in, we asked if there was a good walking tour we could find for the city; by the time we had put our bags down in our room, a tour guide named Ali was in the foyer and waiting to take us around Fez. I will tell the truth and say I was a little intimidated by his brusque manner, but we would soon learn that this is just the Moroccan way, and that he was actually a pretty cool guy.
He led us into the medina as only a native could (no, but really) and we embarked on our all-day tour. We explored what felt like every aspect of the medina. We poked our heads inside a preschool, which had the CUTEST kids all ready to say to us, "Salaam! Bonjour! Hello!" and I wanted to hang out with them all day, but we had to see a billion other things. We saw people chiseling marble, doing woodwork, painting important stuff; we saw a bakery and a dried fruit guy and a herborist (is this a word? it's erborista in Italian..or Spanish) (he had just about everything, including blocks of white musk, herbal Viagra, scented oils and other healing sort of things; we saw a bunch of mosques (as I mentioned in Granada, you can't go inside if you're not Muslim, so we peeked from the outside) as well as some university dorms, and also the oldest university in the world (according to Fez; Italians say it's in Bologna, who knows); we saw tanneries where they tan/dye/make leather goods of all kinds (they gave us mint leaves to breathe into while we were there, because the place smelled terrible) and we were basically shown through a shop and then led out to a balcony that looked over all the pits of dye and men at work and learned tanning secrets (brown leather made from cedar, or maybe chestnut, I forget; orange from henna; red from poppies; yellow from saffron; blue from indigo; green from mint) and then of course bought expensive leather goods; we went to an embroidery place that had women making beautiful things right in front of us, so of course I bought a tablecloth; we went to RUG SHOPS! which were owned by persistent Berbers (in fact, every single place- no joke- that we visited in Fez was Berber-owned, since Ali was Berber; Berbers are like Moroccans from the Atlas Mountains, apparently they're very cliquey) who served us mint tea and showed us practically every single rug they had in stock and then asked exorbitantly high prices for them (but, for us, a student discount, a rug for "low price, shocking low price;" this particular Berber amused the hell out of me, as I appreciate any creative use of the word 'shocking,' as it reminds me of Jodie), and then we had to unfortunately turn them down although I bought a scarf but it probably wasn't actually made by these people; we went to lunch at a place that looked a lot like my hostel but which was of course a restaurant, and had a meal that was incredibly delicious and filling, and which made me very much a fan of whatever bread they eat over there and also of lamb kefta (delicious meatball-type thing made in a clay pot), and the Coke bottles had the Coke logo in Arabic, and I ate entirely with my hands (what up, Maryanne!) and enjoyed it very much indeed; also one of the rug places we went to had women weaving a fancy-ass rug right in front of us and then one of them gestured to me and showed me how to loop the wool and then let me WEAVE A PART OF THE RUG, and now they will basically have to remember me forever, because I am 100% positive that the experience was unique to me and not something they do for every tourist that passes through (for example, Kate and Sarah didn't get to do it bwahahah); and we went to the top of one rug place and this is where I have to stop writing in this ridiculous run-on sentence.
We got to the roof and started taking in an incredible view of the city, at which point we realized we had the best timing ever, because we were just in time for the call to prayer. Fez is the most religious city in Morocco (or possibly all of Islam), with over 1000 mosques and some dating back to the 9th century or something. We had heard the calls from inside throughout the day, but being on the roof and directly privy to the experience was much more powerful, as the initial muezzin made his call and then all the other muezzins throughout the city followed suit and pretty soon all these Arabic prayers were overlapping and totally filling the air with MAGIC, if I may describe it in such a way. Anyway, I liked it very much. Also while we were on the roof, we noticed that there was thick black smoke coming from just behind the hills that formed (what we thought was) the edge of the city, so when we went back downstairs, we asked Ali about it. Apparently, the pottery for which Fez is famous is fired at these large-scale workshops and the black smoke we saw was coming from the kilns. So, of course, we asked to go there. Ali and said yes, and then I think he crossed his arms and doinked his head, or maybe he just wriggled his nose, because we turned around and we found ourselves on the outside of the medina, magically free from this chaotic maze of people and things. We hopped in his car and motored on up to this lookout point that was also a landmark of its own, and from there we went to the pottery place. We were welcomed by (presumably) an employee, named Said, who seemed very excited to practice his English with us. He gave us a tour of the place, which was incredibly impressive (the kiln alone defies description) and all the while regaled us with lyrics from all of his favorite songs (he likes the Black Eyed Peas and Lil Wayne and John Legend, if you wondered), and then we were invited to look around at all the pieces they were selling (I bought an ashtray, sue me).
After this, Ali took us back to our hostel, where we paid him (seriously, the tour was only 25 euros for the whole day for all three of us) and then we settled in to our place for the night. We weren't sure if we felt safe wandering the city on our own after dark, so we all snuggled up on our four-poster canopy bed (!!) and watched The Parent Trap (aka one of my favorite movies) and ate dates and dried apricots and pastries that we had saved from lunch, and this was our dinner for the night since we were all still so full from earlier in the day. Then we called it a night.
Next morning! We woke up and had breakfast with Sarah before it was time for her to depart (she had to meet her best friend from home in Naples), and it was amazing. Boiled eggs, cornbread-ish flatcakes, other bready product, all with honey and cheese and jam and coffee and fresh juice; basically it was delicious. Then we said bye to Sarah and decided to catch some rays while the sun was out. So Kate and I trundled up to the rooftop terrace and laid out there for a few hours; Kate took an epic nap while I wrote four of the world's longest postcards. I, of course, burned my face/arms/chest, but saved my scalp from this fate by wearing my cardigan as a turban, which was perhaps the best choice I've ever made. It was an incredibly peaceful morning, made all the better by once again getting the chance to hear the call to prayer, which was this time enhanced by the fact that our hostel backs onto an elementary school, so the prayers of multitudes of young children mixed with the amplified recitations coming from the minarets and the muezzins housed within. Then I began to overheat and so ventured downstairs for a nice cool shower (made interesting by the fact that there was a shower head but no mount for said device, meaning I had to hold it between my knees and get creative). Then spent a million hours trying to find a suitable hostel for our next destination, before finally settling on one and then realizing that it was already 4 freaking p.m. So we decided to go out and explore some more, going first to what we heard was a nice museum, only to find it closed since they don't expect people to be doing the tourist thing at almost 5, whoops. Then we walked over to the Royal Palace and took pictures with its doors, since all other parts of the palace are closed to the public. The doors were really nice, though. Then decided to walk through the Jewish district, where we found nothing of note except delicious giant donuts for only 20 cents.
Made our way over to the medina. I was a little hesitant (I am a pansy) since I had been told there was literally no way to venture into the medina without ending up hopelessly lost. Kate convinced me, and we headed in and started wandering around. Some fun stuff happened. I haven't mentioned it so far, but it is worth noting that we were very attractive to Moroccans (because they could see our hair? also because they like having fun with tourists) and were frequently propositioned as we walked past. This had happened some when we were exploring with Ali, but without the extra presence of an imposing Berber, the catcalls at least tripled. From every direction, we heard, "Hey sweetie, very nice;" "Hello beautiful, you very sessy;" and of course "I give you 50,000 camels for jiggy-jiggy!" This is to say that we were frequently offered camels and in other ways approached, and it was all in good fun, since I never really felt unsafe and as long as you kept walking without addressing them, there was no cause for concern. There was nothing we really wanted to buy, so we walked around and around for a while until we realized that it was dark and we were hungry and we were also hopelessly lost. It was a little scary at that point, since the smaller streets did not have street lights and guys at every turn would tell us that the direction we were going was a dead end (not true, they were trying to corral us into their shops), and eventually one guy walked with us and pointed us in the right direction, for which I was incredibly grateful, because we ended up at a restaurant with good, cheap food. We then decided to walk back to our hostel for an early night since we were leaving in the morning for Chefchaouen.
We awoke the next day for our last opulent breakfast and then ended up on a bus to Chaouen. We hadn't originally planned on going there (we hadn't planned on anything really) but Dita and Mikko from Malaga told us it was their favorite place in Morocco and also incredibly cheap, so we went. The town was absolutely picturesque, everything painted this vivid shade of blue that was the city's trademark and all built into an even steeper hill/mountain than Granada (or anywhere else ever). It was steep enough that every stroll in a certain direction had us leaning almost parallel to the ground as we tried to gain some headway. Anyway, we checked into our cute (cheap- 8 euros a night) hostel and wandered around the town, which was much easier to navigate than Fez. We began with lunch, eating in a piazza that we would later learn was one of the biggest in the town and which had ample opportunity for people-watching. Then we headed in the direction of another hill/mountain (seriously, what is the threshold at which something is called a mountain? It all seems pretty steep to me), at the top of which was a mosque that had the best views of the city. We got directions from a hotel manager, and set off in our flats and flip flops for what turned into a genuine hike. We used our vague directions to head in the general vicinity of the mosque-mountain, and started an uphill climb. It quickly became apparent that the lightly marked trail was going to be very nature-y, but we forged ahead and continued to climb. We noticed that there were already two men at the top, who seemed to have noticed us and who also seemed rather amused. I brushed it off and kept climbing, and climbing. And then we stopped so Kate could try to touch a sheep, and then a Berber emerged from a place of deep thought and gave her a mean look that implied he wanted to challenge her to a fight, so turned around and kept climbing (though a Muslim cemetery; I'm not clear on protocol, but we probably weren't allowed to do that) and FINALLY got to the top, where it turned out the native Chaouen men were indeed highly amused by us. Since we had reached the mosque, we had to check it out of course. Upon walking around to the back of it, we discovered that there was a large, clean, clearly defined set of stone steps that led all the way up the mountain. What I mean to say here is that we are absolute fools and took the most difficult possible route up the mountain.
BUT in any event, the view was quite nice, and we made friends with one of the Chaouen men, who spoke about a billion languages and who was very nice. [I'm trying wrap this up here] We went back down, saw more of Chaouen, including some of their medina, went back to piazza and people-watched and drank more mint tea, grabbed some dinner at this really cute place, did some final souvenir shopping (including meeting this hilarious shopkeeper from whom I bought a ring and who kept us occupied with the mechanics of said ring for at least half an hour), and finally back to the hostel. We met a fellow traveler named George who talked to us at length about religion, and that is all I have to say. Then we slept.
I woke up in the morning ready to head back to Fez for my flight home. I had been told a 7 a.m. bus would get me back to Fez by 11. This perhaps would have been true had there been a 7 a.m. bus, but it turned out the lady at the hostel was wrong. Instead, I was advised to take a bus to Ouzanne and then transfer to a Fez bus so I could get to Fez by 11:30 (I'm leaving out here where I ran out of money and had to go to an ATM only to find it broken, so the lady in line behind me let me get in her car with her husband/mother/daughter and drive me to the next closest one and then help me back to the bus depot; people are seriously too kind). Then the bus driver took his sweet-ass time driving, so that we didn't arrive in Fez until 12:05. This was problematic as my flight was LEAVING at 12:35. When the bus got to the station, I bolted and hopped into the first taxi I saw, only to be told that it was a petit taxi and couldn't take me (petit taxis are in the city only, grand taxis have to do distance stuff like airports), so he drove me to a grand taxi and I practically threw myself into the car (at 12:20, mind you) and had to point at my boarding pass to convey urgency, since he didn't speak any of the languages I did. Got to the airport at 12:37 and booked it into the ticket office, where I was informed that the plane was closed and I was not allowed on.
At this point, I burst into tears, totally distraught since this was a Saturday and the next flight to Italy was on Tuesday (i.e. four days later). The Ryanair lady told me I could buy a 300 euro ticket to Barcelona and then find my way to Italy from there, but I obviously couldn't afford it. And so I said no, and cried some more. The group of six or so employees seemed totally confounded by my hysterics, and the supervisor basically told me to sod off, only I just stood there and kept sobbing. To cut an incredibly long story short, when I asked for the third time if the plane was still on the tarmac, she finally sighed and told me to hand her my passport. She stamped it and whatever else, and I ran to get through security and onto the plane. Ran to the plane, which I had been told was closed/already boarded/whatever else, and found myself in LINE to get on board, since nobody else had boarded yet either and essentially speaking I was perfectly on time. At this point, I despised all Fez-Saiss Ryanair employees, but despite this, I had gotten on the plane. YES. I guess I should mention that it was 2 p.m. at this point and I hadn't eaten anything the entire day, save for a few blocks of dark chocolate and half a bottle of water. I looked in my wallet to see how many euros I had (Ryanair certainly doesn't let you have anything to eat or drink for free) and came up with one. So I bought the only one-euro thing they had....more chocolate.
Anyway, landed in Milan, ate while I waited for train, and then took train from Milan home to Torino. Which brings us back to the start of the blog, when I thought I would be writing it from there. Only it's April 1 now or something. Whatever. I am totally zapped of energy and I cannot muster a single adult thought or conclusion or summary of all the experiences I had and things I learned. I just can't do it. All I can say is, HA I finished in time. I have to go to Sicily now, guys. Ciaooo xoxo
