Day 192-194:Asilah

We got out of Tangier and arrived at the Spanish-flavored Asilah. Spanish-flavoured indeed. No more does breakfast just come with bread. Oh no. Now it has rice. More greetings with 'hola' than with 'bonjour.' The medina is incredibly quiet and clean. It has this beautiful juxtaposition of medieval walls surrounding crisp white buildings with blue trim around all of the shutters.

We had read that this town is known for being quite artsy. It has a huge street art festival in September. The writings were right. No sooner than you cross a corner than you see another piece of street art tucked away on the white backdrop. The town is set right on the Atlantic Ocean, making sunsets on the ramparts incredibly beautiful.

The city use to be a key Portuguese asset when they ran the gold trade in the 16th century. Until a pirate took over! This pirate apparently was quiet dastardly. He use to kill people by pushing them off the castle walls on the medina and into the ocean. Oh, who doesn't love a good pirate tale?

Strikingly enough, there are practically no tourists here. It's amazing considering it's proximity to Tangier and how beautiful the place is. It is a perfect town for exploration and a great place to end our journey.

We are so sad to leave Morocco. We are going to miss all of the amazing fresh bread and harissa at every turn. We are going to miss being enchanted by all of the different locations and the different traditional clothes. We are going to miss locals enthusiastically telling us, "welcome to Morocco."

Tomorrow, early morning train to Casablanca and then back off to Egypt. 

Day 190-191: Tangier

Tangier was a total bust. The town itself is actually incredibly different from the rest of the towns we've been in. Correction: it's not a town, it's a city. The city is sprawling and built on a series of hills, much like San Francisco. Also, much like San Francisco, it has stairs on its hilltops. We had wanted to check out Tangier because of it's strategic importance on the Straits of Gibraltar and its Free Trade Zone status in the early 20th century. I also thought Tangier would make an economic, great base for day trips. For example, Hercules' rumored home is under 30 kms away from Taniger.

However, that just wasn't meant to be. Tangier is quite an expensive city to stay in. We took a field trip to a place our Moroccan train friends, Nadia, had recommended we visit in Taniger: Cafe Hafa. Cafe Hafa is a restaurant for Moroccans to drink large mint teas set on a cliff overlooking the Mediterranean and Spain, just 13 kms across the Straits of Gibraltar. It really is quite beautiful and only a 1.5 km walk...uphill!

We also went to go to the American Legation Museum. Apparently, Morocco was one of the first countries to recognize the US upon it's independence. Morocco was also one of the first countries with a US embassy. Additionally, this museum is the only such museum outside of the US. We went, but ultimately decided not to go in. Seeing George Washington's signature just wasn't worth the whopping $3 for us! I can go see that in DC for free!

Anyway, since we also aren't crossing the Straits to Spain, and weren't feeling Tangier, we decided to settle for a small town just 45 minutes south of Tangier, called Asilah, which was never part of the French Protectorate. Rather, it was part of the Spanish. Time to put my rusty Spanish to the test! 

Day 187-189: Chefchaouen

After an unexpectedly windy and carsick-driving bus ride through the Rif Mountains, we arrived in the town of Chefchaouen, “The Blue City.” This city had been recommended to us by everybody. The city was formed in the 15^th century, by Muslim and Jewish refugees from Grenada. My history is a bit rusty, but I’d say they didn’t expect the Spanish Inquisition. They came here, banned Christians from entering the city and spoke a medieval form of Castilian until the Spanish opened the city up in 1920, and coloured everything blue! Everything in the city is blue. The stairs are blue. The doors are blue. The buildings are blue. Sometimes, you turn a corner  and it looks like a blue igloo – where the buildings almost look like they have been built with one of those gelatinous plaster machines that blows more of a blob that, if you don’t smooth out, just looks like a blob.

The city is incredibly charming and a wee bit cool. Not sure if it’s because we are in the mountains, or because we’re closer to the Mediterranean, or because it’s late October, but now we are starting to take out our sweaters. It also makes the whole igloo theme make a bit more sense.

Another thing that makes this city different and reflects its history is the Spanish mosque that overlooks the city. Lonely Planet recommends it as a lovely 1.5 km hike to the top the Spanish mosque’s hill. We overheard one of the girls, Maya, from our hostel say she was keen on going so we invited her to come along. We got to the top of the hill and relaxed for a bit to enjoy the view. After 30 minutes or so, we thought we’d get up and check out the other side of the mosque. We found a small path into the mountains. Feeling adventurous, we thought we’d check it out. It looked pretty level and well-trodden, so we figured it wouldn’t hurt anything.

Wrong! Maya suddenly had this desire to pick one of these cactus fruits we’d seen for sale in the markets. She was like Sleeping Beauty with the spindle. She just had to get that fruit. She picked up a stick, she approached it, and she got it off of the cactus with care. That’s when she realized that the fruit wasn’t just covered with a few visible thorns. Oh no. The fruit was covered with hair-like thorns which were now embedded in every single one of her fingers! In a split second, she had turned into the latest superhero, Cacti Woman! Thankfully she didn’t eat it!

We grabbed her coat for her, and she held her poor hands so she couldn’t touch anything, and we started to walk down to the village. As we walked, we approached a local and asked him if he knew how to get the thorns out. He said to put some dirt on them to help relieve the sting. Then he invited us back to his farm to see the farm and to have his aunt help pull out the thorns. We asked the price for the farm visit, and he said no too much. Off to the farm we went.

We got there, saw the farm, applied olive oil to the hands (which apparently allows you to brush off the thorns), and then started to argue when he quoted us a ridiculous price for having taken us to see the farm. We finally paid what we felt was fair and we went back down to the village, complaining about this particular bargaining style of the Moroccan people.

When we arrived at the hostel, ready to go and get some tea, Maya looked in her bag and suddenly declared, “where’s my phone?” That’s right. Another phone had gone missing in our lives within a two week period. Pallavi and I confirmed that the phone was in her hand when we were at the Spanish mosque chilling on the wall. We also confirmed that there wasn’t anything in her hand after she became Cacti Woman. The phone may have fallen out of the bag at the guy’s farm, but it’s most likely back up the 1.5 km walk to the mosque. Pallavi and I refused to let Maya go back up by herself, given that it was sunset.

Back up to the top of the mosque we went. No sooner did we get to the top than we met the same guy. He called his aunt to see if the phone was there but with no luck. We searched the ramparts near the mosque to see if she had dropped the phone while we were sitting. No luck. Finally, we thought we’d walk towards the cactus to see if, by some random chance, she had set the phone down on the ground and forgotten it while she was be-spelled by the plant.

There it was! The guy was so excited that we’d found it that we were invited back to his mother’s house for celebratory tea.  Moroccans may have a curiously aggressive bargaining style, but they still are incredibly helpful and generous when you’re in a pinch. 

Day 186, Part 2: The Moroccan Wedding in Fes

What do you wear to a Moroccan wedding? You wear the traditional, simple, but nice Moroccan dresses that the girl you met on the train, Nadia's, family gives you to wear, and then insists that you keep! I have heard that in traditional Muslim houses that guests are like god. Today, I felt like a real Muslim guest.

This wedding was my first non-Christian wedding. It was completely different to what I know. The wedding was held in Nadia's house. The men and women were kept separately. Additionally, apparently there are two wedding receptions: one on one day for the bride's family and one on another day for the groom's family.

Unlike our wedding receptions where we eat first, listen to Frank Sinatra, do our Dad/Daughter dance, and then break open the dance floor, in a Moroccan wedding, the first thing you do immediately do to start dancing. The Arabic music came on, the hips started moving, the shoulders started shaking, and the hands started floating.

Then, just when you needed a breather from the dancing, the bride and groom make their 1st grand entrance. That's right. They don't make just one entrance. They don't make two entrances. No. They make five entrances! Each entrance requires a different ensemble.

The reason? Nobody could actually tell us at the wedding. Neither could Wikipedia. For now, it'll have to remain a mystery.

Entrance One:
The bride wore a white Moroccan dress and the groom wore a traditional Moroccan robe. They made their entry. However, the bride didn't enter the room on her own feet. No, she was lead to a chair on the ground, where the groom's friends, in traditional Berber robes, lifted her on a palate and danced her into the room. and then they sat on this stage-come-throne that was made for them in front of all of the guests.

After they sat, this master of ceremonies and the bride's attendants (all hired people to help make sure everything goes well), made sure everything was settled. Then the bride and groom had what appeared to be the marriage ceremony. First, they held a bowl of cow's milk with rose water for each other to drink. Next, they passed the bowl around for the guests to drink. We researched this tradition and we believe its meant to symbolize purity. Then, the couple then fed each some sort of stuffed date, and then dates were handed out for the guests to eat. Finally, there was an exchange of rings. Obviously the couple then posed for pictures,

Then the groom just left. We couldn't figure out if he'd had enough of the women-only party or what. We waited and the bride just sat there on her throne. Finally, after 10-15 minutes, the groom returned bearing gifts which he presented. He gave flowers, clothes, and carried in gifts of henna, sugar, dates, etc. in large silver tagine-shaped platters. Okay, bounty given, the guests could then pose with the bride and groom. Finally, the bride and groom left.

Interlude One:

The music came back on and people continued dancing. Now, these weren't just young people dancing. Oh no! Those older women tied their scarves around their waists and started shaking their hips just as much as the younger women. I've never seen older women dance like this! They only sat when delicious cookies and juice started to be served. This is only the 2nd dry wedding I've ever attended, and I cannot imagine how much more these people would dance if they had alcohol!

Entrance Two:
The bride and groom entered wearing costume #2 - this time, the groom wore a suit/tie and the bride wore a green, velvety Moroccan dress. Again, they sat, posed, people took pictures with them, and then dancing continued.

Entrance Three:
The couple left, came back with costume #3, the groom wore the same ensemble, and the bride wore a velvety red Moroccan dress. I  must say, this was probably the most boring of the costumes. It felt a bit like they were an exhibit at a festival. You could pick with what costume you wanted your picture with the bride and groom. Do you think the green dress would flatter what you're wearing more? Okay, wait for that dress before you climb up onto the stage alongside them and get your picture taken.

I must also confess that I did start to wonder where the heck the food was? I mean, sure, they were giving us lots of cookies and sweets, but I'm more of a 'cookie and sweets for dessert', not a 'cookie and sweets for appetizers' kind of person. Plus, all of that dancing was making me really hot, sweaty, and hungry! There isn't even alcohol to give me courage - I have to go 'au natural' with my dancing. That can't be good for anybody.

Entrance Four:

Costume #4 was intense. The groom wore a traditional Moroccan costume, complete with the red hat. The bride wore this intense white dress with huge head gear. It was like Moroccan Cleopatra with a giant breast plate. Pallavi thought she looked a bit like the Hindu goddess Kali, which is intimidating, scary, and beautiful. To add to the intensity, this time they were both put onto their palates and both lifted up into the air. They only looked afraid of being dropped or hitting their heads on the chandeliers a few times.

Again, dancing interlude. By this time, we were well into Arabic pop music.

Entrance Five:

Finally, costume #5 came. The bride wore what Christians would call a traditional wedding dress and the groom wore a tux. They posed for one last photo session before they waved to the crowd, did their version of a Sound of Music 'So Long, Farewell,' and left! Apparently they go downstairs, where they eat dinner by themselves, before the family sends them off in a more private goodbye.

In the meantime, we all finally got to eat!! Food was served on a central platter and each guest was given a plate, cutlery, and a piece of bread. You could put the food on your plate, but everybody just grabbed a piece of bread and tore the meat off of the chicken on the central platter and ate it directly. Who needs the middle man of a plate?! If you waste time with the plate, you'll miss all of the food! You could tell how hungry people were based on the amount of bones that ended up scattered on the table! However, we didn't plan our eating strategy properly. There wasn't just one dish! Rookie mistake. Of course there were 2 dishes plus a fruit dessert platter.

We left completely stuffed to the gills, filled with amazement and hospitality, and with great memories and friends we'll never forget. What a great experience that just fell into our lap. Moral of the story: be friendlier to the people who sit next to you on the train! They might just invite you to a wedding.

[To probably be edited later when I figure out a funnier way to tell this story]

Day 186, Part 1: Pallavi gets a bargain in Fes

Sarah needs a new pair of shoes. My poor Toms, which I had thought about throwing away before we left in April, have become my new Energizer Bunny. They just keep going on, and on, and on. The key to their success? Lavender scented inserts that keep the sole clean and fresh. However, these inserts also have a lifespan. Long story short, Sarah needs a new pair of shoes.

We had tried to buy a new pair of leather shoes yesterday, right before we went to the Henna ceremony. The man who had the shoes we liked quoted us an outrageous price! He quoted us 600 dirham for two pairs of shoes (as long as I'm getting one, Pallavi is getting one too). That is about $90 AUD. We can buy leather shoes for that price in Australia. No way are we paying that in Morocco. By that time, we were running about 30 minutes late for our henna ceremony, so Pallavi said she didn't have time to bargain properly, and so we left.

The next day, on the way to the wedding, we thought we'd give shoe shopping on last go. As we searched for shoes, we saw the same guy, who invited us back in. That's when Pallavi really got to work. She went back and forth, she sweet talked the guy, she told him she knew that the shoes were good, but we didn't have jobs, so 240 dirham for two pairs of shoes was our limit.

He wouldn't meet our price. He started at 500 dirham this time. Then he moved to 400. Then his best price was 350. Then he invited us into the shop to reveal his best best price - 330. Again, Pallavi countered that we couldn't go up anymore on our price, so we left the shop. He came after us! He brought us back again, his best, best, best price was 280 for the two pairs.

This time, Pallavi said she could go up to 250 but that's as far as we could go. We went back and forth. Okay, 270, he said. Final price. That's just 10 dirhams more for Pallavi and 10 dirhams more for me to pay. Pallavi then said, well, if it is just 10 dirhams, then just let it go!

After 30 minutes of hard bargaining, he let it go. 250 dirhams for 2 pairs of leather shoes! That's $17 AUD per pair.

Now, we have a wedding to get to! 

Day 185: Attending a Henna Ceremony in Fes

Fes is an interesting city in that it has a really elaborate medina; however, to be honest, if you know what main square you are headed to, and just follow the signs, it's actually quite easy. The medina has much more of a Prince of Persia medieval feel to it. You are constantly walking through narrow lanes, watching for donkey trains laden with bricks or people with wheelbarrows, crossing underneath clay ramparts. It looks really cool compared to the other medinas we have explored. The people in Fes, though, are a bit crude. We have had more men catcalling and saying inappropriate things to us in this city than we have in any other throughout our travels - and this was while we were wearing jeans and a nice long sleeve top (our backpacker chic).

We've also discovered that people in Morocco love India. Pallavi is experiencing the same kind of celebrity that she did in Indonesia. No sooner do people see Pallavi and learn that she's from India then they reply with "Shah Rukh Khan!" Or, my personal favorite, they then just call after her as she passes them on the street, "Hey India!" I never realized how big Bollywood actually is as an international enterprise until now. A few months ago, Pallavi had cued me in that for collective cultures, Bollywood is more relatable, especially when it comes to inter-family relationships.

Speaking of families, today wasn't about exploring Fes and the medina. Today was about attending Nadia's cousin's wedding eve henna ceremony. We had been invited and went to her house to celebrate. In Morocco, the night before the wedding, the women get together and they hire somebody to put elaborate henna on the bride and then more simple henna on the other women. The bride puts on this velvety green dress, with lots of jewelry, and a crown, and walks into the main room behind two unwed girls who carry two large candles. There is also another family member who carries a tray laden with a bowl with two eggs and incense, a silver rose-water container, and some green velvety thing that looks like a Moroccan top-hat (but isn't) that holds sugar. The bride then sits on this throne of pillows that the family creates for her and the family starts the sing. The family sings the entire time that the henna is being applied to the bride's hands and feet.

This family is so incredibly welcoming. They put henna on both of us as well. I've never had henna put. I've never even seen it put! Usually, there are women trying to sell you henna in the square, so I try to avoid any eye contact or curious glances to avoid their attention and sales pitches. It is pretty cool. This girl who applied it really had great talent. Pallavi says that they apply it differently here than they do in India. It is much thinner here, which allows them to make the design more elaborate. They just put henna on the first digit of all fingers on my left hand, then a vine down from my index finger to just past my wrist. I must say that it suits me!

The family also let us play their instruments and got us up to dance with the crowd. It was full of fun. In fact, it was so much fun that we have shifted our plans to move from Fes by a day so that we can attend the wedding! What does one wear to a Moroccan wedding? We already wore our backpacker chic. Guess shopping for wedding clothes is one way to get a Moroccan souvenir. 

Day 184: Fes

After breakfast, our riad owner gave us a few instructions and information about how to operate successfully in Fes: 

1. Don't trust anybody. 
2. Just accept you are going to get lost and embrace it or you won't have any fun.
3. There is some sort of color coding on top of the gate that you can follow to find your way. 

With that advice and a short guided tour of how to get to his place from the closest main gate, he left us to our devices. Our own devices saw us quickly 200 meters to the closest cafe where we sat and had a coffee. Remember that we had met some Moroccans who were heading towards Fes on the train when we went to Meknes? Those same Moroccan girls had told us to give them a call when we get to Fes. 

We gave one of them, Nadia, a call while we sat at the cafe. I asked what her plans were for the day. She said, nothing, she had reserved the whole day for us! She then asked where we were. We said, "we have no idea. We are in a cafe, near a gate, and near a protest! (which was true. We just saw the riot police walk towards the protest and immediately back from the protest, without disruption to the protest)." She then asked to speak to our waiter, who gave her a more precise location. Finally she told us, "don't move, I'm coming to you!"

We had a tea and waited. When Nadia finally came, she promptly invited us to lunch with her family at her house. No sooner had she come than we were taking a taxi back to her house, where we had a proper lunch and met a whole group of family. Her father, mother, uncle, aunt, sister, brother, and more! 

Nadia's cousin is getting married in two days, so the family is filled with celebration. At some point, there was a huge group cheer going on in the family room. I figured that it was some football celebration for a goal. Nope! Nadia told us that her family says this cheer every time something happens that gives them reason to celebrate! The cheer even ends with the Arab 'youyouyouyouyou' at the end (which Nadia showed us how to do. We need to practice it more at home in the bathroom mirror before we feel comfortable enough to take it on the road.)

While we waited for tea, Nadia's sister came up with some food. In French, she asked if we wanted tea. We politely said no thank you. Her response: why?? We had no answer to that! At least not one that we could say using our broken French of 'merci' and 'enchante.' We also have learned that Moroccans have big families, for our standards. Nadia is one of 8 kids. The poor couple from who we bought the rubs had 10 kids. The riad host in the desert was one of 9 kids. We then asked Nadia what a big family is for them. She replied, 13 kids. 13 kids! I think 3 is a crowd sometimes. Geez. 

We spent the whole day with Nadia and her friend Wafa, who had joined us for the day and who we had also met on the train, they took us back to the old medina in Fes and showed us around, and her mother invited us to both partake in the cousin's pre-wedding henna celebration tomorrow and to attend her wedding the day after that. Wow! What do you wear to a Moroccan wedding? We don't know yet if we'll be able to attend, but we're just so flattered that we've been invited. 

We told Nadia and Wafa that Moroccans are the most hospitable people we've met. They have gone out of their way to greet us. Every Moroccan you meet on the street will ask you where you come from and then tell you, "welcome to Morocco." Our riad guy gave us green plates because we offered him a mint! Musicians at our hotel in the desert played music and shared their wine with us just because we were there. We can't wait to see what unfolds next. 

Day 183: Volubilis

The extent of the Roman Empire never ceases to amaze me. Here, in Morocco, they established one of their most remote outposts. This is the land of Carthage. They only were able to hold the land for 200 years before the local Berber tribes drove them out. Yet, they still were able to leave behind this ruined city and all of its olive presses for us.

Getting to Volubilis is a small adventure. It's more of an adventure because, unlike many places, there isn't a lot of information on how to get here. There is basic info: Take a bus to this pilgrimage town (where one of the prophet Mohammad's great-grandson's is buried and his body never decomposed, supposedly) and then get a shared cab. Nobody tells you where to catch the bus, or what number, or the fact that once you get on said bus,that unless you are one of the first to race for one of the 12 seats in the back, you are going to have to stand, squished among humanity, in the sun, for a one hour journey. Well, squished really was for poor Pallavi. For some reason, nobody wanted to squish up against me. Why are they afraid of touching the white foreigner? I don't bite; however, I do push back!

The ruins were really quite cool. They are set up in the mountains, and have been restored just enough that you can get a small feel for how the place would have been 2000 years ago.

We spent the day exploring before we were able to get seats on the bus (we got on right before it's last stop before turning around in the direction we wanted to go), and head back to town, gather our stuff, and get a cab to the train station, and head to Fes.

Also, side note, getting a cab to the train station is not as easy as it looks. You have to get a driver heading in your direction, claim him while his departing passenger is exiting the vehicle, and negotiate a price before you lose the cab. I had to lightly shove a woman out of my way once I finally almost got a driver! I'm working too hard for you to steal my cab lady! I got places to go, and it's almost starting to rain, and I don't have patience. #BadPushyAmerican. 

Day 182: Meknes

Meknes was a dud. That isn't to say it's a bad town. Not at all! The people in Meknes were incredibly sweet. Rather, it is to say that we didn't do too much on our day there and the town didn't really sing to us either. Meknes is it's popular neighboring town's little sister. It is actually incredibly quiet and non-touristy. That's why we wanted to stop and stay there. It also use to be the capital during the time of this infamous Sultan who was a peer with Louis XIV of France. I thought, Moroccan Versailles.

No. Not Moroccan Versailles.

It was not to be. The medina felt like a covered labyrinth that we were a bit overwhelmed to dip our toes into. It was also Friday, which is mosque day here, so a lot of the shops were closed.

It does have a quiet main square that has a small amount of merchants and entertainers. One snake charmer had such a huge crowd of people around him. His snakes clearly had lots of personality. They had so much personality that when they started to slither toward the crowd, the whole crowd immediately backed up in a unison retreat.

Our riad host was really quite sweet though. We offered him a mint, and he said, thank you, now let me show you real mint. He came back down with two green colored plates and gave them to us. We thought he said, "for you. Souvenir," so we thanked him and packed them up. As we stepped out, we suddenly wondered, "wait! Did he actually give us those plates or was he just showing them to us? Is he going to tell his friends, 'I was showing these tourists my plates and then they took them?'" We obviously asked him again just to make sure they were a gift, which he confirmed.

Good thing Meknes is the closest stop to Volubilis. 

Day 181: Return to Marrekech & Train to Meknes

We needed to return the car to Marrekech and made the decision that it made more sense to take the seven hour train ride to Meknes that same day rather than wasting another night in Marrekech or taking a night train to Meknes and having a bad night's sleep.

We got stuck behind a bazillion trucks when we climbed the mountains from Marrekesh to Ouarzazate the first time and it took us 4.5 hours. We needed to reverse that journey and get the car back to Marrkesh by 1 p.m. Unhappily, we started off at 8:30 a.m. The drive was beautiful! Somehow, we managed to avoid any major delays or getting stuck behind slow moving vehicles. We made to Marrekesh in 3.5 hours! Then things took a few bad turns on the way to the airport, and by bad turns, I mean, we almost went into a no-entry and managed to drive through the medina, past our original riad, and through the city on our way to the airport. I cannot stress enough how I wish I was just driving in Warrensburg, MO, where the biggest obstacle to your safety/timeliness/patience is the older folk driving from the Veterans Home or on their Sunday drive. We made it all in good time, turned the car in, and got to the train.

After a few hours on a super comfy train, the likes of which we haven't seen since Europe, in our packed little compartment, the young Moroccans sitting next to us started talking to us. We learned so much about Morocco as we chatted to them for the next 5 hours. Apparently, you can't travel on a train in Morocco without chatting with the other passengers in your compartment. It just is a part of the Moroccan train experience. One young guy, a Moroccan cinematographer, coming back from a shoot near Marrekesh, couldn't wait to get back to Casablanca so he could roll a joint. He went on and on, humorously, telling us all about canabis production in Morocco (which apparently supplies 90% of the supply found in Amsterdam's cafes), and about the best hash he'd ever had that got him so high, he saw a white light and thought he was talking to God. My response: "What did God say?" He didn't know! How disappointing.

What was even  more amusing is that as he went on and on and on about how good weed is in Morocco, and how excited he was to roll a joint in Casablanca, was that the 45 year-old Muslim woman sitting next to him, was laughing and giving a knowing smile, right along with him! I would have been so embarrassed speaking of such things with a "Mom" kind of character in the compartment. Nope! She had the smile of a "been there, done that, had fun" expression the whole time.

The young girls sitting next to us were coming back from interview with RyanAir and are studying to become airline attendants. We chatted with them, and asked them a variety of questions about their studies and our observations in Morocco. At one point we started to joke about weird things people have seen on flights. The girls' teacher told them that once, he was working a flight from Morocco, and while they were sitting on the tarmac, he passed an old man, who had decided it was time for him to get out his own small kettle and make himself tea!! Who does that?? Pallavi and I decided that we would really struggle in a situation interview question that asked, "what do you do if you pass a passenger who is using his own kettle to make himself tea?" We still don't know.

Day 180: Dades Gorge

We only had to drive 2.5 hours today, so we took our sweet time getting up, and eating breakfast while overlooking the Dades Gorge and the Tamlalt Valley. Pallavi surprised me by finding accommodation near the Tamlalt, which is a rock formation that looks like fingers emerging from the ground Little Mermaid style. We had a few options on what to do with our day, but we ultimately decided that we'd drive towards Dades Gorge, as it was just 10 kms or so away from our hotel. 

After driving hairpin turn after hairpin turn up the mountain and through this little narrow crevice of a gorge, we took our obligatory pictures. Unlike the Todres Gorge, this gorge had zero tourists and just one lone Moroccan tradesman out selling his wares. This young man was happily sitting on the side of the road, weaving a hat, with all of his hats and boots laid out on display. We stopped to look at his wares and were amazed by how sweet he was. He was the first guy who didn't seem like he was just out to make money off of us. He happily told us about his hats, what they were made of, the various styles, and so on. We liked him so much we bought from him, and Pallavi then asked if he also made carpets. He said no, he didn't, but his mother did. He gave us her card and told us to drive 3 kms down the road, where we would find his mother.

We drove 3 kms. No store. We drove 2 more kms. No store. We asked some locals and showed them the card, and they pointed us back in the direction from whence we had come, and told us to drive 2 more kms. 

We turned around and drove 2 more kms. No store. We asked some local, who again told us to turn around and drive 1 km. 

We turned around and drove 1 more km. We asked some more locals, who told us to turn around, and pointed out a small home on the left hand side of the road just a few hundred meters away. 

We turned around and pulled next to the house. We were greeted by a sweet woman, who didn't speak any English, who confirmed that the card did belong to her. We asked about carpets, and she confirmed yes, but invited us inside her home for some tea and to wait for her husband. 

We had read that the carpet buying experience in Morocco is just that - an experience. You should expect to have lots of tea, to take a lot of time, and to negotiate a bit. You should also try to buy directly from the weaver to both better support them and to get a better price. 

Expectations set, we entered the house. We were taken past their 2 goats, a pile of corn on the corner of the floor, and through an open-air space that contained a building with a kitchen on the left and were led to a cave lined with carpets on the floor on the right. We followed the woman's lead and took off of our shoes and sat on a carpet inside. The cave smelled like humanity. As we sat, we realized that this space was the family's main living space. Everything that they owned was piled up in the corners of this area. 

We sat and the woman brought over a table and set it down. She then brought tea, pouring them into what clearly were here nicest glasses, and gave them to us. Her two small children, a boy and a girl (about 5 and 3, if I was guessing) sat down across from us. She then dumped a pile of shelled nuts on the floor and used a handmade nut cracker to crack all of them, which she then insisted we eat. She was giving us such amazing hospitality, even though they clearly didn't have a lot to give. We waited and Pallavi made conversation using hand gestures. Pallavi even went to the car and got some Indian candies we were carrying and gave them to the kids. Finally, the husband came home, and shook our hands, and sweetly shook his kids and his wife's hands. He spoke a bit of English, and from that we learned that it gets very cold in the mountains, even snowing up to 2 feet in the winter, but the cave, as he called it, was very warm. We also learned he has 9 children! 8 boys and the one girl who sat across from us. 

They then invited us for lunch, which we kindly refused. The family was poor, but they seemed happy, sweet, and weren't wanting for food. Finally, we got to the carpet buying. We found a beautiful carpet that we loved, and bought it. After we left, we thought, they say carpet buying is an experience, and this certainly was an experience we'll never forget. 

Day 179: Drive to Dades Gorge

You know the gist of these posts by now. The drive was beautiful. The people looked different. Blah blah blah. We stopped by the beautiful Todres Gorge. Same old, same old, right? Wrong.

Today we had two twists to our plans. Twist one: people asking for help on the roadside. When we started driving from Merrakech, we had encountered a few people who had broken cars on the roadside and who we had stopped to see if we could help. Both men, dressed in traditional clothing, with strikingly good English had asked if we could help give them a lift somewhere. We hesitated. They kept saying, "but we are Berber." I don't care who you are, that means nothing to me. We're two women in an unfamiliar country, but safety first. The second guy we just left by the road. The first guy, however, asked if we could take a note to his family. He gave us very specific directions and wrote something in Arabic. We left. As we drove, we decided that no way would those guys wait for us to deliver a message before trying to get another ride. They'd definitely just thumb the next ride they could. As a result, we decided NOT to go to their house.

I feel like such a bad Christian to just drive off and not help at all. It's like being the bad Samaritan. When we arrived in a few of the towns, we asked our hotel hosts about these curious incidents, and they all told us it was a scam. They just get in the car and direct you to their cousin's carpet shop. Pallavi had the genius idea to take a picture of what was written in Arabic on the message the first guy had given us, and send it to one of her friends who speaks Arabic. We got the results of the message yesterday. What did it say? "Request donation for Yemen" (or something like that). I knew that that map got drawn way too quickly! Another scam averted!

Twist two: We happily drove along the road to our hotel at the Dades Gorge. Pallavi had a shutterbug that just wouldn't quit. We had checked the directions to our hotel on the phone at the last major town and just before reaching our first turn before our hotel, Pallavi asked me to pull over the car so she could click some pretty vistas. She clicked away, got back into the car, and we drove to the town. I then asked Pallavi for information about our turn and the distance between it and our hotel. She turned to get the phone.....then she turned another way to get the phone.... then she commented to the abyss, "where's the phone?"

I pull over at a gas station and we tore the car apart looking for the phone. No phone. We already are one phone down (see birthday phone breakage incident). Where could the phone be? If it's not in the car, the only possible place it could be is 9 kms down the road where we pulled over for Pallavi's vista, where it could have fallen off Pallavi's lap or off of the door when she opened it. How in the world could that possibly happen and we not notice it?

We drove in silence. How could we lose the phone? How in the world would we remember where we pulled over? How would we be able to spot the phone? Good thing there is photo evidence. We found the relative area where we had pulled over. Pallavi went one way and I went the other. As I walked, looking in areas that had a median big enough for me to pull over, I saw something gleaming in the sunlight. It was our phone! There it was. Just where it had fallen out of the car.

What was Pallavi's first response? "Is it broken!!!" Nope. Not broken, just dusty and happy to be found.

Now we know why I hold on to the important stuff. :)

Day 178: Merzouga

The alarm rang at 5:45 a.m. I stumbled out of bed, went to the shared bathroom, and saw a shooting star on my way back to wake up Pallavi for our sunrise date with the dunes. That is as far as we got. We couldn't make ourselves get up.

When we finally woke up, we stepped out of our room, to see not just dunes, but mountains of dunes everywhere. How had we drive past these in the dark?

Pallavi decided to catch up on a bit more sleep and I decided to go and hike the dunes. I got my Bad Backpacker/Girl Scout skills engaged. Water. Check. Sunblock. Check. Keep track of where I'm going in the dunes so I don't end up like some Unsolved Mystery. Check.

That is where my skills ended. As I walked in my flipflops, I thought, what happens if I get lost? Are these the most strategic shoes I could be wearing to go and walk to rescue? Maybe not. Okay, let's not get lost.

Then I thought, wait, I don't even have a cell phone. Again, what happens if I get lost? Then I'm the dumb girl who walked out by herself in just flipflops and one bottle of water!

Did I let this stop me? Of course not!How could I get lost. Isn't the name 'Sahara' just like 'Sarah-a'? I can do it! I just kept diligently looking behind me for landmarks so I knew where to come back. And did I let these thoughts keep me close to the hotels? No. I decided to walk to the highest point that I could make it to.

I figured I would just keep next to either the camel tracks or the 4x4 tracks. As I went up a dune, it suddenly struck me that a 4x4 might just fly over that dune at any moment. Okay, maybe I should stick to the camel tracks.

On and on and on I trekked, singing Climb Every [sand] Mountain until I finally made it to the top of the dune. The view was spectacular! When I finally made it back, I decided I'd join Pallavi in a nap. We slept all afternoon!

We only got up to get a late lunch/dinner, go out into the desert to try to catch a sunset, and then chill around with our hotel guys, who treated us to local drumming. Operation Sahara: check. 

Day 177: Drive to Merzouga

Can the desert call to people? I know the sea can call to people, but can the desert? Don't most people want to escape the desert? Not us. For us, the Sahara beckons. Well, I should be more specific. the sand dunes of Erg Chebbi beckon. 

These aren't just sand dunes. These are the grandmother of sand dunes. They span an area of 50 kms by 2 kms, and are 300 meters tall in places. This is the sand box to beat all sand boxes. <I wonder how you could use buckets and water to make a huge sand castle.....>

However, to get there, we must drive through the rest of the High Atlas, then through date country, then through warrior tribe country, then through the Anti-Atlas before we reach the town of Merzouga, where we can play in this giant sand box. 

We wanted to do 3 things on today's trip. 1) Eat fresh dates, 2) See the warrior tribe people walking around with the scimitar knives, 3) Go and see petroglyphs. 

1) Operation fresh dates. There is suppose to be some place near a town that we drove through that has amazing dates and date tasting. The catch is that it is by appointment only... and they apparently only speak French. As a result, they couldn't direct us. Not to be detoured, we decided to try to find the place using just our eyes and our hope. Hope failed us! I don't think our eyes did. Regardless, we were dateless. We then tried to find a stop by the side of the road next to a tree that was low enough for us to just pluck said dates. This tactic also didn't work. [Insert sad face here], No dates for us. 

2) See warrior people with scimitar knives. Success!! We ate at lunch in the town where Lonely Planet says you can see these people and we did. All one of them. Tragically, he was right next to us, and we didn't want to be completely rude tourists and try to take a picture of him. Still we saw him, and the whole group of men sitting around us saw us. They had an innocent curiosity. They were so curious that when we left, they all had looked to see where we had gone and waved at us when we drove by!

3) See the petroglyphs. Lonely Planet said that near a certain town you could see 5000 year old petroglyphs. What Lonely Planet didn't say was that you had to go on a complete rock (and by rock, I mean, HUGE rocks surrounding all the little ones) road to get there. Obviously we didn't take extra insurance with us on our little sedan that is not made for off-roading. We went as far as we dared and then we chickened out and returned. We failed petroglyphs, but we definitely got an A for effort. 

The drive was beautiful, albeit, however, it was more about the people than the scenery. People here look completely different. These are desert and warrior people. The people wear brighter clothing. The men wear those desert style turbans were there is a little piece of cloth that comes down and can be used to cover their face. The women wear a long, bright, colorful head covering that is more about keeping cool than it is about religion.

We couldn't wait for the long drive to finish. We finally made it our hotel, set an alarm for sunrise to see the sun rise over the dunes, which apparently are just 5 minutes from the hotel, and called it an evening. 

Day 176: Driving to Ouarzazate

We picked up our car to get on our road trip over the Atlas Mountains and towards the Sahara Desert. No sooner did we get on the road, than we immediately hit not just city traffic, but ancient city traffic. How am I suppose to handle driving in a rental car when I have motorcycles passing me from both sides, ancient one-lane city gates to cross through, and people darting in and out of traffic? How am I suppose to do it without a horn! That's right. We had done all of the cross-checks, marked the dents in the car, and tested the lights, but we had forgot to check the horn. We banged on various places of the steering wheel in a variety of ways to the sound of no horn! How could we not have a horn?

As we got out of the city safely, sans horn, Pallavi turned to me and said, "good job. I think you're almost ready to drive in India." I am terrified to drive in India. I am not ready to drive there. I barely made it here. My secret was just to follow the guts of the guy in front of me. Copycar all the way. Plus, at least here there aren't cows and stray dogs to deal with.

The drive over the mountains was beautiful. It's been years since my family drove through the more arid Rocky Mountains down near New Mexico, but the general mountain scenery reminded me in many ways of the Rockies. That is where the similarities end. Now, Mom and Dad taught me how to drive in the mountains with trucks and with construction. They didn't teach me how to drive when there isn't any signage that construction is coming until some random guy just stops traffic without the use of a stop sign. First world driving! Where's the stop sign buddy? Also, construction generally means you are driving on a real road in my first world driving experience. It doesn't mean you are driving on a dirt road for multiple kilometers.

Also, how do you pass the trucks going 10 km per hour on an endless zigzag mountain road without a horn? You say a prayer and just gun it! That is how the Moroccans do it, or so I realized watching car after car pass me. But the piece de resistance? The white European doing it. Well dang it! If that European can do it, I can do it too!

We were so happy by the time we reached a place called Ait Benhaddou. This is the site of an 11th century fortified kasbah that now has a new story: Hollywood movie location. Here's just a quick sample of movies that are shot here: Lawrence of Arabia, Gladiator, Jesus of Nazareth, The Mummy, Alexander, Babel, Kingdom of Heaven, and Price of Persia. As we left, Pallavi remarked, "I wonder how much of our information gained from cinema is incorrect based upon just the scenery. I would have thought this place looked like Rome not Morocco?"

As we came to our final destination, Ouarzazate, I suddenly noticed that there was this little trumpet image on my turn indicator. What the heck is that? Oh wait!!! HONK!!! Found the horn! 

Day 173-175: Marrekech

We got onto the bus to Marrekech and sat down shocked. How could a bus have so much room? How could a bus have seats that didn't pinch your butt and give you TBS (tired butt syndrome)? Clearly our reaction shows our standards. Welcome to the European influence! We arrived in Marrekech and had a debate on how to get through the labyrinth of the medina to our hotel. Pallavi said, "let's take a cab." Sarah, the cheap, said, "we're backpackers. let's take the bus. I'm sure we can get a bus that'll take us to a spot closer to our location than the main square." Onto the bus we went. Did the bus drop us at a spot closer to our location? No. Did we end up walking when Pallavi specifically said she didn't want to walk? Yes. Did we end up asking everybody along the way where to go? Yes. Needless to say, by the time to poor young boy who tried to make a bit of money off of us by showing us the way to our hotel just two streets away from it (when we mostly knew where to go), he got nothing but glares and hostility from us. Pick your moments kid! Do not mess with "tired, cranky, just walked when we didn't want to and had to ask lots of questions" travelers!

Marrekech is definitely a tourist town. It is nice, but not nearly as charming as Essaouira. We went to get breakfast and selected a restaurant in hanger. Why had we chosen to go out? To save a bit of money by not eating in our hotel. What did we end up paying? Almost double the amount we would have spent had we eaten in the hotel!!! Why? We ordered drinks not on the menu and got overcharged, with nothing we can do about it. Rookie move! We know better than that! #BadBackpackersStrikeBack.

The town has quite a lot of historic places, but we only went to the Saadian Tombs. The Saadians ran the sugar and the salt trade in the 15th century where one pound of sugar = 1 ounce of gold (according to my made up interpretation of Lonely Planet history). We found their tombs fascinating. The tombs have imported Italian marble, multiple vibrantly coloured marble mosiacs, beautiful wood lattice work, and more. However, the tombs don't have the same size as we expected. We expected Taj size. We thought we had a good feel for how the other buildings in this city would be, and didn't really explore too many more from the inside.

We spent our day just exploring the Medina, primary the souks and the main square, Jemaa El-Fna. The square is an absolute circus. It is filled with buskers and street performers. These guys have an eye for people taking photographs, so we decided to spend the extra money to go up to a restaurant with a balcony overlooking the main square to get our photo fix. After at least an hour filled with pointing out different scenes on the square, I realized that this was real-life 'Where's Waldo.' What did we see:

• A boxing match
• Snake charmer
• A man with a Moroccan hat twirling it for two babies in a stroller
• An old man playing a violin by himself
• Two men with a Moroccan version of a sombrero with pom-poms hanging off of it, in all red
• A man playing a big drum
• Card readers
• A table filled with teeth and dentures
• A man in a red and white striped shirt. We found Waldo! 

It really is like nothing you've experienced before. We even managed to start a crowd for a really good performer who, before we stood before him, hadn't had anybody listen to him properly the entire night. There went our good deed for the day! 

Then, at night, the different grill restaurants compete to get customers. We liked ours the best. They applauded after each person selected them and sat down. Who doesn't like a bit of applause to whet the appetite? 

Then, while getting some fresh orange juice at the end of the evening, a little girl came up to Pallavi and asked if she could have one of her bracelets. Pallavi has collected one bracelet from every country we've visited. The little girl picked one and Pallavi gave it to her. No way would I ever have been so gracious. The bracelet made the little girl so happy that she gave Pallavi and I each a big kiss on the cheek - the kind of kiss her parents must have taught her to give when thanking family members for gifts. What a super sweet way to end the day. 

We've had to stay a bit longer than we preferred here in Marrekech while we wait for a good price on a car rental. Tomorrow, we'll head off towards the High and Mid Atlas mountains and to head towards the Sahara. 

Day 171-172: Essaouira

We haven't been travelling on our own for almost 7 weeks. In the time we've chilling around with family and friends in India and Egypt, the following has occurred: 

• It went from 16 to 32 degrees c in Melbourne
• Back to school season hasn't just come, but it's also gone and given my Notre Dame a 4-1 record 
• It's practically Halloween 

We were sad to say goodbye to Heba after her power shop in the morning. We spent our time in Essouira shopping and exploring in and outside the Medina. 

It is incredibly enchanting. We watched men with different sorts of Ali Babba meets Aladdin turbans walk past. We climbed the ramparts of the more ancient parts of the medina and discovered artsy shops hidden in the historic walls. We bought Berber watches from a Saharan turbaned man who, after trying to teasingly ask how many camels Pallavi was worth, ended up getting away with overcharging us! Now every time we try to tell time using the sun, we'll think of the dark man who misled us. I shall call him, Jafar. Next stop: the hidden caves which hold Aladdin's lamps. Oh wait, I can at least use my new watch to see how long it takes to get there! 

We tried our first tagine. Note to self: local tagine is made for more than one person. Second note to self: learn how to make traditional tagine. Third note to self: Don't eat the entire tagine even if it is mostly vegetables and deliciousness. 

We also have started experimenting with Harissa soup. I enjoyed my soup so much that I completely didn't see the dates on the plate on which my bowl sat. It was only when the waiter, upon taking away my plate, asked me if I didn't like my dates, that I gasped in shock and immediately reached out to grab them before I lost them forever to the circling cats. You have to understand. I LOVE dried dates. I could just live on dates while in the region. How could I have almost missed out on them! 

This town is a perfect gateway into Morocco. Can't wait to get to Marrekesh. 

Day 170: Arriving in Essaouira

Heba and Aly wanted to go to a small town 400 kms south of Casablanca before heading to their conference in Marrakesh. In true Sarah-style, I hadn’t read anything about Morocco prior to getting on the flight, so I was keen on anything. Pallavi did some research beforehand (I’m way too lazy) and recommended that we all get a car to get to Essaouira. Aly and I were set to be the drivers. Why? Aly has an actual international driver’s license and I’m white. They joked that even with my Missouri driver’s license that a car rental place wouldn’t refuse me my white privilege. Also, I can drive on the right (rules out Pallavi) and I can drive a stick shift (rules out Heba). Score for my driving skills!

Now, driving in Morocco is, as Aly described, like Egypt + +. It mostly follows the standard road rules 80% of the time, but there is room for interpretation. I’ve seen how they drive in Cairo. No way was I volunteering to get behind the wheel until I had a feel for how Moroccans drive. Now that I’ve seen it, I can say that it’s only slightly scary, but it certainly allows room for error. For example:

• Accidentally in the left lane and discover it’s a left turn only lane? No problem! Just keep driving straight. 
• The driver in front of you isn’t taking the left turn fast enough? No problem. You can turn left just by passing him on the left…or the right…. Or both if there are two of you.
• Need to get to a place with a no entry sign? No problem! It’s just a little farther down the road anyway. The other car will understand or get the heck out of the way.

Just like Grandy says, it’s not who is right, it’s who is left.

Today, I couldn’t avoid driving in Casablanca any longer. We had the car and needed to get Aly, who was staying with his friend. Channeling Grandy, I got behind the wheel, and started driving with great trepidation. I made it to the friend’s house just fine I have you know. Ye of little faith. I only didn’t see one person and braked severely when Pallavi told me to ‘watch it!’ A little whiplash is good for your health. Keeps you limber.

We all piled into the car and started driving the 400 km drive. Aly and I took turns. Morocco countryside is beautiful. It reminds me a lot of the south of the US, where there is a lot of agriculture but where the land is flat and arid. Brown soil/rocks surrounded us on either side. Kilometers of plains stretched on either side of us with mountains dotting the distance. As we passed small towns, we passed men wearing ‘cowboy-like hats’ riding donkeys, hauling all sorts of different things. We passed more donkeys pulling carts from here to there. The countryside is littered with red-clay built small structures and fences. It’s gorgeous.

We finally got to the town and checked in to our riad. A riad is like a bed and breakfast. Ours was super cute and traditional. We sat down and were immediately offered tea. I accepted, saying, “they say it’s not a real riad unless you’ve been offered mint tea.” I have never had tea with so many mint leaves sticking out of it that you a) felt  you were drinking a tea mojito and b) needed to drown the stems so you could drink the tea without it poking you in the nose.

We then stepped out to explore the town. The town is an old military town set right on the Atlantic. Again, it has a robust medina filled with stalls. There are faces poking out from windows about the narrow lanes everywhere we go. Locals all ride bikes like madmen through the mazes. Fresh bread, eggs, meat, olives stand in every stall. Stray fat cats dart in and out of everything, everywhere.

We went to the harbor, saw a fat cat try to grab a fish off a vendor’s cart, picked our selection of fresh seafood and had an amazing dinner. We then went to the one place in town that had music and drinks. We got our seats and got free entertainment by a group of 20 women.

1. Who were they? Speculations abounded. Bachelorettes? Birthday?  
2. Where were they from?
3. Why were they singing in French, but standing on tables? That’s very un-French.
4. Why did they bring water-guns to the bar and are now shooting them at the waiters telling them to put them away?

I couldn’t take the suspense anymore and went to ask them. What’s the answer?

Dutch Sorority Sisters. 

Now it all makes sense.

Tomorrow, Heba and Aly go ahead to Marrakesh and we stay on to explore.  

Day 168: Casablanca, Morocco

Here’s lookin’ at you kid. That’s right. We took an early morning flight to Casablanca, Morocco. It was like stepping back in time. At least the flight was like that.

In fairness, Heba, who had to travel to Casablanca for a conference and happened to be on the same flight, did warn us not to expect too much from our carrier, Egypt Air. We stepped on board, all ready for drinks and movies, as per our usual international fight routine. We sat down, looked for our in-seat entertainment, and found nothing! You’d have thought that we were travelling on United Airlines or internationally in 2000. The airline had those central screens that come down from overhead with a standard movie selection, a simple ‘chicken or beef’ food selection, and no liquor. Plus the speakers were broken when they made overhead announcement. Additionally, after I rang my call button multiple times over a 30 minute period, I had to get up and walk to the back galley in order to get water for my poor parched throat.

We then arrived to one of the longest immigration queues I’ve ever been in.

We had read that Casablanca had nothing to see. Well, after our journey into the country, our expectations certainly were set at a reasonable low level.

We couldn’t have been more wrong! Casablanca is so interesting. It is absolutely a lovely city. It’s the kind of city you can see yourself living in. Heba and her friend Aly, who was also attending the same conference, have a friend who is living in Casablanca. After we found our hotel, in the small labyrinth of a medina within a courtyard that reminded me of ones on the Isle of Capri in Italy, he came and met us and showed us around.

We went to the 3^rd largest mosque in the world just in time to see the sunset over the Atlantic Ocean. I haven’t seen the Atlantic Ocean in years. I still can’t help repeating the same thought I have every time I see the Atlantic Ocean from this side of the world: just over that ocean is home. The sunset and the mosque were just breathtaking. The mosque is so large that Paris’ Notre Dame Cathedral could fit inside. Apparently it has heated floor tiles, a sun roof, and a view of the ocean through the flooring of the basement. It was too late in the day to go inside for a tour and we needed to leave too early in the morning the next day to go back, so this information is all just here say.

The friend, Sharif, then took us the popular main area of the city, where we took a long walk along the beach. Apparently the wind off of the Atlantic makes the temperature by the beach so cold that locals ‘turn their back to the beach,’ and refuse to live next to it. The beach is completely unmarred by the usual cacophony of a beachside area.

The locals everywhere are so different as well to their Egyptian ‘neighbours.’ There are a lot more women walking around, at night, alone, and without Muslim head coverings. The people also have more stereotypical African features than Arab ones. We finished our walk and our people watching, and found a great spot to sit and chill over a couple of beers. 

Sharif then drove us by all of the rest of the Casablanca neighbourhoods. We got a great feel for the place. It seems like a really livable city. Lots to do with a great feel to it.

We ended the day at a place called ‘Rick’s bar,’ a replica of the same one from Casablanca. It was such a cool place. It looked just like the movie (and played the movie on a loop to just help prompt your memory of the decor). We had fantastic cocktails, conversation, and called it a night. 

Days 162-167: Cairo

I wish we could say we went and explored the crap out of Cairo after we came back from our trip. I wish we could say we went and explored the crap out of Zamalek, the neighbourhood where H&N live. Instead, I can say that we really enjoyed chilling, watching old episodes of Friends, planning our trip to Morocco, and spending time with each other whenever possible, as the girls had to return to work.

Tragically, Nayeli came down with a down and out kind of cold. As a result, a lot of our post-work experience was limited to just relaxing at home with her. That's my excuse anyway. I would have enjoyed just relaxing at home anyway.

We did make it a point to get out every day and to do something. One day Nayeli cooked chili for us; another day Pallavi cooked Indian food for us; a different day we went out to this amazing Egyptian restaurant the girls had taken us to the first time we had visited Egypt and chased it with shisha and tea; and one night we went out to the same Nile club we had gone on our first night.

We tried to explore to get Pallavi's phone fixed, or shipped to India, or a SIM for my loaner phone. You wouldn't have thought that getting a Motorola phone fixed abroad would be so darn difficult! Some people attempt to look at it to see if it's fixable, while others just see the phone from a distance and say 'no.' You also can't ship the darn thing apparently if it has an in built battery. I'm not sure if I believe this or not, as I still have yet to see it in writing. As for the SIM, I just need to remember to carry a passport with me.

Although we didn't have success on our actual missions, we did manage to find some local amazing schwarma eateries, some great local galleries, and some lovely cafes.

To cap off the week, Heba's mom cooked for us and brought it over. She made us the best Egyptian food we have eaten! What a great way to end the week. Next stop: Morocco.