The Truth is Out There...?

Hello all,

I feel bad for the last few blog entries I’ve made—after some reflection and re-reading, I realized that I’ve been a little careless about what I’ve been saying and haven’t provided enough context or information for someone who isn’t here in Spain with me to really get what’s going on in my world. I’ve been a little unfair to the Spaniards and am portraying both an unflattering image of those around me and, consequently, of myself.

Happily, this is something I can change. :) Let me tell you what’s REALLY going on here, dear readers.

First of all, I LOVE Spain. I adore the food, the weather (yes, even the rain!), the music, the traditions, the cities, the nightlife, the parks, the art, and yes, the people. For example, the guy who’s sort of like the doorman for our apartment building always greets me with a huge smile and asks me how things are going for me in Spain. I think he feels really proud to have an American living in HIS apartment building ;) but regardless, he’s adorable and always puts a smile on my face. There’s also the guy who owns a kebab place near my school who remembers what I order, what part of the country I’m from, and speaks to me in Spanish and English without making me feel like a dunce. Last week, I spent an afternoon in the park writing postcards and watching children playing, and seeing the Spanish families interact so lovingly filled me with happiness. And we can’t forget that guy who let me stand under his umbrella in the pouring rain so many weeks ago—I think he’s very important to remember. The people here have, by and large, demonstrated to me that this is a warm, welcoming, casual, social, and family-centric culture.

Now. Catcalling in Spain isn’t exactly the same as it is in other places. From what I understand (from my limited knowledge of Spanish history and culture), it is generally seen as a way to compliment a woman without losing a sense of one’s manhood. Perhaps the aggressive—and quick to reject—nature of Spanish women contributes to its prevalence (this is just conjecture on my part). Spanish women are notoriously difficult (according to all the guys I’ve talked to—especially my American friends, poor guys) and when they reject a man’s advances, they generally do it brutally. Coming from a culture in which the feminism of our grandmothers has catapulted into a culture in which a slightly off-color comment can get you slapped with harassment accusations, yet women turn right around and expect their bad behavior to be tolerated because they feel entitled, or “men have had this coming,” I’m not exactly used to having men be so forward and publicly… appreciative. For awhile here, I actually really enjoyed the catcalling, because for the most part it wasn’t disruptive to my day, the things people were saying to me were generally nice and not too raunchy, and hey, it feels good to have someone say, “Hey, look at that hottie,” to their friends as I pass by. It’s nice to know that guys find me attractive, even if this isn’t exactly the manner in which I would choose for them to express it.

Lately, I’ve been feeling a bit of frustration with life in general (it’s just a stage of cultural adaptation and nothing to worry about, it was bound to happen sooner or later), and men have become the target of my wrath purely because, well, a certain few exhibited some bad behavior right about the time I needed a target to shoot at. Several female friends have had very recent, very bad experiences with guys (both Spanish and American) that I had originally seen as wonderfully sweet and harmless, and add that up with a few rude comments from creepy old guys and one friend who actually had a guy try to grab her very inappropriately when she was merely walking down the street, and RAWR, I AM AN ANGRY WOMAN, AND MEN ARE THE DEVIL!!! Oh, boy.

Clearly, men are not the devil. In fact, I find that I often prefer to hang out with my guy friends because, generally speaking, they’re quicker to say what they mean, get to the point, decide on a purchase, they can keep up with me drinking, and they make better dance partners. I’m just sayin’. :P No, but really, I appreciate my guy friends SO much—when I need someone to talk to, they make great listeners and honest advisors; when I’m down, they bring me ice cream and funny movies or take me out dancing; they don’t mind when I swear like a trucker, and they teach me new things, like how to each sunflower seeds, and don’t laugh TOO much when I fail (thanks, Ben!); when I get myself into “situations” I don’t know how to get out of, they step in and clear things up without me even having to ask; when I need someone to walk me home at four in the morning, they don’t hesitate and they don’t bitch about how far away I live; and when I make a fool of myself, they are (for the most part) perfect gentlemen and don’t make fun of me or tell embarrassing stories at school the next day. The men in my life are what add the color, the depth, and the sanity to what would otherwise be a world way too full of estrogen and drama. Thank you, guys; you are truly great friends to have.

So, if I sounded a little (or a lot) like a raving mad man-hater in my last posts, please realize that the anger comes from frustration at seeing the pain my friends have experienced, and just the fact that I’m exhausted from eight months of being “that foreign girl” everywhere I go, of struggling to communicate, of feeling like an animal in a zoo (I get a lot of stares, even when I dress like a European), of stressing over travel plans, and of missing some of the people I love most in the world.

I also want to apologize to the universe for insinuating that I’ve been incompatible with the wonderful guys I’ve dated over the years. Yeah, so it didn’t work out, but the truth is that I really have dated some great guys who were all really right for me during the time I was with them, and who I still admire, respect, and care very deeply about. In fact, I am still on very good terms with most of them, and the rest I don’t talk to just because I don’t know how to get in contact with them! Enfin, I may have made some interesting dating choices in the past, but I always made them for the right reasons, and I always had at least some degree of compatibility with the guys I chose to date. I just don’t want anyone to think I harbor any hard feelings towards any ex-boyfriends—in the grand scheme of things, the disagreements were small, and the fights rare, and I’m willing to let that stuff be water under the bridge.

I think part of this much more peaceful and forgiving attitude comes from the fact that I’ve recently gotten back in touch with a few guys who may have hurt me (and who I hurt) over the last few years, and the amount of respect, forgiveness, and love that they have demonstrated to me really makes me feel happy, hopeful… and bad about giving men such a hard time. :P So, thank you, friends. You really are some special guys, and I want nothing more than to see you ALL happy and healthy.

It could also simply be that I am returning to my senses after an episode of over-emotional irrationality. I would like to believe that, deep down, I am a peaceful and forgiving person. :)

Wait—did I just express all of that in coherent English?!?! Clearly I haven’t been speaking enough Spanish lately! :P I’d better go fix THAT problem right away! OH—by the way—Concha has started teaching me Sevillanas so that I can dance in the street on Día de la Cruz (May 3), and she says I’m great already! Especially my hands and arms—I guess I was just born to dance Flamenco. ;) ;) But shh, I want to surprise my friends here and whip it out when they’re least expecting it!! Teehee! Sometimes, life is really fun. :) The sun was shining today, and I walked home just as the sun was beginning to set, when the sky was gold and baby blue with white polka dot clouds. Just when I think the world is all blackness and meanness after a hard weekend, the universe has a way of sending me gentle reminders that I am ok, the world isn’t full of crappy people after all, and the best thing I can do for both myself and the world around me is to be happy and keep loving, even when it’s hard.

I send my love across the ocean to you, dear reader, with a hug and a smile,
Pura Vida,
Kelsey

PS. Please think positive thoughts in the direction of Iceland and its nasty volcanoes… apparently, another one is supposed to erupt soon, but I need it to wait until I’m safely home in the states, ok? I understand that the world thinks it’s coming to an end, but please help me remind it that Kelsey needs to be back in Bellingham to see some adorable chicks, a lovely little apartment, the best big brother ever, the most supportive parents, and the best friends a girl could have before Armageddon rolls around. ;) Thanks.

A Note of Gratitude

I am so grateful for my wonderful friends—for Kat and April and Rowan and Lydia and Nora and Concha and Zach and Matt and my big brudder and my mama and my daddy and for everyone who has been holding me up and enhancing my life with every positive thought they think about me. I swear to you—te lo juro—that you guys must be sending me some pretty freaking positive juju, because my life has been a series of amazing moments, awe-inspiring moments, and moments of intense connection with the world around me recently. I know it cannot always be wonderful, but I am starting to adhere to the theory that our moments (or day, months, or years, as the case may be) of darkness help us to appreciate the light and the goodness of life when it is good.

GUYS. I am HAPPY. HAPPY. Daily, weekly, from moment to moment, I’m happy. It’s something I didn’t expect to find here, and it really snuck up on me, but here I am, living in a new, strange city and culture and speaking a foreign language and making new friends and I’m HAPPY. Laughter comes easily all of a sudden, and I think I’m smiling more than I have in… too long. France was an amazing experience as well, but I wasn’t happy there like I am here. I was GLAD to be there, but I am happy here, and just happy with life in general here, and God, Universe, Love, whatever might be out there that is bigger than my small self, thank you. Whether or not you had anything to do with me coming here to find my happiness, thank you for my existence, for the opportunity to prove to myself that I am stronger than my circumstances, that I am bigger than bitterness, that I am smarter than stagnation, and that I am braver than I ever thought possible.

Thank you, everyone who loves me and thinks of me kindly and fondly from time to time. You are the hands that propel me upwards and pushed me out that door and onto that airplane—metaphorical and physical—that whisked me away from emotional death to the baby phoenix of new beginnings and new opportunities. My behbeh phoenix is growing healthy and strong and trying out its drying wings. Off we go together into this sweet, small world! Thank you for blowing away the ashes that stifled us.

I love you.

Kelsey


PS. I will blog about this WONDERFUL WEEKEND tomorrow. Stay tuned. It's been exciting. :)

A Night in with my Spanish Mama

Originally written February 12, 2010

I have to rave about Concha again, I’m sorry; I bet you guys are tired of hearing how in love with my host mama I am.

First of all, this morning I hung out at home writing and studying and just generally chilling, and Concha kept popping into my room with travel recommendations for the semester and exciting ideas of things for me to do. She offered to dress me up “de gitana”—in some of her traditional Flamenco or “gypsy” dresses—and take pictures of me one day while I’m here. I’m super excited! She’s also hopefully going to teach me Sevillanas, which is a simple type of Flamenco dance. She did a few steps, and I was like, wow, geez, I didn’t know you were a dancer! But apparently she was a really good Sevillanas dancer when she was younger, so of course she’s still got the moves. I also have started noticing that sometimes she sings in the kitchen or when she’s doing housework, and she has a really good voice! I had no idea I was living with such a talented little lady!!

Ok, and now get this. Tonight, I wasn’t feeling particularly well—I had what felt like the beginnings of a migraine—so I decided to stay in and maybe just cool it on the couch and watch TV for a few hours before going to bed early. I know, sounds like a RIVITING evening, but let me tell you, I had SO much fun with Concha. The Carnaval festivities in Cadiz are televised, or at least the stage performances, and so we settled in with a bottle of Spanish wine and chocolate and candied fruit and marzipan and watched some really spectacular performances. I was so grateful to have her there to explain everything to me, because although my level of Spanish comprehension is pretty good and definitely improving, it was very hard to understand some of the comedy and singing groups. Even Concha missed some of what they said, so that made me feel a little better.

So, for those of you who, like myself, know nothing about what Carnaval in Cadiz is like, I’ll explain what we watched: it seems to be a competition between three different types of comedy groups—those who mainly act, those who mainly sing (and I mean, beautiful, talented singers, operatic, some of them), and then the type in between that sings all their jokes but don’t have the same singing chops and the second group. It began as a competition of groups of only the third type, and then expanded to include groups that were more specialized in singing or in skits. There are winners for best performance, best costumes, and I’m sure other things as well. The costumes are usually over-the-top and very professional—I mean, these aren’t back-alley comedy groups; these guys are so prepared and polished that they freaking shine. Or glitter, as the case may be. The jokes are very pointed—critical of the government, education, the economic crisis, and often the groups themselves—and very, very funny. I got some of the jokes on my own, and the rest Concha helped me understand. Of course, there are a lot of sex jokes and stuff like that, too, because the groups have to satisfy both the judges and the audience, much of which is well on the way to sloshed. The audience participates a LOT, too—people will call out certain things and either the performers or the rest of the audience replies. It was an incredible production, really, and I was impressed by how much everyone seemed to know what was going on and what they’re role was in it. One of the skits was set in the American “West”—cowboy, Indians, sheriff, and even the token drunk Mexican wearing his poncho and sombrero. It was hilarious and biting and I was very impressed.

I feel like I just had a really awesome cultural experience with a really helpful guide. And accompanied by really fantastic Spanish wine—Rioja, I think? Never heard of it; tasted very different than the French reds I’m accustomed to; but I like it a lot. It’s got a lot of body and personality—this wine has an agenda and it’s not afraid to tell you! At first I was put off by the aggresiveness, but after a few sips, I got into conversation with it and started loving it. And a great wine paired with dark chocolate, madre mía, que bueno. Ok, I’m sorry, I’ll stop.

Alright, bedtime! I have a feeling I’ll sleep a lot better tonight than I have been lately; I feel good and warm and loved and like the world is alright, you know? Despite illness or sadness or whatever else may complicate my life, I am ok at a very deep level of my being.

Either that or I just drank a third of a bottle of strong Spanish wine in about an hour.

Pura Vida,

Kelsey

Granada! A quick recap of my first few weeks.

Hello again! I guess it’s probably time for me to talk about Spain a little, huh? Oh boy, where to begin? (By the way, you guys should definitely send me questions or topics you want me to write about so that I don’t run out of fun stuff to say.)

Well, I think it might be best to begin at the beginning and work my way towards now. Getting here to Granada was probably the most difficult—not logistically, but mentally and emotionally. I remember standing in the Dallas airport as my flight was boarding, crying on the phone with my mom and feeling SO tempted not to get on the plane. But, I did get on the plane, and although I cried quite a bit and it was a pretty miserable 8 or 9 hours, I made it to Madrid, and once I got off the plane there, I felt a LOT better. People were speaking Spanish and strutting around in their European clothes, and I said to myself, “Ok, you can do this. You WANT this. This is important to you, and you’re not going to let life’s unexpected shiftings ruin a wonderful opportunity for you, are you? NO.” And I got my old French strut going and sashayed on over to my gate. There were a ton of other Americans in my program on my flight, and we were all nervous together (although it made me feel all old and wise to be able to say, “It’ll be ok, guys, trust me—I’ve done this before”). I bonded with a few girls waiting for our bags once we got to Granada, too, and ended up taking a taxi to the hotel with them. It was pretty funny, because we were a huge group of clueless American students, and no one wanted to take the lead and figure out if we should take a bus or taxis, so this guy (I still cant remember which guy, and there’s only like six in my program, oops, I must have been really tired) and I were like, OK, GUYS, FOLLOW US, and we took off and got everyone lined up, and then hopped in the first taxis and off we went! I was so proud of myself.

I have to say, I definitely saw myself at the beginning of last semester in the faces of every single one of my peers that day, and I said to myself, “Wow, look at how far you have come, Kelsey, when it comes to facing your fears and walking straight into the face of danger—and with a smile! And think of how far each of these fresh, scared young faces is going to come over the course of the next few months—and think of how far YOU will come, too, even farther than you can imagine in this moment.” And it made me feel really good about my decision to come to Granada. I think I didn’t get to appreciate how much growing I did last semester when I was home over Christmas because there was too much else going on in my life, but I’m beginning to really acknowledge it now. It makes me think that, despite everything which may have gone wrong or may have SEEMED to have gone wrong, something went right, because I did what was right for me, even when it was almost too hard. I stayed true to myself in the face of failure and rejection and the Unknown, and I came out the other side still standing. I have an inkling that somewhere down the line, I will look back and see that everything happened just as it should have in order for me to grow and become the person I am becoming. WOW, right?!

Then, of course, I got to the hotel and absolutely crashed. I was so exhausted that pretty much as soon as I’d taken a quick shower and sat down, I started bawling and decided to take a nap. It was a good decision. After my nap, I wandered around the area near the Cathedral without really knowing where I was or where I was going, and when I got back to the hotel, I ran into the girls I’d taken the taxi with and a few others and we went out to get tapas and sangria for dinner. Another great decision. I got to have some bonding time with some really nice girls who are now my friends, and the sangria was delicious.

The next day, we met our host families! My host mama is the bestest ever. Her name is Concepción, but she goes by Concha, and she is a very short, rather round and really lovely little Spanish lady who is probably in her late 50s or early 60s. I think I’ve described her to various people as a very cheerful watermelon with appendages, and I mean that in the nicest way possible. She is the cutest little lady ever—and I mean little: when I wear shoes with any heel at all, I feel like I tower over her. And everything in the house is pretty low to the ground accordingly, so I sort of feel like I’m living with a hobbit. She is widowed and has no children, but she does have siblings (not sure how many, although I know she has a brother who died of cancer a few years ago and a sister who won a car on a gameshow when she was my age). She loves game shows, and our favorite is Pasapalabra, a word game one, and I’m getting to the point where I can understand the announcer (who speaks at hyperspeed) and sometimes I can actually say the answer before the contestants! I’m very proud of myself. She collects fridge magnets and cool trinkets from her travels, which have taken her as far as Egypt, Greece, Scotland, and Morocco. Concha was absolutely charmed by the gifts I brought her from home, and the day after I gave them to her, she had gone out and bought me a special mug all of my own that I can use here and then take home when I leave “to remember my time in Granada, ” she said. I was so touched that she had gone out of her way to get me a beautiful little ceramic mug, and it’s very traditional of Granada in decoration. I love my mug. :) Concha also loves movies, and she goes to the cinema with her friends a few times a week, usually. She is also super smart—she knows so much about Granada, and Spain, and the world in general. Sometimes I think she knows more about the United States than I do! She has also read a LOT in her life, and she has opened up her personal library to me if I want to read some García Lorca or Cervantes while I’m here. I think I will take her up on the offer! She watches a lot of TV, but she is often working on an embroidery project or something else while watching the news or whatever is on. I feel like I’m a lot more caught up on world news since I’ve been here just from talking to Concha and watching the news with her on occasion. Basically, I love Concha and I think she is the greatest little Spanish lady in the world. Oh, and, she says her doctor told her she has to lose ten kilos (oy! that’s a lot!), so she’s going to start going swimming every Tuesday and Thursday while I’m in my morning classes. She’s already lost over a kilo! Holy cow! I’m very proud.

Oh, and, one last rave about my awesome host mama—when I went to Morocco, I had a cold, so she made me a special bocadillo (sandwich/sack lunch) and stuck in an orange, a yogurt, and two little chocolates “para mimarme”—to spoil me. It was the sweetest thing ever. AND, when I went to Venice, she made me TWO bocadillos complete with fruit and chocolates. OH, AND, one night after I had been crying on the phone with my mom at home, I told her that I was a little homesick (and that I was sad because my boyfriend had just broken up with me, blah blah, we bonded, it was great), but not to worry about me. The next night, she fixed me a hamburger for dinner to make me feel less homesick. She could have fixed me freaking grits or a baloney sandwich or anything, just knowing that she had gone out of her way to fix something she’d never made before to make me feel better and more at home absolutely FILLED me with warmth and goodness. This is a good woman I’m living with. She has a wonderful heart. And now whenever she can tell I’ve had a hard day, or when I just get back from a long trip, she fixes me hamburgers. :) It makes me extraordinarily happy. As in, incandescently happy. Her desire for me to be happy is palpable, and she does a good job.

So anyways, orientation was pretty cool. We got to do a little guided sightseeing of the city, which was nice, but I’ll definitely have to go back to all the places we went now that I actually have a good feeling for the city. We walked up through the Albaycín, a beautiful neighborhood of whitewashed buildings on the sister hill of the one the Alhambra is on. At the top, there was a gorgeous viewpoint of the Alhambra which we took some pictures at—I’ll try to add a picture to this post if I remember. While we were at the viewpoint, two guitarists and a singer sat down at the foot of this really tall cross and started playing traditional Spanish music. Dare I say Flamenco? I’m taking a class about Flamenco music, but I’m still not sure where the line is drawn between Flamenco and other traditional styles. Anyways, it was BEAUTIFUL. Just la guitarra, las palmas, y la voz. ENCHANTING. That’s when I really started falling in love with Granada, I think—at the top of the Albaycín, looking at the Alhambra and the Sierra Nevadas in the distance, listening to this incredible music—and there was even an ADORABLE PUPPY rolling around on the ground near the musicians!!!! Can you imagine how high in the sky I was in that moment?! REALLY HIGH.

We also went to the Alhambra as a group. For those of you who don’t know, haven’t looked it up, or I haven’t already explained it to, the Alhambra is the old Moorish city/palace/fortress on the hilltop overlooking Granada that was the last Moorish stronghold during the Christian Reconquista of Spain. It is absolutely decadent. The architecture, the gardens, the rooms upon rooms, the maze that is the cellar, the fact that there are MULTIPLE palaces, as well as a summer house for when they got bored of their normal palaces—GEEZ. It’s awesome. I took lots of pictures which are on facebook, and you can also google image search it and gawk your heart out. Or come visit me and we can go see it together!! Haha!

The first few times I walked alone to the school and back home, I was a little nervous, but now I have an established route, as well as variations if I feel like switching things up. I love my normal route because I get to walk next to a river for awhile. The river is different every day—it was tumultuous and muddy the first few days we were here, then it kind of calmed down and grew smaller and more tranquil for awhile, and now that the rain is back, it’s muddy and rushing again. I love that there is a river to walk next to, I feel like that is so good for me, being the water baby I am. Sometimes there are geese on some of the little sandbars in the river, and sometimes they’re all tucked into themselves, asleep. It is super cute, and I keep meaning to take my camera to school so I can take a picture of them.

I feel like I’m being really random. I hope that doesn’t bother anyone. I’m just writing things as they come to my mind, and I know you probably have tons of questions and are frustrated with all my bouncing around, but give a girl a break, I just finished being sick and doing my first week of school! :P Speaking of school! I tested into the higher level, yeah I know, no surprise, but I was still nervous, yeah, also no surprise. I am taking the following classes: Monday and Wednesday I have Spanish Civilization and Culture, English/Spanish Translation, and Flamenco and Traditional Spanish Music; Tuesday and Thursday I have Comparative Study of Spanish Literature and the Visual Arts and Spanish Written and Oral Expression. I also have a few sort of quarter credit classes—Phonetics, Tutorias (still not sure what this is), and Granada Seminar (in which we will learn about specific cultural stuff, like Flamenco, bullfights, olive oil, wine, etc.). All of my classes seem great so far, and I like the looks of all of my teachers. I think most of our grades will be based on in-class work, participation, and the two tests we’ll have over the course of the semester. Sounds manageable! And, if you notice, I have no classes on Fridays. Yay! Three day weekends ALL the time! Which means more travelling, I hope! I really want to explore Spain—Barcelona, Madrid, Toledo, Bilbao, Sevilla, etc—as well as the rest of Europe. I know it’s ambitious, but I have faith that I can stretch my moneys and make it happen. Besides, there are only a few places I absolutely HAVE to go, and then everything else is gravy.

Alright, it’s time for me to get some sleep (I am writing this at home and will post it later), so I will have to sign off for now. If you have made it this far reading everything I’ve written, geez, good job! Keep up the good work! I promise I wont always write so much and so often, but it’s been really nice to get this all down, even if it is a jumbled mess. Better a jumbled mess in a blog than in my head. :) I miss you guys a lot, and I hope your lives are as rewarding and invigorating as mine has been of late, but with a little less illness. ;)

Love, and pura vida,
Kelsey

Morocco/Marruecos/Maroc!

Oh my goodness, first real post! Yay! Well, let’s start with Morocco and Italy while they’re fresh on my mind. OH MY GOD YOU GUYS. I think I am the most fortunate person in the world. Both Morocco and Italy were AMAZING. Doing a play-by-play might be a little much, so I’m going to try to organize by highlights.

The most incredible thing about being in Morocco was meeting all of these wonderful, generous, lovely people. With the program my program went with (how many programs? there will be a test later), we stayed with a host family for two nights in Rabat, the capital city. My friend Rachel and I stayed with a young couple, Fatima and Saïd, I think, and they’re ADORABLE 2 year old daughter Ghita. (At first we thought her name was Rita because they pronounced it as if the first sound was a very guttural French ‘r.’) Ok, no seriously, the pictures of her and us are really cute, sure, but they DO NOT do her justice. This girl is not only the most charming child I’ve ever met, but also the most gorgeous and cute. She is going to have the boys lining up across the freaking city when she gets to be our age. No seriously, guys. And she was SUCH a daddy’s girl, it was so adorable. She always wanted to give him kisses and he coddled her and clearly loves her to pieces. He had her do her “top model” walk for us—she strutted across the room grinning with one hand on her hip and the other on her head, it was maybe the cutest thing I’ve ever seen. I almost died of a cuteness-overload-cardiac-arrest right there on their Moroccan sofa. And she is obsessed with two things—Dora the Explorer (she showed us her Dora backpack) and makeup. Whenever Rachel or I got out lip gloss or anything, she would get SO EXCITED, and she had this little foundation compact she carried everywhere, and whenever she could get it open (it was complicated, ok?) she would smear it on her face and her parents would get all exasperated and wipe it off and close the compact, and the process would start again. Oh my goodness, I feel like I’m writing ridiculously bad run-ons, but I can’t express to you all enough how much I fell in love with this little girl. It was really hard not to kidnap her when we had to leave. REALLY. HARD.

Her parents were so great as well. The apple didn’t fall far from the tree—Fatima (probably mid to late 20’s) is absolutely beautiful, so you can see where Ghita gets her good looks. Both Fatima and Saïd were super sweet and engaging and welcomed us into their family as if we’d been there all along. They both speak great English; I think Saïd might work for some foreign relations branch of the government? And Fatima graduated college with an English degree and is looking for a job doing… something with that. The first night we were there, Saïd had a very earnest conversation with us (mostly him talking and us agreeing) about how many Americans or westerners in general have a very bad image of what it means to be “Muslim” or “Arab,” and how incorrect that image is. He assured us that he didn’t care what religion we did or didn’t practice, that he respected us for how we behave and what we do, and not who we worship. He also explained that the general tenants of Islam are those of generosity, brotherhood, and love, and that there are extremists in every religion that distort the truth to fit their needs. I can certainly tell you that from my experience, this family, along with everyone else I met in Morocco, demonstrated to me that he is right about Islam. If they represent what it means to be “Islamic,” I wish more of the world were Islamic. I have never met people more giving and open and accepting of others. They made me feel so very welcome, and that it was ok for me to be me—and different!—and that that wouldn’t interfere in our relationships. Wow, right? I felt more at home within two days with that family than I ever did in France, for example. I am definitely intrigued and want to spend some more time in Muslim countries now. Before going to Morocco, I was interested, but now I’m hooked. I need to know more. Why are they so awesome, and why doesn’t anyone else seem to realize it? And I definitely want to learn more about Islam now, since it is clearly such an important part of their lives and culture.

We also had the opportunity to eat lunch with a rural family that lives in a village in the Rif Mountains. We had a translator to help us ask questions, and the family was very kind and happy to answer everything we could think of to ask. And OH MAN I almost forgot to rave about the food!! This family made us a wonderful couscous and vegetable dish that was almost impossible to stop eating. Fatima made Rachel and I the best food ever—spaghetti our first night, but à la Morocco of course, and a yummy lamb dish the next day (very traditional and soooo tasty), and then this delicious ham and egg and cumin thing that night. Moroccan food rocks my world. The spices they use are super duper tasty, and they eat using bread and their hands (very similar to what I’ve heard and seen about how food is eaten in India), and the bread is amazingly yummy, too! It’s just all to die for.

Of course, I cannot forget to mention how beautiful Morocco is. On the first day, we stopped in the town of Asilah on the Atlantic Ocean to ride camels (HELL YES it was awesome, but kind of just like riding a really tall horse, but still!) and wander through town. The city itself was beautiful—white buildings, colorful art graffiti (there’s apparently a wall art festival every spring there?)—but the view of the ocean was breathtaking. It was also mind-blowing to think, wow, I’m standing on the edge of the Atlantic Ocean… in Africa. Holy shit, right? Rabat was pretty awesome architecturally speaking, and it was especially cool to see some Roman and Arab ruins there, and then the local market (the medina? I don’t know). The ruins are inhabited by storks, and there’s also a fertility pond there, so clearly, this is where all the babies in the world come from. Which must be why Ghita was so amazing, because her parents got to go right to the source to pick out the cream of the crop, right? I mean, that IS how babies happen, right, a stork delivers them? ;) Just teasing. Anyways. The fertility pond has EELS in it, and you throw in a hardboiled egg, and if the eels eat it, you’re good to go, and if not, you’re out of luck. Cool fertility clinic, in my opinion. And there are a lot of kitties there, because the eels only get the white of the egg, so the guy who sells you the eggs gives the yolk to the cats. Anyways, the ruins themselves were really awesome to see and wander around in (see my pictures, they can describe it better than I can), and at one point, we definitely saw some storks getting it on. Someone must have fed the eels…

Shopping and walking around in the market in Rabat was such a cool experience. Our guide dude totally liked me best (haha, hope none of the other girls read this), and when he wasn’t running around trying to keep track of five girls all with shopping missions, he helped me pick out scarves and bargain with merchants. And I was soooo proud of myself, because I used my French to bargain a few times!! (For those who don’t know, the French colonized Morocco for a bit there, and even though they’re gone now, French is still very widely spoken there, and almost everyone speaks it fluently in the big cities.) I got some very very beautiful scarves for ridiculously cheap prices, as well as a few more trinkets to give as gifts or decorate my spankin’ new abode this summer.

Another really cool place we went was Chefchaouen, a city in the Rif mountains that used to be really secluded—as in, when they rediscovered it in the 1920’s or thereabouts, the people were still speaking medieval Castilian Spanish, because the last group of people to move in there had been medieval Spaniards. I kid you not. Anyways, now it’s a pretty touristy place because it is GORGEOUS—blue and white buildings tumbling down the hillside, a river on one side, rolling hills/mountains on all sides. Go look at more of my pictures of it, it was SO pretty. And I made friends with a doggy there. :)

Something I want to mention about Morocco before I move on to Italy is that it was very lush and green. Which I know is not exactly the common image that comes to mind when one thinks of an African country of the edge of the Sahara Desert. Of course, we were only really in the north and pretty close to the coast most of the time, but that IS where much of the population lives. I just thought I’d blow your minds with that little factoid. It’s SO GREEN. It reminded me of Costa Rica, and made me really miss my family there… but that’s a whole ‘nother story.

Alright, there are so many more things I could say about Morocco, but if I keep going, we’ll NEVER get to Spain, so I’d better stop there.

Ok maybe one more thing.

Our group leader was a Peace Corps volunteer who had just finished up her service, and she was from Seattle! She was really awesome. But anyways, talking to her and to other Peace Corps volunteers I met and reading some of the articles the program provided us with really made me think about my future and what I want to do with it. I think often we hear people saying “I want to make a difference, I want to change the world!” and we don’t see a lot of serious action to actually do so. I want to be different; I want to follow through on my desire to change the world, even just a little piece of it, even just one life. And while I’ve focused on the really positive aspects of my trip to Morocco, there is, of course, another side to this beautiful and generous country. That side is one of poverty, and struggles for women’s equality, and a lack of basic knowledge about safety, sanitation, and health in many communities. For example, when we visited the family in the rural village, one girl wanted to know where to throw away a candy wrapper (I think), and they said to just throw it on the ground—and outside on the ground there was garbage everywhere, not really even localized in one area. Some of the garbage was things like nails and pieces of scrap metal, and plastic containers that looked like they may have contained cleaning fluids or car fluids and stuff like that which could be really harmful to the kids or the animals if they play with and ingest them. I know that they probably don’t have access to a garbage pickup system like the one we take for granted in the United States, but at the same time, I was honestly pretty surprised to see some of those things left where they could be a potential health hazard, especially knowing that the nearest hospital or clinic was pretty far away. Anyways, that is only an example of some of the eye-opening things I experienced in Morocco that made me realize that I really DO want to make a difference somewhere, and that I don’t need a degree in medicine or waste management to help people in developing countries take better care of themselves and their surroundings, for example. Or that I don’t need a degree in women’s studies or conflict management to help empower women to stand up for themselves and enjoy their rights to the fullest. Basically, I think I want to do something at some point that involves taking an active part in helping others to help themselves and improve their living conditions. And maybe I won’t do the Peace Corps (continuing health issues are enough to dissuade me from putting myself in that sort of intense and probably grueling sort of situation at this time in my life), or at least not right away, but maybe Fulbright? And maybe I won’t even do this work in a developing country, but what about the people struggling with similar issues in our own backyards? Regardless of how or where or when, I was really inspired—and sobered—by what I saw and experienced in Morocco, and I don’t want to let myself continue living my comfortable and charmed life without giving back some of that love and generosity I know and have experienced in some way or another. I wish that everyone could feel this inspiration and this call at some point in their lives; I’ve been lucky enough to feel this urge multiple times in my life, and each time stronger. The call is getting strong enough now that soon I’m just going to have to buckle down and get my hands dirty, you know? Stop talking, and start doing. I want to finish my degree first, and then… who knows. Off I go!!

On that note, I have to get going. Italy and Spain will have to wait for another post. I love you all. I miss you all. I wish you could be here, doing this all with me. Then again, I don’t wish that—I wish that you are all doing exactly what you need to do to be happy and inspired and as fully alive as is possible, just as I am.

Pura vida, siempre.
Kelsey