Cheerios!

Greetings from Jolly Old London! It's raining and cold here. I know: Shocker! They say it might even snow. How fun (not fun) would that be???

I have three days here before my flight to New Zealand. After completing the test from hell, a whirlwind tour of Spain this past week and some emotional highs and lows, I'm set to transition into the next phase of my adventure.

I know you're wondering: I passed my test. Not with flying colors, mind you, but I passed Spanish nonetheless. It was HARD! So hard! My Bitch Teacher From Hell told a few people during a break the week before that the test would be at 10am, even though class normally starts at 9. Our nice teacher said this might be a trap and that we should all come at 9 anyway. So after a weekend of study sessions with my fellow students and total brain fry, I show up at 8:30, hoping to study a bit more before the test, whatever time it might be. And what does Bitch Teacher From Hell do? Shows up at 9 saying, "Are you all ready? Where's the rest of the class? I never said 9. I don't know what you're talking about." Awful awful woman. It's like being in an abusive relationship. You never know where you stand and then she acts like YOU'RE the crazy one when she 'misremembers'. After I PASSED the LEVEL FOUR class, she suggested if I continue my studies in the states I should start at a level ONE. Why does she hate me so???
Anyway. I'm glad that's over and done with.

Gwenn came for a quick trip through Spain. She loved Granada way more than I ever did, then we drove up to Madrid for a couple of nights. The city was a blur (as it was when my boys came) but lively and fun. We then drove to the north of Spain and had NO IDEA what we were in for. Have you ever heard of Somo? Neither had I, but apparently it's where all beautiful scenery comes to live. Seascape with castles on the horizon? Check. Cows meandering in pastures? Check. Picturesque little stone B&B with overly-helpful, grey-bearded Spanish gentleman? Check. Mountains frosted with snow as far as the eye can see? Check. Green rolling fields and RAINBOWS, ferchristssake???? Check!! (Pics to follow.)

Somo is near Santander (an hour west of Bilbao). I kind of picked the place thinking it would be a launching pad for drives to other towns but I could have happily stayed there for an entire week. They have a zoo that's not really a zoo... AMAZING. We wore out the word "beautiful" while driving through. It's an old mining area they turned into a zoo/refuge for animals. They had the most expansive, natural enclosures I've ever seen. I saw an Osterich! Up close! It's head reminded me of little Tivatoodles. That black, glossy, expressionless eyeball staring back at you... They also had the usual assortment of animals. But seriously, this place was not like anything you're imagining. It's so much better. Make plans to go now. K? Now I know what all the fuss about the North was about. We also had the best fish there. It's called Munkfish in the states, but they call it "Rape", which I found much more amusing. Buttery and flakey and... oh, sorry, I'm drooling on my keyboard.

Sigh. Big, fat, full bellied sigh.

So here I am in cold, grey London. Last night I wandered for a bit then saw the 3D version of Alice in Wonderland. I know, I go to London and WATCH A MOVIE? You don't understand, though! After two months of Spanish, Spainish, Spainish and ZERO pop culture I was dying to be connected to Hollywood in some way. Today I wander more (Tower of London, I think...) and then do the Jack the Ripper tour! Then I'm going for Indian food. So excited!

Oh, and on a side-note: My night in the hostel here was a night from HELL. Only I could luck out with the spot BELOW and NEXT TWO the loudest snorers here. Earplugs, sweatshirt over head.. still could feel the rumbling in my bunk. I'm trying to work through it and toughen my eardrums up a bit. After all, I'll have two months of this coming up. Ug. How I long for my old bedroom where my only annoyances were the pattering of cat feet running up and down the halls...

More soon! Just wanted to let you all know I was alive!

Granada!

I went and saw some cats! Ok, no. So, I actually went and did some exploring around Granada. We have this big thing here called "Alhambra". I don't know if you've heard of it, but it's kind of a big deal. Something big like religion in Spain started here, I think. And Christopher Columbus got his marching orders from within these walls. There's a lot more to it but silly me, I went to see it before doing ANY research. So what did I see?

Toursists. And lots of them.

Pretty things.

Lots of kids on school tours.

The most amazing views of Granada. (That, and lots of rain.)

Pretty little ponds with fishies in them.

Meticulously detailed bits of architecture. Sure wish I knew what this was all about! (Grumble grumble.)

Pretty things outside.

Hey! Did you see my new rain boots? And my matching rain-soaked upper half?

I also visited the Sacromonte area, which is our gypsy quarter. There are great views of Alhambra (on the left there somewhere) and the city below. I went with a group from my school. One of the professors gave a tour of the area, Sacromonte itself (which is a huge church/school/neighborhood kind of thing) and lots of historical antecdotes. Sacromonte is where the Semana Santa procession ends. Semana Santa is one of the things Andalucia (this part of the country) is famous for. Hundreds of people pour into the streets to hoist and carry a giant effigy of a religious figure on a 12 hour+ long procession through the city. This is also when you can see a bunch of people dressed like KKK members. (I think the KKK borrowed their outfits from this religious ceremony. Apparently this little detail makes for some terrified tourists when they unknowingly stumble across this fiesta.) We got to see the artifacts as they were preparing them for their big day. What a treat, since I won't be here to see it firsthand!

More Sacromonte. This part of Granada is where all the cave homes are. Yes, for less than $100 a night, you too can stay in a cave-house. Bring your own pelt.

We've had some blue skies and warm weather in Granada. What a lovely March surprise!

Right by the big cathedral in Granada. I enjoyed a fantastic schwarma sammy while soaking up some sun. I have 7 new freckles!

This is my school. Pretty nice, huh?

You'd never know that behind that window (the one smack in the middle) lives one of the meanest teachers ever. Yesterday she told me I never listen (NUNCA!) because I left an accent on one of my preterito indefinidos. Seriously. I'm so glad I only have two more days of class. I've decided to send a big fat complaint letter instead of the big fat middle finger I dream of sending. (After I get my final grade, of course.) I'm just so over being treated that way for no good reason. Let alone PAYING for it. We had a big study session today for our final on Monday and everybody was sharing their horror story about Nieves. Apparently she threatened the missionary with a lower grade if she kept speaking English during the breaks. (My fellow classmate was having a hard time finding the words in Spanish to explain she was so tired that day because her uncle had just died and she spent the night on the phone with her family.) At least I'm not alone in my misery.

Anyway. It's my last weekend in Granada! I can't believe two months has already gone by. It's never what you think it will be, but it's been great. I didn't do tapas every night or make a ton of Spanish friends but I did have a lot of time to just be here. I'm so excited about my week traveling through Spain before I head to New Zealand! The next chapter begins!

The Post Where I Complain

Hi! Remember me? Where have I been???? I've been studying a lot (and playing with friends in town... but more on that later). Spanish is hard. I came in pretty cocky because I do so well in my classes back home and thought this one would be easy to ace as well. Boy was I wrong.

I'm understanding a lot more. I watched an entire Spanish movie, "Los Amantes del Circular Polar" without subtitles and got it. (It was really good, by the way. I recommend!) I just don't speak as much as I should. My roommates talk so quickly it's exhausting.

I'm having a hard time with all of these Spanish rules. There are FOUR different past tenses. Did I mention that? I have a complicated structure chart in my brain just to figure out how to tell someone about what I had for breakfast. We just learned about Preterite Imperativos, which is like commands or directions. They give you about 15 minutes to understand the concept then they throw in curve-balls. Like, the verb is totally different if you're telling someone to not do something. And when you say something like "Give it to me!", instead of being "Da lo me!" it becomes ONE WORD in different order: "Damelo!". When you're trying to break down the verbs, direct object and indirect object (which just made me throw up in my mouth a little to type because I'm so over sentence structure) it's really hard to understand, let alone make your brain come up with your own complicated little structure on the spot.

Plus, my morning teacher, Nieves, has it out for me. I don't know what the eff her deal is, but everything I do is wrong. The other day she passed out an assignment and asked us to read through it, which I did, but then yelled at me because I had a pen in my hand and it looked like I might write something. I'm not used to teachers not liking me. I'm attentive in class, I ask questions, I always do my homework. I try hard. WTF? And it's just me. Other people miss class, come in late, don't do their homework and don't participate but for some reason she singles me out. If I take longer than 2 seconds to think about the solution to something on the assignment she sighs, rolls her eyes and says, "You don't get it, do you?" and then starts to scribble the answer on my paper. Seriously. Gwenn asked me if maybe it was because I'm older, but there is another girl in the class my age and Nieves treats her like she's God's gift. (She probably is. She's a missionary.)

My late morning teacher, Rosie, told me yesterday that Nieves said I never participate and don't do my work. Rosie said she doubted that based on my performance in her class, so I'm glad I have some support. Rosie said Nieves has a bad attitute and that I just need to demonstrate my comprehension more in class. That in itself is fine (because seriously, get laid or get some prozac and back off lady) but I'm worried about the part of my final that Nieves is going to grade. I anticipate she's going to find every missed accent and little mistake I made and try to fail me.
So, to prepare for battle, I hired a tutor and have been studying non-stop, doing extra assignments and whatnot.

This morning I woke up thinking about Nieves and formed several sentences in Spanish telling her to suck it.

I think the tutoring is helping.

Morocco

Wow. In a word, that's the best way to describe Morocco. It was chaotic yet charming, dirty yet gorgeous and scary yet... uh... scary. I knew to expect people trying to sell you stuff left and right. The guidebooks warned against various scams and suggested travelers "go with the flow" because things work a little differently down there. Boy do they.

(That big rock you've heard of... Gibraltar.)

We arrived in Morocco via train to Algeciras (Spain) and ferry to Tangiers. The ferry was supposed to leave at 1 and was supposed to be half an hour long BUT it actually left at 2 and was 2 hours long. The seas were rough and people were puking all around me. You know it's bad when the staff runs around handing out plastic bags. I managed to keep my lunch down just fine but once I heard a guy yakking next to me I had to go outside for fresh air. Ug. Tangiers was just as chaotic as I expected. Within two minutes of departing the ferry Angela and I were accosted by men trying to sell us tours, hotels, taxis and one gentlemen offered me "a boogie boogie" if I came back to his house. Ug again.

Moroccans speak Arabic or French and thankfully Angela is fluent in French. Getting around was a breeze! I just sat back and let her do the talking for the most part. Whenever we were tired of being asked where we were from (a common tactic to get you to talk to a shop owner or "guide") we conveniently forgot all French and English and pretended to be Russian or Swedish, staring at them blankly. Ignoring the aggressive vendors is the only way to get through Morocco with your sanity.

We ran into a couple while looking for a taxi in Tangiers and decided to explore the Medina (old town) with them. It was a guy from the mid-west and his Lithuanian bride. They had been in Tangiers since the morning and had already had their fill of Morocco. She was tired of men clicking at her or whispering in her ear as they walked by and he was tired of being harassed by salesmen. The whole cab ride and tour of the Medina was a trip to Negative-town. Blah blah blah the whole time about the people and everything that was wrong with Tangiers. I could sympathize to a point, but then what are you going to do? You're already in the country and have to make the best of it. Complaining about it is only going to make it worse. (I'll eat these words later, don't worry...) Angela and I were happy to run into another lovely couple when we were sufficiently lost (the Medinas are like mazes with lots of dead-ends). They were Parisian and had just moved to Tangiers a few months before. They offered to give us a tour with their adorable toddler in tow. We were grateful to hear about what they loved about Tangiers. The culture, the people, the history... They showed us around the various streets and markets , when Mr. and Mrs. Negative decided to head home, took us for Moroccan tea. They offered to have us stay with them on our way out of Morocco, too. So nice! We stopped for some couscous "to go" and found that they didn't really have a "to go" option. After a strange look and shrug of the shoulders, the chef wrapped the entire plate of couscous and veggies in paper and plastic for me to take. And charged me for it. Lesson learned.

(Inspecting Angela's "health cookie" that smelled like hay.)

(Specialized meals at the local McDonalds.)

(Tangiers. Well, the pretty part.)

We decided to take the overnight train to Marrakesh and bought tickets for a couchette. Unfortunately, after buying the tickets, we learned the first 2 hours of our ride would be by bus then a 2 hour wait at the train station before picking up our couchette at 2:30 in the morning. Mind you, carrying my heaping dinner plate the whole way. This inconvenience did allow us the opportunity to meet a very sweet 23 year-old who worked at the train station and insisted on keeping us entertained while we waited. He also insisted on joining us in Marrakesh and offered to marry me for my birthday. He didn't mind that I was 10 years his senior. His only request was that I'd convert to Islam.

We arrived in Marrakech 6 hours later and found it to be very different from Tangiers. The air was cleaner and you could see snow covered mountains in the distance. Our Riad (hostel) was right out of a Cost Plus or World Market. It was gorgeous. After winding through the maze of stuccco'd streets you come to a plain and small door. Behind it was a three-storey residence with an atrium in the center and balconies running around the inside. Our room was dripping with Moroccan decorations. There was a rooftop terrace and our first taste of sunshine. It was perfect. (Cats patiently waiting outside the door of our Riad.)

After getting a map of our neighborhood (just a left then a right, right, right, left, right, straight, right, left and straight again to get to the main square) we ventured for some lunch and sightseeing. The main square is what Marrakech is know for. It's full of vendors and entertainers. Like a Pike Place Market on steroids, acid, PCP and crystal meth. It was a little bit intimidating. There are rows and rows of vendors selling everything from potter, leather bags, clothing, shoes to fruit and meat. I don't have pictures of the snake charmers or various performers because they make you pay for them and I got really tired of being asked for money.

One of the loveliest things about Morocco is the food. There are flakey pastries full of nuts and spice-laden meat dishes baked in tajines, clay teepee-looking things. Carrots with cinnamon? Who knew??? I can't say enough about the food. They use so many different spices, it's hard to say what's in anything. I had coffee with cinnamon, clove, nutmeg and lavender. I bought a blend of 25 different spices that are common in Moroccan cuisine. In our cooking class I learned that the blends vary from home-to-home and include anywhere from 25 to 72 different spices. Mostly cumin, turmeric, paprika, ginger, pepper and coriander. The meat falls of the bone and the veggies (usually eggplant, carrots and zucchini) are like butter. If you lacked teeth you could easily eat like a king there.

(I snapped this pic at the first restaurant we ate at. Sweet, no? The tower you see on the left has a loudspeaker on it. There are dozens of these throughout town and 5 times a day you'll hear a haunting wail come from them. It's announcing when it's time to pray.)

We stayed two nights in Marrakech. Most of the time we just wandered through the streets and markets. We made the mistake of venturing out of our Riad at 10 pm for some snacks. Of course we were instantly accosted. The whole time in Morocco we were a target, obviously western women. We were hissed at, beckoned to, offered various sexual encounters, appraisals of various body parts were yelled... it was constant. The men also offered to be your guide, even if you knew where you were going. They'd follow in front of you and point to streets you should go down, then demand money for their services. This, despite us saying No no no no no no no repeatedly. That night one guy was particularly insistent in "helping" Angela negotiate the price of oranges and then insisted he lived near us and followed us home. Down the darkest part of the alley he grabbed my arm and rubbed my ass. I spun around and hit him with the bag of oranges and screamed at him not to touch me. After chewing him out he got all pissy like I had offended him. That was the lowest and scariest part of my trip. Western women are treated like property- there are no boundaries. Every other country I've been to, they may yell at you but they'd never grab you. At that moment I was ready to go home. We went back to the hostel and decided our curfew was 9 pm for future nights. The hostel owner put the TV on for us and we watched Halloween H20 for a nice distraction.

The next day we found what looked like a spice market but was actually a "pharmacist". The owner was very nice and gave us the full tour of all the spices and items for sale there. I bought some coffee (with various spices), a vanilla and cinnamon mixture and a special Moroccan seasoning blend. When we told him we were on our way to see about a cooking class he said he was friends with the teacher and hooked us up with reservations for the next day and took us to the location so we'd know how to find it the next day. See, some niceness again! It's all up and down here. The great things are really great and the awful things are really awful.

(Locals and their "wizards" coats.)

(A stork nest in the middle of town!)
On my birthday I went down for breakfast to find chocolates and other treats my travel companion had brought for me. How sweet! One box had an airplane on it and looked like it was a toy. We discovered she had actually bought me food coloring. And lots of it! I'm going to make a yellow velvet cake before I leave. What else could you do with it??

We went to the cooking class and were blown away by the setting. It's at the Maison Arabe, if you decide to go to Marrakesh. I found the class by looking in Trip Advisor for things to do in the city. It was the second highest rated activity. A special birthday treat for me! The class had four other students- a couple from Paris and one from New Zealand. We learned how to make preserved lemons (it takes two months!), all about Moroccan spices and the specialty dishes. Then we cooked. It was the best meal I've ever ever ever made. Delicious. Absolutely wonderful. I'd like it again right now. They served us wine (Oh, by the way, you can't get alcohol anywhere in this Muslim country... we searched and searched and searched. Only hotels seem to have it.) and desert after our meals, pool-side.

(Ok, the henna tattoo. I don't really care for them, nor did I want one, but this woman grabbed me and said she'd just do a little flower for me. For good luck. She seemed nice and was being very sweet. She pulled me to sit at her station (two crates on the ground in the main square) and then proceeded to do this whole hand of crappy flowers. THEN she demanded I pay her 600 Durham for it. That's about 80 dollars. Seriously. I told her I'd give her 140 Durham and she scoffed at me. Then offered to go to the ATM with me so I could get more money out. Hell-to-the-no! Then she looked me up and down and demanded a gift if I wouldn't pay her more. Awful! Chalk that up to another bad experience in Marrakech. Unfortunately, this little reminder is going to last a week!)

(Our teacher, Angela and the nice girl from New Zealand.)

(The hotel and our classroom.)

(My dish! Look at that steam!) (Our class.)

Next stop was Fez. It was a 6 hour train ride through rolling green hills dotted with sheep and cows. This was not the North Africa I was expecting! During our time in Fez it rained heavily. We only had one day so we hired a guide to take us around. We had been told that Fez was magical and I'm assuming when it's not raining it is. It was much cleaner, mellower and quieter then Marrakech. We didn't get harassed at all. I also had bought one of those big sac dresses the locals wear to try to dissuade attention. So, I don't know if this had any bearing on our experience, but our last day in Morocco was much nicer (treatment- and window-shopping-wise) than the rest of our time. The Medina is the largest in the world and one of the oldest neighborhoods. It's winding streets hug both sides of the river than runs through it. More great food and a lot of time spent on the couches of our Riad, waiting out the pouring rain.

(Leather tannery in the heart of the Medina. This place stunk so much they passed out mint leaves as you walked in.)

(A view of Fez from the "south castle".)

(Ruins of the "south castle".)

It took us exactly 24 hours to get home. Our night bus ended up being the morning bus and we missed our ferry and subsequently missed our train back home. I don't know if the delays are scams (so you buy different tickets) or just how things go there. I recommend flying, though. I'm glad I went. It was the experience of a lifetime, meaning, it's the only time in my lifetime I'll probably experience Morocco. Without a private bodyguard, that is. Or, maybe when I'm old and grey and harassment will be at a minimum.