I miss Bruges!

I've never exactly had a burning desire to go to Belgium, but I'm glad I did. Really, the flights were too cheap to pass up. At first we were looking at RyanAir, but they fly into an airport pretty far south of Brussels (haha even though Belgium is small) and they hit you coming and going with extra fees, so in the end we flew Brussels Airlines for in the end probably the same price.

From the airport, we bought train tickets to Bruges. We were confused because we were told to "change trains in Brussels," but there were three stops in Brussels. As it turned out, we could change at any of the stations. About an hour and 20 minutes later, we were in Bruges. Armed with the chapter on Belgium I ripped out of Let's Go Western Europe, we made our way to our hostel. It was weird because en route we didn't really encounter anyone on the streets.

Bruges is in Flanders, the western region of Belgium, where the official language is Flemish, a dialect of Dutch.

We stayed at Lybeer Traveller's Hostel in Bruges, which Let's Go Western Europe called "charming," which apparently is code for "falling apart, with unfortunate hygienic situations in the bathrooms and kitchen."

Bruges is a small little city, so it would be impossible to stay in a bad location. We set out from our hostel to explore and bumped into a big church, which as it turns out was St. Saviour's Cathedral. We were on the main shopping street in town, but all of the stores were closing, as it was around 6 p.m. Everything in Madrid is open until about 8 or 9, although I suppose that is to atone for closing down during the siesta.

We bought waffles from a window on the side of a café and they were SO GOOD. Really, much better than anything you've ever had in the U.S. labelled as a "Belgian waffle."

From there we wandered to Markt, one of the two main squares in Bruges, home to the Belfort and, as you can imagine, the old market. The plaza is absolutely gorgeous. It was I think at this moment that I absolutely fell in love with Bruges. Nah, it was probably my first waffle.

At this point we decided to look for a restaurant for dinner. The guy at reception in the hostel couldn't recommend us a place, instead telling us to just window shop in certain areas (aka away from Markt and Burg). The only problem is that it was cold and started to rain (a condition that followed us on and off throughout the trip). I had been looking forward to a cooler climate than Spain's, but even I do not enjoy having cold rain blown in my face.

After a bit of "window shopping" we just decided on a restaurant to get warm. I had a fixed menu consisting of a cheese croquette, Flemish stew and chocolate mousse. I also ate almost half of Allison's curry moules frites... As you may or may not know, Belgium is the home of the "french" fry, and in Belgium they are generally consumed with mayonnaise (European mayonnaise is nothing like American mayonnaise. In the first place it is actually edible).

By the time we finished dinner, it was raining much harder, so we ducked into a bar for a bit to enjoy another Belgian specialty, beer. The bartender was...a little bit crazy, although we talked to him and he acknowledged this fact and blamed it on the medication he is taking after a heart attack a few days earlier. Who am I to judge. After that we pretty much called it a night.

The next day was luckily the driest of our trip! Our first stop the next morning was the Church of Our Lady, home to a Michelangelo sculpture, which is extremely novel in Belgium but obviously won't be in Italy, where I will be very soon.

Crossing the canal that runs through the middle of the city center, we saw some tourists taking a boat ride and felt the need to do the same. It was 6 euros well spent. Nowadays only the tour boats are allowed on the canals, so I guess that adds to the "Disneyification" of Bruges that locals complain about.

To warm up after the boat ride, we ducked into a shop boasting "real hot chocolate." At first we were heartily disappointed because we saw her holding a cup under a machine. As it turns out, only the milk comes out of the machine. Then she puts in a chunk of chocolate on a stick, which melts into the hot milk into deliciousness.

Our next stop was Burg, the other cute square in Bruges. It is home to the Gothic town hall and the Basilica of the Holy Blood. We peeked into the Basilica but did not pay to go into the treasury to see the relic, the blood of Christ. Sorry Mom.

Allison didn't want to climb the Belfort, or belfry, in Markt, but I did. All was good until two-thirds of the way up the climb when the stairs changed from a solid stone construction to wooden slats. As you may know, I have an irrational fear of such stairs. In general, the holes between the steps are much too small for me to fall through (however I'm pretty much a klutz, so I also worry about falling and messing up my knee or ankle no matter what). I thought about going back down but I didn't.

Once I was back down, Allison and I had lunch at this pita place with a student menu. It was pretty great, and we followed it up with waffles. We went into a shop to buy some chocolates and were given some free samples. Afterwards, we decided to tour De Halve Maan (the half moon) Brewery where they produce Brugze Zot, literally the pride of Bruges. We had a bit of time so we grabbed our bags from the hostel before the tour so afterwards we could head to the train station.

Arriving to Brussels was interesting. It might as well have been another country, with everyone speaking French.

Having found a good deal online, in Brussels we stayed at Hotel St Nicolas for only 2 euros more each a night. It was heaven. We had our own (clean) bathroom. The hotel was pretty well-located (although once again the center itself of Brussels is somewhat small). The view was rather funny though. If you looked down, you saw the Versailles Palace, a game hall aka casino. If you looked up, you saw an art deco facade and the top of the neoclassical Bourse (Belgian stock market). Our hotel was similarly sandwiched between two game halls, so it was a bit noisy at night.

For dinner we decided to go to Vincent, recommended by a friend of Allison's. On our way there, we had to pass a heavy tourist street, where everyone was pimping their restuarants and the menus were translated into many languages. It was like Little Italy in New York except without the street in the middle giving you at least a little peace to pass through or even compare menus. Right around the corner was Vincent, with no one outside and no English menu. We both had moules frites and it was really good. We were sitting next to an Italian man who at first we would have believed was British because his English was that good. He also spoke French. I wish I could do languages that well.

Afterwards, we went to Delirium, which made it into the Guinness Book of World Records for having the most extensiver beer menu. They had 25 beers on tap.

The next morning we started out by heading to the Grand Place, as my host dad put it, "la Plaza Mayor de Bruselas," which is very pretty. I was surprised though that they let cars into it. As it was Saturday morning, we saw a lot of people getting ready to get married in the town hall.

Afterwards we saw Mannekin Pis, the emblem of Brussels. It is a fountain of a boy peeing.

We made our way downtown, passing the Eglise Notre Dame de la Chapelle. We came to the Palais de Justice, from where you get great views of Brussels, including the Atomium, a funny looking structure far out from the center of Brussels built for some international fair or other in the 1950s that people pay 9 euros to ascend. The halls of justice in Brussels were very similar to the halls of justice in Washington, DC. The Palais is supposedly home to the tallest room in the world but we couldn't see for ourselves since it was a Saturday.

We passed the Eglise Notre Dame du Sablon and went into the Royal Museum of Fine Arts. The highlights of the collection are The Death of Marat by Jacques Louis David and a number of works by Rubens. They apparently have a big canvas by "Giuseppe" Ribera (um, Spanish even though he worked in Naples), but it was being restored. When we left the museum, it was raining, again. We passed by the Palais Royal, the incredibly ugly park in front of it, and the Palais de la Nation, which I'm pretty sure is their Parliament.

We hopped on the Metro to go out to the European Union (no NATO though...). The Metro in Brussels doesn't really seem to stop anywhere in the city center, and it kind of just had a weird feel to it. They also use the inexplicable system where you are supposed to buy a ticket and then are on the honor system slash face a hefty fine to validate it.

We saw an incredibly ugly building when we got out of the Metro. Home of the European Commission. We tried to go in, but I got the impression visitors really weren't ever allowed in that building. He pointed us across the street to the Justice Lipsius building, home of the really offensive sculpture commissioned by the Czech Republic when they assumed the EU presidency. Unfortunately the building was closed on Saturdays.

It was raining, but we had some consolation: Maison Antoine, a frites place that seemed popular with all locals, which was cool. Our map suggested eating them in the nearby park, by the European Parliament, but it stopped raining by the time we got our frites and we didn't want to push our luck. They didn't put the sauce on the cone of frites for you, giving you a little plastic container instead, which was tricky to maneuver. Unfortunately I dropped a good quantity of frites on the ground. Those pigeons eat so well!

We went back to our hotel and ate much chocolate. For dinner we ate at...Subway. We made another appearance at Delirium. We had missed it the previous evening, but down the same alley as Delirium is Jeanneke Pis, a girl peeing. It was installed by a restaurant that apparently didn't fare so well, so the fountain is no longer functional and it's just a sculpture of a girl squatting behind iron bars.

I had intended to get up early the next morning to visit the Cathedral St Michel, but Europe finally sprung ahead for DST so we lost an hour and that didn't happen. Now I'm back in Madrid. In fact, I should be at class right now, but my throat has been bothering me for the past week or so and I called the doctor's office (quite reluctantly, but I can't be sick for Italy) and they could see me today, so I took that as an opportunity not to be missed. I'm also trying to figure out my schedule for the fall at Georgetown. I'm decided on my primary selections for classes, just not the order of priority I should put them in: Politics of the Christian Right, American Expatriate Writers, American Political Theory, Portuguese for Spanish Speakers I, and Modern Spain.

Haha and I just got my absentee ballot for the local local elections apparently taking place on Tuesday.

I still don't know how to properly upload photos on Blogger, so Brussels is before Bruges.


Grand Place:


Mannekin Pis:

View from the Palais de Justice:

Palais Royal:

Hi, Europe!

Belfort (Bruges)

Markt:

So adorable I wanted to die:

St. Patrick and St. Joseph

As you all know, Tuesday was St. Patrick's Day. Obviously it isn't a big deal here at all, but it was still fun. What is a big deal here is St. Joseph's Day, which was Thursday. Here they celebrate Father's Day on St. Joseph's Day, so it is a big national holiday. In Valencia, the celbration known as Las Fallas culminates on the evening of March 19.

I'm still not clear on the origin of Las Fallas, but throughout Valencia, almost every street spends a year fundraising for their "falla," which is a giant paper maché creation that is burned during the Cremá (last night) of Las Fallas. There is also a tradition of offering flowers to the Virgen de los Desamparados (helpless), and then a giant Virgin is constructed from the flowers. I don't think she gets burned. Also, as I am now an expert on Spanish art (which is inherently Catholic), I can say it is pretty typical that even on the Feast of St. Joseph, the Virgin takes center stage.

Las Fallas start on March 14, but we just went for the day of La Cremá by bus (good luck trying to find a place to stay in Valencia during Las Fallas). We got into town around 12:30 and just wandered around for a while. The city center seemed small, but Valencia is actually Spain's third-largest city, with over 700,000 residents. Something surprising is that all of the street signs and such were in catalán. Pretty much everyone seemed to be speaking in castellano, but I guess Valencia is trying to preserve that part of their heritage.
At 2 p.m. they start La Mascleta, which is when they set off rows of firecrackers throughout the city (although all day people of all ages were setting off firecrackers). After that, we hopped on the metro to go to the beach, which was a really good idea. It was a bit chilly with the wind on the beach. I stuck my toes in the Mediterranean and it was warmer than I thought. The beach was uncrowded and very relaxing, and we had a really good lunch (which we thought might be free since Donique saw the waiter drop a 50 euro bill and gave it to him). You almost wouldn't know that Las Fallas was going on except for a few kids with firecrackers. One thing that surprised us is that we saw fallas throughout the city. They were less concentrated outside of the main downtown area, but the celebration is citywide. On the metro back, we saw Raquel, one of the program mentors, who had met Joe, a kid from my Prado class last semester, on the bus in. Small world.

Back in the center of Valencia, we wandered, enjoying the many street vendors and street performers. By the time it was dark, Donique and I put in earplugs. It was a very good call. We weren't sure exactly what the Cremá was going to be like or how early to stake out a spot. We were in the Plaza del Ayuntamiento and starting to think about hanging out, but then we found out that they start burning the small fallas at 10 p.m. After more wandering, feeling like we just missed seeing them light the fallas, we were able to see one from start to finish. We had just run down this alley and passed these boxes with pictures of fireworks on them, wondering what that was all about. Barely a minute later, those fireworks were going off. It seemed pretty dangerous. Then they doused the falla with gasoline, and a Valencian family lit a line of firecrackers, which resulted in the falla more or less exploding before catching fire. We were pretty close so it was very surprising.

After that, we wandered again but eventually decided to stake out spots for the big falla in the Plaza del Ayuntamiento. Most of the big fallas get burned at 12 a.m., but that one doesn't get started until 1 a.m. This falla was animal themed, as you can see below, with giraffes, a vulture, a gorilla, and an elephant.

We were able to get pretty good spots, although these spots were subject to constant change. Unlike the burning of the small falla, which has seemed a generally unsupervised affair, the Plaza was flooded with all variety of emergency personnel. At one point they decided that the corner where we were standing was too close and that we would all have to relocate. They split us up. In the direction Donique and I went, the firefighters literally pushed us in front of the people who were already there. You would think firefighters would know that wasn't an effective means of crowd control.

Some people were getting upset. One woman in particular started shouting at a police officer about how she had a "derecho" to have a good spot (I always find it very interesting the things Spaniards think they have a right to), but he informed her she was very "mal educada." I mean, losing your spot sucks, but generally when a firefighter or police officer tells me something is not safe, I take their word for it. Another thing is that the Spanish in general have a bigger mistrust/dislike of the police. I think it is very possible a riot could have broken out.

As it turns out, we were fortunate that we went where we did, because the firefighters determined that the people who had gone in the other direction were still too close. They sent those people all the way to the back of where we were standing.

Then we waited. We were right by the area with the stretchers for the people who passed out or had a panic attack. Luckily I did not need such services, but standing and waiting for two hours is not easy.

Finally, the big moment came. The fireworks were very impressive...and very close. The lighting of the falla was similar to that of the small one, and they set off more fireworks at the same time. When the smoke cleared, the falla was on fire. The fire quickly spread and it was VERY hot where we were standing, so I could definitely understand why the firefighters had moved us earlier in the night. The firefighters also started spraying it with water to get it under control. For such a large falla, it burned more quickly than I expected.

Then we ran into Christian and his friend and Spencer and his girlfriend and entertained ourselves with firecrackers. I did not touch any and kept a safe distance. By then, it was about time to head to the bus station for our 3 a.m. bus. Mercifully, I was able to sleep.

I'm glad that I went to Las Fallas. It was more fun than I expected it to be, although I'm not sure I'd go back. I guess if I happened to be in Spain during those days I would. Walking around during the day, we were struck by how close the fallas were to the houses, and most people left their cars parked on the street, which seems to invite danger. It seems kind of a miracle that the entire city doesn't just burn down, because all it would take is one spark. All day we saw kids playing with firecrackers and later with the bruning remains of the fallas with limited adult supervision. I hear a lot of Valencians go on vacation that week, because it's just so noisy. I can't imagine being an artist and spending so much time on the falla so see it burned to the ground!


Falla in Plaza del Ayuntamiento:


Fireworks:

The Falla is lit:

Engulfed by smoke and flames:

Fire:

Life under the sol español

First of all, with St. Patrick's Day around the corner, I would like to take this opportunity to rant about my name. Many Spanish people are surprised when they hear my name, asking me isn't that a boy's name, supplying Colin Farrell or Colin Powell as examples. Pronounced Spanishly, they do sound the same (I refuse to say "coyyen" or "coy-yay-en" which would be the Spanish way to read my name, that just sounds ugly). Actually, Colleen is an Irish Gaelic word for girl. It would be like naming your daughter Niña or Muchacha, a little weird but no one would think it was a boy's name.

Then I remember how many people mispronounce or misspell my name in the U.S. Sigh.

For the past week at least, it has been sunny with a high of about 70 degrees. It still is a little chilly at night, but the weather is perfect. I've been getting sunburned, though, so I guess I can no longer dash out of the house with just my moisturizer with sunscreen. Also if it is this warm now May/June will be a bit ridiculous.

I went to Segovia yesterday. A lot of people are out of town for the weekend, and I'm missing the group daytrip at the end of the month while in Belgium, so I decided to take advantage of the fact that the bus was only about 12 euros, round trip.

I hopped off the bus in Segovia before it pulled into the station, which wasn't a problem because the historical points of interest are the highest elevated and I could see where I wanted to go, but this would become problematic later. Segovia is situated in the mountains of Castilla y León.

The first place I went to was the Alcázar, or castle. There has probably been some kind of fortification there for 2000 years. It was an important site during the reign of the Reyes Católicos, but it was later destroyed in a fire and reconstructed, so there is probably not much historical accuracy. In any case, it is gorgeous, and supposedly served as inspiration for Disney's Cinderella Castle. I would believe it. I climbed up the tower, which gives you nice views of the town of Segovia. I wish there had been a tower to climb somewhere in Segovia so you could have views of the Alcázar.

From there I went to the cathedral. It is one of the last great Gothic cathedrals constructed in Spain. There are also of course many nice small churches throughout Segovia. When I told my mom I was going to Segovia, she asked if there was "something religious" there. It's Spain. There is "something religious" everywhere, even as the country secularizes.

Segovia is most famous for its Roman aqueduct constructed in 1st century AD. It was in use up until the end of the 19th century.

After that, it was time for lunch. I was heartily disappointed. I went somewhere recommended in Let's Go Western Europe, but the food wasn't that good and they didn't have menú del día so it was pricy. Cristina told me to get a ponche segoviano for dessert, but I was silly and forgot that all of the pastelerías close from 2-5 for the siesta, so I missed out on that.

Finding the bus station to get back to Madrid was tricky. I think I walked every street in Segovia twice. Good thing it's a small town.

Last night I bought bus tickets to go to Valencia for the Cremá of Las Fallas. Las Fallas is a big festival centered around the Feast of St. Joseph (which doubles as Father's Day in Spain). People spend all year constructing elaborate paper maché "fallas". On the Cremá, the last night, they are all set on fire except for the ones selected in a contest to be saved. It should be fun, hopefully not too crazy. It's four hours away by bus, so I'll get in around 12:30 on the day of the Cremá (there is a big parade at 2, I think), then leave at 3 a.m. after the Cremá. I looked into hostels, but there was a three-night minimum stay. I would have been willing to do that, but three nights starting Thursday and then for the weekend, but they made you do three nights Tuesday-Thursday, and I have to go to at least the Prado tutorial on Wednesday.

How is it possibly already March?????

This semester is already going by really quickly. Let me put that another way: when I am sitting in most of my classes it feels as though time is standing still, but I counted and I have at most 17 weekends left here. I am looking forward to going back to Georgetown a lot, but that also unfortunately means that I am graduating soon, or at least soon-ish. Would be nice if I had a clue what I wanted to do with my life. I already signed up for the September LSAT (a fun summer awaits!), and I'm considering taking the Foreign Service exam just for the fun of it.

Speaking of summer, I need to cook up some plans fast. I thought I would be here until pretty much July, but as it turns out I may finish all of my classes in May, which would be nice. I was considering this summer a total loss and planning on just prepping for the LSAT and trying to learn how to cook. Now I can either go home and have a normal length summer or hang around a bit and travel. I imagine I'll be home mid-June. The problem then is finding some sort of employment. I don't have my life together or any sort of letters of recommendation ready, so I'm kind of overwhelmed with where I can start. The Comptroller's Office at the University of Chicago is officially not hiring this summer...

By now I'm officially matriculated and everything. I'm very much looking forward to registering for fall classes at the end of this month though. I'm upset with my schedule this semester. I thought I could handle the early/late Monday/Tuesday business since I survived last semester, but it is muy pesado. It is harder to make myself get out of bed to get across the city for my 8:30 class since I don't have another class after it. Also the professor talks really slowly, which makes it harder to be awake. I also really dislike having class until 9:30 at night, but I like the professor. I have one less class on those days compared to last semester, but it's harder to handle for some reason. Also my three-hour class on Wednesday is muy pesado, and from there I have to ir corriendo al Museo del Prado. I have a different tutor in the Prado this semester, and I am sad about that because there is pretty much no way the new one can top Irene.

Oh, yeah, I went to Morocco last weekend. I guess that's pretty exciting.

We flew easyJet from Madrid to Tangier. At Barajas they wanted me to check my backpack, which was ridiculous because it's just a normal-sized backpack and fit quite comfortably in the overhead compartment. The airport in Tangier is very small. Once through passport control, a taxi was waiting for us. It probably would have been cheaper to just catch a taxi, but from where he had to stop the car, we had to turn three corners and probably would have never found it on our own, so I guess it was worth it.

We stayed at a bed and breakfast in the Tangier medina (old part of town). A friend of Allison had stayed there last semester, and we wanted to make sure where we were staying was good. We could have done better for our money in a hotel even (you can stay in a hostel for less than 4 euros a night), but it was a pretty good experience. Maggie, a probably 70-something of Scottish origins, has spent most of her life travelling, living for a long time in Spain and then Morocco. Up to this point she has operated just on word-of-mouth, but she reluctantly is going to start advertising on the internet. She said her house is about 100 years old. It is a typical Moroccan house, three stories with a nice rooftop. It's pretty much falling apart though.

That afternoon we wandered around the area. Maggie recommended that we exchange our euros for dirhams (about 11 dirhams/euro) on the black market, so we did so in a tobacco shop (is the U.S. the only place in the world where we don't have these??). We had a delicious inexpensive meal at a hole-in-the-wall kind of place. We were very close to all of the shops and the open-air market. We had our first Moroccan mint tea (delicious, but ask for the sugar on the side!) at a cafe that was pretty touristy, but there was a reason for that: at most cafes in Morocco, women aren't really welcome. There are many, many cultural differences between Morocco and Spain despite their geographical proximity, but the most striking is the separation between men and women. A heavily Muslim society, women mostly cover their heads.

That night we went for wine before dinner (many places don't have liquor licenses since Muslims aren't supposed to drink alcohol). We had a traditional Moroccan dinner (harira and tajine) afterwards in the Hotel Continental, where the restaurant overlooks the port. Tangier is right on the coast of the Mediterranean. There is a beach, but apparently it's not really good for swimming.

The next morning we wanted to go to Chefchaouen (or just Chaouen). Maggie told us we could take a grand taxi directly from Tangier. There are two types of taxis: grand taxis and petit taxis. Petit taxis just travel around a city and are metered. Grand taxis travel between cities and have a fixed rate. Even though they are "grand" they really aren't that big, and they sell four seats in the back and two in the passenger seat. It is pretty inexpensive, so most of the time Allison and I bought four seats so we could have the back to ourselves. After a bit of a snafu (the petit taxi driver took us to the train station...my French pronunciation isn't bad enough that Gare Routierre should be confused with Gare Tanger Ville!), we arrived at the bus station where the grand taxis congregate. We said we wanted to go to Chaouen and were told that ida and vuelta would be 50 euros, which seemed really steep to us, although as it turned out that wouldn't have been such a bad deal. The problem is that grand taxis don't go directly from Tangier to Chaouen, they all stop in Tetouan. After a pit stop (my first encounter with squat toilets...and we had to pay to use them), we set off for Tetouan. Grand taxis are a pretty comfortable way to travel. It was about an hour from Tangier to Tetouan and an hour from Tetouan to Chefchaoen. The bus would have been three hours because it makes a lot of stops. On the road, we saw all kinds of animals (cows, sheep, goats, donkeys), grazing pretty much at the edge of the road. Also, a lot of Moroccan people were along the side of the road, either walking between towns or trying to hitchhike, both of which would be very strange and also illegal on this kind of road in the U.S.

The two official languages that pretty much everyone speaks in Morocco are Moroccan Arabic and French. Because Spain is so close and most tourists seemed to be Spanish, a lot of Spanish is spoken. A lot of people also speak English. People who wanted to sell me something and were trying to figure out where I was from sometimes tried German too. We were in almost every case able to communicate with people using some mix of those languages. Even people who weren't trying to sell us anything would say awkward things to us (once again, the relations with women thing). One of the most awkward things they said was, "Hello, flower," because in their eyes, young women may not be worth more than their "flowers." Females who are so obviously not Moroccan (I'm pretty obvious and Allison is blonde...) are a target for Moroccan men since they don't have what I would term "normal" relations with women, i.e. they don't talk to them.

"Chefchaouen" means "look at the peaks" and used to just be called "Chaouen." It is small town nestled in the Rif mountains (supposedly the origin of the term "reefer"). Its most distinctive feature is that many of the buildings in the medina are painted blue. There is a heavy Andalucian architectural influence from when the north of Morocco was controlled by Spain (it was a cultural exchange: you see the Andalucian influence in Morocco and the "árabe" influence in Andalucia). In a vacuum, seeing the buildings you might think you were in southern Spain. However, the people, smells, and sights are very different. I've never seen anyone in Spain wearing a jellaba, the full length wool garment with a pointed hood that is somewhat common in Morocco.

Maggie recommended Casa Hassan for lunch. After asking several people for directions, a young boy was enlisted to show us the way. He didn't speak English or Spanish and tried to talk to me in French, which obviously didn't work. After a while, it became apparent he didn't know where it was, but Chaouen is small enough that eventually we ended up there. Allison gave him a couple dirhams. We had cous-cous, which was good.

The market in Chefchaouen:
View of the ruined Spanish mosque on the mountain from Chaouen:

Afterwards we wandered around the medina. Very awkward: we were just wandering, not lost, but three boys came up and wanted to show us where the plaza was. We tried to get rid of them, but we are not very good at that apparently. When they found out that we didn't have caramelos and weren't going to give them any monedas, they touched my arm, which seemed harmless enough. Until they moved to the back and proceeded to, ahem, grab my ass. They were probably 8 or so.

I don't think I've mentioned this, but there seemed to be more cats than people in Morocco. All strays I think.

We caught a grand taxi to Tetouan and decided to have a look around there since its medina is a UNESCO World Heritage Site. Someone came up to me and started talking in French, which I obviously ignored, especially since I don't speak French. He then proceeded to try to figure out whether I spoke English, Spanish, or German, but I tried not to respond. Somehow he found out we spoke Spanish. He claimed to be a French teacher on his day off just wanting to practice his language skills. We couldn't shake him, so he showed us around the market in the medina, which he claimed was only there once a month, an obviously dubious claim. The entire time he had been walking really fast, since he obviously wanted to get us lost. At the end of this unsolicited tour, we arrived at a carpet store, where he said we could get great views of the city for free. Our "guide" ran off somewhere. Inside, it was dark, and I was starting to get even more on guard. In the morning Maggie had asked for our emergency contact info, jokingly in case we "got kidnapped by the Algerians." The owner of the store did turn on the lights, and there was a nice view from the roof. I really didn't want to buy anything and Allison wanted a very specific kind of rug, which he didn't have. She ended up buying a bedspread just so we could leave.

Much to our dismay, our "guide" reappeared and the store owner asked him to show us the way out. Once again, he was walking very quickly. He wanted to take us to some kind of spice pharmacy which he also claimed was only open one day a month. It's one thing to buy a small carpet or blanket, but we weren't in the mood to buy a pound of spices or anything, so we were mad and just demanded to be shown out of the medina. If it weren't by this point very dark out we would have obviously tried to find our own way. At this point, he very aggressively started asking for a propina, which was ridiculous since he was already going to get a commission on the bedspread Allison bought. We were relieved to get in the grand taxi at last.

In a moment of much-needed comic relief that night, when we were walking down the "street" (probably three feet wide) to Maggie's house, there was this huge carcass, a goat I think, blocking the way. The local children couldn't figure out why we were laughing so hard.

The next day we made our way to Asilah, a town on the Atlantic coast. We could have taken the train, which I've heard is actually very efficient, clean, etc., but we just took a grand taxi since we were comfortable with that. It was drizzly but fortunately it didn't start to rain harder. The medina is uniform, all whitewashed, but my favorite part was the ocean view. I miss water.

Camels on the beach in Asilah:

We never did ride camels, which is the ultimate touristy thing to do in Morocco, because the day we saw them it was rainy and we didn't want to discover what wet camel smelled like. Maggie recommended Casa García for lunch, but they were jammed, so we went elsewhere for a mint tea and wine while we waited. We forgot to ask for the tea with the sugar on the side. It wasn't bad, per se, but it was so sugary that it tasted like a different beverage. At Casa García we had fish.

Back in Tangier late Saturday afternoon, we went out in search of Allison's dream rug, which had been on the floor of our room at Maggie's house. It took a while, but finally she found something suitable.

Saturday night for dinner we had this really good chicken tajine that Fatima, Maggie's maid, made for us. I really hope that at least some of the money we gave to Maggie for the meal makes it to Fatima! Fatima was really sweet, but she only speaks a few phrases in French, so we couldn't really communicate with her except to say thank you ("shukran" or of course "merci").

Sunday morning I woke up early, wanting to see the kasbah (fortification) and just kind of get lost on the streets of Tangier. Mission accomplished on the getting lost part. Luckily petit taxis are very cheap, so I made it to the kasbah and then as I was making my way back, it turned out I was only like 10 minutes away from where we were staying.

Except for that morning, I had never been by myself, but Allison had slept in, and I decided to get a tea by myself in a cafe, which seemed much safer than getting lost by myself had been. I didn't realize it, but some guy followed me from the cafe to Maggie's house. To get in, you have to open a metal gate and the door. When I opened the gate, the guy approaches me and starts talking to me in French. When I tell him I don't speak French, he says, "I see you in cafe. I like." He's trying to get me to invite him inside or at least get my phone number, but luckily I was able to get rid of him. After that, it was off to the airport, back to Madrid.

The trip was not without its uncomfortable parts, but all in all I enjoyed it. At first I had worried that Tangier would be "too European" and that I wouldn't be getting the "real" Moroccan experience. But for two American girls on their own, that was probably fine. I'd go back to Morocco again if someone was going to a different city. If you buy the easyJet flight early enough, it's a ridiculously cheap trip.

The Grand Mosque in Tangier, close to Maggie's house:

Moroccan mint tea, sugar on the side:

Also, I am pleased to report that I have finally acquired American-style deodorant. It figures that the first toiletry item I run out of would be hard to replace. Something like shampoo would be easy, but deodorants are mostly aerosols or cream things, and I just wanted what I was used to. Especially since, ahem, b.o. is generally much worse here than in the U.S.

My next trip is to Brussels at the end of the month. We'll probably also go to Bruges, and maybe Luxembourg City, or another city in Belgium. I will unfortunately have to miss the group excursion to Segovia, but it's only an hour away by bus so I can easily make it there on my own if I want. I unfortunately will also miss the "mini cursillo sobre vinos españoles," which is troubling. P.S. Moroccan wine is terrible. Make sure it's Spanish or French or something if you get some.

grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr I've tried to change it five times, literally but I can't fix the formatting. I hate that pre-photos I have the space between paragraphs but after the photos I don't. FAIL