I can’t do this feeling justice with words. To describe so much in so small a place seems almost a dishonor to the entire thing. Living in Rome is something unlike any other I have done before. In the required class for my internship, we are learning about the current situation in Rome and Italy at large. One concept we covered was how Italy juts out from Europe, making an easy access point for incoming immigrants. I see it now as just the opposite. When I was younger, I used to flip around on the gymnastics mat. We used a spring board to gain the necessary height for certain exercises. Italy is just this. A spring board. From here, I can get to so many countries.
I fell in love with Morocco. The feelings I associate with this land are as varied as the spices used in the cooking. I learned more than I ever could because of a very dear tour guide. I saw the inside and back alleys of the cities we visited. We landed in Fez. I could hardly grasp at this point that we had left Italy. It felt so soon to leave. But after the long day waiting and flying, we were there. In the bright light of the airport. We exchanged money to dirhams. Great exchange rate but horribly inflated- let me tell you. Our tour guide held a sign with my friend’s name on it. How cool! We got into his truck. He was with his brother, who also wanted to learn about tourism. Which is a big big big part of Morocco (that I saw– a biased selection of people).
I was nervous. Going there, I was cautioned and really all the precautions did was serve as food for fear. I quickly got over it. I was hungry for real food. We stopped at a gas station and had tea. We used the bathroom. No toilet paper. I won’t go into details. Hello Morocco.
We drove through the night. When we arrived in Chefchaoen, the city of a thousand hues of blue, it had begun to slightly drizzle. The sky opened up and cried in happiness. We were here. The Riad was beautiful. It mimicked the city’s color. There was stain glass. There were colors and shapes unlike those in Rome or back home.
We slept.
I woke up early to shower and explore. I climbed up the stairs and saw the morning sky over the town. Then went into the eating area. There were other travelers. One reminded me of an old teacher. I began to draw. I ended up eating breakfast before my travel companions had even woke up. They came later.
That day we climbed a mountain. I thought we were going on a hike. This was a real hike. Our guide was a goat. Not really but really. He walked up the mountain with ease. Using an umbrella like a walking stick. When we made it to a stopping point, one was out of breath, I and the other ran to an outcropping to look over the trail we had just climbed. We continued to the top. I was getting light-headed. We made it and drank water, snapped pictures, and rested. The hike was worth it. The view was beautiful. If we had kept walking for 8 hours (which would have been so cool), we could have gotten to Spain.
We walked through the town. The blue was everywhere and beautiful. There really should be more ways to express beauty. The word is not enough. I could speak in metaphors, but that would be exhausting and possibly annoying for you.
Dinner every night was amazing. There was a young child with the traveler from the morning and his wife. I wonder how much the child will appreciate going to Morocco with his parents at such a young age. This child, though, had a smile without but two bottom teeth. He made hardly a sound but his face said it all. When our guide proceeded to play with him, my heart almost melted. That will be a story the parents will tell him when he grows up.
We hung out with the hotel staff.
We drove to Volubilis. Just after a rain, the grass looked more beautiful ( I used it again, yes), than I could imagine Ireland ever looking. The tour guide here was interesting to say the least but quite the character. It is so interesting to see the span of the Roman Empire. It was especially cool to see these ruins as we are studying in Rome. Did you know that in ancient times, they had specific places designated to throw-up? Just so they could eat more or not be so big after eating. I thought that was weird.
Also, bathrooms are not free. There is always a woman waiting with outstretched hand for a few dirham upon your exit. After using the bathroom and wishing I had wore different shoes in the rain soaked ruins and then-mud trails, we saw a monkey. It’s name was Tika. I held it and played with it. I didn’t want to leave it. Our guide noted that he could tell I study Sociology. I loved all the animals, people, etc. People here value my major so much more ( I will go on to elaborate on this more later).
Playing with Tika brought me to meet Mohammad. But we were separated by language. He said something sweet sounding to me, but in French. I told him I could understand only English and Italian. He only French and Arabic. We smiled and shared that instead. It is so interesting to me- language. How would it be if we all spoke one language? My friend from Pakistan told me that Urdu is so much more poetic. I feel that English would sound choppy and maybe abbrasive to a non-English speaker. I really wonder what it sounds like.
We continued on to Meknez. The region of wine. I think of Meknez more for its incredible sunset it shared with us. From the top of the Riad, I saw the most beautiful view of the Medina. We had toured the area all day and saw a mauseleum, seen the 7 doors for 7 days, a grainery, the place where scenes for Gladiator were shot. In one of the shops we visited, I saw a necklace. I didn’t have to have it. But it became a game. How far could I get the price. The seller was overly friendly and kissed my hand excessively. I ended up haggling the price down to a level that was okay for me, though still expensive. I wore the necklace everyday after. In another shop, there were spices from ceiling to floor. Upon leaving the shop, I had a restored sense of faith in humanity. It is cliche sounding, I understand. But the feeling of genuine love for people and hope that there is a different way of conducting oneself, a more communal and loving behavior in existence amongst peoples is inspiring and heart-warming. The seller explained to us what the different were good for and how they were used in preparing food. I showed us cremes, oils, and makeups. I bought my mom a bag of spices. They will be much better than the ones she uses now for Indian flavors. Moroccan food is incomparable. The seller did not let us leave without giving us henna lipsticks as a gift.
It is such a different culture there. It resembled how I imagined scenes in the Bible when I was young sometimes.
That night we tried a wine from the 1980s made in Meknez. This Riad was – as all of them were- full of intricate details and greenery.
Riad means that the home has a garden. Dar means that the home does not have a garden.
In Fez, we met the owner of another Riad. I became friends with him and one of the waitresses. She was delicate and her eyes had such life to them. I still keep in touch with her. Fez was a city with old and new. The architecture throughout Morocco (that I saw) is dream-like. So different than anything in Rome or anywhere in Western Europe. I love it.
We toured Fez, celebrated the Riad manager’s birthday, watched a futbol match, danced like a belly dancer, had amazing foods. On the day we were packing, I packed quickly. I found the waitress whom I had spoken with before a bit when she showed me how to make Moroccan tea/ Berber whiskey. I went to the kitchen and asked to sit with the girls. I talked with them and they taught me about Arabic (as I tried to learn), the special spices in the coffee, and their lives. This was one of the most rewarding experiences. It really meant a lot to me. I felt like I was treated like a princess with the tour guide. I understand that is his job but I didn’t like feeling a separation from the people I was meeting. I wanted to connect with them. Show this girl that I was nothing more important or special than her. I wish I could have stayed longer to become better friends. But now we will stay in touch via facebook.
I had to go help my friends pack and sort things out. While I was in our room, the girl came and gave me a bag of coffee. A gift.
One of my friends noted that we should probably tip the staff. I agreed. She also said she wanted to pay more to the girl. For some reason, this made me uncomfortable. It seemed like paying for kindness. How does one put a price on friendship? Or hospitality? Is there a difference. It was tricky and an interesting thought process for me. I ended up leaving the tip with my friends but not more. I instead said heartfelt goodbye’s and thanked her immensely. I treated her as a friend. I did not want to make the friendship a transaction.
We saw rain, heat, and snow. All in the North. I fell in love. I want to return to see the South.
I learned about the culture, language, people, made friends, and saw the separation between myself as a tourist and the people of the country. It made me uncomfortable. It was something I had to deal with internally.
The time I was there I wrote notes, ideas, Arabic, and drew pictures in my notebook.
I lost the notebook in Barcelona. Barcelona was the next destination, after flying out of Fez.
I think I can pin down the point when I lost it. I had pulled my phone from my pocket to snap a picture of the street. The picture turned out to be pretty shit. And there I lost my notebook. But I prefer to say that Barcelona stole it.
That night Barcelona stole my stories. She was greedy and she stole them. I told a friend here in Rome about it. They didn’t understand how I could be so upset if it was just a paper notebook. It’s more than the paper and ink. There were memories and stories, mementos and drawings, contact information. It was so much more than that.
They also posed the idea that maybe it would be found and published. Unlikely. But an interesting idea. I think Barcelona ate it or is trying to rewrite my stories. Or maybe she just is too confused with all the Arabic writing. Chissa!
I cried a bit on the metro. The whole thing was upsetting. Not the best way to end the trip. But I did meet locals who took a friend I met in Barcelona and I out to the area of Barcelona more akin to Trastevere or Testaccio in Rome. This night was amazing. I’m glad I went out.
We saw La Sagrada Familia- still not done. I don’t believe it ever will be finished. Guell Park- all of it and for free after 6pm. Hiked to a hilltop with a 360-view of Barcelona. The beach.
After being in Morocco, Barcelona – even with its grungy style and colorful modern vibe- could hardly stand close to the height of Morocco.
As I said before I want to go back. After losing my notebook, a dear friend said that it is fate. There is nothing that is not meant to be. It is the way of the universe telling me that I am meant to return. To write new stories. To see new things in a country whose mystique has captured me.
Gabriella Gini 