Flip Flop Fly

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"flip. flop. fly; dont care if i die..."
(dont worry mom and dad. it most certainly hasnt come to that extent.)

I am neither mentally prepared to create an elaborate post. nor to spend the next half an hour struggling with this arabic keyboard. However, i would like to simply state that I am in Marrakesh, Morocco.

I am not only alive and well, but have been caught up in the feverish and (what can only be described as) spicy pulse of this city. I can hear the fast paced drumming and the whiny-toned snake charmer flutes from here.

Quick Run Through of What You Can Expect in Marrakesh:

GETTING LOST. first and foremost, the moroccans loove their little sidewindy streets.

Catcalls. I am constantly amused by the assortments of greetings I receive... "Bonjour, Hello, Sabaa al kheir, Bongiorno, Hola, Konnichiwa, Ni hao..." I even got a meow once.

Bartering. I forgot how much I LOVE to barter. Tis a thinking game, to be sure.

SHOPPING. oh sweet jebus. apparently Ive spent the majority of my moroccan budget in the past two days. am apparently not eating nor sleeping in beds for the next ten days.

While there have been a fair share of annoyances, they are quickly and laughingly shrugged off, and have been by FAR the minority of my experience here. I am traveling alone, yes, but Ive never been lonely; Ive had long, in depth conversations with local shopkeepers about everything from the weather in Canada to unemployment here, and they have been exceedingly generous and kind. The Moroccan mentality is taking a blunt sword to my cynicism; it is refreshing and uplifting.

In fact, this change in mentality is summed by the title to this post: never have I experienced such a dramatic switch from loathing to adoration overnight. My first night in Marrakesh had me intimidated and essentially scammed out of fifteen dollars by a Berber woman who jumped me, hennaed my hand, and charged me an exorbitant price; a rookie mistake that I kick myself for. I now have a constant reminder 'tattoed' on my hand. The chaos was too much. But a good night's sleep paints everything in a much more enchanting light.

I am to spend my last night here among the fervour (I could write for days about the chaos of Place Jemaa el Fna- snake charmers, oriental dancers, fold up restaurants, shops, Berber henna-ing women, OJ stands, cartwheeling children....and people everywhere) before heading off to Essaouira (pronounced saweera)-- aka the BEACH.

Stacey

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