Rookie's

I know I haven't blogged in a while, but I suppose I thought there were fewer people reading it than there actually are. So here it goes.

It's a monday. I have waken up at 9 am and gotten breakfast, dressed in my freezing cold room, and went into the kitchen. I've made made myself yogurt and "cruesli" (crunchy müsli) for breakfast. I cycle with Courtney to school on the Heregracht. I arrive to school early, and I make a pot of tea. Students one by one ring the buzzer and we let them in. People help themselves to fruit and tea and coffee. Then there's some sort of lecture, or I have oral history workshops. At 12:30 is lunch, and then we cycle 5 blocks to Dutch class at 1:30.  I've finished dutch class by 4 and a friend of mine (Tab) and I might bike to Rookie's, our favorite coffeeshop in touristy/bar filled Leidseplein. I love it here for several reasons, but mainly for their free internet, cheap apple pie, and delicious fresh mint tea. I've finished my Dutch 'huiswerk', and now I begin to work on my ISP (or independent research project, aka the reason I'm here). Then I'll cycle home down the Marnixtraat with my new bike saddle bag, and I'll relax in my room and read some more of The English Patient. But most likely I will paint and listen to my Velvet Underground albums loud, on repeat. I'll most likely play piano while Irina cooks, inspiring her. She'll be clanking about in the kitchen, her sleek heeled books clacking on the floor as she sprinkles coriander into a pot of curry. During dinner Courntey, Irina and I will share food, light candles, and talk about anything from god to space to neuroscience to homeopathy to Marx to education politics to Taoism to synesthesia... For 2 hours. Then Irina asks me to make "one of your beautiful little teas" and then I'll have tea with her and go to bed and try really hard to get internet before I sleep.

So there's an ordinary day, I suppose. although I mix it up so often... Weekends I go to markets or museums, or I just walk or bike around the beautiful city. I eat all healthy foods, and eat dinner and breakfast every day at Irina's (except Friday). So I treat myself to fries or cake or falafel when I have to fend for myself for eating. But I feel like I've lost maybe 7 pounds or so. Even my bras are getting too big.

I think every day about how lucky and happy I am to be here.

Two nights ago I went out with Irina (host mom) to a bar to hear live flamenco music and to see her niece dance flamenco. It was very fun, and I had a long talk with the guitarist. I was surprised he came over and talked to me. He seemed to be in his late 20s, but anyway he was one of the BEST musicians I have EVER heard live. Including famous professionals.

Even though most of these girls and I don't get along, I'm happy to be on my own, or go out with Irina and her friends and previous students, and make contacts of my own. There is no reason to dislike a single day here, since it's almost half over.

Rabat. (written Oct 3)

I’m currently sitting in my tiny windowsill overlooking Rabat, Morocco. Cars are constantly honking and whooshing past, as there are apparently no traffic lights or lanes or forms of safety. Hmm. People are very active right now; they’re greeting friends and selling souvenirs and living their lives. For them this is normal. I’m four floors above the street, overlooking the city. Even though this is  probably a window sill more than a balcony, I’ve made it my own back-lit nook. I feel very exposed, enthralled, and alive. I’m in Africa. I’m in Africa.

We’re staying here for 6 more days, and I want to stay here forever. After 16 hours of traveling, we listened to one lecture and ate one of the best meals of my life. I’m still in shock that I’m here in Morocco. My feet have treaded on African soil. Beautiful magical red rock soil. It’s bliss. I wish we could have spent two weeks here rather than that rainy week in Croatia…

Well, I better start at the beginning. I was feeling a bit homesick and tired of spending all my waking moments with my fellow 24 SIT students, so I skyped my parents and felt a little better. I ended up going out dancing and drinking some wine before that. I got back to the hostel around 3ish, and found out that we were leaving at 4 am rather than 6 am, because there was some sort of border patrol strike in Slovenia and part of our tour was bussing through there. So I never slept, and I was still in my “going out” attire of Anthropologie skirt, a new punk band t shirt that I cut and pinned into a cuter better one (I bought it at this amazing Monday night punk show in Zagreb. Definitely a highlight of my experience there) black stockings and boots.

I slept most of the bus ride, and we drove from Krk Croatia (spent two days there without lectures, which was lovely) through Slovenia, and then to Italy. All I saw of Italy was a reststop called “Ristop” and the Venice airport. We flew 3 and half hours to Morocco (pain free thanks to a Sudafed and my ear plugs) and then took an hour and a half bus ride from Casablanca to Rabat.

And I’m in love. Men and men hold hands here, so do women and women. The clothing is a mixture of western and traditional attire. The streets are lit with yellow light, the children do flips and cartwheels for our claps and cheers. I never want to leave, and I’ve barely been here 5 hours.

I’m exhausted, though, and I’m skipping out on exploring and taking the “going to bed early” route. I feel like I’ve been sleeping all day, but on buses, trains, and airplanes, and none of which were very comfortable. It’s been hot here in the day, and cool at night. My belly is stuffed with Moroccan soup, tajin chicken, and yogurt. My body is stuffed with exotic breaths of air, cinnamon and bread smells, with pungent trash littering the street, with 7:30 rooftop calls to prayer (I happened to be on the second tallest building in this part of the city, with a panoramic view, when the chanting happened. One of the most beautiful things I have ever heard). I feel comfortable in my respectful hippie skirts and gutatemalen tops, with anklets and Birkenstocks and headwraps. They’re going to have to pry me away come Saturday afternoon when we fly back to Amsterdam and arrive at Schripol at 3 am. Fun stuff.