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.