Espana and the beginning of Morocco

I'm sitting in the bottom bunk of my cabin thinking about how I could possible sum up the last 12 days or so into one blog entry. It's just so easy to lose track of time and fall behind as I am constantly trying to reflect, complete work for classes, work in the field office daily, attend meetings for service trips, plan independent trips, sleep,eat, and see friends. It really is like college except for those evenings where we have three hours of immigration forms to fill out, the occasional instance where I'm brushing my teeth and almost launched into the shower, the random ship meetings of listening to Dean Bob rap the cultural pre-port information of Ghana, and the constant jingling of pills for traveler's stomach and malaria pills in the bottom of my backpack.

Yesterday the rocking has picked up a little bit and as I walked with a friend to a computer in the library, we both careened into the same direction like synchronized swimmers. Running on either of the two treadmills in the gym is also a feat and I'm sure I'm going to build some funky muscles compensating for the rocking that draws me over to one side or another. It does keep things interesting though, especially when you're facing a wall.

The night before last, I slept outside on the front of the 7th deck with a couple of friends. We took yoga mats out of the gym's closet and set up our sleeping bags up with our feet to the railing and looked out at the magnificent stars beyond. We listened to the engine's vibrations and the lap of the waves as we saw the faint flash of lightning in the distance and a few shotting stars ahead. To think that back home we looked at the same stars as now, laying on a ship on the ocean just west of Africa on our way to Ghana. The nearest land had to have been Guinea, Sierra Leone, or perhaps even Liberia and yet the ocean, stars, and lightning all seemed so familiar. I used to try an imagine what it would feel like to travel the world, to travel across the sea like my great grandparents. Obviously my relatives did not have private cabins with snack time and a library, but the idea is still captivating. I made a revelation about myself though, that I was able to see these moments as special and that I had already developed the ability to capture many moments in life as special fleeting snap shots.

The night was warm and muggy yet the breeze felt wonderful. I do remember feeling a bit annoyed from my deep slumber as it felt like someone was constantly moving my sleeping bag, only to realize it was the wind. At 3:30am we were awoken by a patrolling crew member that warned us that it was getting too windy that night for us to sleep outside and within a few minutes I was already down four decks in my room.

Today you could feel the anticipation for Ghana hovering throughout the ship. Even in the field office we were all much more talkative and lively. As I stood in the field office listening to my bosses Karen and Dan discussing how in their youth one had worked for IBM and the other Mac, I started to think how odd it was that these moments existed in time and how 4 months I could never have imagined them or that 4 months from now they will never exist again. Time is a funny thing.

Let's see if I can capture a good picture of what our schedule has been like. We had one day of orientation, 6 days of classes and then 4 days in Cadiz, Spain. Then we had one day dedicated to meetings about Morocco and were in Morocco for 5 days. Then we had 6 days of classes with a day off ( with three meetings and 2 hours of work this wasn't really a day off for me but that's ok) and tomorrow we are going to be in Ghana! When we get back on the ship, Neptune Day should be very interesting (kissing fish and watching students get their heads shaved.) While I have only had 12 days of classes, coming back from a trek to the Sahara only to find that you have to read a book for a quiz the next day is a bit stressful. As they say at Semester at Sea, you can sleep when you're dead. The funny thing for those that know me at Keene is that I now go to bed by about midnight. I know, it's pretty shocking.

Saturday September 5, 2009 at 0800 we pulled into port in Cadiz, Spain. We woke up early before the sun rose so that we could watch the sunrise as we pulled into port. A deep orange bled into the brilliant blue sky as we approached land for the first time that week and excited students bustled about on the back deck. We waited for the go ahead and lined up to swipe our cards and make our way down the gangway. Kelsey, Natalie, and I walked through the port gate and to a monument across the way. We stood there captivated by the fact that we were really in Spain. How was it that we could just leave our dining commons, walk down a flight of stairs, and find ourselves in Spain? So we walked all day meandering along the coast, exploring gardens of towering bushes sculpted into cartoonlike shapes out of Alice in Wonderland, and climbing up the massive roots into the center of an ancient tree. Cadiz is one of the oldest cities in Spain and Europe and getting lost in the medieval cobbled streets is an exciting adventure. Around corners, one runs into grand cathedrals and open piazzas.

Located in the center of Cadiz, Spain, the market was in a rectangular shaped building across from the supermarket. There were a series of four or five doorways each offering a glimpse into the bustling isles of food. Vegetables were stacked in neat piles of green peppers, red tomatoes, and purple eggplant, all grouped depending on their type. Fruits were arranged in a similar manner of grapes, oranges, bananas, and a number of others. Another isle of fish ran along the side with octopus, large stacks of tuna, prawns, muscles, and all different types of fish. Outside the market vendors made churros (fried dough sticks) in vats of oil. Mistaking the quantity of a kilo, we accidentally ordered a ½ a kilo of churros and had to hand out pieces to students we ran into on the way to the ship.

That evening I went on a city tour where we ventured through the main cathedral, surrounded by echoes and ancient memories. I love that feeling one gets as you stand dwarfed by the magnificence of a cathedral, where every whisper is caught and carried to the other side. Ending the tour with gelato, I went back to the ship for a flamenco show. While I had once seen a small flamenco event put on by Keene State between running from a class on South Africa and gaining data from interviews at the local music venue for an ethnography class, I did not realize how amazing the dance would be. Sitting down to a meal of a classic Spanish dish of Iberian ham (which even my vegetarian friend tried based on a strong recommendation from our inter-port lecturers) and sangria, the dancers passionately danced before us. If I were to attempt to describe the show, it would be an injustice to the dancers so you will just have to do some quick searches on you tube or the like to see some videos. I don't know how you could capture the passion and sheer energy on camera though. The night ended with all of the students trying to learn some flamenco moves and a collective Macarena dance.

The next day I went to the medieval white villages of Ronda and Arcos and toured the truly ancient streets of white washed buildings. Ronda is really more than a village. Built high in altitude past mountains of olive trees and past the stunning Grazalema Natural Park, it is built up on a deep gorge. Artists like Renoir lived hear for the beautiful lighting and authors such as Hemingway and Orson Welles were inspired by the beauty and wrote about the famous bullfights. There was a festival that day and bullfights were scheduled later in the evening at the historic bullring. Horse drawn carriages of women dressed in festive dress ran through the cobbled streets. I only got a glimpse through the guarded door to the oldest bullring in Ronda and by the time I sat down in my seat on the bus I slept the entire 2 and ½ hour drive back. I cold have slept anywhere.

That evening I took to the cobbled medieval alleys with a group of friends in search of a restaurant. With lunch at 2pm and siesta (nationally celebrated nap time) from 3-5pm, our 9:30 dinner was just on time. We stopped at a restaurant where Spanish families pooled into the streets similar to Van Gogh's Cafe Terrace at Night. Families were out late as a guitarist played songs. We all tried different dishes although when I thought I ordered prawns I realized only too late that I had pointed to the wrong thing. Only two days later did I learn that huevas alinas were actually fish ovaries. I guess that makes sense as huevas means eggs :) With so many plates of food though, no one went home hungry and we laughed heartily at the veiny spongelike white substance sliced like soft mozzarella on my plate.

The next day a small group of us took a morning train to Sevilla and ventured to the Cathedral and the Alcazar. The Cathedral of Sevilla is the third largest in the world so you can imagine how amazing it was to walk within its walls. The tall swooping arches and carved angels dwarfed us and the main altar appeared to be a wall composed of carvings completely covered in gold leaf. We climbed to the top of the tour and overlooked Sevilla. From there were went to the Alcazar (an awe inspiring palace right next to the cathedral) and allowed ourselves to get lost in the stunning gardens, bush maze, and rooms of opulence. We even went to a room where one of the first expeditions around the world was planned. Fitting, right?

After eating some tapas (snack) of paella (a Spanish dish of rice, saffron, chicken, and seafood), we hopped on the train back to Cadiz. That evening we received free internet access from the steps of the main cathedral. The last day we walked for hours looking through shops and eating gelato. Is it bad that the only new spanish vocabulary I learned was how to ask for ice cream? Dos bolas por favor en un cona. (Two scoops please in a cone).

We had to make sure we got on the ship by 1600 as to not get dock time for being late. Dock time means that you have to stay on the ship for a certain length of time at the next port. That evening I was able to call home for a three minute call which was very exciting, but ran out of minutes from the student calling card (sorry Mom and Dad, I'll try again in South Africa). In the room I uploaded videos and photos only to realize I didn't have my flamenco videos! My roommate knew I was upset so she let me film her rendition of flamenco dancing. It was fantastic and hilarious although I could never turn a wonderful gesture like that into blackmail. It is tempting though...

So we went back on board for one day to talk about Morocco and attended meetings. We learned that we were arriving during the month of Ramadan when Muslims fast during the daylight hours for the entire month. Ramadan allows Muslims to partly experience what poor people experience on a daily routine. During our five days in Morocco, I learned a great deal about Islam and Ramadan that I will share some information in my experiences.

The next day we arrived in Casablanca ( the capital head of Morocco similar to New York's role in the United States). That day I took my passport, piled into a bus, and we drove three hours to Marrakech. Now Marrakech is a very interesting place with the old medina (old part of town) surrounded by stone fortified walls. The main square there is called Djemaa el Fna and has one of the busiest markets in the world. The square is covered in snake charmers, henna artists, monkey handlers, stands of fruits and piles of spices. The call to prayer radiated throughout the entire market as it does five times daily. Motorbikes sped past, donkey drawn wheelbarrows past by, and women wearing the hijab or veil walked past. The covering varied from a loose scarf covering the hair or nothing at all to the full body black veil with nothing but slits for eyes. It really depends on the woman's beliefs and how conservative they and their families are. Venturing into rural areas, one finds more covering while in big cities such as Casablanca, more women are seen in western clothing yet still conservatively dressed. I tried to be respectful and wore pants and a long sleeve shirt even though it was quite hot.

We started our day with a traditional Moroccan meal. First came the vegetables (shaved carrots that tasted different with a hint of cinnamon, eggplant, and tomatoes) along with flat bread. Then came the tajine which is the name of a traditional dish named after the type of serving platter it is made in. The tajine is made up of two pieces, one a flat bottom, and another a cone shaped cover. Inside, the dish is a stew.This particular tajine consisted of chicken and potatoes. For dessert fresh fruit is served, followed by delicious mint tea. The mint tea is serves in a small glass filled half way and has a good amount of sugar.

After lunch (which we ate inside to avoid being seen by people practicing Ramadan),we ventured through the souks (markets) and zig zaged through the wood paneled covered alleyways. The alleyways are full of cubbyhole stores selling anything from spices and teapots to hand made leather shoes and lanterns. It only rains about 25 days a year in Marrakech and on that day the sky opened up and let down torrents of water. We ducked into the doorway of a shop, but and water rushed through the streets as vendors tried to push water through drains with brooms. It was quite the experience finding ourselves caught in a downpour in the souks of Marrakech. I ended up soaking wet as I only had a limited time to find my way back to the bus on time.

That evening we went to a show called Chez Ali which is the equivalent to a Morrocan cultural Disney World. We entered through to a complex which looked like a palace and a dirt pit arena lay in front of the building were tent like structures were set up for out meals. We ate a meal with a similar setup to lunch but of epic proportions and watched the show. While I enjoyed myself, part of me could not help but be bothered by the show because the workers did not look happy and it seemed more like an exploitation of their culture. The fire show, belly dance, and march to the a Star Wars song all seemed ridiculous, but I did enjoy the horse tricks. The riders were very impressive as they changed positions while riding the horse at full speed. The whole show ended with an epic song similar to one I heard during the final boss of video game I used to watch my brother play when I was in elementary school. It was an interesting experience.

The next day we drove 8 hours through the Atlas Mountains. It was an unbelievable drive along the U bend turns along the cliff edges. Our bus driver went crazy fast and almost smashed into a red truck when going around a corner. I don't know why my heart didn't jump out of my chest when the driver slammed on the brakes. Perhaps it was all those drives out west with my family or watching the bus driver at Mt. Vesuvius bless himself when we reached the top that gave me too much unwarranted faith in drivers along hairpin roads.

We passed mud brick villages built into the sides of cliffs and we were told that some people watched CNN using the satellites you could see attached to the sides of the houses. We saw herders with their goats and sheep, men taking naps outside, and kids playing in the side streets. People stared at us in the bus as we stared back at them. With a few French speaking students on board, no one but our driver and young guide (Jamal) knew Arabic. No one knew the native Berber language prevalent throughout the area.

The mountains became more rocky and exposed, showing geological layers of the area's past. They became more like masterful piles of gavel as we went on until we reached the Draa Valley and the oasis outside Zagora. The oasis is the breadbasket of the region and is covered in palm trees. Our destination ahead was a very different story. You can't find too much sustenance in the Sahara Desert.


Well that's all I can really write for now, but I will pick up where I left off soon. We are going to be in Ghana tomorrow (today) and I want to get some rest before then. I just want to mention one last revelation though.

I have been told that once you experience Semester at Sea you change and become a different person than you were before. My roommate and I have already found the truth in this saying although it is not what you may expect. Sure, traveling around the world might change me a little bit, but the nightly ritual of bumping my head on the top bunk surely will. It never fails. At least she gets a good laugh... and I do too :)