Pioneer Children Sang As They Walked...

...and walked and walked and when they were tired of that, they walked some more. Mount Toubkal, North Africa's tallest mountain at 13,671 feet sounded like a worthy adventure after getting rid of the worst case of camel crotch I've ever had. The snowmelt-fed waterfalls, snow-capped peaks and fresh mountain air were such a contrast to the Sahara.

Sunday involved waking up at 4 AM in hopes to catch the sunrise at the summit. We hiked that day from 5 AM to about 530 PM. I was certainly tired and a bit blistered, but we met some incredible people along the way who made the journey, with its already stunning scenery, even more enjoyable.



Taken from the rooftop of our cabin where I did yoga at sundown. Donia is currently volunteering in Congo working to improve child nutrition. We communicated mostly in Spanish, but she speaks French, Arabic, Malagasy and some English. She's volunteered in many countries and will soon be headed to Haiti for her next gig. She was an inspirational person to be around. I feel like one of the biggest things I've enjoyed about my travels here thus far is the exchange of ideas with exciting people.



Gunther is a German man working with the UN throughout North Africa on policy development in agriculture. He assured me that wandering from place to place every few years with a family can be a wonderful thing. His children quickly become fluent in the languages of whatever country they inhabit. I really enjoyed his honest insights into the struggles of North Africa. Germans have a way of avoiding sugar-coating things.



Our hiking crew. We all met sporadically at the refuge/cabin. We had a lot of fun together. I'm still amazed at how open and hospitable Moroccans are. They treated us to so much food and drink.

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The summit was beautiful. I love being able to see clearly for miles and miles.

Make Way for Prince Ali!

Admittedly, riding a camel through the Sahara reeks of cliche tourism, but I felt like it was something I might as well do. Despite having camel crotch (use your imagination) for the next few days, the trip was well worth the 12-hour, no bathroom, no air conditioned, overnight bus ride to get there. Camels are not as moody as people make them out to be, but they sure do have gas.

Amanda, Rasheed, Mohammed and I set up a tent to hang out in, playing cards, exchanging stories and laughing late into the night. It was eerily silent as we took our sleeping bags out to bed down under the stars. I'm used to falling asleep to crickets and frogs, but I guess there's just no life to make sound out there.

I woke up with sand in every imaginable orifice and everything I ate for the next day had a distinguishable grit to it. Interesting side note...we were following the ancient trade (mostly slaves) route to Timbuktu, which would've only taken us 52 days by camel. For my own comfort and my posterity's sake, I called it quits after 1 night.

Everything's Finger Food

Delicious meals like this Rafisa are set before my hungry belly with regularity. This bowl of spicy goodness was soon attacked by 7 sets of hands shortly after the picture was taken. We all eat from the same dish and silverware is hardly ever used, making eating a much more intimate experience. Even the water is shared...we either pass around a large bottle that everyone drinks from or pour it into a communal cup. I quite like being able to lick all that flavor off my hands when the meal is over. One thing is a bit disconcerting after having been lectured by Paci about the intricacies of microbiology: its customary to only use soap for washing hands after the meal. I guess they look dirtier.

Allah Is Good! Allah is Great!

"Two roads diverged in a wood, and I-- I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference." The 6'5" giant of an African man approached me and my traveling companions with these words, offering his services as our guide for the day. He continued quoting Walt Whitman, Thoreau, Emerson and Stephen Crane. I was impressed by the effort and the photo of his two-year old daughter was adorable, so guess who got themselves a guide for the day...

I'm happy we did because Fez is a city in which I could probably develop a multitude of psychological disorders and then be trapped alone with them for the rest of my life. Yes, its that confusing. The city's made of innumerable alleys scarcely big enough for two people to walk down side by side. Supposedly it helps with the heat in the summer. I just felt like I was in a giant maze.

As a tour guide Abdul was decidedly off, but as a person with a desire to make his clients feel welcome, he was spot-on. He invited us to his house for dinner after our tour where I was told that God had given me many gifts, but the most beautiful was my tongue. I've since been checking my tongue out in the mirror with much greater frequency. Really though, it has led me to consider the great good and evil that can be done with our words.



These tanneries were featured on a national geographic episode. I pity da fool whose job it is to make the leather baby-butt soft by mashing it over and over, standing barefoot in these vats of cattle urine and pigeon poop. The smell reminded me of manure hauling season on the Hess Dairy.


The biggest reason I wanted to go to Fez was for the World Sacred Music Festival. The difference in energy levels between the concertgoers at this festival compared with the Mawazine popular music festival was astounding. Religion permeates every aspect of life here and when the Sufi brotherhood, a group of extra dedicated Muslims took the stage to sing about Allah's and Mohammed's greatness, the crowd went ballistic!

Dancing, like most things in Morocco, is separated by sexes. Girls dance with girls and boys dance with boys. I found myself in the company of a bunch of young men who were especially into the music. One of them invited me to dance with him and those remaining surrounded us in a circle. I then became dance partner to almost all 27 dudes at sometime during the night. It was refreshing to be caught up in the energy of the moment. I also enjoyed the fact that the dancing wasn't some kind of awkward sexual foreplay akin to American dance floors. I felt like it was dancing for the sake of dancing. It was another testament that language isn't always necessary for people to connect and feel united.

The energy from the concert carried over to the hotel. Helen, Hermione and I decided we'd like to have a German room. Helen's from Germany and Hermione and I are both fluent. It was a lethal combination. I pulled out my, "Favorite Folktales From Around the World" book to read some bedtime stories. The plan was to read one from each country represented, then retire to bed, but it turned into an all-night party complete with reenactments of folktales, performances from Aladdin in authentic dress with a magic carpet (see picture below), and endless laughter. It has taken me two days to recover, but it was a night I won't soon forget.

Sun of a Beach

A lazy 15 minute stroll from my house will bring me here. Cool, eh? You'll find me there most mornings. On Tuesdays and Thursdays I'll be doing a combination workout of swimming and yoga. On MWF I'll be running. Once my Arabic and football (soccer) skills pick up a bit, maybe I'll join one of the many games. These Moroccans are more obsessed with football than any other people I've met.

One of my favorite beach experiences was this...I met up with Ali, a friend that I'd met in a park. The way we met was interesting. I was on an awkward date with a henna artist. Communication was limited and she was trying to be very physical. We saw these guys playing guitar and sat down to listen. One of them offered his guitar for me to play and we happily spent the next 30 minutes in non-awkward guitar playing bliss. It was a nice respite from Miss Henna.

Well, Ali and I met up Monday night to get my guitar strings fixed. We met some dudes at the shop who invited us to a jam session. None of us really knew each other that well, but we went up to a rooftop terrace overlooking the beach as the sun was going down and just JAMMED! Well...they jammed. They were amazing guitarists...I mostly tapped my guitar as the happy percussionist content to soak in their guitar genius.

Hundreds of Cats, Thousands of Cats, Millions and Billions and Trillions of Cats!

Supposedly Mohammed didn't like dogs. He thought they were dirty animals, but cats were great. Its been a rare thing for me to see a dog here, but within a 2 minute walk from my house yesterday morning, I saw 16 cats. And thus we see that the influence of the prophet is widespread. It's interesting living in a country where even the types of animals one sees depends on the religion.

Mary Jane's Favorite Dance Hall

Chefchaouen is known for being the country's best place to dance with Mary Jane. Having been offered to smoke more than I had when I was in Jamaica, I became curious to see the farms. I took to the mountains in search of weed and waterfalls. I met this friendly farmer on my way who kindly pointed me in the right direction. With a few shepherds and numerous goats and sheep as my companions, I marched up to the cascades. It was quite a journey to get there, so I rewarded myself with a nice bath in the ice-cold spring-fed waterfalls. The ensuing air bath was also quite refreshing as I felt like I was really getting back to nature.

On my way back down, Mr. Farmer yelled at me from his roof, inviting me to his house. Our 30 second conversation was significant enough for him to invite me in for lunch and hot mint tea. I then asked him about his farm. He was quick to point out the weed that was cleverly hidden in a mint patch. I guess the police have been cracking down on production in the area. The crop brings in much more money than any other, so it's kind of a bummer that the man's interfering.



It reminded me of the Cottonwood Canyons. Eerie how places have such striking similarities.



Everything in this city is painted in beautiful hues of blue. Combining the calming effects of blue with a city where everyone's high made for a relaxing weekend retreat.



The spice rack of my friend, Ibraim. He kissed me more times than my mother has my whole life...and my mom kisses a lot. He repeatedly said, "I want to give you my love. I want to smell you. I want to kiss you. I want to hold you." This all because he said I had good energy. Which I do. He's right. And I'm hott.

Actually, it was all part of his show to get me to buy something from his shop. His compliments were unceasing. "You have good luck. God gave you a great heart, a nice personality, a beautiful face and a beautiful stomach." He then proceeded to lift up my shirt and kiss my belly. It was without a doubt the most interesting shopping experience I've ever had. I've never shared that much physicality with another man before. I was laughing so hard at his constant encouragements, "You're going to sleep really well tonight because I'm giving you so much love." I slept like a baby. I woke up every hour and cried. I was laughing too hard at the abnormal experience I'd just had.

Thanks for the mint tea and the lovin' Ibraim! Grandma's going to love her present.