So I feel like it's finally the right moment to sit down and reflect on the past several months as there have been many ups and downs as I'm sure is representative of all of our lives, depending on how you look at it. I am sitting in the living room of my already burning up piso amongst piles of Spanish homework I'm trying to get done. The sun is shining brightly, and summer is arriving sooner than last year. This scares me. I woke up yesterday with a tingly in my throat and sure enough, some sort of allergy or sickness is in my chest. Every week is another adventure!
Last month, Bryn and I finally decided to go to Morocco for a 4 day weekend. It's the one place we had been putting off seeing because of safety and since we had another girl coming along, Mree, it seemed safer. It's unfortunate that this word, safety, is even associated with Morocco, but after being mugged, the word proved worthy. I started writing my friend a letter about my experience in Marrakech with the introduction being, "I was robbed in Morocco," but as I let myself digress, I realized that I had wonderful, detailed memories of the place that I wouldn't allow myself to remember in light of the robbing. So I got mugged. Mree, Bryn and I were walking back to our hostel as the sun was setting, in the outskirts of the center area, and some young dude was there in my path. I knew the second before it happened, that the seconds that were to follow were going to be a struggle. He ripped off my strap with ease, dragged me the ground and pulled me until I couldn't hold on. All that strength I thought I had! I apparently ran after him. I know I said several curse words of hate until I retreated, turned to Bryn, squeezed her face with my dirty hands and fell into a heap of sobs. I wanted her to feel it too. No one in the streets did anything but stare. I was basically being carried by Bryn as we finished running our way back to the hostel through crowds of staring Moroccans. Some guys said in English, "Don't cry girl." When we got back to the hostel, our lovely host gave us tea and sympathized with me. I didn't stop crying. I remember I had left two special, super valuable rings in the purse. A gold and diamond heirloom from my aunt and David Yurman favorite. I know that sounds so diva-ish. Bye bye rings, camera, iPod touch with years of obtained music, pink Spain phone, Bobby Brown lipstick, lipgloss, my favorite pen, American chapstick, 2 credit cards and my driver's license, a free scrub I had just gotten and my Marrakech map. That's what was in that H&M terrible black purse. If that man knew the value of all of that, he will be living like a king in Morocco now. So after like 30 minutes of sobbing and asking for shots of something and apologizing to these other clueless American babies (ok- study abroad students) for crying, I was convinced to go to the police station to report the issue. Mree came with me because Bryn was throwing up her couscous from earlier. We had to walk to the place twice because I didn't bring my passport the first time and then we had to go to a copy store because these 1920's prison/police stations didn't have computers or copiers. There was a toothless man chained to a holding cell crying. The officer told me that the woman had yelled when this guy mugged her and therefore, people were more alert and able to capture him. "Did you scream when this happened?" "Yes and I called him some bad names in English, but I suppose since no one speaks English here they thought I willing gave him my purse." This is how I felt as I went through the questions. We came back to the hostel. I spoke to the caretakers for awhile so for peace and then I went to my bunk succumb to exhaustion.
Before this, we arrived in Marrakech on Thursday morning and were transported to our hostel by van. We saw camels within 5 minutes and women completely covered in black. There seemed to be no standards for traffic either. We weaved our way through tiny curved streets filled with merchants selling hand-made goods and fruit and arrived at our hostel. We were greeted by a lovely man who told us the details of our contract and led us to our room. After some freshening-up we went to the center for our first lunch and to take in the crowd. We had been forewarned about the snake charmers, monkey handlers and henna tattoo ladies. We found a restaurant that according to Rick Steve was awesome. Typical couscous, chicken something another, vegetables, water. Our mouths were yellow with the spice dye. We walked around, took a picture with a monkey, were harassed by the henna ladies. I think we saw one mosque, bought oil for our hair from a nice couple who sold it for cheap, bought postcards and were ripped off when we bought dried fruit. We smoked hookah at the hostel, had tea and somehow joined in on a surprise birthday celebration for some other people who were staying in our hostel. It was an awesome first day. Day 2, we woke up, met a guy (can't remember the names), who took us to a bus. We had our very own private bus to see the Berber villages this day. We saw lots of beautiful scenery on the way. We learned about the traditions of the Muslims and how Marrakech thrives-- off tourism. The berber house that we entered was made by hand. There was no electricity. The women never left the house and made their own flour and everything they ate and wore. The washed themselves weekly in a stream room with black smoke. A little boy told our tour guide not to let us touch his donkey because last time the visitors touched him too much. We entered the house all westernized looking. I felt the sensation to cover my hair. Our tour guide was modernly dressed but told us that he too was apart of a Berber village and knew how to keep warm in the winter by building fires and how to make things from scratch, but he doesn't believe in arranged marriages. We were served a typical Berber breakfast-- bread (homemade of course), honey, butter and jam. Tea was included of course. We ate as much as we wanted. We tried to say thank you to the hostesses as best as possible. They seemed so graceful and dark. A little girl in the house offered to give us henna tattoo for a small donation and we did it-- each of us. Apparently, many people live within the household and each person has his/her duty. It's a system that works and that has lasted in modern times. After the breakfast we stopped by a herb area and were informed about various herbs and there purposes. I bought henna (why?) and herbs for hunger suppression (ha). We then had to have lunch. We were the only ones in the restaurant. We were served basically a 4 course meal, mounds of food-- tomato salad, couscous again with some marinated meat, fruit and tea and chocolate for desert, loads of bread. I couldn't breathe afterwards. We went to the waterfall at the top of a mountain next. The sun was blazing in February. I can't imagine July. We climbed to the top over slippery rocks and other people. Of course we passed merchants selling hand-made statues and trinkets. Marrakech thrives off tourism. After this adventure, we headed back to the city center. We made an appointment with the spa for later. Later came, we decided to walk to the spa which was outside the city center. We once again dodged camels, donkeys, people on motorbikes, quickly moving pedestrians with no shoes. It reminded me of the Sega video game of Aladdin. We went through a sketchy neighborhood of guys working on cars and even said out loud that is was a little dangerous. The spa was brilliant. We had to get down to our undies. We sat in a steam room and let our pours open up. Some ladies came in and rubbed black soap all over our bodies. Afterwards, layers of skin were scrubbed off my bodies. It was just like what it looks like when you get a pedicure, except this was body skin. It was a bit freaky, but I liked the experience. The 3 of us sat there breathing in hot air, thinking about the Moroccan ladies covered in black who come here once a week to get their scrub as a way of life. Afterwards we sat in our white robes and sipped tea and ate a chocolate treat. It was as if we were royalty. And that's how Marrakech was to me. These glamorous spas and tours and villas with guards amongst poverty. So when we left, the sun was fading, but we kept walking in the same direction we came. As I reflect back, I realize that perhaps this plan had evolved during our stay at the spa. The next day, we sun-bathed and they listened to me be existentialist and ask a lot of unanswerable questions. We ate a nice touristy restaurant were the food was amazing of course. We sat among French royalty it seemed like, and I kept thinking, how is it possible for these French people to walk around with their Louis' and me get mugged? We were running back to the hostel. I'm aways running, but even with nothing of valuable of my ripped and black coat, I felt that something else could be taken. We let night come and slept and then we returned to Ciudad Real.
There are so many more details of this trip that I can't include for the reader because it becomes to exhausting, as it already is. But imagine what it feels like to have nothing in your hands at the airport except your passport (thank God). So sometimes are we carrying around this needless things like lipstick? I don't know. I'm still comforted by having them. One of the hardest bits has been to not take it so personally. I think I've damned the man who did this to me over and over and over and it'd be nice to let it go. If only someone could understand what those rings meant to me. But it won't change it. And I realized that life is full of these big ugly surprises. Surprise! No, really. You don't know that and all those other clichés that exist until they happen to you and form your opinions. I don't know if these kinds of things are necessary for thanks or for learning or for being more aware or for the simple change that it creates in the chaos of plans and walking really fast. There are going to other times that I'm taken to my knees and dragged around. It's a bit frightening, but as they all say, we've lived through this one. It hurts, yes. It hurts. In relation to my own experience, I hope as I've seen, that the hate/revengefulness I have within, fades away and I can just keep remembering the vivid colors of Marrakech and the oppositeness of it to my westernized worlds in Spain and the USA. I don't want it to keep me from traveling, from smiling at strangers because I'm scared they will look at me as a typical American. But keeping the guard up is my lesson. There are levels of goodness and badness and desperateness that I have no idea about.
I wanted this post to be about my experiences in general over the past few weeks. It's obviously become about just this one thing. I suppose it's been festering within! I ran a 10k two weekends ago and then pulled a neck muscle. I went to Cordoba last weekend. I'm studying Spanish a lot. I'm cutting back on my eating because I'm too self-concious to get into shorts with any extra weight. I still smile when I eat sweet cake, but beat myself to death for enjoying it later. Don't know how to fix that bit.
So, this is this for now. More time will bring different moods.
