you'd think i'm listening to something really hardcore based on that GANGSTA RAP title (represent. i don't know what i'm talking about.) but to be honest it's a Neil Diamond kind of morning (early afternoon).
This is going to be a long one...I decided to type up scribblings from my 16 hour vacation in the Casablanca airport, then I have ALL SORTS of fun facts to share about my romp through Europe.
For those of you who have no patience for my writing style, I give you something that those of us in the Biz call a "teaser:" A CRIME WAS COMMITTED IN MADRID. Who dunnit? Was he (OR SHE) apprehended? Do I still have all my limbs? Where are my pants?
This section dates from 13/05/2010:
My flight leaves at 9:15 am tomorrow and I decided I was too stingy to pay for a hotel room. Who needs it? I'm a hard-core, burly PCV. I wear flannel and am best known as the spokesperson for Bounty paper towels. I sleep all night and I work all day.
Correction: I am a small white girl who has a pretty sweet set-up in Morocco (one of my main complaints is being "too loved") and as I curl up on the bench to write this I pull my hood over my head to look less friendly. Too bad my hoodie is white with bright green stripes, has big festive buttons and flairs out jauntily.
Note to self: start dressing like an adult.
What was I talking about? Well whatever. So I'm at the airport for another 7 hours or so until I can check in, then another two hours before I am airborne. You know, like a disease. Next stop: Barcelona.
So far, mixed feelings about this airport. I like how easy it was to get here (taxi to Rabat. Train to Casablanca. Only one transfer.) and it's a spectacular place for people watching.
However. I paid 40 Dh for a cheese, lettuce and tomato sandwich. And the sandwich was not served politely at all. I get so used to small town hospitality that when people in cities are rude it's really shocking.
General thoughts on the trip ahead: Very excited. It will be weird to not hear Darija everywhere, but I am in desperate need of a break from PCV life. I love my job but when I get burned out like this I can't do it properly.
-Time check: 4:51 am
I dozed about 2 hours, then the cafe re-opened. Whoop! Now sitting in cafe, blasting Jesus Christ Superstar in my headphones, fighting the urge to break free in song and sipping coffeeeeee.
7:20 am
Holy shit, I almost just crapped my pants. They almost didn't let me through security because I don't have a carte sejour yet, just the receipt for it. Like, seriously I think the only reason I was allowed to go was that the security guy felt bad for the little American who mysteriously speaks Darija. I had to buy a Moroccan crepe to make myself feel better.
Okay so that's all I got in my scribble pad. Now for a brief account of the trip.
Barcelona:
Andy was nauseated in the airport when he met me at the exit. How flattering. He liked his gifty though (A Raja jersey, one of the Moroccan club football teams). And he brought me some baller stuff, too. SOUR PATCH WATERMELONS. ONE OF MY CALVIN AND HOBBES BOOKS. TRAVEL-SIZED CONTACT SOLUTION (it ended up being the wrong thing and almost burned a gaping, smoky hole in my eye, but it's the thought that counts.) A BALLET DVD because all I do is whine about how I miss taking class.
Our apartment was awesome. Nuff said.
We got to watch a Barcelona game in Barcelona, which was pretty ridiculous. We went to this bar called Dow Jones, where the price of drinks rises and falls based on demand. For those of you who don't know me well, I find economics incredibly stressful and confusing beyond the most basic supply and demand graph, but I still had a lot of fun.
Berlin:
Um, hello beer towers and currywurst. I'm not really sure how I survived 23 years without you.
The proprietor of our apartment was kind of a dick...he was mad at us for being late, but it's not like it was any of our faults that the EasyJet crew was convinced there was a terrorist on our flight and our departure was delayed by like an hour.
Some fun bars...a few we went to were:
Flo- only stayed for like 5 minutes because it was pretty empty, but in my short time there a song that sampled "The Dance of the Knights" from the Prokofiev version of Romeo and Juliet, immediately followed by a Lou Reed song. Um, hi, welcome to my brain.
Studio 54- I imagine it wasn't much like the ACTUAL Studio 54, unless the ACTUAL Studio 54 was about the size of my house, had a backyard patio and a DJ playing fantastic mix of 90s and early 2000s rap. But whatever, I had a good time and got my awkward groove on.
This Other Bar- It was furnished with thrift store furniture and Pretentions British Actors Talking About Acting (PBATAAs). There was a functional door, but most people preferred to enter the bar through an open window.
Madrid
RIP wallet and passport. WOKKA WOKKA WOKKA. (This is the crime I referred to earlier. Less interesting than a story that involves he/she criminals who may or may not have been caught and situations involving the loss of body parts and pants, but let me assure you it was a traumatic experience.)
More interestingly, the Munich-Inter Milan game was really fun to watch and the city was totally nuts with Italians and Germans running around everywhere in Blue and Red, respectively.
Our hostel was a pretty big flop--the reservation was for a room with a double bed and shared bathroom and we ended up with a room, slightly smaller than the last place I lived in in DC (my room was a modified kitchen pantry with no lock), with two twin beds and access to a bathroom wayyyy down the hall.
There was also a bit of a club fail. Turns out I'm pretty lame. I finally got around to wearng my Cute Dress for Going Out but spent the majority of my time in it stuffing my face with a ham sandwich, hanging around waiting for other people to get ready, wandering around a Madrid neighborhood then going home after a few glasses of sangria with absolutely no desire to club it.
I experienced culture shock at a fancy restaurant. A mix of not having any money (remember my wallet was stolen), not understanding the menu, not being dressed accordingly, not having been in a nice restaurant for 9 months and getting stressed out by the high-tech hand dryer in the bathroom led to me kind of shutting down and staring at my plate most of dinner.
I had to wait until Monday (same day as my flight back to Morocco) to get my emergency passport because of the Embassy's hours. The American Embassy is not a fun place to be, by the way. The only person who was remotely friendly turned out to be an RPCV from Burkina Faso, go figure.
Okay so that's my vacation in a nutshell... I got home okay, have enough money to hold me over 'til I can get a new bank card and my paperwork for a new passport is coming together. It's good to be back.
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