Morocco: Day 1

Time to catch up on the old blog.

So I get out of the boat and take a look around the immediate surroundings of Casablanca. Immediately my first thought is “Wow…sketchy”. And that about summarizes Day 1.

We caught a cab to take us to the train station. I was in an independent travel group with the rich guy (Dammit, prior Facebook arrangements) and since he doesn’t give a crap about money, but is used to getting what he wants, he threw us into a cab without a compteur (counter), and so we got majorly ripped off by the driver. I probably should have said no…but I was so overwhelmed I didn’t know what to do. What should have cost us 8dh a piece cost us 20dh. I hate that rich guy quite a lot sometimes.

We take the train to Marrakesh from Casablanca, which cost the equivalent of $20 one way. At this point, since my budget for Morocco was $100, Marrakesh already seemed like a terrible idea. By the end of the day I would be down about $50 on transportation costs alone.
When we got to Marrakesh, things didn’t look up at all. As we were exiting the train, a “nice” Moroccan man came into our compartment and asked where we were from. The girl next to us who we didn’t know said “Luxembourg”, to which he responded “nice”. We said, stupidly, “United States”, at which point he pretended Miss Luxembourg didn’t exist and proceeded to try to convince us to take a tour of the city with him. We said no at least 5 times: When we were on the train, when we were off the train, when we joined up with the rest of the group while off the train, when we tried to leave the station…you get the point. Anyway, eventually we got out of there.

Yet again, a horde of taxi drivers accosted us and demanded our business. Rich boy, being a rich boy, made us take another cab that ripped us off. We got to the central market place, which was like a scene out of Aladdin. You know when Jasmine walks through the Agrabah marketplace and there are little tents/stands everywhere and people offering her bread and jewels and for some reason a fish? That’s basically a pretty accurate representation of what it’s actually like. People grab you and touch you and demand that you look inside their shops, and when you show the slightest bit of interest, they hound you like you’ve never been hounded before. I took a look at a fez at one point, decided to wait on it, and the shop owner quite literally followed me for three blocks trying to make me come back.

The worst part of the day was actually my best photo-op. So we’re walking through the market when I see a guy who has one of those monkeys on a chain. Now, in retrospect, what I should have done was say “ugh, such animal cruelty. What a disgusting man that is.” However, being thoroughly overwhelmed by being in Africa, my immediate response was more along the lines of “OMGWTF GUYS MONKEY”. The monkey guy took notice of me (I was pretty flamboyant) and said something along the lines of “come take picture with monkey, it’s okay”. I, being new at this whole travel thing, was all gung-ho about it. One of my friends pulled me aside and said “NO. You have to PAY for that”. I didn’t believe her, but I decided to move on. Yet again, however, he kept following us. Eventually I turned back and said “okay, seriously, how much?” Yet again he responded, “no worry, no worry. It’s okay.” I was very hesitant, and turned to go…

And suddenly there was a monkey on top of me. Yes, on top of me. He had THROWN THE MONKEY on me. Well, I decided, I’ve lost. We got some pictures of me smiling with the monkey. I was done, but the monkey guy wasn’t. He ordered the monkey to JUMP ON MY HEAD. I think the only response I could muster was quite literally “Okay. So now there’s a monkey on my head. What do I do with this?” He got the monkey off and I was DONE, so done. I was speed-walking away before he could try to charge me…but then he got my friend. Monkey guy said “it’s okay, it’s okay. I can shake your hand?” So my friend, also being a bit naïve, shook monkey’s guy’s hand…at which point THE MONKEY JUMPED ON HIS HEAD. I have such an immense hatred for monkeys right now, you have no idea. After that, I was still walking, but my friend made the mistake of asking “how much?” God. So the guy tries to demand 200dh a piece, which comes to about $25USD per person. So he wanted $50 for throwing monkeys at us. I was basically like, you have GOT to be kidding me. We got away from him by shoving 100dh at him total. So yeah. Lost another $10 on a monkey. I never want to see another monkey again for as long as I live.

We started to get into the heart of the central marketplace. The streets were so narrow that I basically could have been on a lightrail to a Bronco game with how packed in we all were. And to add on to the problem, it seems that the people in Marrakesh have an obsession with motorcycles. They also have an obsession with riding it through the streets, the marketplaces, the sidewalks, and basically anywhere else that has ground underneath it. So yeah, nearly got killed by a motorcycle at least three times. (Incidentally, we also almost got killed by about 5 cars, since Morocco’s traffic laws don’t appear to, well, exist. We saw maybe two crosswalks in the entire city. Street-crossing was the equivalent to skydiving in both risk and adrenaline.) People were doing a lot of staring, and muttering a lot in French and Arabic. Feeling like a freak show is not fun, so I got back at them by taking their pictures like a racist tourist. What now, bitches?

We were very hungry, but didn’t want to spend a lot of money. A nice man (we assume he was nice because we started only speaking in Spanish to compensate for the stigma of clearly being foreign) guided us to a place where real Moroccans ate, not where tourists ate. We paid about 1/6 of what we’d have paid at a touristy place, so yay. Ordering was weird, though. We didn’t understand anything on the menu except the stuff that was, for some reason, American (I guess Moroccans like a burger as much as the next guy). We eventually ended up pointing at what the next table was eating and saying “I want that”. It ended up being some sort of tuna/egg/potato/tomato salad-ish thing with lamb meatballs and fries on the side. Or maybe the sald was the side and the lamb thing was the main course. I don’t know. I didn’t eat the lamb, but the salad-looking thing was fantastic. We also found a Moroccan flatbread stand and partook in that, along with some Moroccan mint tea. I have had SO much of that tea lately. It never gets old.
We spent most of the rest of the day just wandering around the city. Rich boy bought a whole bunch of frivolous things and didn’t even bother to barter. One great moment, though. He comes back and shows me this “awesome Moroccan hat” he bought for his sister. Turns out it was one of those Jamaican hats with the fake dreadlocks hanging down from it. I laughed my ass off and told him what he’s just bought. He didn’t believe me until I made the rest of the group confirm he’d been scammed. Good God, rich boy. Get a grip.

It hit nightfall and we found a cute place with gelato and, mercifully, wi-fi. I popped on Facebook for a few minutes and indulged in melon-flavored and fig-flavored gelato. I highly recommend them both.

We were on the train again, bracing for yet another 3.5 hour ride back to Casablanca. We met a woman who was actually from Ohio, and had been living in Morocco for many years. She actually had lived about a mile from one of the girls in our group. What are the odds? It was refreshing to hear her take on everything we’d just been through. She told us straight up what we should be paying for what, how to barter, where to eat, etc.
Here’s where things get ultra-sketchy. So we get back to Casablanca around 12:30am. Not exactly the best time to be wandering around any city, let alone a foreign city with a high poverty rate. We knew we needed to get home quickly, but the lady on the train had advised us to walk a few blocks from the train station to get a reasonable taxi driver versus another scam artist. The cab drivers kept following us, which was creepy enough. However, eventually they stopped. We weren’t sure why. Then we looked forward a bit and saw a scene straight out of Rent. There was a line of about 30 homeless men sitting side to side against a wall, smoking, brooding, and/or looking at us. We were not amused. One of the girls turned around and saw that there were suddenly about three guys following close behind us. They were yelling “hey, sweetheart” in English, despite there being two guys in our group. We sprinted the hell away. Fearing for our lives at this point, we hailed three cabs (the GOOD cabs) and went home.
Turns out we were the lucky ones. Another SAS kid had been mugged that day. Four guys surrounded him and took everything he had.
So yeah. $50 out with no souvenirs or pleasant memories, my first day in Morocco was sketchy to say the least.

MOROCCO OMG

It's 1:30am and I just got back from Marrakesh. I'm too tired to write the blog...but believe me, I'll get back to you. Some things to look forward to: con artists, monkeys, bread, and Spanish. GOODNIGHT.

Morocco Tomorrow!

Fairly uneventful day today, if only because nothing on the boat seems exciting when you know you're going to be in Morocco in 24 hours.

I got a 9/10 on my first SAS paper today (paper being a loose term. More like two analytical paragraphs comparable to what a 10th grader should be able to do), which was the highest grade in the class. I think I deserved better, but hey, I'm an arrogant asshole, so what can you do? But I already have people lining up asking me to help them. God, I miss being a Writing Fellow.

The MV Explorer is a place where my creativity comes to die. I want to write/act/sing or do SOMETHING artsy...but it's tough when opportunities aren't shoved in my face like in Iowa. Guess I'll have to try a little harder. Time to get "I-Have-No-Shame-on-a-Boat Theatre" started.

I did "Insanity" for the second time today. JesusChristAllahAdonai do my legs hurt. In retrospect, perhaps it wasn't the best move to tear my body apart again right before walking around Marrakesh, Fes, Volubilis, and Casablanca for four days straight. I hope I remembered to pack the Advil.

We'll arrive in Morocco promptly at 8am.

Gahhhh

Huff...puff...

So I just did an extreme cardio workout called "Insanity" with my friends. At the time it didn't seem that hard. The second I got back to my room, I realized I was dying.

It's tough to feel like you're staying in shape when you live on a reasonably small ship, so it drives us to do crazy things like this. Granted, I go up and down a million flights of stairs a day, but it's not quite the same as wandering up and down a college campus or taking a mile walk with my dogs, or weight training at my gym. The weight room is right in the public eye, making it very embarrassing to try to train. And like hell am I running on a treadmill. I HATE treadmills. Oh, and then there's the part where I'm on a FREAKING SHIP. The rocking makes me so sleepy that every time I have a free moment and think to myself "Hey, Marek, here's a thought, why not get off your lazy butt and work out?", I always lay down on my bed and pass out for three hours. Luckily, my friends are forcing me out of bed from now on to do this routine with them.

People say that they gain 10 pounds on SAS. I don't want that to happen. But it's weird, because the food on the ship doesn't ever seem to make you full. I don't find my food intake to be all too heavy or that caloric...but then again, maybe they pack it full of secret calories, like oils and butter. I'm definitely nervous that when the boat stops in Morocco and my scale starts working again (it doesn't work on a moving ship), I'll be unpleasantly surprised that I've gained 60 pounds.

My diet usually consists of fish, potatoes, maybe a different vegetable, and a baby dessert. Maybe I'll throw in some peanut butter for protein. And about 600 cups of coffee for strength. It doesn't seem all too caloric...but I've been wrong before. Just ask about my freshman year of college.

Wish me luck. I'm doing another round of "Insanity" tomorrow.

Culture Shock: On the Boat, Day Something

So apparently, learning about new cultures doesn't even have to include setting foot on foreign soil. I've met someone, who for purposes of confidentiality I can't mention by name, who's American...but SO far off from anything I've EVER seen before that part of me wonders of this guy is even for real. Ladies, did you ever watch Gilmore Girls? Apparently that crap with the grandparents ACTUALLY HAPPENS. Let's go through the laundry list of things I've learned about this guy. Hmm.

1. A multimillionaire...possibly a billionaire. 
2. Mother is an Italian supermodel, grandmother is a 50's movie star, and great-grandmother was the heir to the Grapenuts/Honey Bunches of Oats throne.
3. ONLY listens to Classical and Jazz music. He didn't know what "metal" was.
4. Doesn't know what "grinding" is. (He assumed "club" meant "country club", not nightclub.)
5. Was shocked and almost appalled that I didn't know how to ballroom dance.
6. Has a house in Greenwich, the Hamptons and Palm Beach.
7. Claims that there is a "ghetto" Hampton.
8. Has never listened to lady Gaga.
9. Direct Quote regarding Lady Gaga: "Well, I'd say she's HARDLY a lady."
10. Has a family ring and a family crest.
11. Has all his clothes custom tailored.
12. Doesn't follow politics, and I don't think he knew about the debt ceiling debates...surprise, surprise.
13. Grandfather founded Vail, CO.
14. Swims with Alec Baldwim.
15. Has a personal hatred by Donald Trump, who incidentally insulted this kids grandmother in his book.
16. Hasn't owned a pair of blue jeans since he was 5.
17. Does that one thing where you wear a sweater around your shoulders instead of actually wearing the sweater.
18. Gets disgusted, furious, and nauseous when his sisters put on "popular" music.
19. Oddly enough, wasn't that far off when he guessed the annual income of a family in the USA.
20. Seems to think that art preservation is a form of charity.
21. Eats out every single night when out in his college in NYC.
22. Clearly has a crush on me.

Sorry, but when I joke that I want to marry a rich Jewish doctor...this isn't what I mean. Friends, family, other people reading this...please. PLEASE. If I ever show even the slightest sign of becoming anything remotely resembling this man or his family...smack me so hard that I fly into the Victorian era these people are still stuck in.

I can't help but think I'm being hypocritical for judging this poor boy too hard. It's not his fault his was raised in extreme privilege. But what is his fault is that he doesn't care to understand what's going on in the world outside of what I would call his "Hampton bubble". It's almost disgusting. I got physically sick listening to him tell me about his family, his money, and how "philanthropic" they are. Sorry, honey, but with the money you spent on your pointless 60-bedroom house (not kidding. His grandma's house had 118 rooms), you probably could have kept my local animal shelter going for ten years. So don't give me that bullshit about doing your part in society and being humble and grateful for what you have. If you had an INKLING of what you have, you would hate yourself and you would hate your family for wasting the money America so desperately needs to fill your drawers with 400 dollar watches and weekend vacations to Venice. It's ridiculous. You're ridiculous. You don't even know about the debt ceiling? Does nothing in society impact you besides your biweekly dinner parties of 100 guests (which he has, I might add)? Why do you NEED to do these things? Why do you NEED so much when others have so little? Would it kill you to buy that half million dollar house and maybe give the rest back to, oh, I don't know...the people you're actually employing to clean your big-ass house? Or the teachers who teach your rotten kids? Or maybe to help the kids starving in Somalia? I don't even need to get off this boat to see the types of people my country really has. I really had to see it to believe it.

America, these are the people who we don't tax. THESE are the "job creators" we fight so hard to protect, the ones who still have debutante balls and half million dollar weddings, the ones who value grandeur over practicality. Are these the people you want getting our presidents elected (This guy's grandpa PERSONALLY got Eisenhower elected, apparently.)?  The ones still living in monarchial Europe? The ones who don't even know that the average joe doesn't know how to do a box-step?  These people have done nothing to DESERVE what they have. They are simply, as this guy called himself, "old blood". This is a democracy, not an aristocracy...or at least I thought it was.

I don't want to go to India and see people begging in the streets. This is enough for me. I want to go home. I'm going to be sick.

On the Boat, Day 4

You remember that one song, the one that goes “rock the boat, don’t rock the boat baby”? Find the songwriter and tell him to suck it up, princess. He’s never been on the MV Explorer. I didn’t know it was possible for a boat this big to rock back and forth this much. It’s insane. No matter where I go, I can’t escape it. You know how many times I’ve nearly fallen off the balcony on the 6th floor to the tile floor on the 5th? I’m not telling, but it’s a lot. Luckily, while I’m still seasick, I’m no longer violently ill because of it. However, in trying to compensate for the constant movement, by neck has taken to trying to stay as still as possible to support my nausea-prone head. Therefore, I have new neck tension that’s so bad and tight that if you smack a wooden board against my neck, the board would snap in two.  Yeah. How long until I’m allowed to blow $50 on a massage?

It’s really tough going through the time zone changes, because we’re losing an hour of sleep every night until we get to Morocco. Waking up for my 8am classes is becoming less of an annoyance and more of an epic mission. I’m not sure I can do it. I suppose the name of the game will have to be naps, which in all honesty is completely fine by me.

Classes are going to murder me. I know, that’s really weird coming from me, right? But seriously, for something that’s known for being a bit of a “party cruise”, I feel like I’m in my first semester of law school. I’m not just happy I didn’t sign up for a 5th class, I’m relieved. Even with just the four I have, I’m expected to read between 200 and 400 pages a day, and that’s in addition to my work-study, which luckily is almost relaxing so far in its mindlessness. Oh, and the reading will stay the same even as the papers pile up. Difficult papers? Absolutely not. LOTS of papers? Oh my God yes. Oh, and then there are the tests. Why are there so many tests? The brochure said there would only be a few tests. This is a terrible vacation! (That was for you, Iowans.) I may have met my match. It just worries me, because maybe the classes aren't hard. Maybe Iowa hasn't been challenging me enough, and now I'm not used to hard work. Shoot. Is that what it is? Am I really just incredibly dumb and lazy? Am I incapable of working at the college level after all? God, I hope not...

Nonetheless, I’m still having some semblance of “fun”.  I’ve grown unusually popular. No, not just unusually popular, ABSURDLY popular. I can’t help but think it’s some sort of well-orchestrated prank by every member of the shipboard community. It’s as if every person has decided that there’s something about me that’s just DIFFERENT, but that unlike everyone in the past who thought that was a bad thing, these guys think it’s sort of awesome. The terms “quirky, genuine, and unique” have come to me in the form of compliments. When I enter a room, it’s often to tribal chants of “MAREK! MAREK! MAREK!” People want to be me for Halloween. It’s odd as hell to be some sort of divine idol for these people, and I don’t understand why this is happening at all. Nonetheless, I think I could get used to this.

On the Boat, Day 3

So...yeah. Worst first class ever. I may or may not have run out of class in the middle of the professor's lecture only to throw up two inches away from the toilet. Then I did work and about 300 pages of reading. I think this boat is going to kill me.

And that's the general story of Day 3.