LIFE is an ADVENTURE

HOPEFUL

2009-02-25T14:17:00.000-08:00

Lindsay and Whitey are SO cool to let me stay with them for so long. Although, they were just gone for 8 days in St. Martin's and with my busy schedule- internship, work at the wine shop, frisbee and random exploring- it feels like we are rarely home at the same time. I'm checking out craisglist almost everyday and, while a bit worried about the price of living in DC, hopeful that I'll find the perfect place, with fabulous roomies, at a great price.

One can always hope...

Walking to Work...

2009-02-24T07:25:00.000-08:00

Walking from the metro to the office today, I felt this profound sense that we were all little black ants scurrying above ground from ant hill to ant hill. Bundled from head to toe in black overcoats, scarfs, hats and gloves, with perhaps an occasional splash of pomegranate or periwinkle, heads down, walking quickly to and fro, the day felt cold and lonely.

DC pics...

2009-02-24T07:24:00.002-08:00

LIFE in DC

2009-02-24T07:24:00.001-08:00

You're not really a DC-ite until you have a business card. Or so I am learning. The feeling that permeates every event, conversation, or chance encounter is that of "who is this person, are they important enough to talk to, can they help me in my career ambitions..." If you're not important enough to chat with, they will continue some banal chit-chat, while looking over your head, to the side, or behind them to see who they can go talk to instead. If they think that you are fairly interesting, then they will pull out a business card and say something like, "we'll I've got to run, but it was great meeting you." At this point you had better have a card to give back in return. Otherwise, you're nobody.

OBAMA FAMILY!

2008-12-19T15:30:00.000-08:00

Campaign Thoughts (a bit late, as usual...)

2008-12-15T21:35:00.001-08:00

It’s been a week since election night and I still have a giddy grin on my face. To have been a part of something so monumental was exciting, humbling, and such a learning experience. It is amazing how fast the day can go by, how many balls we can have up in the air, how many directions we can be pulled at once. Taking a minute to slow things down for a second, reflect, and process feels luxurious.

I especially connected with the “Lessons in Loyalty” from Lorraine Grubbs-West. As a Field Organizer, we embodied the Do More With Less mentality. Example: we have 10 phone bankers and only 4 phones… or we have 100 packs to print, only one printer and it’s midnight. This campaign was about working smarter, not just harder.

Measuring everything also became integral in my life, as we had to report the number of volunteers active today and expected tomorrow, phone calls made, doors knocked upon, team activities completed. Numbers win elections, yard signs don’t vote, and measuring voter contact became the most important form of accountability.

Empowering my volunteers was an exercise in letting go of control, but that is the whole point of the campaign; respect, include, empower. This is much easier said than done. Especially when a stressed out volunteer with negative feedback can make you question your decisions.

However, it is because each volunteer was empowered and felt ownership over this campaign that we will be having monthly Obama Family potluck dinners to stay in-touch. After being abroad for so long, this group became my friends, and I am looking forward to building these relationships.

Now that I am off the campaign trail, it’s time to pick-up the job search again- we’ll see where it takes me!

Searching for a JOB

2008-11-22T07:43:00.000-08:00

As I job search from the comfort of home, I am torn between the desire to have any relatively decent occupation to start working, or to wait, be picky, and find the perfect job.

Living at home is amazing- I am so thankful I have a home to come back to and parents that see this transition period as launching their international child. However, the amazingness is tainted by the irking feeling that I am much too old and independent to be mooching off my parents and living in Holland again.

Everyday I am reminded as I take a hot shower, have internet and phone services, central heating and food in the cupboards, how lucky I am. Morocco seems very far away from the snow-white world in which I find myself.

Patriotism and Renewable Energy

2008-11-18T11:51:00.000-08:00

Somehow terms such as being patriotic, pro-life, and liberal have been twisted to imply connotations that I do not support. This is my Holland Sentinel response to being patriotic:

In 1776, patriots fought for our nation to become independent.

Today we are anything but independent.

In the United States, 55-60% of all oil consumed is imported. As a nation, we use roughly 20.5 million barrels of oil a day. In other words, that is 861,000,000 gallons of oil coming from abroad EVERY single day.

In fact, our oil usage exceeds the total of the next 5 largest consumers – China, Japan, Russia, Germany and India COMBINED.

How did our country become so dependent on others for our main energy source? We forgot to be patriotic. After being hammered by the 1973 Arab oil embargo, the US should have responded in a sustained, systematic, and focused way to create an energy independent nation. Making people stupid by telling them that more off-shore drilling is the solution did not help, and will not help, the problem.

Being patriotic means doing what is best for your country, such as investing in new technologies for renewable energies, imposing gasoline taxes, and building-and-appliance efficiency standards that push us towards independence.

Reducing the price of oil, or off-shore drilling, is not the cure. Au contraire, prices need to be raised to break our oil addiction. We didn’t do what was best for our country in 1973 and it’s coming back to bite our pocketbooks now.

Get out your bicycle, turn off the lights, sell your gas guzzling V8, buy carbon credits to offset your carbon footprint, reduce, reuse and recycle. The fight is on, and the US is losing.

Be a patriot and help our nation become energy independent.

ROAD TRIP TO MONTANA

2008-11-17T21:28:00.000-08:00

Holland Sentinal Op-Ed Article

2008-11-17T21:27:00.001-08:00

Morocco, Islam and Acceptance

I’ve lived for the past eleven months in Morocco, a 99% Muslim country. Upon my return to Holland, I visited lots of family, making up for all the time I had been gone. Once, while talking about my experiences, my uncle said something that shocked me.

“Moroccans, they’re Muslim, aren’t they?” He asked. To my affirmative answer, he replied, “They’re scary.”

My uncle has neither been to a Muslin country nor does he know any Muslims. He is ignorant about the culture, the people and the religion. Yet he KNEW that they were scary.

It made me think of the time I told my mom I hated broccoli soup, without ever having tasted it. It looked green and opaque, hardly appealing, but once tasted, was delicious.

The next day I read an article in the New York Times that stated 13% of Americans believed that Barack Obama was Muslim. That this blatant untruth was so widely believed, concerned me, but I was more upset that these Americans were like my uncle, scared of something they absolutely knew nothing about.

In a land where free information is at our finger tips, could we not be bothered to do a bit of research ourselves? Islam is a peaceful religion that preaches acceptance and tolerance, not so different from the dominant religion preached here in western Michigan. Is Barack Obama Muslim? No, but even if he was, where is the problem?

Here I was coming home from a country where internet is hard to find and information is hardly free, only to learn that a complacent portion of the population didn’t care about tasting something different-- they already KNEW that they didn’t like it. Ignorance breeds fear, and I had come home to a country where many people were fearful.

One of my favorite quotes states, “Travel teaches tolerance.” Not everyone will have the opportunity to travel, but everyone has the chance to learn. Ignorance is what we should fear. Not a religion and people that welcomed me whole heartedly in Morocco and helped teach me the meaning of acceptance.

Amika's Wedding

2008-11-12T13:47:00.000-08:00

A look back... interning for Obama.

2008-11-12T13:45:00.001-08:00

Early September

I just had the most gratifying first day on the job. Today I stated interning for the Barack Obama Campaign for Change. I learned how to train volunteers, man the front desk and make persuasion call. My heart was thumping as I made the first call. It was the middle of the afternoon, I was calling seniors- likely the only ones home during the school and work day. I left lots of messages and of course got a few a few rude responses, but I have two really great conversations that made all the bad ones worth it. These two grandmothers started the conversation as undecided and by the time we had finished chatting, told me that they were leaning towards Obama. I really felt like by listening to them, and presenting my younger generation’s point of view, they could also look into the future and be hopeful.

CHICAGO- the city that has my heart.

2008-11-12T13:33:00.000-08:00

Summer travels- Finland, Denmark, France

2008-11-12T13:27:00.000-08:00

home...

2008-08-09T07:07:00.000-07:00

Holland is still home for me. No matter that each time I’ve lived abroad, Paris or Rabat or where ever has become “home,” in the back of my mind, cookie cutter small-town Holland still draws me back. It’s odd to think that this time will be for the last time.

I’m sitting at JP’s Café right now, and everything looks the same, the people are all perfect looking; the girls with hair-sprayed blond hair and the men in summer shorts, sandals and polo shirts. Where are the jelabas?? It was only a few days ago, and yet my days of seeing jelebas and veils on the streets are long gone.

How can someplace feel so comfortable and yet feel so foreign?

I hate traveling...

2008-08-09T06:52:00.000-07:00

I hate traveling. Period. Every single time I travel internationally, something goes wrong. The alarm clock doesn’t go off. The hotel doesn’t call with a wake-up (or the stupid TV doesn’t go off, as was the case this morning). The plane is late. The kids are loud, restless, crying and/ or spill drinks and food all over. The movies are bad. The luggage gets lost. The connecting flight is missed. I have no cell phone. And no money. Hence no pay phone. I'm tired and stressed and overly emotional.

Or, in my case today, all of the above goes wrong.

I also thought it was so ironic that just as I am so happy to be leaving Morocco, I sit next to a Moroccan family on the 9 hours flight from Paris to Chicago. Two little girls and one tired mom. When she heard me speak a few words of Darija to her daughter, she asked me if I was married to a Moroccan. No! Why? I asked. Because you speak Moroccan so well. Which is funny, because I did understand some of what her 5 year old was saying, but certainly not much! In any case, I let the little girl brush my hair and we were both happy.

Now I’m in Chicago typing out my travel frustration, having missed my connecting flight due to delays, lost luggage and stupid check-in lines, praying to get on the next flight to GRR. Inshallah, I’ll be home, sleeping safe and sound on the air mattress that has replaced my sold bedroom furniture. Home sweet home. Wherever that may be.

TOUBKAL- hiking the highest peak in N. Africa

2008-08-03T15:50:00.000-07:00

June Gnaoua Festival in Essaouira

2008-08-03T14:18:00.000-07:00

Finland... the land of tall blonds and pines trees

2008-07-27T11:06:00.000-07:00

I'm sitting in an Irish pub in Tampere, Finland right now using their internet connection to check email and catch up on what is going on in this world. As always when traveling, world events, news, communication and everyday sort of things are pushed off to the side and over-looked for more exciting adventures.

We arrived on the boat from Sweden on Friday morning, sleep deprived and disheveled. We slept on the bus ride to Tampere and woke up to find Aura waiting for us at the end of the line. Every two minutes her cell phone would ring and she listened to our travel stories with a distracted air. Once at home, we helped to cut out name tags for the wedding guests and then had to pick the flowers for the reception hall. When she said we were going to get the flowers, I thought that meant we were going to pick them up from the florist. I guess in Finland it means going to a meadow and picking arm fulls of wild flowers to arrange in jam jars for the centerpieces. Rompingh throught the forest and fields, I couldn't have thought of a more picturesque way to spend our first day in Finland.

As we went to the reception hall, I realized that we would be the ones setting everything up for the wedding. Arranging flowers, setting tables, stocking toilet paper, setting up the bar and stocking the coolers- there was no wedding planner or person in charge, other than Aura. I realized that for my wedding, whenever that may be, I don't want to have to be bothered by last minute details like that.

After a suana in Aura's house, we crawled into bed and slept like rocks until 11:30 am on Saturday. The problem- we were supposed to be ready to go to the church by 12:30. Panic!

However, not as much panic as when Aura got the call saying that the bus driver had lost her wedding guests. I'm not sure how, but eventually everyone made it to the little chapel over looking the crystal clear lake and the service was over almost before we had time to realized they were married.

We were bused off to the reception hall, where the buffet awaited. The bar opened shortly afterwards and between the Irish and Finnish guests, I think we did justice to the open bar and kept the bartender quite busy.

We arrived back to the house around 4am, starting drinking this afternoon with Aura's dad and now here we are at the Irish pub again.

Tomorrow we take the boat to Estonia. :)

adventures cont.- COPENHAGEN

2008-07-24T03:33:00.000-07:00

summer adventures... PARIS

2008-07-24T03:15:00.000-07:00

It felt like I was coming home when I arrived in Pairs. I was completely shocled by the quite of the streets, the lack of honking horns, and missing motos, cars and vehicles jocky-ing for position at the red lights... the beauty and civilized nature of everything was stunning.

Staying with my host parenst from Sweet Briar study abraod was a great treat, especially since they are so well located in the 5th that I could really walk everywhere I wanted to go. I wondered down Rue Mouftard on Sunday morning to see the morning market and traditional accordian players who still play, sing and dance in the square by the foutain.

The I wandered over to Notre Dame, Luxemburg Gardens and St. Michel, where I found my good friend Elodie, who has just moved to Pairs from Rabat. We splurged for a Starbucks coffee and talked about everything that has happended since April when we last were together. We walked along the river, past post card stands and old used books, chatting chattingt chatting.

We finally reached the quai, along the river, where ever Sunday afternoon there is salsa dancing. So, as Elodie is the person that introduced me to salsa, of course we danced for the next three hours: salsa, bachata, cha cha...

As the sun was setting, I walked home to a fabulous meal and good conversation with Madame and Monsieur Camus. Monday morning I was out the door early to catch my flight to Copenhagen.

Rabat Africa Festival with Jamie

2008-06-21T12:47:00.000-07:00

Life in Les Oudayas

2008-06-17T07:53:00.000-07:00

Welcome to Rabat, the capital of Morocco.

A fascinating mélange of colonial French style buildings, an old labyrinth-like medina and a building boom that is producing a vast new national library and stylish villas in the suburbs, Rabat is historical, charming and hectic.

It’s been 10 months since I have moved to Agdal, a chicy European quartier that feels more like southern France, with its myriad of trendy cafés and fashion obsessed shoppers wearing the latest styles from Mango, Promod and Etam. To escape the superficiality of Agdal, the chaotic crush of cars, scooters and buses that clog the city streets and the heckling calls from medina venders, I often slip away to neighborhood overlooking the city, perched on a cliff above the crashing waves of the Atlantic and the wide flow of the Bou Regreg River.

Les Oudayas is the oldest neighborhood in Rabat, most of which was built by Muslim refugees from Spain. Surrounding by stone walls, the most dramatic entrance is the huge door on top of the hill, the Bab Oudaia. As I walk under the cold stone archway, the noise of the city traffic dies down and the feeling of breathing in bus exhaust dissipates.

Once inside the kasbah walls, the rush of cars and clouds of pollution seem far away. Indeed, the one central street in Les Oudayas, Rue Jamaa, is almost too narrow for cars to pass, and only the very determined manage to navigate their vehicles along the whitewashed streets.

Continuing straight along the main thoroughfare, I pass by the familiar orange juice man, who presses fresh oranges for 4dh a tall glass; or about 50 cents. I stop by to say hello, and inevitably splurge for the cheap treat, enjoying the cold sweetness, the flecks of pulp that rest on my tongue and the thought that my mom would be proud of me for getting my daily dose of vitamin C.

Just across from his stand is the wrinkled old man who sells babouches from his stall, the traditional yellow slippers mixed in with bright pink, brown, woven and leather styles. The sandals and shoes hanging from his ceiling drift lightly in the breeze, and he smiles his toothless grin as I pass by.

Two steps further along the narrow cobblestone street, I stop at one of the three corner stores, being located at the junction of the main street and a smaller side alley, they are actually all located on a corner. I grab a bottle of water and a loaf of round flat bread; total: 80cents.

I turn up a narrow side street, just as the sun starts to illuminate the white and blue walls. Occasionally I see young boys like a walking Pollock painting, methodically recovering the old stone walls to keep them fresh and clean looking.

There are always boys playing soccer in the narrow street and little girls sitting on the door steps. "Salaam" I greet them. "Salaam!" they shout back.

After another right and then left turn, I am hidden deep in the quiet calm of the back streets. I knock on my friend's front door. Her house is an old Moroccan riad, completely open in the middle, with an uncovered skylight flooding the first floor living space with fresh light. As the house is snuggled between the neighbors, the only source of light is the roof top opening, which keeps the riad cool and well-lit.

We climb up the three flights of tiled stairs to the highlight of the house, the rooftop terrace. In fact, every house in Les Oudayas has a rooftop terrace. They are essential for drying laundry, storing unused furniture and old bicycles, watering plants, feeding chickens, spying on neighbors and other odds and ends.

As for this terrace, there are two levels. The first of the two has been furnished with whicker chairs, colorful pillows and a jungle of unruly plants. Across the hot terrace is a cool corner that has been covered with bamboo stalks neatly woven together. Three burgundy sofas line the alcove and the tiled coffee table and fat pillows add perfectly to the exotic charm of the rooftop escape.

Next to the alcove, a narrow blue painted staircase runs up to top platform. From here, I’m at the highest point in les Oudayas, except for the mosque that is just next door. Its stone minaret climbs up an additional 20 feet, topped off with the traditional three metals balls. Built in the 12^th century, it is the oldest mosque in Rabat.

At around 5:30, the call to prayer shouts out from the mosque speakers. The voice is shrill and loud, chanting out to the faithful. We sip our tea and listen as his voice carries over all of Les Oudayas and ricochets off the narrow alley walls. From our high vantage point, we can hear the echoing calls from the myriad of mosques that rise above the cityscape.

As the sun sinks lower, we climb up to the top of the roof to see the wild Atlantic waves crashing along the rocks below. The surfers are just coming out of the water, along the sandy beach and from the shore the cries of carefree kids drift up to us.

We open a bottle of wine and enjoy the warm breeze and chilled white as we marvel at the simplicity of life in Les Oudayas. From our rooftop perch above the rush and grime and daily hassles of the city, Rabat is all charm and simple beauty.

Jazz au Chellah in Rabat

2008-06-15T17:21:00.000-07:00

ROOMMATES

2008-06-13T07:36:00.000-07:00

This is the short story of six girls, three bedrooms, and one apartment. How we all came to live together is a mystery, but one that has consisted of the good, the bad, and countless cultural differences. Even after six years of living with different roommates, it is this year that has proven the most challenging, rewarding and educational.

When I arrived in Morocco, I hailed a taxi at the Rabat airport and recited the carefully address that my future roommate had emailed to me. On the drive into town, we shared the road with donkey carts, buses, bicycles, sports cars, trucks and rusty scooters over flowing with entire families. Like a broken record, the phrase, “we’re not in Kansas anymore,” kept looping through my head.

From our first day as roommates, we decided to become a family, complete with Dad, Mom, Crazy Uncle, Aunt Cythia and the kids. We made family dinners together during nights in, shared clothes for nights out, and became known to the ex-pat community simply as “les filles.” But as the year flew by, a certain tension started separating our family.

How could my Norwegian roommate be so passive and modest about everything?

Why was my Finnish roommate so opinionated and direct?

Did my American roommate realize that her sarcasm doesn’t translate into other languages?

Had my Moroccan roommate ever had to wash dishes before or clean up after herself?

Why was having a sit down meal so important to my French roommate?

How much was I willing to put up with to avoid direct confrontation?

Each of us came into this year with previous co-habitation experiences, but never had our living situations been so multi-cultural. We were six independent, savvy and successful women; could cultural differences really complicate things that much? Oh yes.

When living with five other roommates, with each one hailing from a different country, the things one might take for granted become moments for conflict or reflection. Reading meaning into indirect conversations, or how to take blunt comments with a grain of salt, became daily exercises in communication. I learned to keep more space between my Scandinavian roommates than those from the Mediterranean, to enjoy a late afternoon cup of espresso with the girls after work, accept my clothes being “borrowed” without asking, and to make vegetable tagines or good ole mac n’ cheese.

Despite the language barriers, disappearing food, endlessly dirty dishes, and differing lifestyle choices, we’ve somehow managed to keep our family together.

And this, I have come to attribute to one altruistic idea. Modifying our behavior for others is not always easy, or even a conscious act for that matter, but living well together starts with learning to think beyond one’s self. Having built-in friends with whom to cook dinner, watch movies and travel can be enjoyable, if an independent individual can learn to think collectively.

Thus, it’s not our differences that I will remember after this year, but rather, making ginger bread Christmas cookies, dancing in our living room until 6am, girl’s night out in Casa, birthday parties and weekend trips traveling. These memories are what make living with one apartment, with three bedrooms and six girls so unforgettable.

Finally, conference pics...

2008-06-09T09:49:00.000-07:00

Find Your Voice Conference Coverage

2008-06-09T09:41:00.000-07:00

Here are the YouTube links for the conference that Jane and I organized!

Al Jazeera
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=m7LOnwW-nWs&feature=related

SNRT
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jTy_F6-jlvs&feature=related

AURA's bachelorette party in CASA...

2008-06-09T09:14:00.000-07:00

A Kingdom of Hidden Splendor

2008-05-24T11:40:00.000-07:00

Morocco.

The word conjures up images of drifting dunes, desert tents, steaming couscous and tall minarets. It means, in fact, “The Western Kingdom.” Perched along the crashing waves of the Atlantic and the calm blue of the Mediterranean in the farthest north-west corner of Africa, this exotic kingdom country is indeed many things.

There are the cities awash with tourists and flamboyant colors, such as Fez or Marrakesh. In the south, the deserts stretch out endlessly, proud of their desolate beauty and shifting sands. The beach towns along the coast host snowbirds set a-flight from colder climates and sun-seeking visitors who lounge along the beaches and drink sweet mint tea in sunny cafes.

Beautiful and exciting in their own over-trodden way, these destinations often over-shadow quieter corners in the kingdom, no less beautiful in their own way. Indeed, traveling has become a marathon challenge to see how many cities one can visit, how many destinations are checked off a list, and how many pictures can be taken. The true sense of traveling, for the pure pleasure of exploring, learning and relaxing, has somehow been left behind.

One such seemingly forgotten corner in Morocco is called the Valley of the Roses. Threading its way east of Marrakesh, between the rough High Atlas Mountains to the north and the rugged Jebel Sarho range to the south, this lush valley is hidden amidst the arid, dusty brown landscape.

Starting near the town of Skoura and finishing towards Tinhir, the valley is aptly called the Valley of a Thousand Kasbahs, with hundreds of baked mud forts lining the valley walls and perched along cliff tops. Halfway along this luscious river valley is the sleepy town of Kellaa M’Gouna, made famous by its wild pink roses. All along the valley, the farmers plant their crops on the river bed and hedge them in wild pink roses. Every spring, just as the wheat is thigh high, the roses burst into bloom.

Walking through the fields, with the wheat brushing your hands and the smell of fresh roses tickling your nose, all thoughts of Marrakesh and other such tourist-trap cities escape, and one feels they are in the most beautiful corner of the world. Tour busing from site to site seems far away while picnicking along the river bank, which may diminish to a trickle in the summer months but never dries up completely. Hopping from stone to stone to cross the rushing water, relaxing while women dry their river-washed clothes in the sun and spitting watermelon seeds seem to be simple pleasures lost amidst the hustle and bustle of travel.

After spending the day meandering along the river and clambering through dry Kasbahs, climbing the dusty path up to the freshly colored Kasbah Itran is well worth the effort. Perched, rather precariously, on the highest cliff top in sight, about three kilometers from Kellaa M’Gouna, this quiet and clean guest house awakens you with its vibrant colors, sooths and quenches with its cool mint tea and lulls the weary walker with the soft breeze it catches from its high vantage point.

After spending a day in this forgotten corner, the race to visit as many places as possible slips out of mind; one remembers the joy of exploring new lands, imagining the life that once inhabited the magnificent mud Kasbahs, and the smell of fresh roses mixed with dust and sweet mint tea. Morocco is much more than what first comes to mind; it is truly a kingdom of hidden corners and subtle charm that is best discovered by those who are willing to leave the tourist trodden path behind.

2008-05-10T12:09:00.000-07:00

Seatbelts, or lack thereof...

2008-05-10T10:19:00.000-07:00

When I was little, the car did not move until everyone had their seatbelts on...

I took a taxi the other day and was dismayed by what I found; aside from the deplorable driving and usual grungy interior, there were wads of gum and their wrappers stuck into the seat belt receptors. Indeed no one wears seatbelts here, and they laugh if you do (one driver actually reached over once and unbuckled my seatbelt). But to block the slots and take away the option to even try to buckle-up astounded me.

Even worse than this and more alarming is that fact that even I, after eight months of not wearing a seatbelt, seem to has lost the reflex to reach over my shoulder and secure mine before the car starts moving.

It's the little things in life...

2008-05-10T03:23:00.000-07:00

Despite the terrible start to the day, three things made me smile and realize, it's the little things in life make us happy.

To clear my head and get out of the apartment for a bit, I decided to go read in the park. I wore my running clothes in case I wanted to jog a bit afterwards, which I did, to burn off some steam and start getting ready for the next marathon.

I clearly couldn't run with my book, so I asked the gaurdian at the park gate to hold onto it for me for half an hour.

When I came back to get it, he said something that made me smile: "Oh, you are reading a book by Khaled Hosseini." I am sure he had no idea who is the author of A Thousand Spendid Suns but the name was something he could relate to and was clearly impressed to see blond white girl reading such an author's work.

Then, as I was walking home, I saw a little boy standing along the side of the road engrossed in blowing the white puffs from a dandelion flower. So innocent.

Finally, as I reaeded the top of the hill on my way back, I noticed the view of the ocean. After eight months of walking back and forth to the park, I had never once realized that from the top of the hill, the deep blue of the Atlantic was visible over the white roofs of the city.

By the time I arrived home, I was calmer and happier and ready to deal with the drama.

Morocco with JESSICA

2008-04-30T11:26:00.000-07:00

We left no time for relaxation after the conference on Friday and Saturday.

On Sunday morning, Jess and I woke up to the alarm at 9am.

Too early. Re-set to 9:30.

Half and hour later I looked at Jess and asked if we were really going to run the women’s race in Rabat that morning.

“We can go running later today,” I said. With groggy look, she replied, “Do you really think we are going to go running later? I don’t think so. Come on, we can do it!”

So we rolled out of bed, threw on some clothes and hailed a taxi to take us to the start of the race. We registered when we arrived and asked how long it was. 3km was the response. No problem, we thought.

10km and 55 minutes later, we arrived over-heated and sore at the finish line. Great way to start the day.

After a relaxing day in Rabat on Sunday, we left Monday morning for Marrakesh. The train ride was hot. So hot. There was no moving air in the packed cars, eight people to each little room, squished together on bench seats trying not to fall asleep on each other. I stood in the hallway most of the way to catch what little breeze came through the few windows that had been cracked open.

When we arrived, we immediately went to the tourist info office, a lovely vaulted kiosk, inconveniently located next to nothing of interest. From there we made reservations and took an hour time-out to plan our trip. Some shopping and fresh pressed orange juice later, we were lost in the back streets of the medina, finding all the best boutiques and hidden corners away from the tourist path.

Dinner and to bed in our disgusting (but cheap) riad and then off to our 6:30am bus. Thank god we slept most of the way across the mountains; otherwise we would have both been sick (instead of just Jess being ill).

Once we met Shawn in Kella M’Gouna, our next two days we smooth sailing and full of local culture. We showered in the downstairs public SuperDouche, went to souq day just outside of town, walked amidst the wheat and wild roses in the valley and drank tea at the cliff-top riad along the river. It was the most amazing part of our trip.

Well, perhaps our relaxing stay in the far reaches of Kella M’Gouna could be rivaled by our beachside riad in Essaouria where we sunbathed on the roof all day long, ate more couscous than should be allowed and watched two glorious sunsets over the pounding ocean waves.

The night bus home on Friday could have been more comfortable but once we arrived home on Saturday morning, we were again energized to go shopping in the medina. Arms full of bags later, we dropped stuff off at the house and sped off to a friend’s beach house, where we ate, drank and swam in the cold pool all afternoon long. Our last night in Rabat was low key, spent packing and then stopping by an ex-pat party.

We are at the Agdal station at 7am for the train, and Jessica and I once again parted ways. It was an amazing week. I wonder where we will meet up again next time.

FIND YOUR VOICE 2008 Conference

2008-04-30T11:25:00.000-07:00

Our conference was a huge success!

Check out the overview online:

http://pomed.org/activities/conferences/

Tunisia- a sampling...

2008-04-20T08:00:00.000-07:00

Tara's Birthday in Portugal

2008-04-20T07:26:00.000-07:00

Olive Oil Tasting...

2008-04-14T08:21:00.001-07:00

Paradise in Portugal- Spring Break 2008 continued...

2008-04-14T07:50:00.000-07:00

Tara is the hostess with the mostest and it was an amazing birthday weeked spent at her family summer home in the south of Portugal...

Nabeul TUNISIA

2008-04-14T07:46:00.001-07:00

Apple chicha, sugared tea, pop Arab music videos, Arab men, late afternoon sunshine- we’re waiting for our train to Tunis.

Today was such a good day.

The sun streamed unto our auberge room as we lazily awoke. Nothing to do. All day.

What a great plan. So we showed in the hottest shower of our trip and wandered onto the terrace. The wood slates above blocked out the hot sun while we sipped our café au lait and munched on bread with jame and butter.

The old Irish man, and seemingly only other guest at the place, came to chat with us for a while and we listened to his ramblings, as we had nothing else to do. The sound of the ocean called to us as the sun turned hot and we set off down the coast to explore.

Resorts dotted the beach and while a bit run down, they still possessed a simple charm evoking hot summer nights and wickers parasols on the beach.

Overcome by the sun, sand and surf, we sat in the shade of three palm trees, next to the white and blue huts of a private beach resorts, on the other side the crashing waves of clear blue sea.

Our brief repose turned into a two hour nap as we settled onto my Pashmina, impromptu spread out as a blanket. Lacking bathing attire, we made do with jearns and bras, burning a bit pink in the sun but loath to leave the tranquil setting.

Fearing too much sun and not wanting to miss our train, we wandered back to our auberge, packed up and headed out, by way of the internet café of course. Many emails later and a phone call to our CS contact Jeremy, we learned we would be taking the later train.

Perfect. We had time for a long lunch followed by chichi at the train station. Surrounded by apple flavored smoke and Arab pop music, life is pretty good.

Spring Break 2008 TUNISIA

2008-04-14T07:44:00.000-07:00

Impressions...

little black dress night for anna's birthday

2008-04-01T08:35:00.000-07:00

exploring rabat

2008-03-31T17:31:00.001-07:00

le retour au maroc

2008-03-31T16:40:00.000-07:00

It felt both comfortable and bizarre to return to Morocco yesterday after my Frisbee adventures. I felt disgusted when the taxi drivers at the airport tried to hassle us regarding the taxi ride into Casa. Thinking we were simply ignorant tourists, they tried pulling their usual stunts about not sharing taxis and charging ridiculous prices. After a long weekend at Paga and a sleepy flight back from Bologna, it would have been nice to simply have a quiet calm taxi ride to Tara’s.

We eventually reached an agreement and made it Tara’s where we immediately crashed. After getting the guys onto the train towards Marrakesh, I made it home to Rabat just in time for our conferencec all regarding our “Find Your Voice” Rabat conference. Since yesterday afternoon, I seem to be go go go, without even having time to respond to emails or unpack my bag.

American Gladiators

2008-03-31T16:36:00.000-07:00

Aside from losing most of our matches, Paganello is not a tournament that disappoints.

Spanning four days on the white sand beaches of Rimini, Italy on the Adriatic Sea, Paga is the World Championship of Beach Ultimate. A tournament whose reputation precedes it in every way, it is as well known for the world-class level of play as for the ridiculous parties that start as soon as the games finish.

I was invited to play with a Chicago pick-up team, humorously named the American Gladiators. Composed of mostly beginners and having never played together, I felt like perhaps we didn’t deserve to be among some of the greatest players in the world, but we were determined to make the most of the weekend.

Our first two days were chilly but mostly sunny. However, luck did not shine our way on Sunday and cold wind and rain made playing miserable all day long. To make matters worse, while trying to warm up in the big circus tent, I placed my jacket next to the food-stand stove and while warming my hands, almost burned several holes in my new Patagonia fleece.

We finished playing Monday morning, stayed to watch some of the finals and then caught the train to Bologna with Matt and Kevin to catch our flight back to Casa.

Exhausted and cold, I was glad to return the pays du soleil. Who knows if I’ll ever make again to Paganello, but I’ll certainly keep fabulous memories from my first time.

PAGA PAGA PAGA: March 20-24

2008-03-31T16:17:00.001-07:00

european escape...frisbee trips galore March 13-24

2008-03-31T16:13:00.000-07:00

Two weeks in Spain, France and Italy, seeing friends, playing Frisbee and going with the flow of life, such were my most recent travels in Europe.

Thursday March 13 saw my early departure from Rabat to arrive in Casa for my flight to Barcelona. The flight was almost full, except for the two seats directly surrounding me. Therefore, my flight consisted of me stretching across all three seats and relaxing quite comfortably during the two hour flight. As I walked out of customs in Barcelona, there was Sebastian waiting for me. Perfect timing. Without a map or any real directions, we navigated the beautiful boulevards of Barcelona, with me marveling at the tranquil traffic and intricate architecture that certainly don’t exist in Morocco, until arriving at our friend Josephine’s apartment. Our evening consisted of tapas, ham, cheese, alcohol and Mexican food- all things that I was craving after so many months without.

It must have been something I ate because Friday morning I woke up throwing up, shaky body, hurting all over, with no appetite and not excited to play Frisbee… something was indeed wrong. The only time I moved was to walk to the car with Seb when we had to leave Josephine’s for the Costa Brava coast. I was still so sick when we arrived at the hotel that I drank some water and went straight to bed, without even saying hello to all the Ziggles players that were arriving.

Saturday dawned clear and cold as we headed out to the stony beach for our first game of the three day weekend. It’s hard to come together as a team when half of us are guest players, and we ended up losing all of our games on the first day. Despite the disappointing results, our team spirit was high and Saturday night started with happy hour at the Irish pub across from the beach and finished around 3am at the local night club VIP room. Needless to say Sunday morning was a bit rough, but I was feeling in good shape, and we started wining our games, which is always more fun than losing. By the end of the day, sleep was starting to sound like an excellent idea; however, it was the night of the costume party. We were going as punks. Personally, I went more as an Avril Lavigne punk, complete with tie, black eyeliner, fish net gloves and an attitude to match. The party was awesome, filled with teams disguised as pirates, pharaohs, hippies, and everything in between. After another late night, our one game on Monday went well and we finished the tournament in high spirits and proud to wear the Ziggles jersey.

I think, even if I play with other teams, I will always be a Ziggle at heart.

COSTA BRAVA

2008-03-31T16:09:00.001-07:00

2008-03-30T17:15:00.001-07:00

hahaha, i just saw a family of camels running down the road.

March 2nd in the Hilton Park

2008-03-27T09:21:00.000-07:00

Jane and I decided to take advantage of the lovely day today and head to the Hilton park to bask in the sunshine. When we arrived, the tranquil park scene was illuminated in a golden wash of light.

As we settled onto our blanket with out books, we became a part of the Rockwellesque picture. Families picnicked in the shade, boys played soccer on the grass and everyone exuded a happy calm. It could have been any park in Chicago on a Sunday... except that most women wore veils and kids shouted to each other in Darija. After a few minutes, Jane and I got hot, so we took off our long sleeve shirts to reveal our tank tops beneath. Suddenly, our bare shoulders drew bold glances our way and twitters from kids playing ball next to our blanket. Not to mention whispered asides coming from passing men.

As we enjoyed the warm sunny calm, the small thought lingered- this is definitely not Chicago. Our white skin unwitting set us apart and while we were in the Rockwell painting, we were not exactly a part of it.

Brothers visit Morocco Feb 16-23

2008-03-02T16:05:00.001-08:00

First Night in Marrakesh: La Place Djemaa El-Fna

2008-03-02T13:53:00.000-08:00

The Three Musketeers au Maroc

2008-02-25T07:34:00.000-08:00

Who ever thought we three would be traveling together for a week in the crazy souqs and epic wilderness that is Morocco! We can barely manage to see each other for a week over Christmas, let alone for a week long vacation together. I guess the lesson to be learned here is that it's up to me to live in stellar locations around the world so that my brothers simply must come visit me, hence reuniting the three musketeers more that once every year.

It really was wonderful to have them both here at the same time and to show them a bit around this country that is feeling more and more like home. Plus, I loved playing translator in French and Arabic be it bargaining for prices, asking for directions or organizing our adventures. I think we even got some pretty good deals on the fun stuff we bought. Meezien!

Essaouira

2008-02-08T04:13:00.001-08:00

we learn by watching...

2008-02-08T03:02:00.000-08:00

Children may not always listen, but they are always watching.

During a recent trip to Agadir, during which we stayed with Omar and his family, I had the opportunity to observe just how observant kids can be and how repetition breeds habit.

The entire family came together before dinner for tea and catching up on the day, including the two little cousins, Malek and Soukaina. In the United States, a toddler might rock her baby doll in a cradle or dress up as Cinderella; these two girls covered their heads with the hijab, and strapped their stuffed animals on their backs, just like women do in Morocco.

Repetition, especially from a young age, embeds our cultural norms do deeply that it is hard to see outside them. If only we could teach more tolerance, understanding and acceptance from such a tender age...

Family Stay in Agadir

2008-02-08T02:33:00.000-08:00

Visting Meknes with Maiga and Mehdi :)

2008-02-07T00:23:00.000-08:00

It's so cold in our apartment we converted the oven into a portable heater

2008-02-06T17:08:00.000-08:00

Mardi Gras

2008-02-06T12:54:00.000-08:00

We made crepes for Mardi Gras last night. I felt very very French doing so, as they celebrate Fat Tuesday with crepes of every kind- nutella, sugar and lemon, banana, jam, cinnamon...

They are incredibly easy to make as well, so if you feel like a crepe party, come on over!

We adopted a kitten...

2008-02-06T06:23:00.000-08:00

and I think I am allergic.

A Beautiful Day

2008-01-27T08:29:00.000-08:00

Smiling faces. Swinging hips, twirling hands, arms in the air, spinning, laughing, sweating.

Today was spent at the Aachoura Girls School, a cheerfully painted orphanage hidden behind a plain wooden door, lost in the medina.

The members of the Rotaract club arrived around 2:30pm to set up the tables, chairs, food buffet and portable speakers for the band. The girls mingled shyly in the courtyard until we invited them into the large open dinning hall, where they sat shyly at the table cloth covered tables. However, once the music started, the rotaractors pulled the adorable mis-match of young girls onto the dance floor and circles formed, hands joyfully joined together. We danced for at least an hour, singing along with the popular songs in Arabic and laughing with happiness. After the dancing we ate cake and pastries, and finished the day with happy goodbye kisses.

It was a beautiful day.

hiking and exploring the north country

2008-01-15T18:03:00.001-08:00

January 8 2008

2008-01-14T10:19:00.001-08:00

I basked on a tiled rooftop terrace today, over looking the ocean and crashing waves. The white sun was playfully dipping behind the puffs of cotton swabbed clouds and shivers prickled my arm hair each time she ducked out of sight. Happily she returned to share her warmth as I caught up on the world news and listened to the breeze whisper amongst the line-dried linens. Sometimes the world seems so far away from life in Rabat.

TWIN & NYC

2008-01-08T11:29:00.001-08:00

I was so happy to get an idea of what Kevin's life is like in NYC. He is simply inspiring- as a friend, teacher, roommate... His apartment is beautiful, his roommates fun-filled, his city fast paced, his girlfriend sweeter than pie and his life non-stop go. I can't wait to get to travel with BOTH my brother in a few weeks!

ICP in NYC

2008-01-08T11:22:00.001-08:00

After seeing the Gerda Taro and Robert Capa pictures in the International Center of Photography, I was blown away by the strength, beauty and emotion in their work. I was also struck by the stupidity of war. The pictures of civilians photographed in the morgue lay so life-like, with eyes focused on the camera, even as blood ran from their bodies like dark grape juice.

Jess Time in NYC!

2008-01-08T11:10:00.001-08:00

Holland Christmas 2007

2008-01-06T17:15:00.000-08:00

It is so luxurious being home for the holidays.

As I sit next to the fire, wrapped in a soft wool blanket, it is snowing heavily outside. I simply sit quietly, sipping my Chai and observe through to picture window as the world turns a lacy white.

The smell of pumpkin bread wafts out from the kitchen and I hear mom bustling around making pie and other tempting holiday goodies. My tummy reminds me that I haven’t yet had breakfast- I think I’ll wander over and see what’s cookin.

Sarah+Mere+Me = Fun Times at the Brewery

2007-12-28T07:04:00.000-08:00

the trip home...

2007-12-28T06:51:00.000-08:00

I can’t believe how smoothly my flight home was this year; it was by far the best transatlantic trip I have ever had (especially considering my lost passport in Heathrow last August)! Being my mother’s daughter, I made it Casablanca airport with plenty of time to spare, so had no un-necessary stress early on Thursday morning. Then, my friend Trent changed his seat to sit next to me, so that was fun to have someone to talk with and complain about the skimpy snacks and non-ergonomically designed chairs. After sleeping with my head on his shoulder, we awoke starving, so managed to steal some pretzels and several half bottles of wine, which made the rest of the flight much more fun.

Once at JFK I was having heart palpitations about making my next connection. Luckily, I cut in the customs line, sped through the exit, ran onto to the inter-terminal train just as it was about to depart, arrived at the Northwest check-in counter to find absolutely no line and, after taking off my shoes and belt for security, found myself calmly waiting with the rest of the passengers headed for Michigan. After changing planes in Detroit, I found myself once again in the familiar Grand Rapids B terminal, only twenty minutes late, almost 20 hours after departing my apartment in Rabat.

Portraits for Photojournalism class

2007-12-16T16:15:00.002-08:00

How my friend Trent and I met...

2007-12-12T14:50:00.000-08:00

According to Trent:
I was a desperately poor servant boy and I fell into true love with my beautiful charge. I left to find my fortune but my ship was taken by the dread pirate Roberts, (who as we all know does not take prisoners). I came back to find my love engaged to the dickhead prince who had her kidnapped by three mercenaries in order to start a land war. I caught their ship and had to fight the excellent Spanish swordsman, then fist fight 'Andre the Giant' then outwit the Sicilian midget with poison. I saved her life but she did not recognize her true love. In the end I was killed by the merciless six fingered man but not fully and my friends visited 'Miracle Max' or as his friends call him 'the notorious Billy Crystal'. Did it work out in the end? I don't know 'The Princess Bride' fairy tale isn't finished...

According to me:
The fairest of fairies in the land of spices, known as the Princess of Peaches and Cream, was no longer content to sit upon her cinnamon throne, munching on chebekia and couscous. So one night, under the guise of an exotic pole dancer, she escaped with a caravan of gypsies into the hills of saffron and thyme. Together the troupe traveled the world, sometimes by camel, sometimes by mobilette, sometimes by schooner, wherever the wind blew them. Until one day, an evil sea dragon came and swallowed the gypsy's boat, sails and all. The band of gypsies cried out in despair from the dragons belly, but seeing that this did nothing more than upset the dragon's lunch, the princess decided to climb the main mast, scale the massive teeth and tickle the sinus cavity of the sea dragon. With a big sneeze, out she blew, into an orchard of cheery trees. There, lounging in the shade was a handsome man eating a bread bowl of pumpkin soup. He looked up and, enchanted by her sweetness, offered to share his soup. Thus started their fabulous and sometimes pole dancing friendship.

Visiting Kellie in Madrid Dec. 7-10

2007-12-12T14:29:00.000-08:00

Reality TV

2007-12-12T13:58:00.000-08:00

In light of the recent writer's guild strike, I have decided to create my own television series.
It's called "Just Shoot Me."
It will be the story of one girl, living in an apartment with four other girls.
All between the ages of 23 and 27.
Some eat fried tomatos and cheese for breakfast, some prefer a simple cup of joe.
Showers can last between 2 and 25 minutes.
Dirty dishes somehow never get clean.
The living room doubles as a hotel, open to any and all who wish to adorn the sofas and clutter the corners.
Laptops have no particular owner and are free property to use and/ or abuse.
Some like the house quiet, some like it loud, some don't leave their rooms enough to notice the difference.
Thus, the story of one girl becomes that of five and how they manage to survive the complicated milieu in which sometimes they think, "Just Shoot Me."

Ceuta

2007-12-12T13:11:00.000-08:00

TGIF

2007-11-30T08:51:00.000-08:00

The good, the bad and the ugly.

The good: Friday is couscous day!
My very first Moroccan friend is a girl I met in the internet cafe by our apartment. Noujood is 26, wears a veil and long skirts, and works every morning at the cyber. She invited me to eat couscous with her for lunch today, so I went to the cafe while she was working and we shared her home cooked plate of couscous. Yum.

The bad: no alcohol on Fridays.
We're leaving in a few minutes for Ceuta, one of the Spanish enclaves in the north, and we promised to bring along some beverages for the soiree this evening. However, since Friday is the day of prayer in the Muslim culture, all the alcohol sections in the supermarkets are closed. I guess we're bringing some juice for the party tonight!

The ugly: central heating is a foreign concept.
As the temperature gets colder and rainier, my nose is continually cold and my mood changes just as quickly from sunny to gray. It sure would be nice to have central heating, in the apartment, at school, at the office...

The Morning Commute

2007-11-30T06:52:00.000-08:00

I swallowed a big dirty gulp of bus exhaust today on my morning walk to school. So much for a breakfast of champions.

It's usually so early in the morning that I don't pay attention to the sights, sounds and smells around me as I run out the door to school, but today my senses were on overload. Do drivers think that honking their horns endlessly when caught in traffic will really clear the intersection? Do buses always spew out such disgusting brown clouds every time they stop and go? Do the jackhammers always make so much noise when tearing up the sidewalk? Whatever happened to waking up and smelling the coffee?

Soiree Traditional at ISIC (my journalism school)

2007-11-28T15:38:00.001-08:00

Celebrating the Beaujolais Nouveau!

2007-11-18T15:26:00.000-08:00

Seeing BLUE in CHEFCHAOUEN

2007-11-17T04:07:00.000-08:00

Jane and I decided last minute to join the Rabat Rotaract Club on their road trip to Chefchaouen last weekend, and it was totally worth the 6am Saturday reveille and loud 80s music during the epic car trip to arrive at the the most beautiful city in Morocco. Nestled snuggly between jagged mountain tops, Chefchaouen translated means "look at the mountains shaped like bull horns." Well, maybe not precisely, but it means something like that anyway. Unfortunately, between volunteering at the orphanage and hiking in the hills, we didn't have much free time to wander the old city. Hence, I will certainly be going back to Chaouen for another dose of the blues, to get lost amongst azure alleyways and tranquil squares bubbling with mosaic fountains.

FES continued...

2007-11-14T15:41:00.000-08:00

Weekend in FES

2007-11-14T15:05:00.000-08:00

Marine Ball, November 3rd

2007-11-04T18:11:00.001-08:00

Halloween Hotties

2007-11-04T17:57:00.001-08:00

Creativity at its best: one eggplant, a pretty pirate and the honorable US Ambassador and his wife. Also, three Theta girls together clearly necessitates a Theta kite picture. :)

I got a dress!

2007-11-01T02:52:00.000-07:00

Jane (roommate n° 1), Liza (fabulous fulbrighter friend) and I are going to the US Marine Ball this Saturday and the only dress I brought with me from the states is a blue flower sun dress, one that is probably too short to wear in Morocco anyway. So yesterday after class, I set out to Mango in order to find a dress I would be excited to wear (no small feat.) After trying on every single possibility in sight, I was resigning myself to the idea that I was not destined to be Cinderella at the ball when the sales girls told me she had one more dress that was not out on the floor yet. Skeptical, I tried it on and, to my astonishment, I loved it! Brown, with gold beads and a low slung satin ribbon belt reminiscent of the 1920s, I'm all set to be the bell of the ball... if only I could find some glass slippers.

WORDS WORDS WORDS

2007-11-01T02:30:00.000-07:00

If you don't know where you are going nobody can help you get there. -Kofi Annan

Some people walk in the rain, other just get wet. -Page Miller

The only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a common place thing, but burn burn burn like a fabulous roman candle exploding like spiders across the stars. -Keravac

C'est parti...

2007-11-01T02:12:00.000-07:00

Smeeti Julie.
Ana min meerikhan.
Shnu smeetek?
(My name is Julie.
I am from America.
What's your name?)
So I started Arabic classes!
We had a fast-paced first lesson on Tuesday night at the Center for Cross Cultural Learning in Rabat and our second class is tonight at 6:30. During class I realized that I love learning languages, I'm just not very good at it. I think something is wrong with my mouth- I can never make the right sounds. Or maybe it's my ears and I can't hear the right sounds. In any case, it's only taken me about seven years to feel comfortable with French, so we'll see how long I stick with this third language. The class consists of my roommate Aura and our French friend Josh and me. So it's like a semi-private lesson, on speed, since we all catch on pretty quickly. I can't wait till I can actually communicate with taxi drivers and the concierge and the cleaning lady. Meezien, great!

Two Nights/ Three days in the Sand

2007-10-19T03:35:00.001-07:00

Camel Treking in Erg Chebbi

2007-10-19T03:10:00.001-07:00

Rabat Medina at Night

2007-10-11T04:09:00.000-07:00

Hilton Park

2007-10-11T04:08:00.001-07:00

Running

2007-10-06T17:38:00.000-07:00

I haven’t seen one person running in this city since I arrived three weeks ago. Then I learned that’s because they all run in the Hotel Hilton Park between the hours of 4 and 6pm. With the sunlight streaming through the eucalyptus leaves and the heat of the sun diminishing, it really is the perfect time to go running. Even now, as the rainy season starts, running with the smell of wet eucalyptus and the only sound your feet on the hard packed dirt path, it’s pretty great.

Akeri Market

2007-10-06T17:33:00.001-07:00

I went to Akeri market with Jane today, not because I need to buy fresh fruit and veggies or household furniture, but because Jane needed plastic baskets and I wanted to take pictures of the people who live amidst the narrow streets and smell of fish. As if being blond and white didn’t make me stand out enough, holding a camera certainly did. Maybe people are just cranky because it’s Ramadan and they are fasting all day long or maybe they simply don’t like having their picture taken- I certainly got some nasty glares and one woman even put a box over her head when I tried to take her picture. For the most part the people consented when I asked to take a picture, but it proved to be harder than I thought it would be to capture the weather worn people, mélange of smells and dirty streets that twist and turn amidst this central market.

Visiting Hassan II Mosque in Casablanca

2007-10-06T17:28:00.001-07:00

Around Rabat

2007-10-06T17:20:00.001-07:00

Weekend in Ceuta

2007-09-23T16:35:00.000-07:00

Morocco is a country of contrasts. Five minutes from the Rabat airport there are donkey carts plodding along next to Hummers. This weekend in Ceuta, goats were munching on grass behind our expansive Spanish villa while camels lounged along the dusty road. Amongst our group of friends, one can hear a mix of French, Spanish, German, classical Arabic, Moroccan Arabic, Russian, Portuguese or English. Yesterday we ate McDonalds for lunch and then enjoyed a traditional Ramadan meal of Kefta, bread and sweet cakes for dinner. This is bound to be an interesting year.

My Beautiful Rabat Apartment

2007-09-23T16:23:00.001-07:00

First Impressions

2007-09-23T16:18:00.000-07:00

Are we more lucky the harder we work or is there an imaginary coin somewhere there always falls our way? I feel like both my experience abroad have started off so much better then I ever imagined. On the United flight from Chicago to Paris, I chatted about travel, professions, and passions with an inventor from San Francisco called Sasha, until he moved seats to sit next to his father. Originally I was annoyed that I was sitting in the very absolute last row of the plane, but as it turned out, the seat next to me was reserved as an emergency seat for a flight attendant. Therefore I was the only person on the plane able to stretch out over two seats during the nine hour flight. Aside from the turbulence the upset my tea cup several times and bad movies with poor sound quality, we arrived in Paris to beautiful sunny skies. As we were leaving the plane to go through customs, Sasha told me again to follow my passions and handed me his email address. I guess it’s always cool to know an inventor in San Fran. :)

I transferred to my Air Maroc flight and fell asleep even before we left the runway. I woke up upon our descent to Rabat, and while I would have much rather slept, I peered out the window to see a carpet patchwork of green and red stripes woven across the ground. The closer we got, I started to pick out mud huts and humble shacks next to the fields; the thought crossed my mind, “We’re not in Kansas anymore.” A female customs officer checked me through to the chintzy hotel lobby-like Rabat airport, so small it consisted of one snack bar, a currency exchange desk and a sign pointing towards taxis.

I found a decent looking taxi to take me into the city, and within five minutes from the airport, saw a compellation of donkey carts, skinny scooters driven by boys, men and veiled women alike and even a grandiose Hummer navigating the traffic jam of streets. I arrived at the apartment tired and feeling dirty but excited to have such a beautiful apartment waiting for me.

Living Life

2007-09-23T16:09:00.000-07:00

I was afraid of the “real world” after graduation. Being cut-off from the parents, working non-stop, running the rat race simply to climb the corporate ladder. Was this all I was cut out for after four fabulous years at NU? Where was the adventure? Where was the un-known and the trail less traveled?

In the nerve-wracking, nail biting, indecisive throws of the senior year job search, an older theta girl told me how much fun she was having teaching English in France. So, I thought, why not live in France for my first year out? I can master the language, earn some money and have the chance to travel. Off I packed for a year in the south of France, living with a French boy, teaching 2^nd-5^th graders elementary English, meeting friends from all corners of the world and traveling as much as my meager salary would allow.

I would often hear about how hard and long my friends were working back in Chicago, usually while I was planning for an evening at the beach or a weekend off traveling. It is only now, after I have returned from my life in France, that I have realized, this is the real world. It is real for me; this is my life and I am living it the only way I know how- bursting with new experiences, engulfed in new places and people, basking in joy, learning the hard way from mistakes, tasting and savoring the sweetness that is gone all too quickly.

2007-09-11T22:54:00.000-07:00

Who Knew?

The short story of how French changed my life.

French classes at NU started out simply as a way to fill my WCAS language requirement. Who knew that four years later I would be living in Cannes, soaking up the sun and celebrity stars, watching Friends and 24 in French, eating Nutella and teaching cute French school children.

Learning French, while initially not my favorite thing to do, has enabled me to have extraordinary experiences. I spent two quarters in Paris with a French family while taking classes at the Sorbonne. Winter in Paris is far better than in Chicago (let's face it, winter quarter is rough) and Spring in the City of Lights has no comparison.

Then, in the nerve-wracking, nail-biting, indecisive throws of the senior year job search, a friend told me how much fun she was having teaching English in France. I thought, why not live in France? Luckily I got placed in Cannes, home of turquoise waters, purse-size poodles and cinema-star quality. Teaching was teaching, but living in the south of France was incredible.

By now my French skills are vastly improved and I am headed off to Morocco to take master's classes in French. Without struggling through my language requirements at NU, I would not be a happy Nutella addict headed off to Casablanca. Perhaps Arabic will be my next language. Who knows…

2007-09-11T08:07:00.001-07:00

Hiking in Cinque Terre, Italy- perhaps one of the most beautiful places on earth (with a little side trip to Pisa).

2007-09-11T07:49:00.001-07:00

Ziggles Ultimate Frisbee tournament in Milan. We didn't win the tournament but should have been called Team Awesome for playing savage the whole weekend.