Adventures of Ange

I am in Chefchaouen, a beautiful town in the Rif mountains in the north. It's got blue buildings and sloping streets, full of colour and life and interesting people, badly spoken Spanish and French, nice cafes and beautiful views. And lots and lots of hash.

I left Essaouira and went to Tahgazoute, then to Mirhleft, both places on the coast south of Essaouira. Small towns, not a lot happening. Met some south African surfers and laid on the beaches. I started to feel a bit out of place, and decided to head north to Marrakech and see where the wind took me.

It took me to Casablanca. I didn't like it. The weather was horrible, the city is ugly and built up, there is extreme affluence and extreme poverty... shacks built up from scrap metal and wood and cloth in any area not already built upon. Children playing in the mud and piles of rubbish beside office buildings like they would in a sunny country field. Casablanca is raw.

The past few days have been a series of misfortunate events.
I left my passport at the youth hostel in Casa and had to backtrack, got screwed out of some money by a man who I thought was sincerely helping me. My shoes got soaked, my small bag ripped apart, I missed the bus, and was thoroughly stripped of all dignity and emotional security by two women who completely insulted myself, my posessions, my country and my race.

I've done a lot of bussing, walking, worrying and crying. But I think I can relax now and chill in Chefchaouen... it's just beautiful. My friends from NZ and Australia and some from Essaouira are coming up to meet me here tomorrow.

The more I travel the more I realize my own personality... how emotionally fragile I am. How I need the company of others. Sometimes I feel like I am throwing myself into the world blindfolded, and it's overwhelming. Everyone I meet is shocked that I am so young and alone in this place... they tell me I am brave and courageous. It's either this or stupidity that brought me here. But alas, life goes on... and I gain confidence and ease in living day by day. I am surprised that I can actually do this and not fall to pieces. I am becoming more optimistic, more positive, more determined. I fall down so much and get back up again. In the words of Ainsley Platt, "Just get on with it."

The ocean is motion -- it isn't a noun, a single thing. It's a concept, a moving and changing idea. The town where I am is perched on the coast of Africa, welcoming the Atlantic sea to flow into it's harbour. It's beautiful, the breeze, the sand, the waves. I feel it taking over me. The ocean has been very powerful for me so far on this trip, a symbol of change and life and the impermanence of everything. Every day I spend here I feel myself becoming more a part of the beach, the ocean... my clothes are fading to neutral greys and beige and browns. I taste the salt on my lips.

I have rented an apartment here in Essaouira. I am having this marvellous love affair with the guy I mentioned before... I'm not going to hide it. It's exotic and romantic and it feels great.

This week has been beautiful, relaxed and free. A vacation from my trip, really. Morocco to me is almost a paradise... behind it's sometimes scary image. I could live here if I was never alone. I want to come back again and bring a friend, to walk alone in these streets as a girl makes it difficult to keep one's head up. The emotions I have here are so intense.

I have all kinds of notions for my next stop on this trip... I am filled with ideas, imaginations, worries and hopes. It's wonderful; it's life.

I don't even know how I will be able to describe the past week. It's been a whirlwind of activity, new faces and cultures.

The city of Marrakech is a bizarre mixture of old and new, local and foreign. The souks, winding streets of shops filled with colourful jewlery, artisan crafts, clothing rugs and everything beautiful have held a lot of my attention. It is for shopping, socializing, learning. I have learned about berber herbal remedies, cloth dying, woodworking, and how to wrap a proper headscarf. I have tasted the freshly squeezed orange juice and cooked tajines of Jamaa el fnaa.

I visited a hamman, a local bathhouse where you are washed, scrubbed, pumiced, and the optional massage. I spent new years eve in a taxi with three friends, listening to the countdown in arabic and smoking cigars, celebrating with the driver.

I also spent a few nights in Agadir, went up to the old Kasbah, dipped my toes in the ocean, saw a beautiful sunset. Met so many amazing people, the locals there are so friendly, we were taken to a secretive lounge with live music and shishah... good company. We played pool with some Moroccans, visited a goat-covered river valley where we were invited in by six men to a fire-cooked tajine.

I also travelled to the Ourika valley and hiked up the snowy mountain, saw the seven waterfalls. I was not feeling good emotionally; I cried up and down the mountain.

Now I am in Essaouira, still sick and alone; however I have met a beautiful man who I feel as if I have known forever. We talked in his shop all afternoon, he took me to the beach and out for tea. I left my doc martins on the ocean shore, they are free for any person or the sea to adopt. It was finally time. Four years of memory, I feel as if I am somewhat reborn.

By the way, I am not answering emails, french arabic keyboards are nightmarish. But I am reading them all, keep it coming.

So I'm in Morocco. I bussed from Orgiva to Algeciras yesterday, and took the ferry. It was stressful, going through the whole bit. The ferry ride was long and boring, I was anxious about where I was going to stay in Tangier that night... as I know the city can be a big ripoff. So while exiting the ferry, I had forgotten to get my passport stamped, I trudged back into the boat and waited with some other people for an hour for the guy to come back with the stamp. I met this Norweigan guy who was traveling by car to Mali with his friend. I explained my situation and he said I could stick with them for a ride to Marrakech! Lucky lucky.

So that night was got through the hellish car insurance line, with people and cars just lined up, screaming, confusion. Some guy appointed himself as our guide, which I knew was a scam but I wasn't really interested in looking for my own accomodation in the city. So he found us an okay place, and a beautiful restaurant for dinner, food to such caliber I have never seen before in my life, gourmet, excellence. A tiny plate of sugared pumpkin, shredded cucumber in sauce, whipped red pepper, pastries, couscous with cabbage, squash, meat for the boys, cinnamin plum and oranges for dessert, and Moroccan mint tea with cookies. Five courses, brilliant service, just great fun. And the guys took the tab.

The next day we headed up early, leaving the hard hotel beds. We drove and drove, passing all manner of vehicle, 8 men packed into a tiny taxi, cars with boxes of sheep on the roof or pulled behind, people peeping out of trailers and trunks. We ate at some modern roadstop restaurant, and kept on. Suddenly, we were in Marrakech.

I left the guys, found a taxi to the railway station to meet the guy who's hostel I would be working for... but I was 3 hours early. I tried calling, phone didn't work, taxis didn't know the place. I waited 3 hours, bored and stressing, when he didn't show I tried the phone again and was told ot meet at another locale, a bus stop. I taxiied there, found it int he traffic, waited for another hour... hit on by three creepy men. The phone only took cards, I was alone and near the end of my rope. I didn't know what to do. The next guy that hit on me, I asked him if he knew the place, in vain. He did, and said he would take me there, all the while telling me about my beautiful eyes and how he would like to meet me tomorrow and all this. We walked down some dark alleys and I kept my distance, adrenaline just crazy... but eventually I saw the sign, "Hotel Riad Rahba", like water in the desert. The guy left without much hassle. It turns out the world isn't all too scary after all.

So I settled into the hostel, met two great people straight away, one of which a great German guy named Marco who showed me this internet place. <3. I love life again. And the way that spoken Arabic just rolls off the tongue, soft and strong and thick.

By the way, there is a cat at the window. I am at home.