Amazing Morocco and France round 2

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       I landed in Marrakech, Morocco, in the late afternoon, went through customs, and walked outside into brilliantly hot 80 degree sunlight. In just 2 hours I had gone from bone-chillingly cold alpine France to the scorching African sun. I walked past the hoard of taxi drivers, pleasantly surprised that they simply turned away when I said “no merci” to their offers, and got on the bus to the city center. I had been warned that Marrakech is “tourist hell”, which in some ways it was, but I still found it to be a very nice city and I found considerably fewer persistent salesmen trying to lure me into tourist traps than in Tangier (though this is probably because in Marrakech they had far more tourists for them to choose from, and I didn’t particularly look like someone who had a lot of money to hand over).

                I found my hostel, Rainbow Hostel, dropped off my stuff, and headed up to the roof where there was a nice patio with several couches, hookahs to use, and tons of travelers chilling out with a hash joint or six after a long day of exploration (sorry future employers, but you’re going to have to face the reality that there is a shit ton of ridiculously cheap hash in Morocco, and it’s part of the experience. When in Rome, ya know?). I met some Germans, a Swiss guy who walked all the way from Switzerland to the Strait of Gibraltar over the course of 4 months and then bought a moped to travel around Morocco on, and several other people of various nationalities from around the world. I chilled with them for a while and then went out to dinner with a Brazilian and an Estonian guy. We ate at one of the tents in the main square of Marrakech, which is incredibly touristy but still delicious and cost about 4 euros for a dinner of Tagine—one of Morocco’s specialties consisting of steamed vegetables and meat in some mysteriously delicious sauce. The rest of that night was a blur and I woke up the next morning groggy but ready for an adventure.

          As I ate the free breakfast at the hostel I started talking to a Dutch guy, Rutger, who had also recently arrived in Marrakech, and we decided to go explore the city together. We walked quite a ways through the markets in the city center with mopeds zooming past us on tiny crowded alleyways, past other fruit markets outside of the center, and up a hill next to the train station with an intriguing castle wall on top of it.

gas station in the middle of the market, surrounded by clothing and food stands on what seemed to be a walking-only alleyway taken over by mopeds

   

they still use donkeys for labor in Morocco

the fruit market in Marrakech

tiles on everything, even the train station

the hill with a castle wall on top

                When we got to the top of the hill we were greeted by a barbed wire fence on top of the wall and signs that said “military zone, keep out”. So unfortunately our plans were thwarted by the Moroccan army’s continued use of castles in the 21^st century, but we at least had a really nice view over the city.

Marrakech. You can sort of vaguely see the Atlas mountains in the background but unfortunately it was too smoggy to see them well

a farmer with his goats and sheep grazing just a block outside the city

                The next morning Rutger and I woke up bright and early at 7am to go to the Sahara Desert. We had booked spots on a desert tour. I had mixed feelings about going to the desert in a tour group, but the day before we had managed to haggle the tour company down to a price which is roughly what it would have cost to go on our own, and it saved a lot of time on organization. It turned out that the group of people we were with was really fun and we had an amazing time, so in the end I’m glad I went with the tour. On the first day, the minibus took us through the Atlas Mountains, stopping at a couple of points along the way for photos and tea, through the charming town of Ouarzazate and a few other villages, and to the Dades Gorge in the Southern Atlas, where we would spend the first night.

snowy Africa

the Atlas mountains in central Morocco

a hillside village whose name I don't remember and couldn't pronounce

no longer tile architecture like in Marrakech, the desert is all adobe castle-like buildings

                Our group consisted of 3 German guys, a Dutch guy, an American girl who happened to go to college in Iowa (only other person from Iowa that I’ve met so far while traveling!), 2 Italian girls, 2 Japanese girls, and a Scottish dude who had done some really amazing things in his life which I found to be really inspiring. He studied molecular biology but quickly afterwards realized that lab work is not for him, and has been travelling the world doing random jobs in random places ever since, including starting a hostel in Guatemala, living in Canada, Israel, and traveling basically everywhere possible. I find it inspiring to meet people who haven’t taken the traditional college--entry level job--promotion--stay there forever route in life and are really happy with their lifestyle how it is. Since I know my parents are reading this, I’d like to note that I can’t see myself living that same lifestyle, but it’s refreshing to know that there are multiple ways to live happily without taking the “normal” route in our work-over-everything society.

                The next morning we got back on the bus and headed to the sand dunes. Along the way we stopped in another desert town for a short tour by a guy who struck everyone as kind of a misogynistic asshole which culminated in a rug salesman showing us about 50 rugs one at a time and an extremely awkward 5 minute silence while nobody offered to buy his overpriced rugs. This was the shitty part of being on a tour and not on my own. It was over quickly enough though and soon we were back on the road to the Merzouga dunes. When we got there, there was a line of camels waiting to take us out to the campsite.

a truly Moroccan experience

how many cameltoes can you count in this picture? 

                Halfway to the campsite, we stopped to hike up a sand dune and watch the sunset. It was pretty difficult to walk up since our feet just sunk into the sand, but the view was amazing from the top. The only disappointing thing was that from the top of the highest dune we could see where the dunes ended on 3 sides, so it no longer felt like we were lost in the Sahara. I guess that’s all that’s accessible for a short desert trip in Morocco though, and it was still pretty awesome.

The Sahara Desert

no better place for a handstand

I decided to take the fun route down one of the dunes instead of walking…I’m still finding sand in my hair 3 weeks later.

                When we got to the campsite it was getting dark, but we still had about an hour until dinner and the moon was bright enough to see pretty well, so a few of the other guys and I decided to try our luck at sandboarding under the full moon. There was a snowboard at the campsite and we took it up a tall dune, hoping to shred some Sahara pow. Unfortunately it didn’t work out quite as planned, as the friction was too much to gain much of any speed, but it was still a pretty cool experience.

Stefan with the sandboard

                For the rest of the evening we hung out around the campfire, getting to know the people from the other group who were staying at the same campsite. The full moon was so bright in the sky that it seemed like 4:20 in the afternoon all night. It was so nice outside that I dragged my sleeping pad out on the sand and slept under the stars. I woke up the next morning with perfect timing—just as the moon was setting and the sun was starting to rise. It was the second time that I had witnessed this amazing moonset/sunrise spectacle, the first being on a camping trip with some great friends in Joshua Tree, California. Both were equally amazing. I walked up to the top of the highest sand dune in sight and got to the top just as the first ray of sun broke out from behind the dunes on the horizon.

sunrise over the Sahara

                As I gazed in awe and stared for an unhealthily long time at the rising sun, I realized that the rest of the group was mounting their camels and I was about to be stranded in the Sahara (doesn’t sound that bad, really, apart from the whole lack of food and water thing). I raced down the hill in a combination of running, jumping, and sliding, and made it down just as the camels were about to take off. We rode them back to the bus and began the 11 hour drive back to Marrakech.

                Shortly after our arrival back in Marrakech, I met up with my friend Tim, who is currently working for the United Nations in Rabat, Morocco, and came down to meet up with me for the weekend. He got in pretty late so we went to sleep on the beds on the hostel roof and woke up with the decision of whether to go to the mountains or the beach. We went for the beach, because the forecast for the mountains wasn’t so great, and it ended up being a great decision. We got a bus to Taghazout, a small surfing town on the Moroccan coast.

the Atlantic coast in Taghazout, Morocco

                Upon arrival in Taghazout we headed straight for the beach—after a hot sweaty 4 hour bus ride we wanted nothing but a good swim, and we’d figure out where we’re staying later. We asked some dudes to watch our bags on the beach and ran into the water. The Atlantic currents coming down from Iceland were frigid but felt great in the hot Moroccan sun. We swam around for a few minutes until we got cold and then went back to where we left our bags, outside a little café called Rasta Pasta. At this point it must have been around 4:20 in the afternoon and we got to know the other guys at the café a little bit. A few of them spoke mediocre English and Tim was able to speak to them in French too. After a couple minutes of French that I couldn’t understand, Tim turned to me and said “dude, we got a place to stay tonight! This guy has a 4 person tent.” One of the guys at the café, a Moroccan guy named Rabie, was on a trip down the coast and was camping on the beach the whole way. He had a big tent with him and was happy to share it with other travelers.

Rasta Pasta not only has great vibes, it also has kittens

                By that time we were getting pretty hungry and we were about to order something from Rasta Pasta when Rabie told us that we didn’t need to, he had met some Germans earlier who were cooking cous cous in their hotel and were going to bring it out to the beach for us. This was the second of a string of acts of kindness that night that really gave support to the theory I’ve been developing while travelling that the vast majority of people on this planet are incredibly kind and generous. These two people, who we had never met before they brought out a giant bowl of dinner for us, and Rabie, who offered us his tent, were exactly the kind of people that make travelling so amazing. As the clock hit 4:20 in some time zone somewhere, we ate a delicious meal of cous cous with vegetables and some incredibly good Moroccan spices that made every bite taste like heaven.

After dinner it was dark out and was time to find a spot to set up the tent. We walked down the beach a ways trying to find somewhere semi-out of sight and where the tide wouldn’t flood us in the morning. As we were searching, a family came out of their beachside apartment and said something in Arabic to Rabie, which apparently translated to “hey, you guys can set up your tent on our patio if you’d like, and we’ll give you some free tea and food as well!” So, in the third amazing act of kindness of the night, we set up the tent on their patio and ate and drank tea while elevated above the stoney beach and the high tide. One of the most amazing realizations I’ve come to while travelling is that “stranger danger” is 100% a figment of overprotective suburban moms’ imaginations, but in reality, for any given stranger, there is a very good chance that they’re an incredibly kind and generous person who will be willing to help you in any way possible given the right chance.

Annika, Tim, Philipp, and I in front of the tent on some random peoples' front porch

                The next morning we got up, had some breakfast, and went for one last swim before leaving Taghazout to head up to the next town on the coast, Essaouira. We walked down the main road a bit past Taghazout’s one block downtown and held out our thumbs to see if any friendly travelers would give us a ride up to Essaouira. In about 5 minutes a big blue Mercedes pulled up and the driver told us he could take us to Essaouira for 50 dh ($5). We figured that’s a pretty good price for an almost 2 hour drive and jumped in. The car was called a Grand Taxi, which are pretty common in Morocco, and they are regular-sized sedans which somehow manage to cram 7 people in for super cheap intercity trips. There were 3 people in the front seat jammed against the doors to leave room for the gear shift, and 4 people in the back. It was hot, smelly, and incredibly cramped, which was quite an experience. The guy next to me didn’t speak much English and what he did say in English I couldn’t understand because of his thick accent and his breath smelled so horrible that I couldn’t pay attention to anything else. He seemed strongly opposed to the idea of opening a window even though it was swelteringly hot, and started mumbling something about Allah when we asked him to open it. But after a weird 2 hour taxi ride, we paid our $5 and got out in Essaouira.

                Essaouira was a beautiful city giving off great vibes, and we wandered around the streets until we found the hostel which had been recommended to us, appropriately named “Cloud 9 Hostel”. For the rest of the evening we wandered around the beach, got hopelessly lost in the city, ate some food, and hung out with a bunch of people from my desert trip who were also in Essaouira.

castles and beaches

Tim and I in Essaouira

                The next morning Tim had to leave to go back to work in Rabat so I said goodbye to him and went to explore the city some more since I had one more day there. I didn’t do anything super exciting that day, just hung out on the beach, ate a lot of great Moroccan food, explored the market in the city, and chilled at the hostel with all of my new friends.

in Morocco it's safe to have half of a dead cow hanging out on the street unrefrigerated 

The next day I was leaving Morocco so I got a bus back to Marrakech in the morning and got on my flight to Madrid. My destination was actually Sisteron, France, where I was going to visit some high school friends, but I already had a flight booked to Madrid that I had bought for my ex-girlfriend and me before we broke up, and it was only 20 euros to get a Ryanair flight from Madrid to Marseille. I had a day in Madrid in between my flights, so I used that time to take my suitcase from my ex-girlfriend’s apartment to Matt’s apartment in Caceres. After a really awkward but surprisingly unemotional visit to Evelyn’s apartment (I think travelling cures everything), I got in a blablacar and spent the day wandering around Caceres with Matt. It was great to see him, but a few hours later I had to get back in a car headed towards Madrid to catch my flight.

I landed at Marseille airport and didn’t really want to pay for a bus or train so I thought I’d try to hitchhike to Sisteron instead. Hitching a ride from the airport took about 2 minutes but the driver was only going to Aix, a city about half an hour away. He dropped me off by the highway in Aix but it was in a spot where the highway turned the wrong way. I waited with a sign that said “Sisteron” but nobody was headed that direction that was willing to pick me up, and the better spot for hitching that direction was about a 5 mile walk. So after an hour of nobody picking me up, I gave in and got a train.

It was awesome to see Kylie and Braden, who I hadn’t seen in quite some time, and Sisteron was a really beautiful little town in the foothills of the Alps. Braden is currently teaching English in Sisteron and Kylie is living with him to get the chance to travel around Europe. We explored the town a bit, walked down by the river and climbed around on the rocks, and went to the castle on top of a cliff over the town, and cooked some dank food.

the impossibly blue river in Sisteron

the citadel

the view from the castle

It was great to chill out and relax for some days after such a busy few weeks and even though we didn’t really do all that much, the time went by very quickly. The next thing I knew I was leaving Sisteron, headed to Aix for the night to catch a flight early in the morning. I figured it would be much easier to hitchhike from Sisteron into the bigger city of Aix, and I was right. Literally the first car to drive by picked me up and took me about halfway to my destination. The driver didn’t speak much English but we bonded over shared music taste. He dropped me off along the highway where he was turning off and I waited there for someone else to pick me up. About a minute later, an ancient Mercedes version of a VW Bus pulled up and waved me in. The driver was an awesome dude who had spent the winter living in his van and working as a photographer/snowboard bum in the Alps. He spoke pretty decent English and we talked about music festivals and skiing for most of the ride. He dropped me off in the center of Aix where I met up with my couchsurfing host. She turned out to be a very generous person, although quite weird—basically exactly what you would expect of someone who plays Dungeons and Dragons regularly. She was very opinionated and didn’t seem to like the USA very much, but I tried not to let that bother me and was grateful for her letting me sleep in her apartment with such little notice.

The next morning I woke up early, had some baguette and jam for breakfast, and got on the bus to the airport. I was headed to Sofia, Bulgaria to start a new chapter in my adventure.

To be continued…

France Round 1: Tignes

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The Journey to France

                My last post finished up with me leaving Spain about a month ago, so I’ll begin from there. My flight pulled into the gate at Frankfurt Airport and I got off and walked outside, loving the lack of airport security within the Schengen area. After a 2 hour flight sitting next to a guy with terrible English, I was feeling pretty confident about my German, and was excited to be back in a country where I could somewhat understand what people were saying to me. I got on the bus to Darmstadt for the millionth time, but it was only this time that I found out I could have been getting a student discount all along. Upon arrival in Darmstadt, and stoked about the 4 euros that I saved for having a Pomona ID with no expiration date, I treated myself to Germany’s greatest cuisine, the döner kebab.

                My entire purpose for returning to Germany was to apply for a visa extension so that I could stay in the Schengen area (central and western Europe) for an extra 6 months. I had an appointment scheduled with the consulate two days later, and had quite a bit of paperwork to get done in the meantime. Somewhere in the midst of that paperwork, I started thinking to myself, “fuck it, this isn’t worth the time, energy, or money necessary to get this visa.” And I booked a cheap flight from Lyon, France, to Marrakech, Morocco, deciding that I would skip my visa appointment and just get out of the Schengen area for 90 days instead. I calculated it out so that I would have just enough time to go to France for a couple days, travel around Greece with my sister, and then have a few legal days left to collect my belongings which I've left at various friends' houses around Europe. While I waited for my 90 day visa to reset, I would split my time between Morocco, the Balkans, and Israel. 

                I had already been planning on going to France to ski with a friend, Alexi, who lives in Lyon, so it worked out perfectly that there was a cheap flight from there to Morocco. The next day I hopped in a blablacar and got dropped off in Chambery, France, which was right on Alexi’s way from Lyon to the mountains. With absolutely no idea where we were going, who was coming, or where we were staying, I waited in the train station for Alexi to pick me up.

                Half an hour later I saw the giant, bearded, smiling Frenchman that is Alexi walk into the train station. I jumped into the van which was piled to the brim with 6 people, snowboards, gear, booze, and a whole array of traditional alpine French foods including raclette, some sort of cabbage sausages, and I don’t even know what else. But not baguettes, because in France you only buy baguettes from the bakery each morning so that they’re always fresh.

               

Tignes

                It turned out that the family of one girl in our group, Gladys, owned a cabin in Tignes, one of the most famous ski areas in the Alps. By some amazing streak of good luck, I had somehow, for the second time in a month, found myself on a ski trip in the Alps with someone who owned a cabin on the slopes.

                We woke up the next morning, had some fresh baguette for breakfast (these bakeries really are something that America could use more of—freshly baked bread in the morning is infinitely better than that shit white bread that we eat with breakfast in the states), and headed out to the slopes. Unfortunately the weather didn’t cooperate and the entire mountain was covered with fog so thick that it was impossible to know whether I was still on the piste or headed straight towards a 1000ft cliff. By the end of the day I was bruised up from hitting giant invisible icy bumps, losing both skis, and tomahawking down the mountain several times, but I was looking forward to raclette for dinner and a better day tomorrow.

                An amazing cheese-filled meal and a whole bunch of beers later, we fell asleep and woke up the next morning to a magnificent sight: sunshine! We wolfed down some breakfast and hit the slopes as quickly as possible. I spent the rest of the day being absolutely stunned by the breathtaking beauty of the Alps. 

The view from the top of Tignes was unquestionably one of the most beautiful places I've ever seen

               

Mont Blanc in the distance, towering over the rest of Europe at 15,781 ft

Cyprien and I headed up the top of the glacier, a journey spanning about 4000 feet of elevation, resulting in some of the most incredible views in the Alps and an exhilarating nonstop 4000 vertical foot ski run.

The French shred crew: Cyprien, Gladys, Hugo, Al, and I (not pictured: William)

The rest of the day was spent exploring as much of Tignes and Val D’Isare as we possibly could in one day (so, maybe a tenth of it, if that). The conditions were phenomenal and the vast alpine landscape, entirely above tree line with nothing but white fluffy snow and monstrous jagged rocky peaks, was otherworldly.

The rugged French Alps, fading in and out of the clouds

               

                That evening we returned to the cabin, completely exhausted but still full of adrenaline, and had an amazing meal of French sausages and a dish that was something similar to mac and cheese, but with little square bits of pasta instead of macaroni and much better cheese. And, more importantly, bacon. We went to sleep happy and woke up the next morning still full of post-adrenaline excitement from the day before. Unfortunately the ski trip was over, though, and we headed back towards Lyon, dropping me off at the airport on the way so that I could catch a flight to my next adventure: Morocco. 

February in Spain

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Come February, I still had no clue what I would be doing in the immediate or distant future and I was still very stressed about breaking up with my girlfriend, so I headed to Spain. Two of my best friends are currently living in Spain, so I went to stay with them for a couple of weeks while I figured out my next moves in life. Having a place to stay and the support of friends helped a lot and I left Spain 3 weeks later with some great memories and much more confidence in my future.

Barcelona

After Switzerland, I got a cheap Easyjet flight from Milan to Barcelona, and went to Spain, where I would spend the next 3 weeks. I was only in Barcelona for a night because my main destination was going to visit my friend Ryan in Portugalete, but going through Barcelona was the cheapest way to get there and it’s a city that I had always wanted to see.  I planned to go with Cassandra, but unfortunately due to some flight mishaps and a stolen passport, she ended up in England instead so I was solo in Barcelona. I checked in to a really nice hostel for 7 euros a night—the cheapest hostel I had come across yet (Morocco was cheaper but that hadn’t happened yet). I met some people right away, ate some paella that one of the hostel workers was cooking, and went out with them to a bar with free salsa dancing lessons. I failed miserably at salsa dancing, but still had a pretty good time drinking beer. The next day I walked around the city on my own, saw the big cathedral which was a pretty cool big tan gothic-style building, and then got on a train to Bilbao, in the Basque Country of Northern Spain.

A big fancy cathedral in Barcelona

The North

I arrived in Bilbao pretty late at night and took the metro to Portugalete, a suburb, where Ryan is spending the year playing water polo and teaching English. That area in Northern Spain is called Basque Country, and it is pretty different from the rest of Spain. They speak Basque there, a language which seems to have basically no relation to Spanish, although everyone speaks Spanish as well. Also apparently they want to secede from Spain and become their own country.

I stayed there for about a week and a half, sleeping on one of the several extra beds in Ryan’s living room. It was one of the rainiest places I’ve ever been, I think it rained every single day and went through periods of torrential downpour mixed with hail and snow. But when the rain stopped it was beautiful. While I was there we walked down to the beach, checking out the wreckage caused by the storm over the weekend. That area is known for really good surfing, but unfortunately we didn’t get to surf because there was a boat flipped over and countless tree trunks being tossed around in the waves, and it was really ridiculously windy. We also drove up to the hills about 15 minutes inland, where there was a good 6-10 inches of snow and made a pretty epic faceless snowman.

During the weekend we went to Santander, a city about an hour and a half west of Bilbao by bus, and the largest city in Cantabria (a province in north Spain). We were hoping to ski at Alta Campoo, a small ski area in the Cantabrian mountain range “Los Picos de Europa”, but unfortunately it was closed all weekend because of the wind. So instead we checked out Santander and also went to the world-famous Guggenheim museum in Bilbao.

the beach in Santander

the palace in Santander

During the days when Ryan was working, I spent a lot of time trying to figure out my future and also hung out with Ryan’s awesome flatmate, Marta. She didn’t speak too much English but we were able to communicate pretty well with a mixture of English, Spanish, and charades-like acting. In the evenings we hung out at the bars on Ryan’s street, which were always filled with a hilarious group of very talkative Basque men with whom I spoke some Spanglish. One of the guys hosted a party at a bar one night and we were the youngest people there by about 15 years, but everyone loved us and bought us drinks so it was pretty fun.

Penguins in Santander

The Guggenheim museum

Madrid

After a week and a half in Portugalete, I took a bus to Madrid, which was mainly just a stop to pick up some of my stuff from my ex-girlfriend’s apartment while on my way to Caceres. It was horribly awkward and sad but I got the clothes that I needed and I stayed at a hostel which turned out to be really fun so I stayed 2 nights. In Madrid I met some really cool people at the hostel—a girl from Anacortes, Washington, two girls from Canada, two guys from Australia, and a guy from Belgium who speaks 7 languages—and we all hung out together. The Belgian dude had just finished a trip around Morocco and told me all about it, which got me really pumped for my upcoming trip to Morocco. We went to a museum, then got some tapas, hung out at the hostel for a while, and went to a pub and had a great time.

Caceres

My next destination was Caceres, where my friend Matt is currently living and teaching English. I took a blablacar (carpool) to Caceres and the driver made sure to let me know that Extremadura (the region which Caceres is in) has the best Iberian ham in the world. I was only there for two nights and unfortunately never had a chance to try their self-proclaimed best ham in the world, but it was a really good time. The first night we went to a language exchange at a bar and the second night Matt had a party at his house. Matt’s housemates were all really fun and the party attracted quite an international crowd; I met a really awesome girl from Belgium there, as well as people from Mexico, Italy, England, France, Spain, and probably more. During the day we went on a walk in the hills outside of Caceres and bought duck costumes for Carnival from the most racially ignorant costume store I have ever seen (but it was the only option). The store was called “Kikes” and the costume catalog contained a couple normal categories like food and animals, but the rest of the categories were all making fun of other ethnicities, like Mexican, Arab, Black, Chinese, etc. If liberal arts students found out about that shop there would be a facebook outrage. That was one of the several “culture shock” moments that I've had in Europe where I realize that all of the discussions we've had in the US about racism and equality have made a big difference, and many other countries are far more ignorant but just don’t have the diversity or large enough minorities for it to be discussed as much as it is in the US.

Sevilla

After Caceres, Matt and I took a blablacar to Sevilla, where we spent one night on our way down south to Cadiz for Carnival. Sevilla is a beautiful city, sunny and filled with orange and palm trees. We spent the day walking around Sevilla, slept in a hostel, and met up with Andy and Ryan the next day and headed to Cadiz.

a famous building in Sevilla 

Carnival in Cadiz

Cadiz was one of the more ridiculous party experiences of my trip so far. Every year, thousands of people put on costumes and get hammered in the streets for a week and a half. Dressed as 3 ducks and a hot dog, we took the train to Cadiz equipped with several beers, rum, and nobody remembers what else. There were a few stages set up around the city with singing groups called “chirigotas” performing what were apparently hilarious satirical songs, but I didn't understand any of it because it was in Spanish.

quack

As the night went on, the streets became more and more filled with glass, beer, and piss, which didn't seem to matter so much at the time, but the next morning the smell of our shoes was a powerful reminder of what we had stepped in the night before. It was a really crazy night though, we met so many people whose names and faces I will never remember, saw so many incredible costumes, and witnessed the amazing spectacle of thousands of ridiculously dressed people completely disobeying the law and drinking and celebrating in the streets.

The aftermath

back for day 2 

Here’s a link to a video that will give you a glimpse into life at Carnival:

https://www.facebook.com/video.php?v=10205927094080958 

Gibraltar

                After Carnival, we split up with Matt and Andy, and Ryan and I took a bus to La Linea de la Concepcion, a Spanish city just next to the British enclave of Gibraltar. We walked across the border into Gibraltar, a tiny peninsula owned by Britain but connected to Southern Spain. Gibraltar is known for its primary geographical feature—the Rock of Gibraltar—which takes up about 90% of the peninsula. The border crossing consisted of us holding out our passports and the security officers not wanting to look at them and waving us past. To get into the city of Gibraltar, we had to walk across the airport runway in between when planes were taking off or landing, in the shadow of the rock the whole time.

don't get hit by a plane

I felt an immediate cultural difference; in two minutes of walking we had gone from fancily-dressed Spanish people crowding the streets with that terrible bright red lipstick that they seem to think looks good, to groups of blonde British kids wearing shorts and yelling in thick English accents. It was the first time I had been in an English-speaking country in about 6 months and it felt really weird to be able to understand passerby’s conversations. We spent the evening walking around the perimeter of the rock and then had some British poutine at a pub, which was an amazing mix of fried potato skins, cheese, meat, and gravy. 

the rock of Gibraltar from the runway

The next day we woke up early, ate an English breakfast and hiked up the rock, into a nature reserve where a ton of Barbary macaques live in a semi-wild state. It was really cool to see the monkeys, although a bit sad to see how much the tour guides feed them to get them to crowd in certain areas for the tourists to take photos.

selfie with a monkey

Curious George

the rock fading into the clouds

mama and baby macaque

Tangier

When we got down from the rock, we got on a ferry to Tangier, Morocco, only about 20 km across the Strait of Gibraltar from us. The ferry was delayed several hours because of the wind, and when it finally departed it was a shit show. The waves in the Strait were huge, big enough to rock the ferry boat so violently that anybody trying to walk down the aisle was slammed into the wall, and several loud crashes rang from the café where kitchen equipment was sliding across the floor and shattering. When we finally docked in Tangier, puddles of puke stained the carpets. It was not a pretty sight. 

We got off the boat and it was immediately obvious that this place was far different from Spain. Within seconds, five taxi drivers surrounded us, telling us (wrongly) that there was no bus and their taxi was the only way to get from the ferry port into town. We eventually gave in and paid for a taxi and met up with our couchsurfing host, Anas, in the city. Anas is a student in Tangier and had a couple extra mattresses in his apartment which he offers for travelers to stay on for free (check out www.couchsurfing.com if you’ve never heard of it).

Mule parking

The next morning we went to walk around the Medina (the old part of the city), which contained a few markets and lots of tiny maze-like alleyways. It was a really cool area to explore but I've never been anywhere with such annoyingly persistent salesmen as Tangier's Medina. Since it was very windy that day and not during the tourist season, we were some of the only foreigners walking around, and the guys on the street were extra persistent because they had nobody else to prey on. They would follow us around, pointing out everything in the city while constantly telling us that it is free to look at everything, and then get very angry when we refused to buy their hash or pay them for their unwanted “tour”. 

But, other than those guys, Tangier was a cool city. Anas’s neighborhood also had a large market, selling everything from carrots the size of my forearm to live chickens, and the salesmen were much nicer there. It was possible to get a full meal of produce for about 30 cents and everything was fresh and delicious. The area fit my mental image of Morocco very well—a chaos of donkeys, camels, chickens, and children running across the half-dirt/half-paved streets with cars constantly honking and swerving to avoid the people and animals in their way. Somehow that chaotic-yet-semi-functional mess made it a very charming place. We had a really great time hanging out and learning about life in Morocco with our couchsurfing hosts, who were some of the most friendly and welcoming people that I've ever met. I definitely want to come back and visit in the summer when it’s better beach weather.

the windy Strait of Gibraltar

a mosque in Tangier

Granada

After Morocco, Ryan and I took a ferry back to Spain, which was also delayed by several hours and the waves were equally big as the last time, causing the ferry to constantly feel like it was about to flip. After a failed attempt to hitchhike to Malaga/Granada outside the ferry port (Spanish drivers apparently don’t like hitchhikers), we got a cheap hotel room for the night and took a blablacar to Granada the next morning. In Granada, we met back up with Matt, and spent the afternoon wandering around near the Alhambra, Granada’s famous castle, and eating the enormous tapas that come for free with the miniature Spanish beers. For 2 Euros, we could buy a beer at a bar which came along with a sandwich or small hamburger. Granada had by far the best tapas that I ate anywhere in Spain, and generally a really great vibe.

Spain's Sierra Nevada mountains behind Granada

The next day we went on a hike near the city. One of the best things about Granada is its location right next to the mountains. We took a bus up to a small mountain village and spent the day hiking back down to the city center, something that’s not possible in most cities. Although cloudy, the views were gorgeous and it was really nice to get out of the city and into nature with good friends. We met some other Americans on the hike who invited us over for beer pong in the evening, which was an excellent throwback to good times in college.

hiking just outside of the city

The next day was my final full day in Spain, and it was spent well, skiing with Ryan at the Sierra Nevada Ski Area, 45 minutes from Granada. This is what really cemented my love for the city. It’s possible to hike, ski, and get ridiculous amounts of free food with your beer all in one day. The ski area was pretty big, a lot of fun, and had incredible views from the top.

tons of snow just 45 minutes uphill from sunny, warm Granada

duck selfie

If I ever return to Spain for a longer period of time, it will definitely be to Granada.

Next up: French-speaking countries. Skiing in the French alps, adventuring deeper into Morocco, and returning to France to visit high school friends.