It was the worst of times, it was the best of times: MOROCCO (day 1)

Morocco has been literally out of this world. Amazing. Horrible. Horribly amazing. I loved this port in a completely different way than the past ones. We really played this one by ear for the most part and exercised our ability to adapt and be flexible like no port before.

As a little taste: we didn’t sleep inside for any one of the three nights there. The first day was by far the most insane day of my Semester at Sea journey to date and this was also probably the most blogable port yet, so dear reader, after setting your expectations so high, I hope I don’t disappoint.

The highlights (I’m giving you the overview, but D1 was so momentous that I am splitting it apart, so the rest of this post is only the first day)

Day 1: Casablanca and a magical hotel, trains that wait for you, melting into a sweat puddle on the train to Marrakech, accidentally drinking Moroccan ice, starting a taxi riot, getting lost in a literal labyrinth, being saved by a 7 yr old with a knife, monkeys, snake chargers, henna, sleeping on a roof

Day 2: bus ride from hell and/or Disneyland, seeing actual game of thrones land, riding a CAMEL, sleeping under the stars in the Sahara dessert

Day 3: back to the camel again, back to the bus again, coolest hostel ever, bartering our brains out in the marketplace and ending the night smoking hookah under the stars

Day 4: train the way we should have done it, a little more shopping, Great Mosque, back to the MV!

The details:

Day one we woke up early to rendezvous with a group of kids we had planned on traveling with for breakfast. This ended up being overly ambitious because it takes a great deal longer to get cleared in Moroccan customs as they insist on checking everyone and their passports face to face onboard the ship.

Fortunately, my hall was the first hall called and allowed to leave, but this wasn’t until about 11. I felt bad for the kids who weren’t allowed off, but we decided to head out with a group of three friends and I. We ended up being the first people off the ship and tooled around Casablanca for a bit until we realized we were completely lost and had no idea what we were doing or where to go.

We decided to stop off in a nearby Hyatt hotel assuming they could help us. We were shocked to discover several things. The first: there was security there and a metal detector at the door.  Second the hotel was amazingly luxurious. It was a Hyatt Regency, but we didn’t really expect it to be so nice in Morocco. It appeared to be made for diplomats and Saudis. Anyway we got a map, exchanged currency, and took a restroom break in their beautifully normal bathrooms while enjoying a reprieve from the scorching hot weather.

Then we stopped at the first place we knew would have WiFi, McDonald’s, to get some ice cream and get our bearings – I forgot to mention it was scorching hot outside and we were covered from head to toe out of respect.  After McFlurries, we realized we had 20 min to get to the train station and catch the 12:50 train to Marrakech, so we busted to a taxi, negotiated for what we thought was a fair price, then hopped in and headed off.

We arrived at the station with 13 minutes to spare and a melee of Moroccans and SAS people all vying to buy tickets for impending train departures. We struggled with the ticket machine as time ticked down. With only 4 minutes to go, we realized the machine wasn’t working correctly and we’d have to wait in a decently long line to get to the real ticket counters.

I hopped in line, which by the way, was literally back to back, apparently Moroccans don’t believe in the same personal space as Americans. As the line slugged by infinitely slower than it needed to be, the minutes flew by. I began to lose hope of catching this train and started planning things to do in the next two hours waiting for another.

As the clock hit 12:48, I was three people away from the front, still holding on to a sliver of hope, a growing knot in my stomach. Suddenly, bells from above chimed preceding an announcement in rapid Arabic. The train departure screen’s top entry blinked and a note appeared on the right hand side “détente 13:00.”

The train was 10 minutes delayed!! What’s my motto again? It all works out. And indeed in this case it did. We momentarily rejoiced, then threw money at the teller, grabbed our tickets and ran to Voie 2, where a crowd of people stood expectantly waiting for the train that was 3 minutes away.

Our exuberance, however, quickly dwindled when we remembered a strong warning we had been given the day before: do not buy second-class tickets. We mentioned it to each other and then shrugged it off as the train came. The moment it stopped though, we realized the prudence in this warning; Second-class tickets, approximately 2 dollars cheaper than First, are unreserved. And they don’t limit the number of people on the train.

So we shoved our way onto an overcrowded, smelly, packed train car, with little hope of finding a seat and braced ourselves for a rickety 3-hour ride sweating our faces off, without water, on a moving train with no personal space whatsoever. Here’s a pic

Fortunately, not everyone was going all the way to Marrakech, and a kind old man and his wife offered their seats to us after 30 minutes when they were planning on getting off. He also offered me to come with them to his country house – as translated by a smiling English-speaking, college age Moroccan girl across from us. I politely declined citing our plans in Marrakech and he continued to babble at me in Arabic to which I could only respond by smiling and laughing. His wife was also just as entertained and eager for my friend and I to come with them.

After they left for their stop, my friend and I tried to forget the fact that we could not stop sweating from every single pore in our bodies on the not really air conditioned “air conditioned” car and passed out for the remained of the ride. I cannot explain my relief to exit that train upon our arrival in Marrakech. We all vowed to buy first class tickets on the return trip or else we’d rather walk.

As we left the station, we recognized again that we had not much of an idea where we were, so we stopped to buy water and ambled toward the Medina, city center.  Little did we know, this marathon of a journey was by no way close to finished.

We walked for a good ways until we realized taxis are relatively cheap in the city and that we would be late for our touch-base meeting with the excursion guide whom we needed to pay for the camel trek we’d reserved for the next day. So we decided to attempt to get in a taxi. The first one we stopped, blatantly refused because Petit taxis – the smaller ones – only take three people and we had four.

Then a smiling man with quite good English told us he knew where we could take a Grand taxi – the unmetered, large group taxis. We asked where and he explained he could walk us. Being four girls, we were really hesitant to follow, but we honestly had no other plans or idea as to what to do. We had been warned about false guides that really just want money from tourists, so we warily began to go with the man in the Italia pants and we only walked along the main road.

Eventually, although somewhat unwillingly, we ended up with him at a huge taxi lot, filled with over 100 taxis and drivers waiting for business outside a market. We decided that we could take it from there and began to negotiate with drivers ourselves, mostly because we figured the man who’d led us there would want money and we didn’t want to pay him.

Well, our independence did not go over as well as we would have liked and next thing we knew our guide was yelling at the taxi manager while another driver put him in a head lock and around 20 other drivers all started yelling in incomprehensible Arabic all around us. We had our backs against a taxi and were completely surrounded by the cacophony of disagreements, but seemed not to be a player in any of the arguments. We kept exchanging panicky looks with each other wondering how the hell we had gotten in that situation and how to get out.

We slowly started edging away to the right when there was a break in the circle of men and as we moved further form them, the tension seemed to disperse as quickly as it had started. Then we found a driver a distance away and began to negotiate for a price. We finally agreed and the English speaking man returned as we got in, bombarding us with requests for compensation for his help. One of my friends handed him a few coins and the rest of us said we only had card, then hopped in the cab and spend off toward the hostel where we were supposed to meet our guide.

The driver pulled up to the entrance to a pedestrian alleyway and explained to us our destination was right through there. Seems simple enough right? Just down the road of course. Well, if you are familiar with Morocco at all, that could not be further from the truth. After paying, we got out and attempted to use Google Maps to get to the hostel, but Google Maps marks the entire area as devoid of pathways and roads, a large grey region.  In reality the entire place is littered with winding alleyways and twisting side roads, littered with innocuous doors that open up to amazing hotels and various markets overflowing with a plethora of Moroccan goods.

As we wandered this way and that, trying to angle toward the red dot on Google maps, the sun began to set and our good humor waned. It had been a long day and we were already an hour late for our meeting and we were about to be four lost American girls in the endless dark alleys of Marrakech.

After turning around so many times things started to seem the same and different all at once, a small boy of about 7 years in a red Ronaldo jersey holding a decently sized knife that may or may not have been fake, reached out to us in a deserted dead end and asked in French where we were going. The other girls and I exchanged hesitant glances, then I leaned down and showed him the address (which made no sense to us by the way) and the name of the hostel.

He responded, “I know where it is, follow me.” Not wanting to get into another situation like the taxi riot, I informed him, “We cannot pay you, we don’t have money.” He shrugged to infer that it was ok then turned on his heel with the command, “Follow me.”

Ronaldo, our savior

Yet again, we hesitated, but realized we didn’t have much other hope or any better options and followed little Ronaldo as he deftly navigated the maze without so much as a glance back in our direction, stopping to high five a few friends or acquaintances on the way.  We began to get nervous after a few minutes and we strayed further behind him, until he turned and motioned at us to keep following.

Against all natural instincts, we continued following him toward yet another empty dead end. In this one however, there was a small blue door with red around it and a subtle sign that read the name of the hostel Hostel Riad Marrakech Rouge. We were so happy, I almost grabbed the kid in a hug and spun him around. Instead, we dug into our wallets and threw way too much money at him. Then, without a word he turned and walk back the way he came, forever out of our lives.

We walked into the hostel and found ourselves speechless. The place was fantastic and eccentric. Here is a shot of the entryway:

Three people sat around on the plush colorful couches smoking hookah and drinking Moroccan tea. We sat down gladly taking tea from the hostel worker as he asked us if we had reservations. We informed him that we did not, but we had booked a camel trek through the hostel and were supposed to meet the guide there that evening to pay and discuss logistics for the next day.

As we waited for the guide to come see us, we started discussing the possibility of backing out of our original plans of heading to a house rented by some other SAS kids for a mansion party and instead enjoying a night in the city of Marrakech at that magical hostel. After talking with our guide and paying for the one night camel trek, we decided to pull a complete audible and book beds at the hostel. My two friends went to talk to the manager for a bit, while at sat back and tried to process what all had transpired in the never-ending day. I couldn’t have been happier with the outcome so far as yet again, my motto proved itself true and everything worked out.

Just to push that one step further, my two friends turned around from the reception desk and called to me and my roommate “Soo everything is booked but we can sleep on the roof. You down?” My roommate and I both replied in unison, “Yes!” So they showed us to our rooftop abode and we could not have been more excited. For 8 Euro, we were sleeping under the stars in Marrakech!

After changing out of our thoroughly soiled clothing, we decided to set out to see the acclaimed Marrakech Night Market. We were a little bit hesitant to take on the labyrinth again, but hunger drove us out and armed with both a map and directions, we realized just how easy it was to navigate if you knew the quickest route.

As we stumbled into the plaza, we all exclaimed various amounts of awe, excitement and shock. The place was alive with vendors and people hustling and bustling every which way. Ladies in burkas sat on the ground amongst a sea of beautifully lit metal lanterns calling to passerby to buy one. In the center, smoke rose from the various numbered food carts, where aggressive servers harassed tourists to come to their shop and eat traditionally Moroccan meals, with various guarantees of no food poisoning or Diarrhea.  Eccentricity dressed men attempted to put monkeys on the shoulders of anyone who walked too close and charge them for a picture. Snake charmers sat in the middle of a sea of onlookers making cobras move to the rhythm. Old ladies grabbed the arms of anyone left unaware and starting painting henna, then asked for a ridiculous price. Small shops overflowing with leatherwear, jewelry, tapestries, and an assortment of goods rimmed the outskirts of the vast plaza and Arabic men hassled those who walked past with a variation of English, Spanish, French, and Arabic, “skinny girl, skinny price”, “Eres bonita ven aqui”, “Come in miss! Come in miss!”, “I give you good deal.”

It was impossible to take in all at once and we stood completely dumbfounded for a moment. Everywhere I looked there was something interesting and different to see, foreign and amazing. Of course what was our first stop? Shopping. We took to the shops with gusto, bargaining hard and driving prices down to get the best goods. Laughing, joking, pleading, and hard-balling until we got the prices we wanted or just walking away. One vendor took us inside and dressed us up in “magic dresses” see here

After an hour or so of bargaining, we grew hungry. It was almost 10pm or so, and the market was still pulsating lively. We headed into the center where the street food stands were and began to attempt to decide to which of the numerous shops we should give our business. Out of nowhere I heard my name being called and turned to find a larger group of my friends from the ship eating at restaurant no. 100.

I could not have been happier to run into familiar faces after our crazy day. We embraced and began comparing travel stories everyone happy and excited and loving Morocco. We enjoyed some delicious kebabs and couscous for our first real Moroccan meal –

before:

after:

By then it was getting pretty late and we had an early morning heading out to our camel trek. We stopped by an old lady to get henna and then called it a night, exhausted from everything that had happened that day. Here’s a shot of the henna we got:

I’ll keep you posted with the camel trek, but I think the rest of Morocco deserves its own post after this insane day. To be continued…

Are we having fun yet?: Lisbon and Spain overland

To be honest, I may have had too much fun this port… but I believe it’s excusable as I needed to make up for lost time in Ireland.

I have learned that time flies on semester at sea in one of the most unique fashions. The few days we spend onboard seem like the blink of an eye and those we spend traveling feel like an eternity. I think we can attribute it to the sheer amount of activity and travel and of course unadulterated fun that we participate in during port stays. Regardless, Lisbon and Spain overland was the most fun yet! Although I am beginning to think I will say that about each successive port. Oh well. I guess this trip just keeps going up 🙂

The highlights:

Day 1: Lisbon, the best hostel ever, urban beach club

Day 2: Lagos, Rising Cock (not what you think), best burger ever

Day 3: rock climbing, booze cruise, picnic in the park

Day 4: bus fails, bus successes, Sevilla! Amazing new friend and an unlikely familiar face

Day 5: alcazar real, Mexican and Spanish food, Cadiz!

The details:

D1

The first day was rather uneventful as I had my last few hours of dock time, which basically consisted of sleeping in, eating and laying out in the scalding Lisbon heat on the top deck of the ship. Grueling punishment I know. Then I set out to walk around Lisbon and check into our hostel for the night.

We stayed at the HOME LISBON HOSTEL, which had been recommended to me by a fellow Trojan and did not disappoint in the slightest. It was an amazing hostel with great staff, good location, and fabulous facilities. After checking in, I walked around finishing some errands and shopping while struggling up the many cobbled hills of the city. Here’s a shot of the sidewalk.

Think San Francisco, but with exquisite cobbled roads and pathways, which no apparent organization or plan. I loved it. Then all my friends and I met up and headed to dinner nearby our hotel.

Afterward, we went on the pub crawl hostel by our hostel, which stopped at a few decent bars and ended at our ultimate goal destination: Urban Beach Club.

Although filled with semester at sea students, there still remained ample room for the rest of the fun-loving Portuguese, as the club is enormous. There also was an awesome face painter there.

 Overall, not quite the most blog-worthy night, but definitely a memorable one.

D2:

We woke up late the next morning, with barely enough time to make it to our bus to Lagos, a city on the southern coast of Portugal in the Algarve. Unfortunately I didn’t have enough time to do real sight seeing in Lisbon thanks to dock time, but that just means I guess I’ll have to return someday as wel. And you can be sure I will.

The bus got us in to the city late afternoon and we headed immediately for the much-acclaimed “best burger in the world” at Nah Nah Bar. Here’s a group shot I took of the crew waiting for our food:

We all got The Toucan Burger, and I’m not sure exactly what they put in it, but I can safely say they should not change a thing. The burger was everything I could ask for and more. It was delicious AND also quite large.

Then it was off to check into what had become a familiar name among the SAS kids, The Rising Cock. Yes the hostel was actually called Rising Cock – a clever reference to the Roster that is a symbol or Portugal. It is apparently the number 1 party hostel in the world and SAS took it over for the next 3 days.

The hostel certainly lived up to its reputation. It was also one of the coolest layouts for a hostel I’ve seen. There was the main location, organized like a typical hostel, with different rooms of a few bunk beds and an open hang out/living room area, but then it also consisted of several other apartments scattered a few blocks away. Essentially, by reserving with so many people, we had an entire apartment of 14 beds for my friends and I. The setup was perfect for our group.

That night we went on the pub craw organized by the hostel, leading to all the cute local pubs in this bitty, yet still bumping beach town with so many twisting alleyways.

D3:

We started our morning with breakfast cooked for us by the famous Mama of the Rising Cock, whom everyone refers to as Mama. She’s a lovely Portuguese lady who makes out-of-this-world crepes as breakfast for all the residents of the hostel. Then we headed to the beach, which was breathtaking.

We climbed all over the rocks, jumping in and playing in the ocean. Every few minutes we’d stop to pinch ourselves and ask if this was real life. Then we’d laugh and all rejoice over the fact that this can be called “school” hehe

After that, we grabbed a quick lunch of paninis before heading off to the Rising Cock booze cruise. Obviously that was everything you’d expect and more: unlimited liquor, party boat, and the open ocean.

I made friends with two of the workers on the cruise though and found them to be the most fascinating people. Charlie, an 18-year-old Aussie girl, had been working there for a few months when she ran out of money in Lagos and decided to stay. The owner of the hostel, a Portuguese American man, who’s mama was actually Mama, explained how he left his life in the United States to come pursue his dream of owning a hostel and has been doing that ever since.

Afterward, we headed back home for a nap before going out to dinner. We ended up just buying food at a market and enjoying a picnic in one of the many parks in Lagos and calling it an early night. The sunshine and booze cruise had really taken it out of everyone and a lot of us had early bus rides to Sevilla the next day.

D4:

Speaking of early bus rides, my friend Lucy and I, although we didn’t have tickets, decided to attempt to get on the 6:30 am bus to Seville because our room was waking up for it anyway.

We ended up sitting outside the bus, unable to communicate to the driver what we wanted or how we knew there would be kids who skipped the bus, watching it drive away. Hahaha oops. In the end though, it worked out even better because we got to get tickets on an afternoon bus chartered only for SAS kids and we had time to go to the beach!

We got some food at a bar on the beach and ended up talking to the petite Portuguese bartender for almost an hour about her life and it was eerily similar to mine. She – Silvia – asked my two guy friends and I what we were studying and they both replied “business” where I informed her I was business/computer science.

She went “me too! I guess the girls pick the hard majors.” Then she explained that she used to be a consultant in Lisbon. To which I replied, “Me too!”

She gave me a look of surprise then asked suspiciously, “What company?”

I told her and she looked utterly flabbergasted. Then laughed and responded “me too!!”

Mind. Blown.

Honestly what are the chances of that?

We talked about how she had a career in corporate for years, then decided to settle down with her boyfriend in Lagos and enjoy a less fast-paced life and how she was still deciding what to do now. She was so sweet and kind. We took a photo with her and my friend even invited her to come visit us haha.

I think we were just so enamored with her ability to pursue what she wanted in life. Anyway, Silvia, if you’re reading this, you rock!

Then it was time to head to the bus, which although was 5 hours or so, flew by because it was only SAS kids. We played games, sang songs, laughed and talked our way through the hours getting to know more people on the trip. I’m really glad we missed the early bus or I guess never got the chance to go on it, because this other bus was such a good time.

When we arrived in Sevilla, we checked into our hostel The Architect, which was another pleasant place, with a great area on the rooftop to hangout. We were all pretty wiped after so much travel, but we only had one night in Seville, so we headed out to explore the lively city.

We stopped at a Tapas bar for some sangria and of course Tapas. I got tortilla Espinosa, my favorite from Spain, and they comped me for my Spanish abilities. I. Love. Spain. Anyway then we just walked around the bustling city – whose streets were filled with people far past the time American bars usually close. It was fun to just sit by the river at a bar and talk to locals.

As we were strolling, we came upon some other semester at sea kids and I head a shocked exclamation, “Paige Kehoe??”

I looked around to find the source and discovered a girl named Kenzie from my high school lacrosse team whom I had not seen since literally graduation over 2 years ago.

What are the chances??

Apparently Kenzie is studying abroad in Morocco and her best friend from college is also on SAS, so she came to Sevilla to visit him. Mind. Blown. Again. Yet another unreal connection in an unlikely place.

It was fun to catch up and talk about old times and I still kind of don’t believe it was real.

My friends and I ended the night with the traditional Chocolate y Churros that I had missed so much since my time living in Spain. My friends were all shocked by how delicious it was. And I’m glad I forced them to try it, despite the late hours and disastrously high caloric content haha

D5:

The next morning we actually went to see the sights of Seville in the day. We stopped by the Real Alcazar, a beautiful cathedral and Christopher Columbus’ tomb. Seville is such an amazing city. I think we all wished we’d had more time to appreciate it. Yet again, another city I vow to return to.

At this point, I think I’m just going to need to travel for the rest of my life. I’m still unsure how I’m going to adjust back to normal life in one city, where I know the days of the week as opposed to simply A day or B day or port day.

The rest of the day consisted of travel and errand running in Cadiz and enjoying some Paella and Sangria before we had to be back on ship late afternoon.

I’ll admit that to those readers out there, this is perhaps been the least interesting post to date. Overall, the thing that made all of these seemingly mundane moments so meaningful was my friends. This port could probably be described as my most hedonistic and also the most people oriented. I attribute part of it to the fact that I missed a few days with everyone in Ireland and that our next stop is Morocco – much more of a cultural challenge and certainly less focused around socialization or clubbing by any means.

Lisbon and Spain were more of our European debauchery, but Morocco will be the biggest shock yet.

Off to Africa! xo

The port that wasn’t: Ireland

Well long story short, I did not get to spend as much time in Ireland as I originally would have liked. Due to a series of misunderstandings and unfortunate events and maybe a bit of poor judgment on my part, I landed myself with some dock time.

To make this a learning experience for all, don’t skip dock time. Ever. EVER. Even if you think you have moved it…

What even is dock time you ask? Well, let me tell you! It is mandatory on ship time during port stays as punishment for a variety of offenses. You can get dock time for trying to sneak things on the ship, being late to re-board the ship, skipping too many classes, missing Field Labs, basically anything that you really shouldn’t be doing. The lesson here is: you are the rule, not the exception. Unless you are 100% sure you are the exception. Here I most certainly was not. Whoops.

So during my slightly truncated time in the Land of Ire, here’s the scoop.

Highlights:

Trinity College, my very own bar, Guinness Brewery, CHIPOTLE OMG (or its European cousin), Dublin Oktoberfest

The details:

I spent most of my time wandering the city with my friend Matt, exploring small stores, pubs, and seeing the sites. We strolled through Trinity College, but didn’t feel up to spending hours waiting in line to see the Book of Kells, so we just enjoyed the college vibes that I did not realize I had missed from good old SC. I loved the lush green grass quads and towering historic school buildings. For those of you that are unaware, Trinity College is the Harvard of Dublin and another fun tidbit, one of our cab driver’s sons actually just started school there. Yay cabbie. Here’s a shot of the college quad and the line we opted out of

The next stop on our journey was a bar called Kehoe’s aka MY BAR. Here it is in all its glory:

We made a pilgrimage to my namesake (not really) and had a nice chat with the bartender there. He informed us that I pronounce Kehoe wrong and it is actually pronounced Keo, with an alternative spelling being Keögh. So thanks mom and dad for that one. He was actually incredibly kind and told us a couple of stores we should head to for shopping.

Another treat of the day was a quick pit stop in Starbucks for a white girl’s Fall fantasy – pumpkin spice latte. I was ecstatic to learn they make it just as good in Ireland!

As we headed to the Guinness Storehouse, we passed through St Patrick’s Cathedral, which was another beautiful site in Dublin.

Then of course it was off to the mandatory Dublin attraction: The Guinness Storehouse.

It paled a little bit in comparison with the Heineken Experience from Amsterdam, but it was still a good time. We toured five floors exhibiting Ireland’s favorite dark beer and ended up at the best part of the place, the Sky Bar. With 360 degree views of Dublin and a bar with unlimited Guinness, it definitely made up for the less than exciting rest of the museum. Here’s a horrible panorama of the bar and a better shot of just the view.

To satisfy our empty stomachs, we headed to a place that we only knew through other SAS students’ rumors: Tolteca – apparently a mock chipotle. My childish exuberance for any semblance of Chipotle in Europe is rather embarrassing, but Tolteca did not disappoint! Take a look and you can see exactly how similar it is to Chipotle:

I love Tolteca. We actually sat exclaiming our unadulterated joy over having found such a magical place for a good 5 minutes after scarfing our burrito bowls. Also, sorry world for skipping out on Irish cooking – not really my cup of tea anyway.

The last stop during my time in Ireland was a mini Oktoberfest right by the ship. We reunited with a number of friends and tried some other Irish beers, while enjoying a semblance of the festival we missed by about a week in Germany.

Overall Ireland was short and sweet, but still a learning experience. I just figure that I will have to return to get the full experience and perhaps go to Galway or the Cliffs and explore the nightlife more. Until that day, I can look forward to an almost dock-time free Portugal and Spain!

This is Keögh, signing off.