It's such a circle, how we can feel so many ways, in a small amount of time.
(I dedicate this to the moon.)
It was always in the plan to go to Tangier, and then some advice given to Kristin and I made us question a deeper trip into Morocco. I was feeling fine about it, but people were always 50/50. I expected beggars and annoyances, but...get me back to the ferry.
We are lost and children are trying to lead us the way for money. A man tells me, "To put my hand back in my pocket where it belongs," as I ask him, "To leave us alone!"
I want to begin a trip with risk, not fear.
I want to lead with curiosity, not annoyance.
Its innate to me, worrying about what you can't control.
(What I should of been able to.)
Kristin saves the day and gets us to the hostel. The guy asks how many nights, I say none, get me back to Tarifa. He looks at me with sadness. I am just tired, hungry, and a little seasick.
I feel disappointed in myself, as we get settled. I walk down the many staircases with a faint smile and thank him for his kindness.
(I feel like a brat.)
We leave the hostel and begin walking down so many paths it is like one of my favorite childhood games, Labyrinth.
If I don't focus on the people's words, spirit finds me.
Beautiful details, cobblestone streets, patterns on patterns, saturated in beautiful patterns.
We are a little lost, yet a nice lady, with what seems to be her grandmother, leads the way.
Thank you so much. (Maybe it is not so bad.)
We walk around the square, just saying, "No!" to everyone. After lunch, or just a couple bites of food for me...kids steel our tip from the table, and one clings to Kristin's side. I see an older fellow, promoting a restaurant look at the kids in disgust.
Our map is at the hostel, and I am just in culture shock.
We have an idea of where we are going, but just make a minor wrong veer to the left. All of a sudden a man approaches me and I just say, "No thanks."
"Fuck you...Don't treat me like an animal. This is my country, be polite. I hope you get AIDS."
I never even saw this man before he says this to me.
I don't agree with the disrespect and I want to look past it.
(Chefchaouen is a beautiful place.)
A new friend in Spain, was Moroccan. The night before in the hostel, music from the Arabic culture played and it was more than beautiful. Advice on places to go was thorough and I just felt so bad that I couldn't get myself to do it.
"Spice girls," people yelled at us down the alley, "Yes, Spice girls," I think.
(We walked to the beach and restaurants later, getting kisses, winks, and close follows back to the hostel.)
I didn't sleep much that night between guilt and anxiousness...(and a little lack of wine.)
In the morning, I laid in my bed listening to the beautiful music and prayers from a Mosque down the street being played for all to hear. I am mad at myself for steering us away from culture and chaos, but I am happy to find my way back to Spain.
(No way we could go to the beach in Tangier!)
We settled back to our friends in Tarifa and watched the surfers that afternoon. I decided that waves crash too, to cycle back for a moment of peace, before they experience another journey to the shore.
I understand Tangier is not the best place to experience Morocco and the kindness from our new friend is reassuring. He hates the beggars as much as we do, but to remember the artistry and passion of their culture.
I don't want to acquire more baggage with the decision of only staying one night. I am not sure if I place it with the organic, glass, or the plastics, but I hope it goes to a place where it's repurposed.
One day I'll meet the heart of Morocco, but mine is just not there yet.
Kristin and I are now on a train to Granada. We know there is a castle and we have an urge to "fike."
We spent this morning watching the sunrise over Africa deciding that we are quitting bread until we get to France...(yeahhhh).