Biddies in Barcelona

Since I am really behind on the blog, and I am going to have a couple of exciting weeks in Morocco, I should catch you up with my weekend in the west about a month ago before I forget about all the details-the highs and the lows...

So as everyone back in the US is enjoying a week of fall break this semester, I only had a few days, and luckily my only Friday professor even extended our vacation since the class is full of Americans who just want to travel. Anyway, for Eid (which is a Muslim holiday that a lot of people explained to me as similar to American thanksgiving, except with sheep-not turkies), some friends and I decided we wanted to go to Spain, specifically Barcelona, mainly because that was the easiest, cheapest flight to our neighbors to the north here in Morocco that didn't require a connection. Plus, sangria....

We made our way to Fez early on Friday morning, sitting in the airport for quite a bit of time, but my inner-control freak didn't mind being early versus late. Typical airport activities ensued-coffee for breakfast (because we were planning on our first AMERICAN meal since leaving the states at the Hard Rock Cafe once we got to Barcelona), security, passport control, etc. (AKA stuff that has gotten monotonous after travelling so much). BUT we got on our Veuling flight for Barcelona, which I was expecting to be much worse than what it was because it's budget. It just really goes to prove how easy and cheap transportation is when you're outside of the US. I had the pprivilegeof being responsible for everyone on the plane in case of an emergency, something I was thrilled about, but I'm sure if the rest of the passengers were better acquainted with me, they would be mortally terrified. But, hey, I'm still here writing this for your entertainment and my memories, so apparently everything went fine.

'Dat leg room...

 I finally realized that I was going back to the west when I saw a cruise ship in the Mediterranean out of the window. The European tourist expeditions finally weren't playing into orientalist, exotic wanderlusts.

It was a new world when I finally got off the plane. We actually had a little bridge thingy leading to the airport rather than walking straight out onto the runway, because that happens even if you aren't the President of Secretary of State in other parts of the world-shocker to me when I had initially landed in Casablanca back in August. We hailed a cab, which was much easier than I thought it would be-of course, probably because I have been doing it in Morocco for so long, where you have to negotiate prices and try communicating in three broken languages. Luckily, these driver knew enough English and had a GPS to get us as close to our apartment as possible.

We had rented an apartment in the Gothic Quarter of Barcelona from a quaint little service called AirBnB, which I would suggest to anyone planning on traveling. We were suppose to meet the guy's friend, Gina, who we had to wait for and call Juan-Pablo (the dude with the apartment). But when we finally got in, it seemed like the perfect place to stay in Barcelona. There was only a slight problem with working the lock once, but besides that, perfect. It was tucked back in some back streets, and had balconies throughout the apartment, giving a modern day view of life set in old world architecture. Literally, my natural habitat. I know, my natural habitat is actually SWVA, but let's not be too technical here, perhaps in a past life...

I also apologize in advance for the  pictures. I am a complete spaz sometimes, and was looking forward to such a wonderful weekend that I completely forgot to pack my normal camera lens and SD card, so I was forced to resort to my iPhone for pictures...

Anyway, we eventually left for the Hard Rock, and I had the best meal of my life. It was great to finally be back in the west. It may have been so good because all I had since the night before was my cup of qahwa at the airport,  and I was starving. After having my first bacon in over a month and three very strong mini margaritas (to support breast cancer research, of course), we made our way to the H&M on Las Ramblas because my motto is that it is impossible to go to Europe without going to at least one. If you have, it doesn't really count.

Continuing down the street, we came across La Bouqeria, the oldest open air market in Barcelona, and one of the oldest in Europe. Since it was kind of late, there wasn't much left, plus I had just gorged myself at Hard Rock. I really don't think anyone can beat that little bit of western indulgence after being out of the US for a month-if you're ever feeling homesick abroad, just hit one up. You'll feel like a tourist, but overly satisfied afterward. We decided to go back the next morning, and cut over onto a side street, planning just to explore on the way back to Juan-Pablo's. However, we ended up in a cute little square, which was filled with old Europeans on holiday. We saw a line for a flamenco show that we decided to go to, but the show we could get into wouldn't be for another hour, so we swung back around the corner and got gelato because we were out of Ifrane, off of AUI, and needed to indulge our food poisoned systems. Then, we sat down at a sidewalk cafe and ordered our first Spanish sangrias, where my friend got an extra, free shot of vermouth in her churros con chocolate. How can you hate a place that just throws some free alcohol into your cup of melted chocolate?

The flamenco was cool, but definitely a tourist trap. I was pretty sure that at a couple of points, the performers weren't even saying words, just mumbling. But the dancer was amazing. The show couldn't have lasted more than 30 or 45 minutes, but I was definitely glad that I got to experience it.

That was about it for the night besides scoping out more of the city's side streets on the way back to the apartment. Just about half an afternoon and one night in, and I had already fallen in love with Barcelona. It reminded me of so many different European cities I have been to, and would for the next couple of days. Too bad I don't speak Spanish or Catalan... However, I did get to experience just a little bit of what I'm sure will come full force in December when I go back to America for a few weeks before heading back to Europe: reverse culture shock. I've already been warned by Roanoke as well as ISEP to expect this upon going back home, but I really didn't expect it. I guess it's because when I have been abroad before, it has only been for 3 weeks at a time, and in largely westernized areas, even Central Europe. But I was shocked by the old world, gothic style of the city, the people, the free-flowing alcohol, couples on the corner making out, etc. Things that I hadn't been accustomed to for about a month. Not that I am upset or don't like Morocco, I really love it, and know I will miss it, but it was nice to experience the west for just a weekend. Anyway, my sappy sentiments will be saved for another blog closer to Thanksgiving or leaving Morocco...


The next morning, the plan was to have some more western indulgence, and hit up a Starbucks. Sadly, there weren't any PSLs (Pumpkin Spice Lattes for anyone who has been living under a huge pile of fallen leaves in America for the last few autumns), but I GOT A BAGEL. It was magical, and I don't want to relive it because it will make me sad in bagel-lacking Ifrane... But here's a picture because I am basic and Instagram my #Starbs.

 We went back to La Boqueria to explore and get wonderful, colorful pictures. I also learned that despite flying up to Barcelona, we had failed to escape the sheep slaughter of Eid, and saw multiple sheep heads-something living on a farm hadn't even fully prepared me for. But luckily, you can get that gruesome image out of your head, and enjoy some of these beautiful treats found in La Boqueria!

Afterwards, we did some shopping in the square where we were hanging out before the flamenco the night before. I indulfed on some headbands, because that's what Emily does. Then, we went back to the apartment for lunch before heading out to see the major sites of the city. First on the stop after conquering the metro system was Parc Guell, the park designed by the famous Gaudi, where after ascending to heaven, and a couple stops in purgatory on the way, we got to take in the whole city, overlooking the Mediterranean, obviously reminding me of Sacre Couer in Paris after winding the streets to get to the entrance transported me back to Vienna this summer.

Rooney enjoyed the view too

I also learned that barcelona is pretty annoying with tickets and time slots, and we couldn't get in to see the mosaics at the park for another two hours, so we decided to go back the next day bright and early to take in Gaudi's unique taste in architecture, although we still got to see some pretty amazing aspects of the park without forking over some euros. 

Next, we went to La Sagrada Familia, but once again, we were going to have to wait in line for awhile to get tickets, and then be rushed through the church, so we decided to get tickets for the next day. Afterwards, we really didn't have any plans besides paella for dinner and obviously, sangria. So, we just walked around the neighborhood and came across the Passeig de Gracia, where another one of Gaudi's projects is located, the Batllo House. unfortunately, the outside was being reconstructed, but they had the awesome, fake outside covers up to give the illussion we were actually looking at it. Since there really weren't any other plans for the day, we decided to go in, a pricy tour of twenty euros, but it was definitely worth it just for the view at the top. Since it was late in the day, we had a gorgeous view of the sunset splashed behind the urban city rooftops. I could have spent the rest of the time up on the roof looking over the city until I got kicked out, but I am glad I went downstairs to see the rest of the home, as I felt like I had stepped back in time. Of course everything is atypical to the era because it's Gaudi, but I felt like I should be sipping martinis with the Crawleys during the 1920s. 

Since it was dark by the time we got out of the house, we decided it was time for dinner, so we took a metro over to the Mediterranean and found one of the many restaurants promising authentic Spanish food to tourists. After devouring some paella and tapas, which were too good to apparently take a picture of, we decided to check out a carnival on the boardwalk. Despite Ellen's valiant attempts to get us to go on a ride, which I would've been game for in the US, we settled on a Ferris wheel that gave its riders views of the city like we had at Parc Guell, but at night. When I looked behind me over the Mediterranean, there were a few yachts docked in the bay-something not particularly exciting, but definitely not something you can see everyday. 

When we returned back to stable Spanish ground, we made our way over to the beach, where there were numerous juveniles hanging out being stupid teenagers and clouds of smoke from the weed. There was also some kind of rap concert going on, but I needed to stick my feet in the sea, so it was all ignored. Although it was completely dark, and I'm sure much more beautiful during the daylight, it was definitely a moment I'll never forget. After the sand of our feet for one last time, my friends and I went to wait by the restrooms for another friend when we were obviously approached for rolling papers. Why else would a bunch of American girls be at the beach at ten o'clock? Finally, our friend came back, and we made our way to the apartment to get ready to go out for the night. However, the day had taken a lot out of us, so we only stopped by one bar, but the discussion was nonetheless special. On the way home, we stopped at an Asian restaurant and got a late night meal, kind of like a Chipotle style carry-out, called Walk to Wok. My second day in Barcelona was just as wonderful as the evening before, and I was super excited for the next day. I was going to see more of the city, visit perhaps the most photographed spot in Barcelona, and visit a unique European cathedral (I have been to way too many churches in Europe...) It was going to be perfect.

**WARNING: EMILY RELIVES A REALLY TRAUMATIZING EXPERIENCE**

SO... I wake up the next day with a minor headache and my stomach a little bit upset. Just thinking it is side effects still from Friday's Hard Rock or even from my last meal at AUI. As it's no secret that I've been having the usual food poisoning that comes with living in a new area (or for that matter just eating at AUI) for about a month at this point, I didn't think anything about it, as mostly everyone has been sick, especially at this time. I get ready, and we leave as planned. As much as I wanted to join in on conversation all the way to our metro stop, my heart just wasn't in it, and I remained quiet. We got on our bus to Parc Guell to go see the mosaics more closely. What I can remember is that the bus was really crowded and I was getting warm. Before we could even get to the first stop, I felt that dreaded slosh in my stomach and immediately covered my mouth, sending fear into my friend, Ellen's face (poor thing was standing face to face with me, and remember the bus is crowded). Somehow, I made it out of the bus before vomming everywhere. Literally, puking is my least favorite thing ever. I hate it. I hate myself when I'm doing it. I will let you puke your guts out in order to avoid it at all costs. AND I"M IN BARCELONA! 

After it happened, I was obviously embarrassed, but accepted it happened, and felt better, so we caught another bus up to Parc Guell to see the mosaics. I was good for awhile, even took a couple of pictures, but I was feeling much like I had earlier in the morning when I just couldn't bring myself to converse with everyone, so I sat on the bench a lot. Isn't that what you're suppose to do at Park Guell anyway?

 We left the mosaic terrace and made our way down to the forest of pillars, where my body caught up to my personality, and I had to sit down. As I was sitting there, I started crying because I was so frustrated that I was feeling horrible in such a beautiful city, and it was just ruining the day. Of course, I was being kind of ridiculous, but I just wanted to enjoy the day, and my archenemy, vomming, was ruining it for me. As I was sitting there, my wonderful friends decided to take pictures of me, which I'm glad they did to help me remember the beautiful, glamorous moment I was in. Ellen, the nurse, also came and sat with me. She's actually a saint and can deal with puke (as well as moody Emily pissed off about not being able to be a tourist) a lot more than I could ever hope to. She told me basically to suck it up, but in a much nicer way, and as I was feeling better about my situation, we were going to get up to go see the rest of the park.

"The faces of theater" She actually punched me really hard and told me unicorns don't exist.

I'm obviously such a happy individual

But, my body became immobile, and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't move and told her I could not stand up. Accepting this, she sat back down, and about a minute later the horrible slosh came back. Luckily, I could just lean over the side and vomm, since I was already off to the side. I still bet I am in countless photo albums on coffee tables and several tweets... But hey, can you say that you vommed all over Barf-elona? I'm sure Gaudi wasn't planning on that...

I was even more frustrated with myself, and Allison and Ellen had already told me it would be a good idea to go home instead of going to La Sagrada Familia. BUT I REALLY WANTED TO SEE IT!! I was so mad at myself, but of course, thankful for such caring friends. Since the metro was kind of far, and the first bus didn't end so well, Allison decided to take a taxi with me to the metro station while the others walked. I was confident that I could hold myself together for the cathedral, but when we got to the metro and walked over to some benches, it took all I had to keep whatever was left in me down. After some deep soul searching and talks with myself, I decided it would be best for me to go back and sleep so I wouldn't get more sick and dehydrated, and I wouldn't hold everyone else back. Allison said she would take me home, which she and Ellen did although I was worried about keeping it together on the metro. Somehow, we got back to the apartment, I can't really remember, but my wonderful friends set me up in my bed with fans blowing on me, opened the doors, ran to the store to get the only thing that makes me feel better in that situation: peppermint tea, and gave me their iPad passwords in case I got bored. Of course, I didn't and slept for who knows how long. I'm still really upset that I missed the cathedral, but now I have a reason to go back to Barcelona!

When everyone got back, we went our separate ways again. Allison, Ellen, and I tried to go to the Picasso Museum, but it closed while we were waiting in line. As they went to get churros, I was feeling sick again,so they were the wonderful caretakers they were before, and took me home, leaving me on the couch, where they would find me later.

When everyone got back, I was feeling slightly better, and we wanted to try a cute restaurant Allison and Ellen found. Of course since I was having a rather difficult day, I wanted to feel better, so I went to work on my appearance, probably a little bit too much for the occasion, but I wanted to go out with a bang for our last night in Barcelona. We went to the restaurant, which looked like an old wine cellar and had delicious food that made me never want to leave Spain (especially not to go back to AUI food). Even feeling iff-y all day, I still finished all of my spinach ravioli and sangria.

It has a flower. How can it not be good?

The last dinner was perfect to finish the trip with, and I'm so glad I felt a little better

The next day, we had our flight to catch back to Morocco, and it was all bitter sweet. We had to leave our beloved Barcelona, the west we were raised in, and the flowing sangria, but we got to come back to a beautiful campus, a much cheaper cost of living (giving my bank account a breather), and two days for me to recover from my little bout of food poisoning. I think I'm going to blame Walk to Wok... Which is probably an important lesson. Although I got to spend the weekend in a beautiful city in a culture much closer to the one that I grew up in, things still didn't go as planned, actually, I hated it (just one part). Reminding me of a quotation I'm sure I've already shared:

"You will never be completely at home again, because part of your heart will always be elsewhere, That is the price you pay for the richness of loving and knowing people in more than one place."

Bin El Oui-Dam That's a Steep Hill With a lot of Rocks... (Get it? Because the lake is actually a dam..)

Hello,blog-a-verse. It's been way too long, as the excitement of going to Spain, food poisoning, midterms, and now perhaps the harshest sinus infection I've ever had all took advantage of my expertise in procrastinating. Before I recount my amzaing weekend in Spain, I just want to make a short note on my wonderful weekend at Bin El Ouidane a few weekends ago. Mostly to crop some pictures together and brag about the miniature Grand Canyon I got to visit while I was there.

As anyone may imagine, traveling in another country is amazing! I really can't explain how much I love this experience solely for the opportunity it has given me to see and do so much. However, there are also downsides with this. Questions like: "How much is the cab driver going to try to charge me for this ride simply because he can tell I'm not Moroccan," or "Where is [insert huge attraction all tourists want to see]?" There are also a lot of concerns in traveling like, are we definitely going to make it to the train station on time, where should we stay, what will we eat? So, when there is a trip scheduled where I have to do minimal planning such as what am I packing to wear for the weekend, I take the opportunity to let my wanderlust soar with little concern for details. That's why I decided to go on the Bin El Ouidane trip. We would be staying at a five-star resort, hiking, having meals, visiting an amazigh village to have tea and bread all for around $120. Try to find an experience like that in America for that price.

So scooping up the great deal, I got really excited to leave AUI for the entire weekend instead of just a day, and boarded a bus headed for Bin El Ouidane on a Friday afternoon. After several stops to get out and stretch, because charter buses don't offer that much leg room in Morocco as in America, and around four hours of riding through the Moroccan countryside, which is probably the most diverse place I've ever seen, we finally came to the base of a mountain, that our bus made calculated turns up in the dark. It's probably good that it was nighttime and I was distracted trying to figure out what a random string of lights trailing down the mountain was. FYI, it was a water line leading to a power factory, which I should not have been so fascinated by. Eventually, we made our way over the mountain, and to our resort, where dinner was waiting for us since we were about an hour and a half late (right on time for Morocco!).

After dinner, I was so exhausted, I just wanted to go to my room and sleep for hours. Of course, not being in America means that dinner is much later,and I didn't crawl into my bed until around 1:30. Luckily, I had a huge, fluffy white blanket I threatened to bring back to AUI all weekend.

The next day, we were suppose to meet for a hike, but being in Morocco, the meeting was much later than planned, so I spent time taking pictures of the resort because I'm artsy.

 Finally, we went down to the lake, and got on our boat for the day. It was kind of hazy starting off, but it made for wonderful pictures, nonetheless.

Then, our boat entered a cove, pulled up next to this wall of rocks, and everyone started to get off the boat. I looked up at the wall of rocks and back at my friend, and said, "Is this the 'casual, light, relaxing walk' they were talking about?" Having no idea what was happening, I walked off the small ramp, probably about six inches wide, and landed on slippery rocks. Knowing I had tomove, I tried finding the best path to climb up the wall without falling, cutting myself, and sliding all the way down into the lake, as everyone else was also having trouble.

 I embraced my inner mountain goat, and remembered everything I had ever learned about walking on the sides of hills from hiking in Yellowstone, the Smokies, and just throughout Appalachia in general. As I got to near the top, making room for everyone else getting off the boat, I looked back down and was impressed with how far up I actually went. At this point, I thought maybe this was just a photo opp, as there was no way that anyone was walking all the way up (look at the picture above). And I was right! Partially... We didn't walk up the side of the rocky hill, but on it, so going right in the picture above. It took a lot of planning-making sure to put your feet in the right place, etc. The whole time, I was having flashbacks of the Hobbit when the crew is walking through the mountains, and then all of the sudden they come alive and begin throwing boulders at each other. That was me. I was Bilbo, and I was sure at any moment, I was going to slip and fall, rolling all the way down the side of the hill, and into the lake.

After conquring the side of the hill, we came to a much easier path, that wound through a small valley, and up a hill to the house we were meeting at to have tea and bread.

The tea was served in these beautiful little glasses, in the typical Moroccan style. You have to take the tea pot, and raise it pretty high in order to get the bubbles on top. The Moroccan students we were with told us while we were admiring their skill of actually making it into the glass (as I would miserably poor it all over the table, try to correct it, pour it in someone's lap, then just drop the pot all together, splashing tea all over the room and soaking my feet) that generally, if there aren't bubbles on top, people will pour the tea back into the pot and pour it themselves again. Bubbles are important. But really, I love these glasses, and I will be more upset with myself than anything if I do not get a set before I leave.

 Behind the home where we had our tea and bread was this beautiful view and some ruins of other buildings. No idea what they were. But the views were mesmerizing nonetheless.

This view reminded me so much of the Breaks. I find it so interesting how I can travel to so many different places, and still be pulled back to places I've been before. It kind of makes me feel at home although I'm far away. Like the road that we took to get up to our resort reminded me of Twelve O'Clock knob, and I could just imagine myself thinking about going over the edge the entire time, thinking back to the night I thoughtlessly went up there while it was super foggy and hated my judgement more and more with every turn.

After scaling the rock hill again, where I got two beautiful gashes on the back of my heels from stepping on rocks that dug into my skin (I haven't had the best luck with footwear, and definitely need a pedicure), we got back on the boat. We exited the quaint little cove, and made our way to an island, where tables had been set up for us, and food was being grilled.

While we were eating, one of the many stray dogs I've seen in Morocco came over to where we were sitting. Obviously, this dog had been mistreated by people before, probably hit or shooed away after being found trying to get whatever scraps of food it could find at nearby homes. We would give it food that it would devour immediately, but would run away each time we got close to it. It reminded me so much of my little cousin's dog, Sophie (or Sophia or Sophina, depending on what day it is and what Kara's story for naming the dog is).

After lunch, we headed back to the resort, where we had free time until dinner much later that night. To occupy the time, I decided to go swimming, again without a swimsuit, because I'm an idiot and left mine in America... So here's a picture of me being super cute with my Moroccan besties:

Aren't we adorbs?

This picture depicts what the resort was like a little better. It's the area between the rooms. Walking out into this little garden made it seem so exotic, just what you would expect in Morocco.

Later in the evening, we also had an amazigh band perform traditional Berber songs for us. We were all forced to dance pretty much, until they started getting more into the performance and were putting on a show kind of, which was really confusing for all of the English speakers. Later during dinner, they also crashed the meal to play, where it got really noisy very quickly.

After dinner, which was a very loose interpretation of a buffet, where you shoved everyone to get the food you wanted, some other Americans and I piled into a room and made a huge cuddle puddle to watch Divergent, which I assume made theater debuts while I was in Slovakia, because I didn't even realize it was a thing. 

The next morning, we went to a waterfall, which is apparently a pretty big tourist attraction. I didn't understand, because it kind of just looked like a man-made fountain, but hey, it was pretty cool. I got to see a guy with a pet monkey and I wasn't forced onto a horse, so that was new.

And because these are just pretty awesome pictures that don't really have a story:

This is the road that reminded me of Twelve O'Clock. Just kind of felt like I should be gripping onto my seat more tightly and yelling at Kyle...

FYI, that's the water pipe that wasn't going to give me any sleep until I found out what it was