Morocco Days 3-4: The Sahara Desert

Coming from a small town in Pennsylvania, I think my expectations of the desert were as low as they could possibly be. I expected sand to be everywhere (which it was), scorpions (really I don't know why this was the animal I was most afraid of, but thankfully there weren't any), cactuses (there was barely any vegetation at all, let alone tall cactuses), and unbearable heat and humidity (it was bearable). Really the two days that we spent in the desert were my two favorite days of my entire semester abroad.

We left the hotel in Fes very early in the morning and spent nearly the entire day in the bus driving to the desert. I didn't mind this though- this might sound really stupid but I've always wondered when deserts started. Like when did the green stop and the sand start? It sounds like such a simple question but really it has puzzled me for the longest time, and through the six hours that it took us to arrive in the desert I was able to understand that the change is extremely gradual. Sometimes I thought "oh wow I'm definitely in the desert now" only to round a corner and be faced with lots of low shrubbery. The landscape changed slowly from lush field and rolling hills, to a rocky desert sort of like Arizona in the US, and eventually to the leaping sand dunes that one pictures when thinking of the Sahara desert.

We stopped for lunch in one of the coolest places I've ever been- the Ziz Oasis. In the English language I feel like the term "oasis" is used more as a figure of speech than anything, but this was a true oasis. In the middle of sand and stone and heat and nothingness, there was suddenly a ravine filled with palm trees and other trees and shrubs of the most rich deep green. It's so curious how these things naturally occur, but really that's what makes them so fascinating to experience in person.

After the long drive, we had about another hour and a half drive in Jeep 4x4s across the desert, which was one of the coolest things I've ever done. It was so exhilarating to have the feeling of flying across the open landscape with no set road to follow, even if I was crammed against the very back window in a Jeep with seven other people in it and a driver who spoke no language that the rest of us did. Thankfully enthusiasm has no language barrier, and he sped up and dodged around the other Jeeps as we cheered him on and pushed him to be the first Jeep. The first Jeep to where? We weren't quite sure, but that was okay. We were in the Sahara, and there was nothing in our way.

All the Jeeps pulled up next to one another in a straight line, and we thought for sure that they were lining up for an official drag race (is that the right word?) but we were wrong. As it turned out, the drivers stopped for our benefit and it was even better than a drag race. Our drivers stopped so that we could fully experience and appreciate our first Sahara desert sunset.

Our camp consisted of a bunch of low-ceilinged tents that wrapped around to create a square of sand in the middle. Inside the tents were rows of mattresses on the ground with sheets and blankets, which is where we slept. The beds were actually quite comfortable, however everything was absolutely covered in sand. Even while we were sleeping the sand would blow in through the doors and across our faces and into our sheets. Outside of the square created by our sleeping tents was a large open tent where we ate our meals and hung out during our free time Monday afternoon. There were also stalls for bathrooms, but they didn't work well, and we were encouraged to rather "find our favorite dune" instead of use these bathrooms. 

The next day was the absolute best of our trip- the day that we finally got to ride our camels. The camels were tied together in a lines each consisting of about six camels. We were led by guides about an hour through the rolling sand dunes that compose the Sahara landscape. When I studied in Chile, I was lucky enough to ride a horse for the first time, and I had the crazy idea that riding this camel would be a similar experience. Little did I know how wrong I would be. See camels have this inconvenient hump, and that combined with their awkwardly bendy legs creates a rocking effect worse than a little rowboat in a sea storm. 

We walked our camels to the largest sand dune in the desert for as far as we could see- this thing was absolutely massive. I can't even begin to imagine how tall it was. There were a bunch of little Moroccan boys playing at the top, and our guides encouraged us to scale the mountainous sand dune for the view from the top. Never in my life did I actually think that I would be transformed into SpiderMan for a few minutes, but that's exactly how I felt. The sand dune was almost exactly vertical, and we crawled up it on our hands and knees. If I thought going up was bad, I was absolutely terrified when it came time to slide down again. 

Mounting our camels again, we headed towards the only "town" that was even remotely close to our desert location. The town was literally mud huts, one store, and a hotel. I'm not sure of the sanity of the owners of the hotel- maybe being so alone in the desert for so long and inhaling too much sand has affected them over the years, but for some reason they thought it was a good idea to open their hotel pool to 40 crazy college students who had just been on an hour-long camel ride through the Sahara. But I am so thankful that they did- submerging myself into the pool was the closest thing I had to a shower in the Sahara, and it was soo good to get as much sand off my body as possible and just find an escape from the heat! Of course none of us had swim suits so we all just went in our underwear, but when you spend that much time in the desert with a group of people modesty isn't really a concern.

We spent the afternoon in the shelter of the main tent at our camp- while the morning sun in the desert was perfectly bearable because of the constant breeze, from about 3pm until 5pm the heat was truly awful. There wasn't really a whole lot of humidity, just heat. And a lot of it. The workers at our camp had their time off too, and we spent it with them learning to play the drums and belly dance, and in turn teaching them various card games. Later that night there was an entire local band and we all had a huge dance party after dinner!

The desert experience was truly what made this trip so amazing- how often do you get the chance to spend two glorious days in such a harsh landscape and bond with locals? It truly made me realize that the world is at my feet. While I have loved every trip that I have taken during my time in Europe, spending time in Morocco made me wish that I had taken another adventure trip. I think that if I study abroad again, my focus will definitely be more on adventure. 

Hasta Luego, Sevilla

The worst thing about emotions is trying to label something that can't be written down. Words liberate yet pin things down at the same time. No one will ever be able to fully understand what it feels like to walk past Plaza de España every day on my way to school and be overwhelmed by its impressive beauty, and then to pass by it today knowing it could be the last time I ever see it except in my photographs. The panic sets in- why didn't I spend more time trying to take the perfect photo of Plaza de España? I walked down a street in Plaza Nueva- why didn't I ever stop in that little hole in the wall shop before? I went with a girl in my program to the University of Sevilla clothing store, which it turns out is on a street I walk down at least once a week. Why haven't I noticed it before? What else haven't I taken the time to see?

Then I realize that what I have taken the time to do is absorb the energy emitted by the people and things around me. Maybe I haven't been to every little shop in Sevilla or eaten at every restaurant, but that really isn't the point of living or even visiting a place. Places are defined by their buildings and people and points of attraction, but what I will remember most about the places I've been is the atmosphere- how I felt while I was there. When I see pictures of Torre de Oro, I won't just think of Sevilla and the tower, I'll think how wonderful it felt each morning to walk across the bridge from Triana to the city and feel the sunlight splash across my body, see the kayakers doing their morning routines on the river, and the palm trees waving to me. I've been happy in Sevilla, and no hole in the wall shop would have made me feel that my time was better spent. 

Spaniards have a habit of never saying "adios"- instead they say "hasta luego" which means "until later." Good byes have always been my least favorite thing in the entire world- even lower on my list of dislikes than trying new foods and cold weather. If you never say an official good bye to someone, it's like you've left the door open. You haven't put a beginning and ending on your time with someone. It's the same with places. I didn't go anywhere today specifically knowing it was the last time I would go there. Yes, I went to school knowing it was the last time, and same with Plaza de España, but I didn't go to my favorite spot in the park today to say goodbye. Because I now, when I think about that spot, I will think of all the times I ran there and stood for a few minutes to catch my breath, thinking about how I was one of the luckiest people in the world to be in that spot. There was only happiness there, not the sadness of goodbyes. Goodbyes are obligatory when dealing with people, but I'll admit that I tried to slip out of school today without saying goodbye to people I didn't directly run in to. With Sevilla, I like to think that it really is "until next time." I like to think that I'll be back sometime in the future. I'd like to bring my future husband and children here someday, so that they can see the place that has had such an impact on the person I've become and understand the things that I talk about. But the scariest thing about travel and the future is its uncertainty, and I know that that dream could never come true. I could never walk the streets of Sevilla again. If I never come back, will I be happy with the time I've spent here? The answer is definitely yes. Sevilla won't hold a piece of my heart here in Spain, meaning I'm not leaving a part of me behind. Instead, I'm taking a piece of Sevilla back home with me. I'm leaving the most beautiful city in the world fuller because of the experiences that I've had here. Although I'm definitely sad to have to leave, I know that I'm better off because I came here. I think that's why I don't mind the sadness right now- the sorrow just proves even further that I've been happier than I ever could have imagined I could be, and there's absolutely nothing to regret about that. 

Semana Santa

Our trip to Morocco with ISA was planned to take place during our spring break- Semana Santa. Here in Spain Easter isn't really a big deal, but Semana Santa (Holy Week) or the week leading up to Easter is a huge deal. During this week most businesses are closed, except for restaurants and souvenir shops, and many sections of the streets are blocked off as processions pass through them. All the churches in Spain have huge statues of the Virgin Mary and Christ, and during Semana Santa each church organizes a group of men to carry these statues through the streets, into the cathedral, and then back to the church where it came from. Sevilla, as it turns out, has the largest Semana Santa celebration in Spain! I was excited to come home from Morocco to experience the craziness.

The statues of the Virgin Mary and Christ are around 20 feet long by ten feet tall by ten feet across, so these are very large statues. They weigh as much as seven or eight tons and are carried on the shoulders of twenty to thirty men who walk together underneath the statues. The entire procession, from church to cathedral and back again, can take up to 12 hours. Usually they start mid-afternoon or evening and continue through the night and into the next morning. The statues are proceeded and followed by crowds of members of the church's congregation dressed in robes and tall pointed hats that remind Americans of the KKK. There is no correlation between the similarities of the two, however it must be recognized that the Semana Santa costumes came before those of the KKK. The statues are carried as a sign of recognizing the burden of the cross that Christ carried himself during Semana Santa, and is considered a great honor. It also takes a great amount of teamwork in order for all the men to walk together to carry the statue, and they practice for a month or more before Semana Santa. The costumes worn by the walkers in the processions are also a sign of penitence. They walk all through the night with the statues and cover themselves because the point is not to be recognized by the crowds for the pain and effort of walking all night, but rather that God knows who they are and what they are doing. 

Some people in Sevilla like the processions, some don't. Our host grandson who is three years old absolutely loves Semana Santa, but I've found that most native Sevillians find the processions inconvenient. Their usual routes to places that they frequently go in their city are blocked off and they're forced to take 15 to 20 minute detours. Also there is a lot of noise in the streets as bands often accompany the statues through their routes. The city is crowded with tourists, and people come from all over to see the grandeur in Sevilla. 

We are fortunate to live on a main street in our neighborhood of Triana, and Friday morning a procession passed right by our apartment building. Maria's brother and his wife live just three buildings down the street from us and have a balcony that overlooks the street. They invited us over to enjoy the procession without needing to be in the crowded street. We had a lovely morning with them, as Maria's sister-in-law plied us with shots of deliciously sweet whiskey (even though it was only 11 am, I've gotten the impression that nothing really matters during Semana Santa) and homemade sweets made from watermelon and anise (black licorice flavor). Maria's sister-in-law is a painter, and her beautiful apartment was filled with her works of art, many of which I recognized as being depictions of popular landmarks in Sevilla. Maria's brother, Jesus, is a poet, and he proudly showed us some of his leather-bound published books of poetry.

Saturday night Emily and I accompanied Maria to church. Her church doesn't have a service Easter morning, but instead the night before at 11 pm. The service itself lasted until 1:30 am, which I have to say is definitely too long for me to last in a church service, and we stayed in the church until nearly 3 am snacking on small pastries and drinking a warm chocolate drink. We talked with two of the alter servers which was a lot of fun, but Emily and I could not stop laughing and making jokes (I think we went a little crazy from sitting still for so long) and I think that we filled the stereotypes that many Spanish boys have of "crazy American girls."