i rode in a horse cart again. yes, again.

Day Two.

We went to breakfast around 9. The only hiccup at breakfast was a lack of communication between our waiter and us, which could have been written off as poor language skills. However, many of the girls felt that this "miscommunication" was a recurring event here in Morocco - as women we have often found that we are given sub-par service at restaurants (when we order food they'll bring us out something else and inform us after the fact that they didn't have what we ordered) and when getting taxis (which is next to impossible for whatever reason). So we set off for Paradise Beach a little grumpily.

And then the walk to the beach was a two hour endeavor. In summation: it was long and hot. The end.

The beach was as beautiful as before, even if there were a few more Spanish tourists there. We sunbathed and read our massive homework assignment for sociology: an article all about Morocco, and I do mean ALL about Morocco. Around 2, two of the girls went to find their taxi, which had come to the beach to pick them up; they told me, Elaine and Katie that they would ask the taxi to come back and pick us up at 3.

At around 2:50, the three of us started walking up the hill that ran along one edge of the beach to meet our taxi. We weren't sure where he would pick us up but saw our friend's footmarks in the sand stop a little ways up the hill, so we figured we'd walk a little further and wait for the taxi in the small bit of shade we could find. We sat down and waited for a good 30 minutes. During that time, the youngest cousin on the horse-cart from the night before passed us again, this time with a mule attached to a cart ladden with horse feed. He asked us if we wanted a ride, but the poor mule looked like he was having a really hard time of it, so we told him that we were fine with walking and he went on his way. When we finally admitted to ourselves that the taxi simply wasn't going to come for us, Katie pulled out three energy bars (claiming that we had a LONG walk ahead of us a very little sustenance to make it - really it wasn't that dramatic) and we ate them before heading off along the sand path through the fields to Asilah. The walk was very hot and very dry, and we were a bit loopy by the time we reached the main road. And who should we see riding back to us but little cousin and his empty mule cart. He had come back to give us a ride. We nearly cried when we saw him. We hopped into his cart, and he drove us back to the city, jabbering uselessly at us in dereeja because he didn't know Spanish, unlike his cousins. We nodded and smiled and pretended like we had a clue what he was saying, because he was so nice in giving us a ride.

When we made it back to the hotel, we managed to relax for a while before heading off to dinner - seafood again. Very good seafood, as well. And very much still alive. The plate that they brought out to show us was ladden with lobsters that were still twitching at us. It was relatively un-nerving. After dinner we went back to the hotel and looked at the stars, which still twinkled in a familiar northern pattern, even if we were on another continent.

Day Three:

The next morning we packed up our stuff, checked out of our hotel, and walked to find a breakfast of cheese omlettes, chocolate filled croissants and cafe ole. After breakfast we caught a taxi to the train station and got onto the train, which had the worst air circulation of any mode of transporation I have yet to have the misfortune of being on. By the time the train pulled into the train station at Fes, we were all dripping sweat and desperate to breathe fresh air again. I have no possible clue how the women who were wearing jilabas and head scarves didn't faint dead away. There are some hardy women here in Morocco.

I heard it's snowing in Minnesota. That is really, really sad. It's super hot here, which I'm not so sure I prefer to the snow. I'd like a happy medium for us all.

Stay well!