Love and other drugs: Winter Break, part 1

I found myself growing anxious. I almost felt nauseous, and I was nervous in a strange way. The bus to the airport had not arrived yet, but I kept my focus on The Glass Castle to keep from staring at the clock that hangs over the bus stop.

After over four months of being apart, my Christopher Guevara was coming to visit me.

My heart skipped. I looked at the clock. I continued reading. My stomach turned.

The excitement of knowing he was coming had kept me up all night and now, along with having not slept, my stomach was doing backflips.

It was after 11 when the bus came. He was scheduled to land around 1.

Just as I got on and paid, I got a text.

''Cancelled! I will try to use a payfone as soon as I get to the front of this helpdesk line and they give me some info! Sorry, love!''

My heart sank. I sat on the bus, waiting. Helpless. I started trying to think of the name of the metro stop where the bus station was (Méndez Álvaro? Of the... circle line... what was the number...?), trying to put together detailed instructions, when my phone rang.

He got on another flight. It would land at 5.

I wasn't particularly fond of the idea of waiting in an airport for 6 hours without even needing to take a flight, but I was less fond of the idea of spending 6€ extra to go back to town and go back to the airport. I'd only gain an hour or so anyway. So I stayed put on the bus. And I waited.

My stomach calmed down and I bought a sandwich. I stared out the window and read. I'd waited longer in the past. 6 hours wasn't too bad. And I had a book.

I watched other families say their goodbyes and their hellos. I wondered what ours would be like. It was a little unreal, and I couldn't believe he was coming.

I stared at the arrivals board. It was approaching 4 p.m. My heart skipped.

Then I saw the arrivals board change. Next to Chris's flight was the one word I was dreading. DELAYED.

I wanted to cry. The expected landing time was around 6.

I flopped into a chair, defeated, and continued reading.

But when I checked the arrivals board again, the flight was now scheduled to land at 5:25. Still a delay. But I'd take 25 minutes over 55 minutes anyday.

I felt overwhelmed. I wanted to cry and scream and cheer and run and throw up... All at the same time.

I stood at the window for about 10 mintues until I saw his plane landing.

I watched him get off and walk across the blacktop towards the airport.

I waved. He smiled and waved back.

Yes! He saw me!

I felt tears welling up in my eyes, but I ignored them as I RAN to the other side of the airport. Towards arrivals.

Neither of us could cross the line into or out of the baggage claim, since he didn't have his luggage and being in the carossel room without waiting for your own personal luggage was forbidden, but we stood at the line and stared.

We kissed through the door.

He went to wait for his luggage and I waited on the other side of the door oh so very impatiently.

His luggage didn't come. We had to go tell the people at the information desk.

By the time we had finished, the bus had already left and it would be another hour or so before the next one came.

We didn't care. We were finally together. We talked about nothing and everything. We kissed. It was so strange having him there, as though he had never not been there, but it had been so long...

It was magical and surreal. I love him so much.

We spent the first week of his visit in Granada. Naturally, I simply HAD to bring him to the Alhambra. Since I don't have class on Tuesday, we made a day of it. We packed ourselves a picnic lunch of salami and cheese sandwiches and fruit and went up to the carmen that is right across from the Alhambra. I showed him my favorite views of Granada and told him a bit about whatever we saw. Whatever I could remember from our days in the ILP. It was so fun and so nice to spend the time with him. I had missed him so much.




And I was pleased to see that he also enjoyed the Alhambra. Not quite as much as I did when I first went. But it was still fun.

I wish he had had a better opportunity to meet my friends and stuff here, but unfortunately we had just four days before we were off to London!

The flight there was no problem. We bought our tickets for the train to Liverpool Station in central London and we were off.

Or so we thought.

See, we made it to the airport just around 11pm or so. Which meant that we made it in time for the last train to Liverpool, but when we got to Liverpool, the underground had just closed.

Our directions from Liverpool required the underground. We had other directions, but we had to be across town for them to make sense.

We were stuck. It was the middle of the night. And it was COLD.

By 4 a.m., nearly frozen through, we found our hostel. We had been outside in freezing temperatures for over four hours. But we had made it. We collapsed in our beds and laid there shivvering. Somehow, I managed to fall asleep. It was not long enough before my alarm went off for check out.

We had only gotten this hostel for one night since it was a little pricy. We had to book another that morning. So we booked and got on the underground (after buying our Oyster cards!) and checked into our new hostel. It was out of town, but it had a functioning kitchen and great breakfast and was cheap.

We hung out in the hostel for a couple of hours resting up and dreading the cold and the snow after the night before.

Luckily we were indoors during the storm.

I had never seen so much snow fall in my life. It was amazing and beautiful and it really felt like Christmas.

However, it practically shut London down. We were stuck in the hostel until about 6 at night, when it had definitely grown dark, and then we just got on a double decker bus to see the town from up top.

We just happened to get on a bus that brought us down the very Christmas-y Oxford street.



The next day, the tube was running, but with delays and such. So we used the tube to get into town and tried to stick to buses to get around town.

We saw all the sights, of course.








We made a squirrel friend, thanks to a nearby photographer who was giving them food (they thought we'd be so kind...).

We were silly.



We kept each other warm.

And overall, just enjoyed one another's company.

We also went to the London Transport Museum, which was fun in its own way.

And we ate fish and chips... London was a great trip, but it inevitably had to come to an end.

Our flight to Amsterdam was to leave at 7 am, and it would take over an hour to get to the Stansted airport. Rather than pay for a hostel and catch a bus at 4 am, we opted to take a bus at 9 pm and spend the night in the airport, which wasn't too bad with some company. But it would have been better if we had gotten chairs. We spread our coats on the floor and snuggled until we were both half asleep, which was about as close to asleep as Chris got. I would fall asleep, but wake up every hour.

We had bought little apple turnovers for breakfast, and around 5ish, maybe sooner, I don't really remember, we decided to wake up a bit and eat them. Then we checked in with Easyjet and went through security.

We were able to board the plane on time, but once we were on, we were delayed an hour. We were expecting as much. According to the daily newspapers (which are free in England. And in English. Which was awesome), the London airports had been backed up by three days worth of flights that never were. Stansted was the most operative, lucky for us, but we had been expecting our flight to be delayed. We watched the guys come out and de-ice the plane, which I thought was cool, but was kind of old news for Chris. I fell asleep somewhere in there. But I woke up for take-off, which I was glad for. Even though I know exactly what to expect, I still think it's fun.

It was only a 45 minute flight before we landed in Amsterdam. This time, we landed in the morning, so right as the day was starting, so naturally we had no trouble getting around town or to our hostel, although Chris was a little nervous about it. We had made it and checked in and took a bit of a nap before going outside.

In a word, Holland was COLD.




We had to get Chris a hat and scarf. He was freezing!

There were lots of swans and crooked houses.



I wondered if the swans would ever get stuck in the ice, but they seemed to be doing okay in the icy canals.

There was lots of cheese.

...and pancakes.


And, no offense to any Dutch people that may be reading this, but their language is funny.


...and their shoes.


We went to the Heineken brewery, just because.


WEWEREsterdam

And we saw two movies. On Christmas, we opted for Catfish, since it was in English and fit into our schedule, if we had one. Our last night, out of things to do, really, we found a theatre playing Little Fockers. It was nice to go on dates. And going to the movies is an American thing to do on Christmas, right?

Our Christmas dinner was pizza.

It was tasty, but I missed good ol' home cookin'. Our second hostel in Holland didn't have a kitchen, so we couldn't cook a feast for ourselves, which I was hoping to do.

We saw Anne Frank's house from the outside, but since we were over there on Christmas, decided not to go in. What a terrible time to be depressed. On our free walking tour, we found out that Amsterdam was the first location of a non-Jewish outward Nazi resistance. The whole idea that Amsterdam and it's laws work on is that if you're not hurting or dangerous to anyone, no matter who you are or what you stand for, you'll be accepted. So, the non-Jews saw what the Nazis were doing to them during some raid of the Jewish quarter and they stood up for them.

I think it's kind of sad that a place with such a remarkable history (which if you go back to the creation of Amsterdam, which should be underwater but isn't thanks to canals, the Dutch East India Trading Company, through their responses in WWII, to cheese and tulips and windmills, etc.) gets overshadowed by the fact that marijuana and prostitution are both legal. Once again, if you're not hurting or dangerous to anyone, your actions will probably be tolerated.

Our last day in Amsterdam we spent at the Science Center. Chris was like a kid in a candy store, and he was so excited to explain all the things he knew about the displays, what they were trying to show, how to work them, etc. It was nice because the signs were in Dutch. Chris was proud that he couldn't even cheat to explain them and that he really just knew it (such a dork)... but there usually was English available around the displays, just in a much less obvious spot than the Dutch. We watched a 3D movie about cells in Dutch. It was funny.

Chris put himself in a bubble.


And again, our days in Amsterdam drew to a close and we headed off to Madrid. We were landing fairly late, not so late as to worry about public transport, but late enough that we weren't going to want to take a bus right then to Granada, so we opted for a hostel for one night (one with breakfast, which we really missed at our second hostel in Holland) and to spend the day in Madrid.

We were both happy to be back in Spain. It was dry. It was warm. And everyone spoke Spanish, which is much easier to understand that Dutch.

We walked a LOT in Madrid. They have an effecient metro, but it's a bit pricy and we were feeling low on cash after the long trip. But we saw the changing of the Royal Guard.


I met Don Quixote.

Chris and I took a rowboat out on a monument in a park.


He even let me try... although I wasn't very good. We didn't really move. At all. But it was fun.

We ended our day with a hearty meal of, you guessed it, McDonald's. I swear, I see more of them in Europe than I do in the US. And we were hungry after all that walking and rowing.

Then we got our stuff from the hostel and headed to the bus station. 5 hours later, we had made it to Granada. We slept SO well after all that time in hostels with people coming in and out in the middle of the night.

We got some all-you-can-eat revolving Asian buffet for lunch the next day. We ate our hearts out. It was fun and delicious. I liked that it was revolving because with fresh plates being put on the belt, you weren't just taking from a big tub of whatever. There was sushi and noodles and cream puffs and all sorts of food. We ate until we struggled to stand. It was glorious.

Chris had a fun game on his computer. We played a lot.

We didn't sleep much.

We were in denial about the fact that he was going to leave. At least I was.

We spent New Years Eve together in my quiet apartment. We cooked a bit of dinner and got to talking about anything and everything and missed the countdown. We didn't do our 12 Spanish grapes. We then continued to talk and eat and play games until it was after 3 a.m. and we hadn't packed.

Realization caught up to me and I cried. Chris held me close and I didn't want him to ever let go. I could have sat like that forever... but we needed to pack. Chris had to pack all of his stuff. I had to prepare for my upcoming travels through Italy.

I pulled myself together. We packed and went outside.

We had to catch the bus that left it's original stop at 5:20 (our stop by 5:30) to make sure Chris had enough time to check in and stuff for his 7 a.m. flight to Madrid. We were at our stop by 5:10.

We sat in silence mostly. We talked a little. We joked about the Gulliver's Travels poster on the bus stop. But 5:45 rolled around and the bus still hadn't shown up. We figured it was about time we got a cab.

Before 6 a.m. on New Years Day... I don't know why I hadn't thought about it before that moment. It would be impossible to catch a cab. There was a line at my normal cab corner. The guy in front had been waiting for over an hour.

We panicked.

Chris and I both had flights that day out of the Granada airport. Chris to Madrid. Me to Bologna. If Chris missed his flight, that's about $600 down the drain plus he'd have to wait about 3 days to catch another that would take him back to San Diego, at least, according to Expedia. I would be in Italy. He would have nowhere to go and I would be nervous about what happened to him.

I started thinking about how he could get to Madrid by 12 for his flight to Chicago, but there was just no way. I didn't know how to get to the Madrid airport from the train station, and a bus would take too long.

Right around 6:10, we got a cab. Barely. We had to wrestle it from about 3 drunk girls, but we were there first and they knew it. Chris ran for it and I took his stuff, since he is faster. He jumped in the cab right as they were reaching for the handle, and I tried to be as polite as I could in my frenzy (and in Spanish) to explain that he HAD to catch this plane. I also asked the driver to go as fast as possible.

We got to the airport right before 6:30. I paid the fare and Chris bolted for the check-in... but there was still a line.

The Granada airport is about the size of my fingernail. Only one flight left at 7, and the next one was at 7:50. The queue hadn't started for the next flight yet. This line was for people leaving to Madrid at 7, and only those people.

Chris had made it. He wasn't even the last one in line. I could finally breathe normally.

We didn't have much time, however, for a goodbye. Perhaps that was for the best. He checked in, went through security, and he was out of my reach.

I stood at the same window I had waited at to see him land as he boarded the plane. I felt myself choke up as he got on the stairs. Right at the top he turned around and waved at me. I waved back at him and completely lost my composure.

I stood at that window until the flight took off. Me and one other man. His eyes were also watering. He was blowing kisses. I heard him whisper ''Adios... buen viaje,'' as the plane took off. Someone came up behind him and said something to the effect of ''Don't worry, she'll be back soon,'' in Spanish. In a weird way, I was glad to not be the only one sad on that day.

There is something beautiful about separation and reunion. I truly got to experience that this Christmas. As I experienced the biggest wave of homesickness I have ever felt in my life. I felt so guilty one day when Chris finally held me close and said, ''Natalie... I love you too...'' while I was busy crying over not being home for Christmas.

There is something beautiful about love. In that moment, choking on my own tears alone in the airport, I came to appreciate it, and was so glad that I had it. I tried to be glad that he came instead of sad that he left. In the end, I wouldn't have traded those three weeks with him for anything, so I decided I needed to pull myself together.

I saw an open line of chairs. I went to it and tried to read, since I hadn't since Chris's arrival. When that failed, I laid down across them and slept for about 3 hours.

I had about 2 hours until my flight to Bologna. I bought a sandwich, checked in, and continued reading.

I was about to go to Italy! It was time to stop being sad and start getting excited.

TO BE CONTINUED...

Mishaps and impulse buys - Paris

My original flight to Paris was cancelled. I found out mere hours before I left to take the bus to Madrid. I would have had to take the 0030 bus to arrive in Madrid at 0530, then take about an hour on the metro and find my terminal, check in, go to my gate, and wait there until 0930, when the flight was to take off.

My flight was cancelled and the alternative they offered me left at 0720, which I knew I could never make. The gate would close at 0700, and I would only barely make it if everything went 100% smoothly, including a 5 hour bus ride. I had been an hour late to Madrid before. I simply wouldn't risk it.

I cried. I ate home-made crêpes. I pouted. I got over it. Since Monday and Wednesday were days off, I simply had to find something else to do with myself.

... But considering that I already had a flight back from Paris and I wouldn't be paying for a hostel in Paris (Danielle has a friend there we could stay with), buying a different flight for just over 100€ to Paris ended up being just about the same as any 'cheaper' alternative. So I booked it. My flight was Ryanair, leaving out of Málaga at 1350 on Friday.

Since I didn't know the Málaga airport or how to get there, I decided I'd take the earliest bus, which left at 0700, just to make sure I got there on time. Which would mean leaving my piso at about 0600. But, of course, I got out the door late, and the buses weren't running yet, so I was forced to take a cab. It's only about 4,60€ and it felt worth it. I was there in less than 10 minutes.

But, of course, being a holiday weekend, the 0700 bus was sold out. That left me with two options. Take the 0800 bus, or the 0830 bus. Good thing I left early. But the problem was that the 0800 bus would cost me about 3€ more, since it was 'Supra Economía'. I figured getting there early would be worth the 3€. So I did it.

The bus was nothing short of luxurious. I had my own little window seat, they gave us goodie bags of little pastries, peanuts, a bottle of water, and earbuds. I didn't bring any headphones to Spain, so that in and of itself was worth the 3€. Plus they gave us videos and music. I listened to classical music and only stopped when they were playing clips from Beauty and the Beast. I grinned like an idiot, since Beauty and the Beast made me that much more excited to go to Paris and see Danielle.

Eventually I made it to the airport and had about 2 hours to kill. Of course I wandered around the shops, ate a 'york toasty' from the BK Whopper Bar (basically American ham with cheese on toasted bread... not bad for 2€ in an airport), and used 2 minutes of ,10€/minute (ridiculous) internet. Then I walked into the book shop.

I wasn't planning on buying a book, I mostly went to look at candy. But The Girl with the Dragon Tatoo was staring right at me. I left without it. I went back for it completely on impulse. It was probably overpriced since I was in an airport, but it was in English, and I knew I had a bit of waiting left to do, plus the flight back and bus back (since I was flying into Madrid on the way home), so I figured it would be worth it. I got it on impulse.

So we got on the plane eventually and took the flight to Paris, The Girl with the Dragon Tatoo making very nice company for me. We got over Paris when the flight attendant came on the intercom and told us we were going to hang out for about a half hour for visibility to improve. I paid him no mind. Then he said we'd be going to a different airport. I couldn't really hear what he said, but I thought he said Charles deGaulle, which would be right in the heart of Paris and even better for most of us.

He didn't. He said Charleroi airport. You can imagine my surprise when I got off the plane and saw this sign...
We had landed in Brussels because it was impossible to land in Paris. Not even the right country. Haha.

So we waited for about a half an hour for the buses to line up, another 45 minutes to get everyone on board, then started the 4 hour bus ride to the Beauvais airport, which is about 75 minutes outside of Paris.

If there's one thing Spain has taught me, it's how to be pushy. The airport had just shut down, so there was a MASSIVE line of people waiting to buy shuttle tickets into the city. Of course, the Spaniards hardly noticed the line as they shoved for the window. I shoved even in front of them, taking a side approach instead of a direct frontal attack.

There was one window, but three people could stand there at once, and we were helped one at a time. One Spaniard got helped, and another shoved right behind him and demanded her ticket. I stood at the window and waited, but the man looked at her and said, in English 'She was here first.' He looked at her over his glasses and pointed at me. I almost felt bad, so I said in my best French accent 'Un s'il vous plaît.' He handed me my ticket, I handed him exactly 15€. 'Merci!' I figured he'd feel good about helping a Frecherican rather than a Spamerican...

I had to remind myself not to feel bad. The Spaniards were doing the same and they would have done the same to me. I've definitely been waiting to order ice cream before and been cut off by a demanding Spaniard, especially the women. I took my ticket and joined the mob trying to board the buses.

By some luck or miracle or grace of God or whatever you want to call it, the second bus had filled up, but had room for one person. I happened to be travelling alone. I raised my hand and ran for it.

So, I finally got to Paris around 11 pm or so, when I should have been there around 6:30 pm. But hey, I got to see the Brussels airport.

Seeing Danielle was like no time had passed. We have that kind of friendship. I am so thankful I got to see her... any trip to France without her would seem so empty.

The next day we wandered Paris. We saw Notre Dame, SO much snow (considering it was barely December, anyway),

the river, the outside of the Louvre, and so on and so on. Danielle gave me her hat to borrow. I lost it. I felt awful. I hope whoever grabbed it was either a child or a person who really needed a hat. I dropped it inside the Notre Dame (hats are not permitted... grr...). I hope it enjoyed it.

But then we came to this street... I forget the name, something French that means nothing to me anyway, that was a GIANT Christmas fair. I'm talking HUGE.
It stretched from the backside of the Lourve garden area all the way to the Arc of Triumph. And there I saw my hat. It was the CUTEST wool hat, white, with a little wool bow on the back. All the Frenchies had hats with a similar cut and I had already fallen in love with it, but this was the first one I had seen with a bow. I loved it. 20€ later, it was mine.

Another impulse buy. But it is warm and cute and I love it.

The next day was AMAZING. We spent the entire day at Versailles and wandering the grounds. We saw most of it, I would say. A lot more than people generally see in that kind of weather anyway. We got lost. We found our way.

Hot chocolate was my impulse buy there. Out in the snow, we saw a little cart and bought panninis. It was lunchtime after all. But 2,70€ for a little plastic cup of cocoa seemed a bit much... but seeing the steam off of other people's drinks... I had to get one. I refrained from getting the Marie Antoinette-themed journal... but it was difficult, to say the least. I DEFINITELY would have done it if there were more than like 25 pages.

Then we went back and saw the Eiffel Tower all lit up. Let me tell you, that thing is a LOT bigger than you think it is. And there is SO much steel. I kept looking at it and could only think of my brother. Kevin, if you are reading this, you would LOVE the Eiffel Tower. It's an engineering marvel. Go to Paris.

Then I ate a real authentic Parisian sugar crêpe. In the Christmas market again.

Then we went to sleep. The next day, we saw the Basillica and I was off to the airport around 12:20 in the afternoon. Danielle and I said our goodbyes at the bus stop. They were quick because we know we will see each other again very soon. Both of our winter plans include London at the same time.

My flight was delayed about 6 hours. In the airport, I bought a giant bag of crispy M&Ms and a cup of tea, and a cheese and veggie sandwich (frommage is probably my favorite French word, by the way). During my wait, I became more and more thankful that I had bought The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo in Málaga.
Finally, for a flight that was supposed to leave at 1325, we left at about 2035. I slept on the flight back.

But remember this only got me to Madrid. Which means I had to get on the metro to get to the bus station. I got on the second to last Metro 6 Circular (which I only know because the one going the other direction said it would stop at a certain stop RIGHT before I got on mine... so I figure the next one on my side would have said that as well) and got to the bus station at around midnight.

The next bus left for Granada at 0130. I bought my ticket and waited another hour and a half.

No one had purchased the seat next to me, so I laid out and slept the whole way back. I was in Granada at around 0630. Of course the buses weren't running yet, so I took a cab back.

I haven't been that happy to see my bed in a very long time.


Today, I had an essay due. Rent is also due. After that... Chris will be here, and all will be as it should be. YAY! =D

'We must not be afraid to meet the other' - Morocco

I have so much I want to say about this experience, this experience I had that was unlike any other, that I honestly don't even know where to start.

I suppose the best place to start would be a bit of history and information about Morocco.

Morocco is a coutry on the northwest corner (edge?) of Africa. Historically, this is an extremely important bit of land, as it is on the African side of the Straight of Gibraltar (the shortest distance from Europe to Africa, with Spain on the European side). Many countries have fought over this land, and Morocco only recently got its total independence in 1956 and is now a monarchy of sorts. There is a pseudo-deomcratic government under the monarchy, but the heads of this government are appointed by the king, and therefore the king has ultimate power. The king is seen as a religious figure and it is a crime against the state to say anything bad about him. Morocco is an Islamic country, considered to be a part of the Middle East. It is also a developing country (2nd world, I suppose). The official languages are Arabic and French, although their Arabic dialect is slightly different than classical Arabic, and apparently difficult to understand if you only know classical Arabic, but most Moroccans know both, at least to some extent. Many Moroccans also know either Spanish (especially in the North) or English. Public schools are free, but if you live in a rural area it's difficult to get to school, so most people are either educated up through elementary school or have gone on to college. Since Morocco is a part of the Middle East, it is extremely difficult and expensive for them to travel to the Western world (to travel outside the Arabic world, they need visas, and with an Arabic background, those are hard to come by and extremely expensive), even for educational purposes.

The flag of Morocco is red with a green 5-pointed star in the middle, meant to represent the 5 pillars of Islam. Green is also the color of Islam. Once upon a time, there was a Star of David on the Moroccan flag due to the large Jewish minority, but after the creation of Israel, the population of Jews has greatly decreased and the flag has been remodeled to suit the vast majority.

Way back in the day, Morocco was the first country to recognize the USA as an independant nation. It's not extremely relevant today, but it's something that's interesting to know, I think. In order to be a nation, you simply need international recognition. Morocco helped us out back then.

Now, a bit about Islam and how it's treated in Morocco.

The five pillars of Islam are:
1) There is only one God (Allah), and Mohammad is his prophet
2) Pray 5 times a day
3) Fasting during Ramadan (Fasting lasts from sunup to sundown and usually there is a large feast after sundown. Fasting also is to include all forms of drinking, including water.)
4) Giving alms to the needy
5) Pilgramage to Mecca (if you can afford it and are able bodied)

These pillars are not musts, but they are what a ''good Muslim'' will strive to do in his or her lifetime. I also must note that these are the Sunni pillars, not the Shi'a pillars, which are slightly different.

I put these here for a few reasons. Most importantly, I think it's something people, especially people in the US, should at least be familiar with, especially considering US relations with the Arabic world. Secondly, to simply state what they are, and mention that they aren't a requirement. No one is mad if you don't pray 5 times a day, and most Moroccans don't except those that are retired and have the time to dedicate themselves to it. The call to prayer isn't a Stop, Drop, and Pray drill, it's merely a suggestion. Thirdly, to show these people's dedication to their religion, which I suppose when you don't have very much to begin with, is a good thing for them.

Also, I wanted to pay particular attention to Pillar 4) Giving alms. Even though Morocco is a devloping country with most of it's people living in poverty, the rate of starvation is extremely low. That's because anyone who really needs food or anything like that can simply go and ask a store owner or someone walking by. While giving money is rare, people will almost always share food. Additionally, if you are pregnant and you smell something appetizing, you are obligated to go and ask for some, and they will gladly give some to you, even if it's in someone's house. Therefore, women are generally healthy enough to have the child and the child is usually healthy.

So, now that I've given a basic rundown, I could go over all the amazing things we saw and did, like ride camels, eat DELICIOUS cous cous and chicken and raisins and caramelized onions and carrots and pommegranates and... and... and... so much good food...,
the trip to the Hammam (an Arabic public bath. Cleanliness is also an extremely important part of Islam and Islamic communities. Actually, sometime upon first arriving in Spain, I learned that it wasn't uncommon for police to check hands and feet of people in the Islamic quarters during the Spanish Inquisition to see if they actually converted. Dirty hands and feet and you were OK. Clean hands and feet... you're probably a Muslim.), the cultural exchange that happened in the rural village where we sang Lady Gaga's Bad Romance and they sang us a traditional song about travelling, my first henna tatoo (almost gone now... my hand just looks dirty mostly...),
all of that... But instead I'm going to make this a little deeper.

The Morocco Exchange program is about diplomacy. They believe that improving inter-personal relations will help improve inter-national relations. They are strong supporters of the Peace Corps and the Fullbright Scholars program for this reason. Right now, the world, especially the Western and Arabic worlds, live in fear of each other. What people fail to realize is that we're all just... people.

In Morocco, I witnessed people with next to nothing giving things to people that have even less. Yes, I heard the call to prayer five times a day. I saw some women cover their hair and wear loose clothing because they felt they should be modest. But I also saw women in stilletto heeled boots and structured jackets. I also saw couples holding hands, flirting, sitting on the wall overlooking the ocean. I saw a father chasing after his kids and a string of children playing tag in the narrow streets of Chefchaouen.

And know what else? Most of them are more angry about terrorism than we are.

Think about it. How do you feel about how the KKK has butchered the Christian bible? An extremist minority has become the face of what people think about Muslims, and most Muslims are furious.

After the 2004 Casablanca bombings, a movement started, called ''Don't touch my country''. Their symbol was a traditional hand with an outurned pinky and thumb (you've probably seen it. It's also a Jewish symbol meaning about the same thing)that symbolizes protection, with the Arabic script of ''Don't touch my country,'' and people marched out against them. That is not what they want to be associated with and they, to this day, protest against terrorism.

These are the things we don't see in the news... but we should.

Inter-personal relationships could possibly improve inter-national relationships because it might help eliminate the fear. They fear us. We fear them. It's all foreign, and somewhere in the translation, we forget that we're all just people.

We must not be afraid to meet the other.

Salem. Shallom. Hello.

We're not so different, in the end.