Anyways, I was rambling last time about the beginnings of our sojourn to Morocco, and I figure I might as well continue in that vein, at least until the photos or duty-free liquor runs out.
Jess and I landed in Marakkech, and the rambling medina and promised bazaars greeted us under the crescent moon, dangling so perfect in the starred sky I half-expected Jess had ordered it just for us.
Our first hotel set the tone for the kind of beauty we'd come to expect in our budget sleeping arrangements, with an intricate detail unexpected for traveler's prices. Everything we touched, or person we met outside of our comfy confines however, resulted in us paying a fee. Directions? Pay. Smiling? Pay. Standing still for four seconds? Oh, you gotta pay.
The vibe in such a heavily traveled country is somewhat... extortionist.
Anyways, we had our first chance to finally wander the alleys and tunnels of an Arabic market, narrow and winding labyrinths where color and confusion pour forth into suddenly new born eyes. A place where concepts like Orange, or Green, are sourced to fuel the rest of the world.
Continuing the blitz we grabbed a bus to Ourzazate, and in a stunning display of audacity, Jess rented a car and agreed to drive as far south as we could, although our plans were somewhat dented when it was discovered the car ran not on happy times and sugar dates, as we hoped, but on gasoline, which is some sort of black goo that is crazy expensive, and most definitely does not taste like sugar dates, which I can assure you of.
Anyways, we drove to an old abandoned desert castle/house called Ait Benhaddou, which, despite featuring in movies like Gladiator and The Mummy, contained neither golden treasures or Russell Crowe. (Okay, Crowe was there, but he was pretty annoying and kept trying to hawk postcards and dvds of Master and Commander, and so most of us just ignored him.)
I feel this post becoming unglued, so I'll wrap up for today. But before I start to feel too snazzy, I should include this self-depricating moment. I would like to state that I was just tossing my head, and Jess took a photo at a really bad time, but I know my pleading would fall on deaf ears, because I look like a cross between a Head & Shoulders commercial, and a dude with a fraggle in his pants.
Until later,
Nick
2 comments:
I'm engaged biotch. The Russel Crowe line was weak. How does one write a pre-nup? Should I retain a divorce lawyer now? Ah, life is good.
All kidding aside, I'm fucking ecstatic dude... I'm engaged!
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