Dublin to Morocco

Alright….. so Laura and I headed out the hostel around six or seven a.m…. can´t remember exactly.  We were headed on a tour through the Atlas Mountains through Berber villages and then a night in a hotel and then the second night in some tents in a section of the sahara  which included a camel ride and shit.   So we pack into a mini-van type thing with about twelve other people.  Two were from Boston, a couple, Leigh and Zara.  Good energy.  More piled in, two Canadians, two Slovenians, Two English, and about four Japanese I beleive…One Chinese…..like it really matters….. I was glad it was such a good group of people.  Everything seemed to flow really well.  No total assholes or annoying fucks, which was good, hopefully I wasn´t one of them either..ha. 

Pay our fee and head out on the road towards…I really wasn´t sure.  Most of the trip I was kinda out of things.  I´m lazy so I just was kinda carted everywhere like a paralyzed cow.  In between being carted around I would smoke cigarettes, drink water, and complain about the prices at all the tourist traps our asshole driver was stopping at.  The van was pretty much a mid-size traveling furnace with twelve jews inside.  It wasnt so bad for Laura and I cause we had windows right next to us so we were getting blasted with wind which was better than none at all.  But soon the peeps behind us would ask us to close the window cause they were getting blasted with stagnant 110 degree heat…oops..sorry….not really though..I was quite liking my luxury.  anyway.  This is the most water I´ve ever drank in my life.  A liter every couple of hours..maybe more. 

It is hard for me not to talk about inner change and turmoil throughout the rest of this Morocco trip.  I´ve realized a lot about myself and my attitude….and realized a whole lot about other people in general and keeping a more open mind to differences….I´ve always preached it but never really felt it.  I knew intellectually that it was more benefitting to accept others differences but at times I did not feel the same.  What I mean by differences is mainly in ideas.   Although I´ve always had a problem connecting with people who come from money.  More yet…I´ve always had a mistrust of those who seem to have come from a healthy supporting home.  I´ve always been kinda scared, not in a fear way, but in a way as if looking at those persons as some kind of brainwashed entity…..aliens of some sort.  I just don´t want to get involved in the happy go lucky bullshit, but at the same time I´ve realised that I have a hard time admitting when I´m actually happy, and not feeling weird about it. Happy is a vague term but I don´t want to turn this into a pity party…any way..fuck it…snap out of it ya little baby!  The critic.   I don´t really know how I´ve trailed off in this direction but whatever.  

So yeah the traveling furnace.  As we started going through the Atlas mountains I felt a surge of nausea.  I close my eyes and breathed deeply trying not to let myself know to others cause I didn´t want to fuck up anyones good time…but I don´t think anyone was having any of that at that point.   I was thinking of three possible things that I could do if I spewed.  One, out the window…but the wind coming in so strong that I was afraid of the people in the back getting sprayed…that´d be bad…but funny.   Two, spew in my book bag and zip it up ….didn´t know what I was gonna do with it after but oh well.  Three, yell the bus driver to stop and run out and releive myself.   It never came to any of that though.  I just got through it through visuals and deep breathing.  Later on I learned others were feeling the same way. 

After everyone was tired and sluggish from sweating their clits and nuts off..  others decided the air should be turned on.   As long as I was by the window I didnt mind  not having the air on but that would have been selfish….but better none the less.  So one of the guys in teh group, Bachir, great guy…didn´t give a fuck what anyone thought of him and I respected this cause I am totally not there yet…it´ll take some time.  He knew Arabic and French.  Our driver knew zilch in the English department so Bachir was kinda like a diplomat….or translator.  He was the foreign relations guy.  The driver told him if we wanted the air on we had to pay.  I came up with the solution that we just beat the fuck outta him and tie him to  the roof but no one wanted to partake.  My litte revolution wasn´t gonna happen….so I decided on a terrorist attack but that would only make me the bad guy.   Anyway. All of our dumbasses paid.  He supposidley turned the air on but it felt more like air was just coming through the vents from outside.  Everyone psychologically tricked themselves into thinking they were cooler….while Laura and I just looked at eachother and rolled our eyes as sweat dripped everywhere.  I mouthed to her as if I was taking my last breath  “open the windows”.   But we were outnumbered and our only hope was to wait until they all stopped convincing themselves they were less hot.   Double think.  I couldn´t blame them….. 

We stopped at random picture takeing places.  Got out walked around for 10 minutes until our driver called us back in.  I felt like an idiot listening to this guy.  I never looked at him or acknowledged him the whole trip cause he really didn´t acknowledge us either.  I get it, it was his job to tote around a bunch of unsuspecting tourists, but at least get someone who spoke English, and didn´t charge us for air conditioning that didn´t even work. Fuck.

We stopped at where we were supposed to eat.  Wherever we stopped the driver got comission on whatever we bought at the shops selling bullshit.  He started to get mad cause we were all broke and none of us bought anything…haha fucker!!    We walked into the restaurant that spelled tourist trap all over it.  Like I´m gonna pay that!  We walked down the road to a place half the price.

Drove some more.  Stopped at another picture taking place.   I´d about had it with all this crap.  I noticed two guys sitting in a white yugo car type thing blasting music and drinking beer.  I started walking toward them, they seemed friendly.  I got to the sid e of the car.  “Hola”   “Hey, come over here”   I ducked down into the car and they handed me a beer.  They were smashed.  The driver kept talking about how he loved that he could drive around smashed.  He was from a village not too far down the road but he lived in Brooklyn, NYC.  He told me how he used to work for the tour company that I was a slave to.  He said the owner just wanted money and he was tired of ripping people off.  I told him how we were charged for air and they both laughed as if they knew already.  They were musicians who played in a spanish music band at the hotel he owned just down the street from the hotel we were gonna stay in.  I downed the beer and headed back to the van.  He invited me and whoever wanted to come to his hotel where there was alcohol….(no alcohol in muslim country, but the berber villages didn´t have to follow this code).  I wanted to go but never made it…we were all too tired.  Got to the hotel. they fed us, Tagine, and soup. Pretty good.   a bowl of fruit.  Went to bed

Had breakfast the next morning.  Coffen, bread and jam.  headed out again.  Stopped in a gorge which was refreshing. It was much cooler and there was a clear stream down the middle.  I waddle in it for some time.  Laura and I were on a budget so  bread and cheese and some orange flavored drink stuff…..let´s call it orange drink.  Full.  headed out to a down and throught the town to a field where a bunch of women were picking something.  They say it was alfafa I think… but Leigh kept joking about how it was heroin  or poppy plant and we wouldn´t know the difference.  A “guide” was waiting for us there.  No one ever told us what was going on or gonna happen so we all just kinda dumbly walked and waited for something to happen.  He started telling us how the women in the fields pick this shit and they work hard and……yeah thats all he pretty much said just in about six different ways.  He could sense our agitation and boredom and he started to get mad.  He yelled at us as if we were his children.  “if you already know everything then I just won´t speak then”…..I had no objection to this but we all kinda laughed cause there was really no reason for him to get mad .   We were on to his schtick and he didn´t like it.  We weren´t a bunch of dumbasses as maybe they´ve had before….but whatever…again.   A bunch of women started yelling at him.  Bachir said they were telling him to get us out of here.  that we had no business being there.  It was weird.    We go into a house and into this guys house who selled carpets.  He poured us all some tea and gave us the bullshit sshpeel on how we are welcome and blah blahb blah..culture, people, the way we live…blah blah blah.  I was getting tired of that shit.  Sorry if I come off as insensative but really….you can tell when it is gunuine and when its not..and most the time…I´d say 90% of th time it wasn´t.  So he pulled out all of these rugs that his sister and wife or whatever woman had made and he exlplained the patterns and all that.  After about showing us thirty rugs or so he started talking about how we should open our hearts and our pocket books to show resepect or some hogwash.  He sat in the middle of the room…we were all sitting there indian style waiting for something to happen.  It was very very awkward.  It was totally silent for about five minutes.  He sat there just staring at us and looking us down waiting for one of us to crack and buy a rug.  We all looked at eachother with a grin on our faces.  I couldn´t help it… I broke down and started laughing,  a few giggles followed.. my face turned red and I couldn´t look anywhere cause I´d break out in laughter again.  He finally got the picture and showed us the way out.  It was one of the most awkward moments I´ve been in. 

We head out and straight for the dessert to the camel rides which is what everyone was waiting for.  Pull off onto  a gravel road for a while.  Pretty bumpy.  I had to piss.  Finally got to the camels.  The dessert was a beautiful sight.  It looked like orange milk with ripples in it.  I spotted my camel,  the biggest baddest one.  I seen across the way some else in the group had eyed it too.  “It´s mine”  “No, he´s mine”….we both headed toward the camel but he was closer and he got´em.  oh well.  The camels didn´t seem to be in very good shape.  One the peeps back in our hostel in Marrakesch was saying how her friends camel had collapsed and she was too frightened to get back on it so she walked the whole way through the dessert.  next to it.  They had scars all over the backs of their legs and weird branding marks on there thighs and necks.  They  looked miserable..but I really had nothing to compare them too.  Got on our humps and waited to go.  My camel was a grouch and was behind Laura´s camel which was huge.  My camel kept biting hers on the ass.  Laura turned around and started yelling at my camel….I patted him on the buttocks…”good job buddy”.   I lit a cigarette to add effect to the whole scenerio…yes…lame.  oh yeah,  they were shitting everywhere.  Nuggets came pouring out there anus.  They lookes like black olives or better yet, those malt chocolates known as whoppers.  Mine of course had the runs and shat all down its hind legs..  Go figure.  So we had a kinship from the beginning.  It was astonishing how easy they made it seem to walk in the sand the way they did.  Their hoofs are great for that shit.   We hit a sand storm about halfway through and noticed a tornado ahead about a mile or so.  It didnt last long.  It started to downpour with huge drops of water.  It felt so good.  aahhhh.   Rain in the sahara…great. 

We get to our site.  A bunch of tents in a circular shape.  Most of us slept outside though.  Behind the tents was a huge sand dune.  It didn´t seem like it would be much effort or take too long to get to the top….I was wrong…dead fuckin wrong at that.  About halfway through I pretty much collapsed to the ground.  Out of the corner of my eye I noticed others passing me up…”oh hell no”  I was on a mission…….competition…I´m usually not like this but it was fun.   I came in third.  Everybody else trailed behind but eventually made it.  Laura´s camera busted.  Damn.  oh well.  Others were taking pictures and said they post them up..so Í´ll just have to wait.  Ran down the dune.  Laid around for a while. dinner came.  Good shit.  

The guys who were our guides started playin their music with tribal bongos and some other instrument that sounded like a real intrusive tambourine.  Nice listening to.  Some of the girl started dancing and I felt embarrassed.  I´m not totally sure why…it was weird in a way.  I got up anyway and did a dumb diddy, it was an all round ok time.  It´s good to get out your comfort zone and laugh at yourself.  I´m not above that. 

Ended up fallin asleep.  The sky was filled with stars.  It was impressive.. Amost looked fake.  Made me realize again that we were all on a planet called Earth.  Floating in space, with endless possibilites.  Life is a painfully beautiful experience. 

Back on the camels to watch the sunrise.  Quiet.  Everyone was taking pictures so I decided to sit a little off and play with the sand and think.   Got back to the starting point.  Laura´s camel wouldn´t get down on its knees as fast as the guide wanted him to so he hauled off and punched the camel on the side of the head.  Fuckin primate peice of shit.  I wanted to kick his head in but that would only bring more trouble.   I´ve come to judge how emotionally evolved certain cultures are due to how they treat their animals.  Laura was astonished and gave a kinda gasp.

Had breakfast, crepes, jam, coffe tea.  Took a shower.  Headed back to Marrakesch.  It was a long ride.  Through the atlas mountains I started to feel sick again.  One of the girls Zsara was also getting nautious.  We had to pull over.  Actually I think everyone was feeling sick.  ugghh.  Anyway.

We decided to say fuck it to the air conditioning.  Pretty much everyone in the van wanted to kill the driver.  We spoke of him with a venoumous tone.., daggin eyes at the back of his head. 

Got to Marrakesch and we all had an orange juice before saying sianara.  The best part of the trip were the people.  I dindn´t paint the picture to well in detail throughout this blog.  I´m so emotional sometimes that it paints over real intentions.  But I´m not gonna get too deep cause it really wasn´t like that.  It was just a good time with a great bunch of people even if we didn´t connect on any great level.   Even though we were constantly being ripped off , it was nice having some comradery in all of it.  I´d do it again.   

Alright….that´s enough for now.   I´m actually in Spain right now.  I´m pretty far behind on the days….probably about by three weeks now…so I need to start writing more.  It is very humid here and that puts me in a very very very lazy state of mind and mood.  later.

So……Left off at the end of London visit.  I´m not feeling too well right now due to heat exhaustion and possibly Spain´s tap water, so bare with me if I sound out of it or don´t make any sense.  I´m doing a city by city deal since there was so much to say.  So for Morocco, I´m doin Marrakesch in this one and I´ll post others every other day after…..like you care…but I´m important.

Laura and I went to see Bruno at the theater down the street form our hostel in London.  It had it´s funny moments, the Brits thought it was halarious.  I thought he would be more daring.  It seemed liked a lot of old hat, but the sight of a penis pointing at you and screaming “Bruno!” was priceless.  I bought a giant candybar the size of my head and ate almost all of it….got a little nautious and gave it to the New Zealander in our room.   The day of our departure to Morocco we pretty much sat around at the hostel.  Ordered some food, ate it.   Some middle eastern guy walked in with a turbin….I believe it´s called that, on his head.  He was kinda scary.  He seen me staring at him.  He walks over.  Asked me if I wanted to wear it. Nervously I agreed.  We switched hats.  I looked like a ” terroist” and he looked like a tanned John Balushi in The Blues Brothers.  He then showed me a 666 tattoo on his arm for some reason I´m unaware of.  I smiled and nodded thinking to myself  ” please leave”.   The energy about this guy vibed to me that he is the cause of violent episodes in many small bars across London.  He left. Thank god.  There is a picture of me in the pics with a look that describes. Actually no….those pics aren´t up yet.

Hop on the bus and head to the airport where we sit and wait for ten hours.  I didn´t really want to sleep so I decided to order some coffee at the airport cafe.  I wanted the Mocha and upon ordering I noticed underneath the Mocha heading it said “the long dark one¨.   I told the young man standing behind the counter this and he laughed.  He never noticed it before.  He gave me the Mocha  “here´s your long dark one”.   I think he was hitting on me.  Underneath the expresso it stated “the small strong one”.  It´s the motion in the ocean.  Although long dark one probably better describes a turd.  And the small strong one: a midget.

We board the plane.  I was a little nervous about Morocco.  All the horror stories I had read and heard about Morocco was seeping into my conciousness.  Streets filled knee deep in horse shit, constant harrassment, gang rape, machete slicing……etc.  Anyway.   Looking at Africa from the plane….”where the hell are we going?”   We circle Marrakesch for about twenty minutes because they only had one landing and taking off strip.  We land, get through customs, cash out the atm, and outside to the seven or so taxis waiting for us like prostitutes with a heroin problem.  “One hundred fifty durham to city center¨ …..”NO”    “One hundred”   ¨NO”        We got him down to fifty durham but he wanted us to share with some other people and put our bags in his trunk….fuck that.  The bus was twenty durham.  Hopped on that and headed to all holy filth.

The smell is what hits you first of all the places in Morocco we went.  It is not just one smell.  Take all the nastiest smells you´ve smelled mixed with some pleasant ones and there you have it.  Morocco.  Horseshit, piss, dead carcass of some kind?, olives, meat, hashish, vomit maybe,  humid vaginal secretion, dick cheese,  and spices of various sorts, body ordor.  It was a lot to take in at first, but eventually you get used to it.  I´ve come to like the smell of horseshit.   When I lived in Michigan we lived out in the middle of nowhere behind a cow farm used to supply the local milk.  I learned to love that smell.    Anyway.  We got a little turned around trying to find our hostel cause the supposed alleys they called streets were kinda tricky.  Found hostel, had some mint tea and headed out to the city markets and souks.  By the way, they speak French, Arabic, Spanish, Berber, English and other languages in Morocco.  Most Moroccans speak at least four or five languages.  Pretty impressive.  So…  I decided to stay away from French other than ¨Merci”, which means thank you.  My ears like the sound of Arabic better.  A little spanish here and there.  Throughout this trip I learned some key phrases to survive in Morroco:  Chukran-thankyou,  Barracha!-enough, Cous amo- I curse the place from which you come…..in other words..fuck your mother´s cunt.  Ahem.          No laham- no meat, but that was more for Laura, cause I´ll eat any meat.  I wanted to try some brains but the twenty or so flies crawling all over them kinda changed my mind.

Moroccan cities all have Medinas.  Medinas are a huge square where they have shops and restaurants and snake fights, boxing matches, monkeys, swindlers, henna ladies, folklore, and various stalls to serve traditional Moroccan foods…..all in all, many people trying to rip your sorry polite ass off.  Did I mention it was about one-hundred degrees……it was dry heat so it wasn´t as bad as it sounds..but….one hundred is one hundred.  We heard rumors that it was even passed that, more near one-twenty.  We checked out the medina.  Definately shocking at first.  Came to the snake tent where they were playing there snake charmers music.  They were setting up for a snake fight where one of the snakes end up dead in the end.  But we were standing there too long and got bored.  I love snakes.  We met a guy in Prague who had gone to Marrakesch and said he was robbed at snake point.  For one-hundred durham.  I wouldn´t have had a problem.  I am not in the least bit afraid of reptiles…..except Comodo Dragons because they are fast, have razor sharp teeth and just a knick of their saliva can kill you very quickly because of all the bacteria in their mouths.  Anyway….if he would have shoved a poisnonous snake in my face and requested money then I would have just ripped it out of his hands and slapped him in the balls with it.  Not so charming now, are we, Mr. Snakeman?

We head to the monkey station where a couple of men walked around with a chain tied around a monkey´s neck.  I was apprehensive at first, I heard stories of these guys training their monkies to rob your pockets.  How great would that be.  Just sit at home and send your monkey out to the public so he can rob´em and bring you the goods.  We both got pictures with the monkey.  It was sitting on my shoulder chewing something that looked and smelled like shit jerkey.  Afterward the man maid the monkey do a flip by pulling on the chain and making a circle motion with his arm.  Of course the damn monkey is gonna flip,  hmmm, either get choked or flip, which one?  Most of the animals in Morocco looked malnurished.  Even the horses.  They were ancy.  There are tons and tons of cats there.  They are the most miserable, dreadful looking cats I have ever seen.  I remember seeing one that was missing an eye.  One walked by us very slowly thinking about suicide.  One looked like a kitty pancake.  There were so many of them I was sure that they were being eaten.   You´d probably have to skin about ten of them to get a decent meal.

We walked around a bit more.  Seen a woman witha black eye, staring straight ahead.  Seen another one with two black eyes staring straight ahead.  Most guys there did not even acknowledge Laura´s presence.  She´d come out of a store ” can you please go in there”.  I was surprised to see so many tourists dressing very seductive.  I´m sure they got there share of harrassment.  The men´s way of harrasing was a “sssssssssssssss”.  Creepy sounding as hell. I was kinda jealous they weren´t doing it to me though.  ssssssssssssssssexayyy!

We stopped and got something to eat at a Cafe De France…or  Fwwrooonce.  Laura went to the bathroom while we waited for our food.  Across from us was a construction site type thing with a bunch of tubes and plastic and brick just lying there.  All of a sudden about fifteeen scraggly dogs all at once came running out of the tubes barking at people, marking their territory.  I fisted a fork just in case.  I quickly thought about where I would stab first, the eye.  “come on Cujo, time to die!”  A couple of minues later a one of them was yelping loudly but no once could see which one until he walked out of the pile limping. Walked around the medina again to see how it was at night.  I stopped and got henna of a scorpion on my forearm.  It looked good, real good.   We headed in for the night and I fell asleep on my forearm…smeared it a bit and got black henna all over my other hand and all over the pillow.   In Morroco the people don´t use toilet paper, well most don´t,  they use their left hand.  So it is impolite to shake or do anything with your left hand.  I scrubbed my  left hand until the color was no longer black, but yes, shit brown.  It looked like I had shoveled my ass and didn´t wash my hand for about a week.  I was fitting in already.

Laura took a shower not knowing that you had to pop the plug from the bottom of the shower to let the water drain.  She flooded the room.  Not just the bathroom, but the whole room.  She busted out of the bathroom door stark naked.  “Shit!”……”Fuck”    We tried asking the receptionist for some help but he wanted no part of it.  The room across from us did the same thing the day before.  You´d think they would put a sign up, but I believe they like to see us scurrying around looking for anyway to soak the water up.  It was hot and humid in the room and now it smelled of mold from the towels used to mop up the water.  We laughed for a minute.  Got dressed and headed out.

Took a walk through the souks.  A souk is basically a huge section of mazes filled with merchants of all types of goods.  From an old solo unwashed sock to houkas to clothes and jewelry.  1989 t.v. anyone?  In the souks one haggles.  “How much for this?”     “One hundred-eighty durham, vawy guude pryce” .   You haggle him down to one quarter the price and if he doesn´t accept then you pretend like you are walking out of the store.  It´s funny how fast they agree to your price.   As you walk down the souks many merchants come up to you and try and get you in there store.  You can´t even look at something without being asked.  I learned to fixate a straight stare, but after a while you get tired of it and start fucking with them.  Moroccans have a great sense of humor.  They really take nothing to heart.  “What are you looking for my friend?”   ” I lost my camel.”

The streets were filled with donkies, carriages, cars, bycyclists, mopeds, trucks, and cats.  Chaos.  Laura got hit by a scooter, but she was ok.  Headed out after a nap to get something to eat and to escape our humid room, turned the corner on a main street fille with crowds of people.  Yelling and screaming and pushing people…it was fun though. You could see smiles on many peoples faces at how crazy it was.  I felt a full hand squeeze my whole ass cheek.  “Why the hell is Laura grabbing my ass?”……  a couple more squeezes later I turned to my right to see Laura with a look of shock on her face standing on her tippy toes looking behind her, “I´m getting mauled back here”.   I went into protector mode and got in the guys faces behind her  ” Don´t fucking touch  her¨   He looked embarrassed and put a finger to his lips for me to keep quiet.  I pulled Laura in front of me so they could no longer touch her.  A minute later I realised they were trying to pick pocket us.  Horrible pick pocketers.  If I was to dip in on someones pocket I sure as hell would not squeeze there whole cheek.   No wonder they are so poor.  I felt violated but then I felt ripped off cause I wasn´t aware of the situation…..I could have taken advantage my free cheap thrills.

We came upon a crowd of people circling a young boy and a young girl.  I felt bad for the boy, she would have pulverized him, she looked pissed.  She kept making sad faces and acting as if she was worried so poeple would throw more money into the pile before the fight.  It never happened.  She made the money she was supposed to make and walked away after twenty minutes of standing there.  An old pedophile looking whiteman was standing in the crowd and was dishing out money to show how generous he was to all the young prostitute boys.  It´s a common thing in Marrakesch.

The Moroccan people live off of tourism.  They feed off the vulnerabilty and fear of those who don´t know what the fuck they are doing or too polite to say no.  A kid just walked up to another old pedophile whiteman and stuck his hat out upside down.  The man fumbled around in his pockets looking nervous and stupid.  What a pity.

I don´t know what it is, but the Moroccan peeps loved touching me.  We´d have a whole group together walking and the kids would hold their hands out for a shake.  They would say “rasta” because of my mohawk.  Old ladies and men would pat me on the back and grab my arm.  One guy passed me up, had more than enough room to walk but insisted on grabbing my arm tightly and massaging it  “pardon”.  Weird.   I needed a fresh shave so as we passed a sketchy hole in the wall barber shop I decided why not.  Of course I had to haggle a bit….Laura actually did it for me…women are better hagglers in muslim countries cause the men don´t expect it, and Laura is a very forceful woman.  Got my hair cut…had a good time.  The guy had three teeth….all three were gold.  Grillz….Walked around a bit more…Laura got hissed at, I hissed back.   I started to loosen up a bit and found myself jumping in front mopeds to fuck with them…they just laughed.   I was constantly asked if I wanted hashish.  ¨good smoke my friend…hashish?….vawry gude pryce”  No thanks.  A common practice the dealers do is sell you some hashish and then threaten to  turn you into the cops unless you gave up some dinero.   Sometimes I would get sarcastic replies like  “that´s whack man” or “awwwwessoooome!”

Our hostel was adjoined with a company that did Sahara excursions which included camel riding and berber villages and gorges, a free night stay in a hotel, and constant stops to tourist traps.  We decided to take the three day two night tour.  Why not.

Next day we pretty much just walked around a lot.  Everyday we got up, walked around,ate, took nap, walked around, ate….sleep.   Nice schedule.  Naps are great.  You should try them.  They sound kinda old ladyish, but old ladies obviously know what they are doin.  Actually every one in Spain seems to do that. Ciesta!!

So we walked in a part of one of the souks that hold live Chickens, half dead cats roaming around, and  Rabits.  It was a vegetarians nightmare.  The men would grab about four chickens at the same time by their wings and just swing them around like it was nothing.   Maybe he was trying to disorientate them before chopped the heads off….or bit it off..who knows?  The rabbits……I haven´t seen anything on any menu stating any of the meat was rabbit…hmmm….I´ve had rabit before though.  My brother and I used to hunt with our dad and bring home some pheasant and time to time  some rabbit….it tasted pretty good.  There was just something wrong about all of it though…..maybe it was Laura´s jaw dropped to the floor that added a special effect.

Got up the next morning to head off to the desert……  Oh yeah, the whole Coca-cola deal.  So Coke is huge in Morocco.  It´s rediculous.  Every other banner on top of the shops is Coke.  You could be driving through the desert where there is virtually nothing and off in the distance you see red and white…….not a toilet….not anything but the one and only Coca-cola.  There was something very depressing about this.  These people are poor as hell but they are drinking Coca-Cola…..im hatin….they are still  in the bottles over there so they actually have taste to them.  and orange Fanta.  I´ve been drinking a lot of that lately…..got to get your Hitler support in there some how.  Shut up.   I´ve got to shit again.

London is larger than I thought it was.  For some reason I was thinking Chicago was more populated, London has seven million people in the city "proper".   I'm sure it has over seven million cameras also.   Cameras everywhere.   I'd like ... [Continue reading this entry]

Left off in Wroclaw.  Ate a pound of gummy candy and felt like shit.  Gay Bar.  So Laura and I decided to head out into the Wroclaw night looking for this one gay bar I looked up on line called ... [Continue reading this entry]

So I left off falling asleep after our first night in Kracow. We planned on going to Auchwitz the next morning but it just didn't happen. Laura popped her head up around 9am " Hey Ryan?" , "mmm" ... [Continue reading this entry]