Before I forget, Morocco! :D
I have about a billion notepad files scattered across my desktop with the beginning of long, rambling and not terribly interesting descriptions of my travels (which, sad to say, are merely travels and not quite adventures).
I also have a billion photos of buildings and interesting angles of arches against sunlight that absolutely no one wants to see. :D; Thus, I think I shall refrain and post only bits and pieces of this and that.
Since my last post MANY MANY MONTHS ago, I visited Malta, London, Wales, Morocco and am now in Spain. I think I'm coming down with an awful sore throat of the hacking blood variety. As of this moment, I am sitting in a 17th century Spanish palace - restored and transformed into a frightfully civil hostel - smelling distinctly like camel leather from my ever so manly satchel that I bargained down to less than half price from a Moroccan vendor, with henna across my hands that kind of makes me look like someone took a permanent marker to me. :D; Some girl commented on how awesome my tattoo was and, well, I wish I was the type to get strange flowers and curliques over my hands but no. It would hurt.
After Morocco, Spain seems very normal. I think I should have just stayed an extra week or two, though Morocco was actually very scary. It'd be much better to do with company and lots of it. I did manage to meet a few people in my (tiny, dirty, scary) little hostel that were nice to hang around with and took a trip into the Sahara which must be one of the more exceptional things that has happened in my life.
In chronological order, though, what happened first was the Ill Advised One Night Stand. I am cutting for special TMI factor and lots of facepalming OH MY GOD, YOU IDIOT moments. :D; However, this is my blog and full of my exuberantly written nonsense. I'll write what I damn well like.
Long or short time readers will know that I am avowedly asexual. I kinda have this sort of academic curiousity about it but really, I am so-so on the actual realities. For one, it seems messy and leads to all sorts of emotional entanglements that are probably better off left undone. But, sadly, being the sort of person that makes snap decisions and then acts on them (HELLO JAPAN. EUROPE. EVERYTHING.), I thought it'd be best to see what was so uh, compelling about the other side.
Actually, it wasn't so much a snap decision. I contemplated picking up someone when I first begun my trip but backed out at the last minute from complete and utter lack of physical interest. Like, above and beyond the normal lack of interest. Also, sweaty. Ick.
This time, I didn't even set out to pick up. Actually, I didn't realise he wanted me until he kissed me, which is sort of... wow, Karen, new heights of obliviousness. Especially since at that point, I was finishing an essay that I'd cloistered myself in the hostel lobby for two days writing, at about 2am and he was staying up with me. Purportedly to protect me from this tiny little weaselly guy on the staff who had a huuuuge crush on me to the point of trying to force his way into my hotel room - I had like, at least 10kg on him and perhaps about the same height, I totally could have taken him. It was a bit... It was not expected since he hadn't slept the night before and looked so tired, but I thought he was just being nice. But, no, it was because he was somewhat desperate to get laid ahahaaa.
Given I liked him well enough and had no SJHKKJAKJWE PHYSICAL REVULSION DDD< reactions, it sort of wasn't worth my while to say no. I think this isn't nearly the beginning of what is wrong with this entire encounter but like, my god. XD I can never be trusted to think of what is sane and reasonable. I told him I was inexperianced and he was all, "I do not believe you, you're too hot." and it was a bit ".. . ... . . you have me in bed already, stop with the flattery."
I actually do sincerely think that guys are a lot sappier than girls. Like, whatever, it is nice and all to be complimented and whatever, but there is a time when it becomes a bit cheesy. Every few minutes he'd stop and be all, are you okay? Which, I promise, were I not okay, I'd be kicking him somewhere it hurt. We didn't actually end up going all the way because, eh, it would have hurt and I am not that curious. Moderate curiousity means it is only okay when it's easy and convenient.
The entire time, he kept on being all 'You have fantastic _____' and 'You're so hot' and so on and so forth which was... nice, I guess. I did have fun even though it was hard to keep from laughing too loud as to not wake up the guy in the next room. This would have been doubly mortifying given that I actually knew who it was and spoke to him a few times. (Nothing can make taking socks off sexy. Or peeling someone out of their tights. Or trying to fit two people, one of whom is 6'4" onto a tiny single bed. OR, BUTTON FLIES kjkjkjawe. I lol'd. Lots. Also, Brits and their sardonic eyebrows sjajkjkawe XD)
Afterwards, he looked me in the eye and said, QUITE LITERALLY, "I'm glad we had this connection. Whoever you end up going all the way with will be a very lucky boy," to which I flounced off to the bathroom muttering something about sex toys and doing it myself. Because, really, gag me with a spoon. There's nothing I hate more than platitudes and fake promises - both of us were in it for one thing and making more of it is a terrible fallacy that I try my very best not to fall into.
It was... an experiance. He's more of a traveller than I am, so he's still in Africa and I'm in Europe. When he's in Europe, I'll probably be in Asia and then Australia. It was, truthfully, a strange and brief connection. In other news, I no longer have anything to be curious about so, go that. :D; I don't think I'll be rushing out to do it again.
It is sort of... One night stands are generally not good ideas. They mess with your head, in that because this happened physically, something emotional should likely follow. And when it doesn't, there's this strange feeling of disconnection. I am unsure if we're meant to be friends now, or awkward aquaintances or what. Perhaps it would be easier to just ignore each other. All in all, not an idea almost-first-time. XD;
Oh well. I will move on and persevere. It's not as if it wasn't entirely my own fault. Or, more to say, I will blame the circumstances and a tangle of fortunes and leave it behind. It's not as if what happens on vacation is the equivalent of real life.
After! He walked me to my bus at like, 6:45am so I could go on tour to the Sahara. (Off to see a man about a camel, don't you know? ;D) Because I am lazy, here are exerpts from several emails and comments.
The desert is not surprisingly actually very very far. As in, twelve hours if you drive straight far. Twelve hours and across mountain ranges and valleys and the sweeping flat plains.
Unfortunately for my timing, there was snow on the mountain ranges. Lots of snow, as in the day before the roads were closed because you wouldn't be able to get through without dying a tragic plummeting death. However, it had cleared a... little. As in, snow plows had gone through to push all the snow to the sides.
We still got stuck on the Atlas mountains for aaages. Hours. Many hours. Some of them were behind a caravan stuck in the snow trying to get past a truck. There were shovels and a giant crowd of drivers and what could have been an avalanche when the caravan was finally dug out and the make-shift workteam was all \o/ GLEE. It actually felt a lot safer driving through with THAT much snow given we'd likely not go plummeting to our dooms as opposed to getting stuck into a snow bank a metre high and just as thick.
(I slipped on ice and bruised my hip at the rest stop. ;A; On the plus side, in all of five minutes, I met a Singaporean studying in London who offered to show me around next time I'm there. Ahaha, travellers. I love this hyperconnectivity that comes with being in a different country.)
The first night at the hotel was SO COLD and I almost got kidnapped by a tour group of Moroccans from Rabat and Casablanca by wandering into the common room at the wrong time. Only the driver spoke English (badly) and he was all "COME. SIT. HERE, SMOKE WITH ME. YOU ARE WELCOME. NO YOU SAY NO. SIT." and grabbed my hand and pushed me into a chair and then there were musicians barring the way out and jkjkakjjkawe. It was vaguely terrifying. Meanwhile, the girl from Uruguay that I shared a room was waylaid by the driver's friend who tried very sincerely to convert her to Islam. He also gave me the uh... hookah? To smoke? And I was all ".. . .. . .. . ... .. . *smoke...?* *coughdie*" because it is very sweet and steamy and ick.
THIS OTHER MOROCCAN WAS ASKING US WHY WE DIDN'T DO DRUGS IN ASIA. AND IT WAS LIKE . .. .. . .. because it is illegal? :D; Maa. The Spanish half of our group was all ":3 we like drugs, yes." and it was all very awkward.
The next day, after freezing extremeties off in the night, we drove MORE AND MORE AND MORE into gorges and canyons and then finally to the edge of the desert where we were unceremoniously put on camels and sent out to watch the sunset. Camels are like riding couches except that couches don't tend to move. The only hiccup was they kept on telling me to sit back, but then I couldn't actually reach the hold bar.
This was only minorly annoying because, seriously, you sit back and can pretty much dance without feeling like falling. It's relaxing. Also, camels are vaguely terrifying because they are VERY VERY LARGE. I was holding something for a friend while she got up on her camel and then it was actually hard to reach up and pass it back to her. Maa. ;;
Tents in the desert are not, actually, very nice to sleep in. They are cold. Very very cold. Beautiful starry night and clear skies where you feel as if you can look out into forever, but all the heat leeches out in a heartbeat (specific heat capacity ftw) and getting up in the morning was a lot harder than I want to admit.
That night, we were herded into the main tent for a bit of a singalong and Moroccan drums. I do like the Moroccan drums. There's something exceptionally satisfying in hitting things to make a sound. Our tour guide was all "8D HERE, TRY THIS." and then played fast enough that his hands were blurs in the dim lighting, but one of the Korean girls played the traditional Korean drums and was all "... D< HERE, YOU TRY THIS." and made the guide cry manly tears on the inside. There was also a uh, riddle telling session which was interesting in that half the group only spoke Spanish, the other half were English second language only, and the guides were not exactly fluent in either. Also, I accidentally convinced them that I didn't speak English that well (I DON'T KNOW HOW. IT'S NOT LIKE I SPEAK BROKEN ENGLISH, IT IS VERY GOOD AND AUSTRALIAN ACCENTED.) so half the time, one of the guides spoke to me in Japanese while he knew I was Chinese. He even referred to me as 'China' so I don't even know.
Apparently, fun fact, Japan was the first and for quite a while, only Asian country that could get visas into Morocco, which is why so many vendors automatically assume Japanese. Then Korean. China is a distinct sad and lonely third.
Afterwards, we climbed a dune to lay back and look at the stars and it was all very suss and uncomfortable with one of the guides being all, lets share this blanket and let me put my arm around your shoulders, lets go see the camels alone and sjkdjakjwe. Urgh. Escaaaaaape. I mean, seriously:
Berber guide: SO, DO YOU HAVE A BOYFRIEND? 8DDD
Self: (Are you... in the Sahara. Seriously. SERIOUSLY. YOU ARE DOING THIS IN THE SAHARA.) ... yes. :| Very serious. Four years.
Berber guide: Ahh, but you are so beautiful, surely you must have 100 boyfriends! Do you want one more?
Self: ... (...) ... No. :| Thank you.
In other news, I have worked out the entire details of my fake relationship and the photo of Jo and I on the background of my phone comes in tremendously handy. Just saying.
There is also this giant story with this other Moroccan guy who was exceptionally skeevy and kept on telling me about how he could bring a woman to multiple orgasms. I don't even want to know.
The night sky was worth it. But, really, Moroccans can take their Asian fetishism and go drown.
Most of the rest of the trip was many many hours in a very small bus. I think we had it better than the other tour group, though. with had nine people in a seven seater, so two of them (the Melbournian boys that I very casually sidled up to during lunch one day and insinuated myself into their accents because, HOME. MELBOURNE. Those flat, obnoxious vowels and upward lilt, it makes me happy to hear) had to sit up front. One of them was pretty much on the gear stick, so every time he fell asleep, he potentially sent the entire bus to their collective doom. Our buses stalked each other through various rest stops so I forgot to get contact details until it was too late, sadly. They were rather hilarious in this married couple sort of way. I liked them lots.
Coming back to Marrakesh was pretty much like getting hit in the face with a tidal wave of humanity. Especially walking through the square again. I really don't recommend that girls visit Morocco on their own - maybe two or three girls together would be better, but one is rather terrifying. I got propositioned a lot and I didn't like going out to eat because if I was standing at a tea cart, someone would come up and talk to me. And it is not cool.
My last night, I decided to be brave and get a new hotel because I didn't like the one I currently had. I looked up a few online and decided to go trekking about to find one that looked promising, but instead got waylayed by some uh... hawkers? Or something, the people that stand around with pamphlets and such, and decided to stay in this tiny, seedy little hotel with outside showers but private rooms with a basin.
Unfortunately, this tactic meant I didn't actually have a clear mental picture of where I was except SMALL AND SEEDY ALLEY of which there are MANY in Marrakesh. After my first shopping session where I bought all sorts of leather goods and had to trade in my tiny wheely suitcase for a smaller leather bag, I tried to go back and walked straight pass my turn. Luckily for me, the same boys were out front and recognised me (AND TRIED TO CHAT ME UP. SJHJHAWE NO, I DON'T WANT TO GO OUT FOR DRINKS WITH YOU) and it was very OH RIGHT. HERE IT IS. HAR HAR.
The hotel staff didn't speak very good english and my french is nonexistant, so we just smiled at each other a lot. :D; That was nice.
Shopping in Morocco is an experiance where you have to bargain everything down to about a fifth of the price. If not less. Terror tactics and bullying and just walking away. It's kinda scary, though, and the amount of people that are like ";D I WANT TO MAKE U HAPPY COS U R SO HOTTTT." is kind of terrifying. Also, one man offered to bring the price down more in exchange for kisses but it was like OKAY BUT NO GOODBYE and skittering into the maze of the markets and far away.
Currently, I am in Spain. :| I am not sure what to do with myself here, given it is all.. it is very, uh, normal? I am going to galleries and will take a trip to Toledo tomorrow, perhaps, and am all over museums. However, I'm getting kinda run down and sick, so nothing too exciting. ;;
PHOTOS TO COME AS SOON AS I GET BACK TO LONDON AND HAVE MY CORD AND ADAPTERS. :D;;; Oh, memories. XD;
I owe a lot of my writing style to PG Wodehouse. This is... strange and uncomfortable. Hn. Also, I think that my twitter often gives a better glimpse of my life as it happens than LJ, which requires things to be planned and written in full. Performative spaces. :D; I wish I could convince myself to write without thinking of audience.
I also have a billion photos of buildings and interesting angles of arches against sunlight that absolutely no one wants to see. :D; Thus, I think I shall refrain and post only bits and pieces of this and that.
Since my last post MANY MANY MONTHS ago, I visited Malta, London, Wales, Morocco and am now in Spain. I think I'm coming down with an awful sore throat of the hacking blood variety. As of this moment, I am sitting in a 17th century Spanish palace - restored and transformed into a frightfully civil hostel - smelling distinctly like camel leather from my ever so manly satchel that I bargained down to less than half price from a Moroccan vendor, with henna across my hands that kind of makes me look like someone took a permanent marker to me. :D; Some girl commented on how awesome my tattoo was and, well, I wish I was the type to get strange flowers and curliques over my hands but no. It would hurt.
After Morocco, Spain seems very normal. I think I should have just stayed an extra week or two, though Morocco was actually very scary. It'd be much better to do with company and lots of it. I did manage to meet a few people in my (tiny, dirty, scary) little hostel that were nice to hang around with and took a trip into the Sahara which must be one of the more exceptional things that has happened in my life.
In chronological order, though, what happened first was the Ill Advised One Night Stand. I am cutting for special TMI factor and lots of facepalming OH MY GOD, YOU IDIOT moments. :D; However, this is my blog and full of my exuberantly written nonsense. I'll write what I damn well like.
Long or short time readers will know that I am avowedly asexual. I kinda have this sort of academic curiousity about it but really, I am so-so on the actual realities. For one, it seems messy and leads to all sorts of emotional entanglements that are probably better off left undone. But, sadly, being the sort of person that makes snap decisions and then acts on them (HELLO JAPAN. EUROPE. EVERYTHING.), I thought it'd be best to see what was so uh, compelling about the other side.
Actually, it wasn't so much a snap decision. I contemplated picking up someone when I first begun my trip but backed out at the last minute from complete and utter lack of physical interest. Like, above and beyond the normal lack of interest. Also, sweaty. Ick.
This time, I didn't even set out to pick up. Actually, I didn't realise he wanted me until he kissed me, which is sort of... wow, Karen, new heights of obliviousness. Especially since at that point, I was finishing an essay that I'd cloistered myself in the hostel lobby for two days writing, at about 2am and he was staying up with me. Purportedly to protect me from this tiny little weaselly guy on the staff who had a huuuuge crush on me to the point of trying to force his way into my hotel room - I had like, at least 10kg on him and perhaps about the same height, I totally could have taken him. It was a bit... It was not expected since he hadn't slept the night before and looked so tired, but I thought he was just being nice. But, no, it was because he was somewhat desperate to get laid ahahaaa.
Given I liked him well enough and had no SJHKKJAKJWE PHYSICAL REVULSION DDD< reactions, it sort of wasn't worth my while to say no. I think this isn't nearly the beginning of what is wrong with this entire encounter but like, my god. XD I can never be trusted to think of what is sane and reasonable. I told him I was inexperianced and he was all, "I do not believe you, you're too hot." and it was a bit ".. . ... . . you have me in bed already, stop with the flattery."
I actually do sincerely think that guys are a lot sappier than girls. Like, whatever, it is nice and all to be complimented and whatever, but there is a time when it becomes a bit cheesy. Every few minutes he'd stop and be all, are you okay? Which, I promise, were I not okay, I'd be kicking him somewhere it hurt. We didn't actually end up going all the way because, eh, it would have hurt and I am not that curious. Moderate curiousity means it is only okay when it's easy and convenient.
The entire time, he kept on being all 'You have fantastic _____' and 'You're so hot' and so on and so forth which was... nice, I guess. I did have fun even though it was hard to keep from laughing too loud as to not wake up the guy in the next room. This would have been doubly mortifying given that I actually knew who it was and spoke to him a few times. (Nothing can make taking socks off sexy. Or peeling someone out of their tights. Or trying to fit two people, one of whom is 6'4" onto a tiny single bed. OR, BUTTON FLIES kjkjkjawe. I lol'd. Lots. Also, Brits and their sardonic eyebrows sjajkjkawe XD)
Afterwards, he looked me in the eye and said, QUITE LITERALLY, "I'm glad we had this connection. Whoever you end up going all the way with will be a very lucky boy," to which I flounced off to the bathroom muttering something about sex toys and doing it myself. Because, really, gag me with a spoon. There's nothing I hate more than platitudes and fake promises - both of us were in it for one thing and making more of it is a terrible fallacy that I try my very best not to fall into.
It was... an experiance. He's more of a traveller than I am, so he's still in Africa and I'm in Europe. When he's in Europe, I'll probably be in Asia and then Australia. It was, truthfully, a strange and brief connection. In other news, I no longer have anything to be curious about so, go that. :D; I don't think I'll be rushing out to do it again.
It is sort of... One night stands are generally not good ideas. They mess with your head, in that because this happened physically, something emotional should likely follow. And when it doesn't, there's this strange feeling of disconnection. I am unsure if we're meant to be friends now, or awkward aquaintances or what. Perhaps it would be easier to just ignore each other. All in all, not an idea almost-first-time. XD;
Oh well. I will move on and persevere. It's not as if it wasn't entirely my own fault. Or, more to say, I will blame the circumstances and a tangle of fortunes and leave it behind. It's not as if what happens on vacation is the equivalent of real life.
After! He walked me to my bus at like, 6:45am so I could go on tour to the Sahara. (Off to see a man about a camel, don't you know? ;D) Because I am lazy, here are exerpts from several emails and comments.
The desert is not surprisingly actually very very far. As in, twelve hours if you drive straight far. Twelve hours and across mountain ranges and valleys and the sweeping flat plains.
Unfortunately for my timing, there was snow on the mountain ranges. Lots of snow, as in the day before the roads were closed because you wouldn't be able to get through without dying a tragic plummeting death. However, it had cleared a... little. As in, snow plows had gone through to push all the snow to the sides.
We still got stuck on the Atlas mountains for aaages. Hours. Many hours. Some of them were behind a caravan stuck in the snow trying to get past a truck. There were shovels and a giant crowd of drivers and what could have been an avalanche when the caravan was finally dug out and the make-shift workteam was all \o/ GLEE. It actually felt a lot safer driving through with THAT much snow given we'd likely not go plummeting to our dooms as opposed to getting stuck into a snow bank a metre high and just as thick.
(I slipped on ice and bruised my hip at the rest stop. ;A; On the plus side, in all of five minutes, I met a Singaporean studying in London who offered to show me around next time I'm there. Ahaha, travellers. I love this hyperconnectivity that comes with being in a different country.)
The first night at the hotel was SO COLD and I almost got kidnapped by a tour group of Moroccans from Rabat and Casablanca by wandering into the common room at the wrong time. Only the driver spoke English (badly) and he was all "COME. SIT. HERE, SMOKE WITH ME. YOU ARE WELCOME. NO YOU SAY NO. SIT." and grabbed my hand and pushed me into a chair and then there were musicians barring the way out and jkjkakjjkawe. It was vaguely terrifying. Meanwhile, the girl from Uruguay that I shared a room was waylaid by the driver's friend who tried very sincerely to convert her to Islam. He also gave me the uh... hookah? To smoke? And I was all ".. . .. . .. . ... .. . *smoke...?* *coughdie*" because it is very sweet and steamy and ick.
THIS OTHER MOROCCAN WAS ASKING US WHY WE DIDN'T DO DRUGS IN ASIA. AND IT WAS LIKE . .. .. . .. because it is illegal? :D; Maa. The Spanish half of our group was all ":3 we like drugs, yes." and it was all very awkward.
The next day, after freezing extremeties off in the night, we drove MORE AND MORE AND MORE into gorges and canyons and then finally to the edge of the desert where we were unceremoniously put on camels and sent out to watch the sunset. Camels are like riding couches except that couches don't tend to move. The only hiccup was they kept on telling me to sit back, but then I couldn't actually reach the hold bar.
This was only minorly annoying because, seriously, you sit back and can pretty much dance without feeling like falling. It's relaxing. Also, camels are vaguely terrifying because they are VERY VERY LARGE. I was holding something for a friend while she got up on her camel and then it was actually hard to reach up and pass it back to her. Maa. ;;
Tents in the desert are not, actually, very nice to sleep in. They are cold. Very very cold. Beautiful starry night and clear skies where you feel as if you can look out into forever, but all the heat leeches out in a heartbeat (specific heat capacity ftw) and getting up in the morning was a lot harder than I want to admit.
That night, we were herded into the main tent for a bit of a singalong and Moroccan drums. I do like the Moroccan drums. There's something exceptionally satisfying in hitting things to make a sound. Our tour guide was all "8D HERE, TRY THIS." and then played fast enough that his hands were blurs in the dim lighting, but one of the Korean girls played the traditional Korean drums and was all "... D< HERE, YOU TRY THIS." and made the guide cry manly tears on the inside. There was also a uh, riddle telling session which was interesting in that half the group only spoke Spanish, the other half were English second language only, and the guides were not exactly fluent in either. Also, I accidentally convinced them that I didn't speak English that well (I DON'T KNOW HOW. IT'S NOT LIKE I SPEAK BROKEN ENGLISH, IT IS VERY GOOD AND AUSTRALIAN ACCENTED.) so half the time, one of the guides spoke to me in Japanese while he knew I was Chinese. He even referred to me as 'China' so I don't even know.
Apparently, fun fact, Japan was the first and for quite a while, only Asian country that could get visas into Morocco, which is why so many vendors automatically assume Japanese. Then Korean. China is a distinct sad and lonely third.
Afterwards, we climbed a dune to lay back and look at the stars and it was all very suss and uncomfortable with one of the guides being all, lets share this blanket and let me put my arm around your shoulders, lets go see the camels alone and sjkdjakjwe. Urgh. Escaaaaaape. I mean, seriously:
Berber guide: SO, DO YOU HAVE A BOYFRIEND? 8DDD
Self: (Are you... in the Sahara. Seriously. SERIOUSLY. YOU ARE DOING THIS IN THE SAHARA.) ... yes. :| Very serious. Four years.
Berber guide: Ahh, but you are so beautiful, surely you must have 100 boyfriends! Do you want one more?
Self: ... (...) ... No. :| Thank you.
In other news, I have worked out the entire details of my fake relationship and the photo of Jo and I on the background of my phone comes in tremendously handy. Just saying.
There is also this giant story with this other Moroccan guy who was exceptionally skeevy and kept on telling me about how he could bring a woman to multiple orgasms. I don't even want to know.
The night sky was worth it. But, really, Moroccans can take their Asian fetishism and go drown.
Most of the rest of the trip was many many hours in a very small bus. I think we had it better than the other tour group, though. with had nine people in a seven seater, so two of them (the Melbournian boys that I very casually sidled up to during lunch one day and insinuated myself into their accents because, HOME. MELBOURNE. Those flat, obnoxious vowels and upward lilt, it makes me happy to hear) had to sit up front. One of them was pretty much on the gear stick, so every time he fell asleep, he potentially sent the entire bus to their collective doom. Our buses stalked each other through various rest stops so I forgot to get contact details until it was too late, sadly. They were rather hilarious in this married couple sort of way. I liked them lots.
Coming back to Marrakesh was pretty much like getting hit in the face with a tidal wave of humanity. Especially walking through the square again. I really don't recommend that girls visit Morocco on their own - maybe two or three girls together would be better, but one is rather terrifying. I got propositioned a lot and I didn't like going out to eat because if I was standing at a tea cart, someone would come up and talk to me. And it is not cool.
My last night, I decided to be brave and get a new hotel because I didn't like the one I currently had. I looked up a few online and decided to go trekking about to find one that looked promising, but instead got waylayed by some uh... hawkers? Or something, the people that stand around with pamphlets and such, and decided to stay in this tiny, seedy little hotel with outside showers but private rooms with a basin.
Unfortunately, this tactic meant I didn't actually have a clear mental picture of where I was except SMALL AND SEEDY ALLEY of which there are MANY in Marrakesh. After my first shopping session where I bought all sorts of leather goods and had to trade in my tiny wheely suitcase for a smaller leather bag, I tried to go back and walked straight pass my turn. Luckily for me, the same boys were out front and recognised me (AND TRIED TO CHAT ME UP. SJHJHAWE NO, I DON'T WANT TO GO OUT FOR DRINKS WITH YOU) and it was very OH RIGHT. HERE IT IS. HAR HAR.
The hotel staff didn't speak very good english and my french is nonexistant, so we just smiled at each other a lot. :D; That was nice.
Shopping in Morocco is an experiance where you have to bargain everything down to about a fifth of the price. If not less. Terror tactics and bullying and just walking away. It's kinda scary, though, and the amount of people that are like ";D I WANT TO MAKE U HAPPY COS U R SO HOTTTT." is kind of terrifying. Also, one man offered to bring the price down more in exchange for kisses but it was like OKAY BUT NO GOODBYE and skittering into the maze of the markets and far away.
Currently, I am in Spain. :| I am not sure what to do with myself here, given it is all.. it is very, uh, normal? I am going to galleries and will take a trip to Toledo tomorrow, perhaps, and am all over museums. However, I'm getting kinda run down and sick, so nothing too exciting. ;;
PHOTOS TO COME AS SOON AS I GET BACK TO LONDON AND HAVE MY CORD AND ADAPTERS. :D;;; Oh, memories. XD;
I owe a lot of my writing style to PG Wodehouse. This is... strange and uncomfortable. Hn. Also, I think that my twitter often gives a better glimpse of my life as it happens than LJ, which requires things to be planned and written in full. Performative spaces. :D; I wish I could convince myself to write without thinking of audience.