travel, Uncategorized


Today, we realized that we have been operating in the wrong time zone… two hours ahead of the time in Spain. What was that? I’m not going to be getting my PhD or anything. We thought that Spain and Morocco were in the same time zone (I mean, it’s a 45 minute ferry ride away!) but it isn’t. We figured this out when we left to get the train station two hours before our train… only to get confused when all the clocks were two hours behind and to find out that we had arrived four hours before our train left. Brilliant!

You can imagine how stupid we felt. And how bored we were while we waited for our train to Fez, where we were to meet our very first CouchSurfing host Erin.

So how did we choose Erin? Well, to be honest, we were pretty new to this, so when I came across a profile for an American female who spoke English we (and by “we,” I mean “I,” cause at this point I was the only one of us on CouchSurfing) thought Bingo! And so I sent her an e-mail and after some correspondence, I got her number, and made plans to meet her in Fez.

We got to Fez, where Erin, met us with her two other surfers Hannah and Steve. From there we walked to the apartment that she shared with another American guy named Cameron, and a Brit named Fraser. The three of them were studying Arabic in Morocco, and they made for quite theĀ  first-time experience. Erin turned out to be a really cool, young, married girl from the American Northwest (or Midwest?), Cameron was a rather laid back guy in crazy falling-apart shoes from Philadelphia, and Fraser was a crazy rambling 18 year-old from the ghetto of England.

Our hosts Fraser, Erin, and Cameron chilling on their Moroccan-style couches
Our hosts Fraser, Erin, and Cameron chilling on their Moroccan-style couches

After having a light meal with our hosts, Lindsay and I took off for a short walk about Fez. So far, Morocco has not been too hard to get used to (though our first moments of Tangier were pretty shocking). We get lots of attention everywhere we go, Lindsay more than I, but I do get my fair share. I can’t wait to get lost in the tiny little alleys of the world famous Fez medina, just like Tahar Ben Jelloun writes about in The Sand Child.

Our escort, at the entrance to the Fez medina
Our escort, at the entrance to the Fez medina

So far we’ve done the following:

  • Walked to the king’s palace by the medina
  • Had a guy yell “Konichiwa” and “Ni Hao” (repeatedly and at higher decibels each time) as I walked through the streets of the medina (which in itself is a UNESCO World Heritage site)
  • Got fried donuts for our hosts (and ourselves of course)
  • Watched a pirate version of Gone Baby Gone on someone’s computer (“The bitches love the cheddar.”)

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