Im squeezed into a stuffy, second floor internet cafe, trying desperately to find the hidden punctuation marks on this cryptic keyboard. The apostrophe still escapes me. Below me, on Avenue Hassan II, a group of people march, clad in different color reflective vests, clapping and shouting in what I imagine is Berber. In the pouring rain. They carry signs that might clue me in to their purpose, but my Arabic is limited to the ability to sound out words, without a clue as to their meaning. This doesnt stop me from being absurdly proud of myself when I do manage to sound out the words, however poorly. Reading sans comprehension. Thats like halfway there, right?
Ive only been here for a few brief hours, so instead of going on at length about my experiences thus far, I will leave you with my to do list:
-Find the apostrophe
-Find a map. I could really use a map.
-Get some Moroccon coins so Im not forced to pay some guy the equivalent of 13 dollars for carrying my luggage to the nearest taxi. In my defense, I thought he was the driver.
-Find out where the women in this country eat. Thus far, nearly every cafe and restaurant I have passed has been occupied solely by men.
-Discover.
The genesis of this blog was an account of a month-long stay in Morocco. I have since changed the name (removing the bit about said stay in Rabat), hoping to extend this little piece of cyber-sharing to include other bits and fragments of my life. Is there anything so real as words?
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