- ​Firstly... DO travel to Morocco! Whether you travel for food, culture, vibes, history, the beach scene or the city scene, night life or even to relax & do absolutely nothing.. Morocco has it all.. & at a VERY cheap price! .. even better right?

-DO be conscious of dressing modestly. You may wear whatever you'd like as Morocco is probably the most progressive Muslim country you'll travel throughout in this century, but if you'd like to respect the culture & avoid unnecessary attention.. then DON'T wear short skirts, dresses or shorts (just above the knee is totally acceptable) & DON'T wear shirts that expose your mid drift, shoulders or cleavage.

-No you DON'T have to wear a headdress of any type. There are plenty of local women who choose not to. My point being, you won't stand out if you choose not to.

- Definitely DO eat the street food! Not knowing where to start, I simply ate where the locals crowded around during lunch time.

- DON'T eat the sausage! I don't feel the need to explain but even the poorest of locals won't touch the sausages, anywhere.

-DO negotiate on prices at the following places: Shops in the Medina or souks, on fruits or veggies sold by locals, horse carriage rides, your taxi ride if the meter isn't working (but be sure to negotiate when you enter the vehicle, not when you're mid ride), your hotel stay if you walk in for a same day reservation, freshly prepared food sold by street vendors.

- DON'T negotiate at the following items/places: Your bus fare or train ride, in actual shops where there are marked price tags with barcodes, your taxi fare if the meter IS working, any medical clinics or pharmacies, sit down restaurants with prices on the menu, the little hole-in-the wall stores in the souk that sell prepackaged food & general supplies, your phone bill if you choose to get a Moroccan SIM card (which is pretty cheap & easy to obtain, $14 a month).

- DON'T drink alcohol in public unless sitting in a restaurant or hotel & even so it's quite difficult to find. If you choose to buy a bottle of wine, whiskey or bottled beer you must not display it on the street as it's illegal in the muslim culture. Let me explain.. It's legal for you to drink as a tourist, but highly frowned upon by locals.

-DO visit a mosque for the experience, but be fully covered before entering (preferably with a head scarf on) & be sure to enter on the "femme" (women's) side. Once inside DON'T speak & before entering, take your shoes off.

-DO visit the following cities: Marrakech, Essaouria, Sahara Desert, Agadir, Chefchauen, small towns through out the Atlas Mountains & Fez. Feel free to skip Casablanca as it is very industrialized & 90% of people who've been say it was a waste of time.

- DO stay in a Riad (a small moroccan boutique hotel) or feel free to find accommodations on Airbnb. These places have high recommendations from me:

In Marrakech: Riad Zam Zam, Riad Maison Rouge, Villa de les Orangers, La Mamounia & Riad Yasmine
In Essaouria: Villa Anouk
In Sahara Desert: Camp Adounia (a big HUGE must do!!!)
For the other cities, unfortunately I do not have recommendations.

-DO take public transportation, at first it might be a bit intimidating but it's quite simple & comes very often until about 9PM.

- DON'T worry if you're supposed to meet a Moroccan at 17:00 & it's now 17:25 but they're not there yet, they're on Moroccan time..
As a generalization recognized by the vast majority of people here including locals, they are the most unpunctual people you'll ever meet! Oh, & "soon".. here, is an actual time.. the problem is no one actually knows when that it is.

-DON'T make eye contact or acknowledge men unless you want them chasing you down the street asking for your hand in marriage. You will leave here feeling like one hot mama but I highly recommend ignoring the catcalls.

- DON'T give money to beggars, it's a huge issue here especially with women using their very young children to pester you. They have no problem hanging around your side or pulling on your jacket with puppy-dog eyes in hopes you'll give in. Majority of these mothers use their children as props while they should be attending school, by giving in.. your encouraging them.

-When in need of directions, ask a woman if possible. Men are more known for leading you in the wrong direction, I'm guessing for laughs.

-When in the Souks or Medina of any town, DON'T show interest in any one item unless you know you're going to purchase it.. & in that case be ready for them to pounce on you. It's intense. Just be cautious. Their main goal is to sell you something & it seems as if they are willing to go to any length to do so.

- DO explore around, you don't have to stick to the main touristy spots. Just use your street smarts & DON'T be afraid.

-DO keep your purse in front of you when in crowded areas, I have personally witnessed a gentlemen sticking his hand in another gentlemen's bag.

-Locals will ask to show you something or ask if you're lost. DON'T give into it. Ignore them, if you fall for it they'll bring you to their friend's or family shop OR they will bring you where you need to go & insist you MUST pay them. It's them fishing for unsuspecting tourists.

- If you have some time in a town, DON'T buy anything until you've looked around a bit, many people sell the same things for different prices & qualities.

- DO buy Aragon oil, carpets & pillows, leather materials, lanterns & handcrafted wood pieces. It's pretty much everything they're known for & the prices are unbeatable.

-DO exchange your money for Dirhams as most places or people will NOT accept dollars or any other form of currency.

If you have any other inquiries, feel free to shoot me a comment & I'll be happy to help!

Bislamah XOXO!
Love, The Growing Traveler.

I’ve never believed in anything being perfect, but Camp Adounia & the Sahara Desert come pretty close.

It was time for check out at Riad Zam Zam so I scarfed down my breakfast, grabbed my bags & we hit the road. Road trip! Sahara Desert here we come! I say we but I really mean my driver & I. Mentally I had prepared myself for one hell of a long boring drive.. & I mean very lonnnnng, ten hours long. But surprisingly that wasn’t the case, I mean yes.. it was indeed very long but it was the furthest thing from boring. 

Hour 1, 2 & 3: Marrakech to the Atlas Mountains:
Having spent the past few weeks in the crazed city of Marrakech without any means of transportation other than the bus, the only places I’ve explored here were within the limits of the bus routes. Yes, I could have taken a taxi but I’ve found more adventure lies in opting for public transportation & it just means more money in my pocket for my next indulging meal. I’ve also found it brings inspiration to my writing & generally makes for an interesting memory. (Yes, interesting.. Haha!)

My point being this ride gave me an opportunity to see a whole other side of Marrakech & the outskirts of the city I’ve never seen. I’m now beating myself up for having not ventured out much sooner! 

As the city faded out.. grass grew & quaint farming villages appeared. It's something beautiful, where little make shift huts were held together with straw & chickens roamed freely. The smiles the villagers flashed gave a strong sense they knew the true meaning of simplicity.

As the famers disappeared into our rear view mirror we climbed into the Atlas Mountains. The elevation peaked, my ears popped & my jaw dropped. Prior to arriving I ignorantly thought I’ve seen snow before .. how different could one mountain range be to the next? That assumption was quickly wiped from my thoughts as the natural beauty was breathtaking! The peaks of the mountains laid flat & locals sat by small ponds created by snow run off to gather water for bathing & drinking.

The deeper we ventured the colder it became, I rolled up my window & for an authentic feel we turned on some Algerian music. Even without knowledge of the lyrics the instrumental beat makes your hips uncontrollably move. (For my Americans, it’s most comparable to belly dancing music).

Hour 4, 5 & 6: Atlas Mountains into Rural Villages​:
As we made it through the winding road of the mountain ranges & descended into rural villages that hid in the crevices of the hillside it was hard to peel my eyes away from the historic beauty. Homes were camouflaged into the red rock as the walls were built with the mud the hillside provided, women gathered palm tree branches to be dried out as they brilliantly used them for their roofs, men manned small shops filled with pottery & stonework, children played soccer (African football) on any amount of flat land that could be found & the elderly sat by the roadside hiding from the sun as their entertainment were passerbys.

Hour 10: The Sahara Desert at sunset & arrival to Camp Adounia:
​After hours & hours of traveling through landscape that laid my imagination of what Africa was to rest, we arrived in a peaceful Moroccan heaven. Well, it's actually called Camp Adounia, but I think Moroccan heaven is more appropriate.

After the sights I had just taken in I didn't think anything or anywhere could really out do it but Camp Adounia placed it's self on my bucket list the minute my feet touched the ground.

As I nearly threw myself out of the moving car upon arrival, Mohammed (the camp's manager), greeted me with a crisp glass of Moroccan white wine & a contagious smile that put my worries of being in the middle of nowhere, as a solo traveler, to rest.

The sun was setting & the surrounding sand dunes glowed like a dimly lit fire that was fighting for life & candles, placed in handcrafted copper lanterns, illuminated the pathways leading to my tent.. A campfire was crackling & the stars twinkled as if family back at home knew I was missing them. You've never truly seen the potential of a beautiful night's sky until you've spent a night in the Sahara Desert.

It was as if I was taking a virtual tour through a history book..

Hour 7, 8 & 9: Rural villages into the Sahara Desert​:

During the entirety of my trip I've repeatedly said, it doesn't feel like I'm actually traveling through Africa. Morocco is it's own special place unlike anywhere else in the world & truthfully there's no way to explain it or document it. Matter of fact even for a photographer.. blogger.. or any other tittle I give myself it's difficult to visually display what I'm describing. There's so much beauty to be shared but with much due respect to the locals I don't want them to feel as if I'm here to plaster their beautiful faces on postcards. So, unfortunately the only way to share the sights & vibes, they can only be described with words.

​Speaking of the African vibe, for the first time during my stay here in Morocco, once we hit the middle ground between the mountains & the desert I actually felt like I was in Africa. Talk about eye opening. Women of all ages were squatting by the water banks in their vibrant cultural attire as they hand wash their clothes, colorful carpets were hung from Palm trees set out to dry, men were building & repairing roads, famers were gathered with their livestock in a makeshift market for trade, Sheep headers supervised the sheep as they chowed down on the deep green colored grass, the elderly were moseying down the roadside with no pressure of time, a thick lush forest of Palm trees followed the main road for miles & miles that left you feeling like it was guiding you to a tropical beach, Camels aimlessly roamed the flatland leading to the bare desert with their nomad & as school was letting out.. the boys grouped together riding their bikes home where as the girls were left walking in a uniform only they wore.

​I indulged in my traditional Moroccan meal whipped up by Mohammed (oh boy does this man know how to cook) & gazed into the campfire until my eyelids couldn't fight it anymore. Off to bed I went. I crawled into the crisp white sheets covered by a thick Moroccan woven blanket & nestled into the most comfortable bed I've slept in in months.
Day 1 & 2 in the Sahara with Camp Adounia
It felt like I was asleep for only a moment when I was peacefully awoken mid morning by the chirping birds. My tent glowed & I smiled knowing, this is my life! "Your breakfast is ready!", whispered Mohammed through the tent. I moseyed over to the table & took a look around since this was the first time I was actually able to take in the beauty of the Camp & thought, "There's no place I'd rather be". It was beautiful. I sipped on my coffee & awaited Mohammed for my breakfast. Treating me like a queen, he plated me 3 m'simins (Moroccan pancakes) & left me to enjoy the calmness of the Sahara.

Finishing up my meal, Mohammed went over my options for the day.. Camel riding in the dunes, sand boarding, quad riding, going into the nearby town or simply relaxing.. I opted for the sand boarding first & then finding some camels to love.

We ventured up the surrounding dunes barefoot with our boards in hand searching for the biggest slope. We found one but I chickened out, he rode it down & I tumbled down the slope meeting him at the bottom. I finally got up the courage & rode down the next. We wandered a bit, talking about the simple things in life.. he shared how his parents met. His parents were both Nomads of the Sahara, their paths crossed when they simultaneously brought their camels to the same small body of water. With 5 children later, the rest is history!

Needing a break, we found a tree, sat under it & I questioned him.. "All dunes look the same, so how in the heck do you know our way back?" He chuckled & jokingly said he didn't.

(Being stuck in the desert with him.. Not such a bad thing! Haha..)

I questioned him again.. he said, "The footprints, the landscape & the plants that grow where water gathers after rainfall.." What a beautiful thing. No street signs, no noises, just me.. him, our foot prints & the sun beaming down. Do I have to leave?!

We strolled back to camp through the dunes & Mohammed warmed up some water for my bucket shower.. Never bathed via a bucket & washcloth so this was a first.. & I loved it!

Anyways, off to see the camels we went & on the way we bumped into a nomad with a pack of ten camels roaming freely to munch on shrubs. We lowered our music & I crept up to the closest camel. Not wanting to invade it's space, I admired from a far. It stared at me for a brief moment & went back to eating. I appreciated the moment I had & we let him be. Before heading back to the camp we stopped at a well, filled up a few large buckets & left them for roaming animals.

Back to the camp we went. Mohammed once again cooked a delicious traditional meal & I invited him to sit with me around the campfire. We admired the twinkling stars & decided to head up to the dunes for a better view. We grabbed a pillow, my wine & left our shoes behind. We found the perfect spot & gazed up at the stars until once again my eyelids couldn't hold the weight. 

What a peaceful way to end an unforgettable experience in an amazing destination. 

Bislamah! Until next time .. XOXO ..

The Growing Traveler

Loving
 Love, now that's a touchy subject due to me being hundreds of thousands of miles away from every soul I've ever known & the dear to my heart place I called home.

Often enough if you've ever danced with love you might have a sour taste in your mouth for any reason from A to Z. What I want to remind you is, that's not love that you're on bad terms with.  If it's sour, maybe it's pain disguised as love, or enter any other feeling in it's place. You may love someone but perhaps you're in a threesome with love & pain. Here's my suggestion, if you're questioning it. You know it's not right. The right heart will love you the right way, but the wrong heart will always love you the wrong way. Take a hold of your pressed for time life & make things right.

I speak on the topic of love because the past few days it has been in my forethought & plenty of times it's come up in conversation. Whether it's been marital love or family struggle..  Anything that pulls on the strings of your tender heart is difficult to cope with when you're on a roller coaster ride.

​A few days back I spoke with a new friend, roughly the same age as me give or take, about the topics of love. In normal conversation we spoke about Muslim relationships & family struggle. I hadn't realized the depth of our conversation until I walked away...

It began with curiosity of her take on relationships in the Muslim community.. My understanding prior to this conversation was women didn't have a say in the world of love, they were to be married off at the families discretion. Come to find out, that's not exactly accurate. Now, I don't know where I got this inaccurate idea.. perhaps it was an assumption I unconsciously placed on the entire Muslim world. Yes, each country differs & as does the family.. so I only speak about Morocco here. She explained as a Moroccan woman living in today's day and age you have a choice. Years ago it was forbidden to have an intercultural relationship that wasn't prearranged but times have changed & they continue to change as women fight for their equality. Equality, it is not a word typically thought of to be used in the same sentence when speaking about the Muslim world, but in Morocco.. feel free to use it all you'd like! Women can drive, women have a say, women can divorce & women can most definitely work. Women's rights to be equal are still in the works but they are ahead of the curve when being grouped in with other predominately Muslim countries.

Her personal take on the matter is she agrees with prearranged marriages. She has never had a relationship & does not believe men & women should date, saying, "I don't see a point to dating." I questioned, "What if you don't like the person?".. That thought didn't really cross her mind. Thinking, "When you're arranged to marry someone it forces you to squash differences & look past the petty things.." Now, my point on this is irrelevant. I was more than curious to hear her thoughts on the whole thing, thinking.. different cultures, different ways of life. However, I couldn't help but feel in a situation as such, will she ever know.. feel.. experience true love? You know that love when you get goosebumps & you've seemed to loose yourself.. 

My opinion being irrelevant, I just wanted to plant a seed & left her with food for thought.. I told her, there's a difference between loving & being in love.. & I hope one day you discover that. 

​Living
I don't feel I need to dig into the depths of "living" but I do want to ask you two simple questions.. Are you living to work? Or working to live? & When you're old & frail, which bank will ease your soul? Your money bank or your memory bank? I hope your answers were the later of the two. If not. Get up off your tush & like I mentioned above... Change 
 something! I speak about living because far & too few between are actually doing so. Living is a feeling, not an act. Simply watching the clock as hours pass while you complete a daily routine isn't living. Yes I know, for all it's different but for me, traveling & living go hand in hand. Traveling is living & living is traveling. My goal has been to find life in everything & let life happen. I feel the most appropriate quote here is, "Life is 10% what happens & the other 90% is how you handle it."

Now the other day I spontaneously booked a trip to Zanzibar, Tanzania.. To travel throughout Tanzania, the Yellow Fever vaccine is required upon entry. Being so I visited a near by clinic who directed me to the main hospital here in Marrakech. A friend joined me & we arrived at the main hospital's front gate. She asked in Arabic, "Where can she get a Yellow Fever Vaccine?".. He replied, "Go down to the next gate, it's there that you can find it." We arrived at the next gate. They said, "Nope, not here.." & pointed us to the next gate. We arrive at the next gate & what do you think the next response was? ..... Yes, he also said the next gate. Now I'm thinking to myself.. How many gates does this freaking hospital have?! A LOT, is the answer... A LOT. 

To make a long story short. Each person we spoke with (I lost count after 8) claimed they KNEW where it was, insisting the last person is wrong & shooed us along in the "right direction". Finally after about an hour & a half of aimlessly walking around like a lost puppy dog the last security guard said "You have to take a taxi to ______ clinic.. that's the only place that administers them in Marrakech.".

​ I knew he couldn't understand but I felt it was necessary, I wagged my finger at him & sternly told him if I couldn't get it there & I waste my money on a taxi going all the way across town, I will come back & I will make you pay!" He smiled having no clue what I was saying & we flagged down a taxi. Off we went as I crossed my fingers. We arrived & the gentlemen at the gate said one very long Arabic sentence that I couldn't understand & then said, "no".. AHHHHH! I've gone bald from there to here, so now what? A nurse came to the door & explained the issue. It's no longer available ANYWHERE in Marrakech but only in the capital, Casablanca (the one city I didn't want to travel to). Which is about 3-4 hours North via train. Loveeeeeeeeely! 

So let me back track a bit for you, I will be going to the Sahara Desert from the 14th-17th & I don't leave for Tanzania until the 24th. I wasn't quite how I should spend the remainder of my time in Morocco. I had a Chefchauen, a beautiful quaint little mountain town, at the top of my list but I wasn't sure if I wanted to make the journey (it's 7 hours North of Marrakech). So I was stuck between Chefchauen or a more convenient route, just going South back down to Essaouria. Now here's the kicker, I now NEED to travel 4 hours North to go to Casablanca for this vaccine, making the only rational decision to spend my last few available days in Chefchauen.

Before I could wrap my head around having to go to the ONE city I absolutely didn't want to go to I was frustrated.. but as I thought about it, I took it as a sign. I originally couldn't make up my mind as to where to go. I obviously needed some assistance in making that decision & there you go. Like I said... 'It's 10% what happens & the other 90% is how you handle it". That's life. Ride it out. There's no point in riding against the current. 

I would just like to end this with an, I love you all & thank you so much for following along with men  my journey!

Ciao! XOXO

The crazed city to the town by the sea. My journey from Marrakech to Essaouira.. 

Saturday morning rolls around.. my host father accompanies me to the train station where I would be boarding a Supratours bus to lug me from Marrakech to Essaouira.. I board & three hours later I arrive. A smooth journey it was, only costing 100 Dirham ($10 US Dollars), free wifi & I had a front row seat to see just how locals survive in small villages that line the main road. Desert it was, with the exception of greenery as we crept up on the coast line. I say desert it was, but beautiful it was too.. with a few unnecessary stop signs in the middle of absolutely nowhere.
Little did I know then what adventures & memories would lie ahead. 
Exiting the bus I attempted to appear as if I knew my way to the hotel. I took no more than 20 steps before realizing I needed directions. I pull out my phone, open my email confirmation & it read as is, “Enter the Medina from the far right, proceed 20 meters & it’s the blue narrow door.”.. Easy enough, I put my phone away & continue walking. I enter through the right entrance, check! Not knowing the conversion for meters, I figure it shouldn’t be far. Okay, I begin to walk the main pathway as I look for a blue door. My head is on a swivel, blue door.. blue door.. blue door. They are all F’ING BLUE DOORS! EVERY SINGLE ONE OF THEM. I laugh, it must be a joke. I keep walking, I keep walking, I keep walking.. Looking for a sign that would indicate which blue door I should knock on, I didn’t find one & I found myself at a dead end. I must have past it. I turn around & retrace my steps.

My sleeping bag occupied my hands, my backpacking backpack weighed down my back (how many times can one write “back” in a sentence!), my overly large water bottle pressed up against my waist held there with the support of my arm & my shoulder held my camera. I’m starting to sweat. Sweet Jesus! Where is my hotel?

 Due to my Arabic being next to nothing but a few words, I tap a local on the shoulder & spit out “Dar Sabon?” (the name of my hotel).. He kindly points me in the direction I just came from & tries to piece together, “on your right”. “Shukran”,  I reply (thank you in Arabic). I retrace my steps & shortly find the “narrow blue door” (enter an extreme eye roll here). I knock, no answer. I bang harder, no answer. I ring the doorbell, no answer. I pause, scan my surroundings.. the neighbors are staring.. Obviously finding this humorous. A neighbor hints with hand signals he will try to call the hotel. He picks up his phone, dials & waits..  shaking his head no, I assume no answer. 

Thirty minutes pass.

I put my belongings down, purchase a bar of chocolate from the neighbor, sit down & start to wonder.. “What the hell am I going to do?!”.. Another twenty minutes pass & the gentlemen tries to call again.. No answer. I stand back up as I’m tapped on the shoulder by an older white gentlemen. First thing that comes to mind is, “Someone that speaks English! Yes!”. He explains this happens quite often & offers me to come inside his residence while he tries to get ahold of someone. I graciously accept with my guards up. He opens his front door & we walk upstairs. My face brightens up, it’s beautiful! Standing 5 stories tall it’s a perfectly handcrafted home (not house) with a vibe that screamed Greek-Morocco. White stone walls with a deep blue accent, windows that overlooked the neighborhood & perfectly placed Moroccan goods in the nooks & crannies. I couldn’t keep it to myself.. I told him, “I’m moving in! It’s beautiful!” 

As we awaited a phone call back from the hotel we sipped tea & killed time getting to know each other. He’s a late in life widow living alone, straight from the land of booze (Ireland), who recently decided Essaouira was going to be his forever home. I questioned why Essaouira? His response being that's where him and his late wife vacationed just prior to her passing. It was a beautiful place where they laughed & shared a great time.. so why not? ... I knew then he had a great heart. He’s rescued a handful of backpackers alike who’ve been stranded for dead while waiting to get into that hotel, I suppose it’s now more of a ritual. I told him the hotel should hire him out for a “pre-checkin routine” (Haha!). 

For the sake of his identity from here on out we’ll call him, Clover. As an architect, Clover designed & constructed his lovely home from the basic blocks that were left behind from the previous owners. (*The phone rings*) Clover was able to get ahold someone who was able to

get ahold of someone else who got ahold of the manager. It was time to go but I wanted to continue our conversation.. Clicking instantly, I invited him for lunch. I brought my bags over to my hotel & I checked in. The manager apologizes for being absent upon my arrival but pulls up my Airbnb form which clearly reads the dates of Feb 11-13th. NEXT WEEKEND! I booked the hotel for the wrong date! Being that her English was pretty much next to nothing she tried to explain to me that I needed to cancel my booking for next weekend & give her cash for this weekend’s stay. So, two things.. first, they have a strict policy online that states I will not get my money back if I cancel & secondly, I don’t have that amount of cash with me (forgetfully I also did not bring my ATM card). I explain to her in simple terms that I didn’t have the money but I’ll try & come up with a solution. Needing food, I left & figured we’ll sort it out after.

I knock on John’s door (right next door) & we head to the beach for one of his favorite lunch spots. We sit overlooking the beach listening to the crashing waves as African street performers dance in our line of sight. I order the fish of the day & an ice cold beer to wash it down. The waiter comes over with our meals & places a full non-skinned fish in front of me. I gulp & eat it regardless. After I got over the fact it still had eyes, I accepted how delicious it was! We carried on our conversation & I explain to him my situation with the error of my booking dates & lack of cash to actually pay for a new booking. We brainstormed & he invited another friend to join us who was native to the area, closer to my age & spoke both Arabic & English. Again for sake of identity, we’ll call my second friend, Red. With lack of many other options Clover volunteers his house for my accommodation. I smiled from my liver! 

Red decides to call my hotel to speak with the manager to eliminate the language barrier. Red explains the situation & says I’ll just be staying with Clover instead.. free of charge. The manager is frustrated thinking Clover stole a client & here in Essaouira things spread quicker than a wildfire. Clover so kindly pays & we leave. Rushing back to resolve the issue, it took us no more than 5 minutes but it was too late, the entire neighborhood already knew. Clover was nervous his reputation with the neighbors would be tarnished, rightfully so, not wanting to cause uproar I offered to go elsewhere. He wouldn’t have it. I would be staying in his house for the next few days.

I leave his house to grab my bags from my original hotel & back head over to Clover’s. I walk in the front door, where there’s a sitting room.. sitting there laughing was another curious neighbor who wanted to investigate the story.. Clover then looks at me, laughs & says, “Just prior to meeting you I was wandering the market place wondering what was I going to do today & then I met a damsel in distress that needed rescuing.. but little did I know, you’re trouble!” I laughed! The same thought crossed both of our minds, what were we going to do? & Look at us now. 

It was now early evening, the sun was getting ready to set.. The three of us.. Red, Clover & I  grabbed some locally made wine, headed to his beautiful terrace on the 4th floor where we listened to soulful music & spent hours laughing our way into the early morning. It was the perfect warm evening with two new great friends that created memories that will last forever. But don’t fret, the shenanigans didn’t end there.

The following morning came around.. I awoke to the boys making breakfast & I took my first warm shower in weeks! Red left & Clover stayed in, I decided to wander the Medina (the towns “square”). Stopping to chat with locals, documenting my travels via photography & soaking up sun while watching the waves crash the time got away from me. I headed back to Clover’s for lunch, he had picked up a couple of keshes for us to munch on from a bakery down the street.. & in them talking he discovered even the ladies working in the bakery knew our crazy story! Any who, we finished our keshes & wandered over to the outskirts of the Medina where the “flea market” lied on a dusty road. Shouting merchants could be heard from blocks away & people were selling nothing & everything in between. It was madhouse. The deeper we got, the more interesting it got. If you looked at it from an artistic standpoint it was amazing. Handcrafted doors, tables & dressers were piled on top of each other just waiting to be reincarnated.. Old cars & bed frames were being sold as scraps but were screaming, “REMY, GIVE ME A SECOND LIFE!” … Let me tell you, if I was sticking around Morocco.. Here is where I would furnish the entirety of my house. But I’m not, so I had to keep it moving.. As Clover was inspecting a table I sat on an old dresser placed in the dirt. I look to my left & there’s the sweetest looking street puppy. He smelt my love from a mile away & came charging at me with those overly sized paws. I gave him as much love as I could until we left. 

Clover decided to head home & I wandered down to the seaside. Knowing Essaouira is known for their port, I had to go check it out.. It was b-e-a-u-tiful! Except the awful smell. That was really awful. Like, really.. really awful. I couldn’t stay long so I watched the sun begin to set as the buildings began to glow & headed home. Red, Clover & I topped off the evening for dinner at a locals favorite where we sipped wine & ate delicious food until we slipped into a food coma. I thought to myself.. “This is what life is about. This is MY life. All is good!” 

I now write this from my home back in Marrakech as I just arrived this afternoon.. but all I can think about is being back in Essaouira. Clover & Red if you’re reading this, I hope to see you guys soon! Thank you for the unforgettable time & Clover, you have an amazing heart!

XOXOX - The growing traveler

It’s true, you do. Marrakech makes it next to impossible to ever feel alone, thanks to the natives.. Partly because the natives love a foreigner.. the way we look, the way we speak, the way we dress.. & Partly because that’s simply their nature. It’s as if their blood runs warm & love glazes their skin. With a kiss hello & a kiss goodbye they want you to know there is no such thing as a “stranger” in the land of Morocco.

​It feels as if if they offer tea & bread every time my heart pumps blood. A welcoming smile greets you at any eye contact made. English is a tongue all wish to hold but far & few between actually have. The elderly are treated with tenderness, no elder will stand on the bus or walk alone to cross the street. The young may wander alone but they are treated as brothers & sisters to all. The aroma of spices fill homes, shops, back alleys & streets alike. Berber (native)

men man the shops of the Medina as they anxiously await to pounce on their next prey in hopes they will make a good enough sale to feed their family of 7, 8 or ..9 (Haha! Yes, they have huge families here!). Hijabs (headscarfs) are only worn by women over the age of 14 & yes, it is optional. Gays are still in the closet. Polygamy is allowed, but the first wife has the option of divorce (my next door neighbor has two wives…Think of it like half of American marriages except here it’s not hidden). Motorcycles are the main form of transportation next to the overly packed bus & rundown taxis. People drive as if traffic rules don’t exist & traffic lights really don’t exsist. Police walk in threes carrying firearms as big as my leg. Generally women don’t shower at home, they use a local hammam (an establishment where someone bathes you for a cheap 30 dirham - $3 US Dollars). Summers range from a scorching 45-50 degrees Celsius or 100-120 degrees Fahrenheit with humidity you could practically swim in. Camels, donkeys, horses, monkeys, cats & dogs roam the streets, it’s like a freaking zoo out here! Oranges, oranges, oranges.. Oranges are everywhere & oranges are in everything.. Orange trees, orange marmalade, orange soap, orange brownies, orange chicken, orange juice, when I say orange everything.. I mean it! 

All in all Morocco has a special place in my heart. 

Now listen..  we all travel differently, some travel for a simple getaway from home & don’t mind not leaving their hotel.. Then there are some who travel to experience something new or add a fond memory to their bank. That’s me, I’m the second of the two. Traveling to dig deeper into who I am, what I like & what I want out of MY life. I set out on this adventure to figure myself out.. I decided at a young age I wasn’t going to wait for life to happen, to let time pass by & escape my grip. I’m going to be one of those people who's spark never dulls.

Apart of figuring yourself out is taking the time to listen to other people, their cultures & their reasoning behind it all. To be frank, I generally live without assumption or judgement. I believe we all have good reasoning for why we are who we are today. Living in America however, I’ve grown up to be more timid of the muslim culture. The way American media presents issues portray the culture to be the evil.. when in reality, & like any other culture it’s the person that carries out evil. Now don’t get me wrong, this is a touchy subject & I’m not here to play into the politics of things.. but I needed this. It’s just a confirmation that, you, need to, for yourself figure out what you like.. want.. & who you want to be. 

I’m sitting here on day 8 of 37 in the kitchen typing to you while I sip my Thyme infused tea as my host mother, Fatimzahra, prepares our homemade dinner. The house is filled with the aroma of spices & my mouth is watering.. It's hard to concentrate!

Since so many days have past & I want to share everything with you.. just bare with me.  

I'll start with day two because day one was nothing but travel & placement into my new home for the next three weeks. So, morning of day two my host sister & I awoke to the sound of chirping birds & the morning prayer being spoken loudly over a PA system in the streets. Not understanding any of the verses it sounded more like a hymn, very beautiful & peaceful. We rushed downstairs for our homemade breakfast prepared by our host mother, Fatimzahra. Moroccan pancakes we call them, in Arabic, they are Msemen (pronounced: hm-sim-in). Homemade orange jam made from the orange tree in our front yard is thinly spread over them, they are heavenly (I mean, really.. they are heavvvvvenly!) 

PS. I asked for the recipe & will start to make a book of all my traditional favorites that I will think about kindly sharing with you! (kidding, I won’t be selfish.. of course I'll share)

Finishing up with breakfast we decided to head out & explore the Square. The souk. The Medina. Jemma El-Fna. It’s practically all the same thing jumbled up into roughly 3 square miles. It’s a maze of craziness. No street signs & when you ask for directions it’s.. “turn left at the big red carpet hanging from the roof & when you see the donkey’s carrying oranges by the blue door, make a right”. You have to laugh. GPS definitely isn’t a thing & I’ve only met maybe 5 people that speak enough english to complete a sentence. It’s as if I’ve picked up sign language with all of the hand signals I’ve used to communicate. Anyways, we decided to venture out using the local bus as transportation. We walk a mere 5 blocks to the main street where we start to wonder where exactly the bus stop is. There are no signs. We scan the street as a bus comes zooming by us. We look at each other like, “oh shit!”.. and run like lunatics. Two white girls, in a foreign country running after a bus. Comical. Realizing the bus is pulling over we continue running to catch up. We hop on the back of the bus where the doors opened & all heads turn towards us. We have their complete attention, no doubt. Not wanting to cause any issues we make our way to the front of the bus where we pay 4 Dirham (.40 cents - US Dollar). Fifteen minutes later we arrive at the square of the Medina. For my San Franciscans, it’s comparable to Fisherman’s Wharf. It's filled with street entertainers & face painters except here the square is jam packed with henna tattooers & African dancers.. Your senses are on complete overload. Donkeys roam & locals hound you to buy whatever they’re selling. You don’t stand a chance! We ventured into Jemma El-Fna not truly knowing what to expect. There’s no real way to explain this place. It’s as if you’ve entered into a labyrinth & you’re lucky if you can find your way out. There’s holes in the make shift walls where Berbers (local Moroccans) created shops that are filled with colorful carpets, strong scents of spices, handcrafted lanterns & authentic Moroccan wear. Visually this place is all you can ask for. Authentic & colorful. 

As a pair, we aimlessly walk through the maze as men whistle & shout “ah-low beautiful”, wanting to entice you into buying their product (we fell for it a few times). These Moroccan men are, as Moroccan women would call it, “mind eaters”. Mighty suave & oh so charming. 

We let time get away from us & realized we hadn’t eaten in hours. A few moments later we pass by a charming restaurant. We walk up a few flight of stairs & were seated on the terrace. Talk about beautiful.. Handcrafted everything with a perfect view of the sunset. As we sipped our champagne next to a few other foreigners & watched the sunset, the walls began to glow with this warm brownish color. Welcome to Morocco! This is perfect, I thought. 

We finished our meal & the waiter came with our check. Bea (my host sister) planned to pay with her card. She hands the waiter the card & "declined", he says. He tries again. Declined. Again & again.. still declined. “Greeeeeaaaat! Just what we need.” The waiter speaks with the supervisor & the supervisor explains in French to Bea that a staff member will take us to an ATM. Almost two hours later after trying five different ATMs, nothing is working. Our phones do not work & this employee doesn’t speak either of our languages (English or Italian). Thinking to myself, this is the kind of thing you would see in a movie. I giggle as Bea is stressed. “Relax, it’ll all work out” I tell her.

At last we found a kind local who let us use his phone to ring our host father. Explaining to him the situation he says, "Take a taxi home with the employee & I’ll pay him..". We did so, & laughed afterwards. We learned our lesson the hard way.. Clearly!

Monday comes around & it's our first day with the children. We have a brief orientation where we were explained what we would be doing. Working with children from ages 2-16 at an under privileged school & then come week two & three I would be working at the orphanage. We wrap up orientation and head to the “school”. As we arrive we realize.. it’s just a room with a whiteboard. Not speaking their language, the children gazed up at us with smiles that could light up a room. They shouted out in Arabic with joy! I’m thinking to myself, I’m not ready for this. How do I communicate with them? They’re all staring at me, waiting for me to do something. I sit down & let Bea take control. Thinking neither of us have a clue what to do, I head to the front of the class where we attempt to introduce ourselves. I begin to say, “My name is Remy”.. thinking they speak French, I also say.. “My name is French..” (But, that didn’t turnout how I thought it would. They’ve been calling me “French” for the past week now. I laugh & go with it.) 

Being the first day it was a short day for us. Every last one of them kissed us goodbye & walked home alone (yes, the majority of the 2-16 year olds wander home ALONE). As everyone left, Bea & I looked at each other like “What did we get ourselves into?! We can’t handle this!” Remembering to breathe.. We walked home (only a 5 minute walk) & tried to strategize a plan for tomorrow.

The following day we walked in with a better attitude yet we were still very intimidated. This language barrier is frustrating. Trying to look past the frustration we came up with a plan to bring the children outside to play a game, Duck Duck Goose. Not being able to communicate verbally we sat them down in a large circle & acted out the game. We were laughing & suddenly it became natural. We can do this. You don’t need to speak to communicate. The day went on & I came to realize saying goodbye would be more than difficult at the end of these three weeks than I ever imagined. It’s only day two with them & I love these children. 

Let’s fast forward a few days. The school has been amazing. The children have been amazing. My host family has been amazing. The town has been amazing. Everything has been amazing. The class has tripled in size & even the parents are sitting in on our class hoping to pick up on simple English terms. 

Thursday evening rolls around, Bea & I are planning to meet up with our volunteer coordinator & two other volunteers. An hour before we planned to leave Bea falls ill. It’s now 7 o’clock & I decide to still go. I catch the bus to meet my fellow volunteers at our office. I show up & there’s about 8 people. Not what I was expecting, but okay. Let’s go. Our volunteer coordinator who, to be kind, is very aloof. As we are walking out of the door he says, “oh, we’re actually going to go to a social dinner so you can meet some other people & it’ll only cost you 50 dollars”. I say “sure”, thinking he meant 50 dirham (which is only $5 USD - which is still a lot of money here for a meal) & go with the flow. We walk a few blocks, enter a restaurant & open the back door to a patio. Silence, everyone turns to look at us. We just interrupted a presentation & as I scan the room.. everyone is dressed to the nine. Suit & ties.. lipstick & dresses. I look down at what I’m wearing.. Yoga pants & a beanie. LOVELY! Where the hell am I? Where did he bring us? We shuffle in & one of us trips over a lantern, BOOM.. BANG! The lantern is knocked over & the candle wax is everywhere. I sit down trying to ignore our rudeness as everyone continues to stare. I face the person sitting across from me & he smiles. I sigh of relief! He’s not mad.. he’s chuckling. The speaker continues with his presentation.. 10 minutes goes by & I realize it’s in French. Everyone is then asked to introduce themselves. The head of the table starts, “I’m Jamal & I own the largest bank in Morocco..”, the next man stands up & says, “I’m Abdul, & I’m an entrepreneur, my main office is in Dubai & I played in the Africa Cup the past three years.” Um, again I say to myself.. “Where the hell am I?!”. I stand up at introduce myself as a volunteer & sit backdown. I’m so out of place. I take a look around & everyone I came with was gone! I’m alone. Where did everyone go? They left me. The man beside me whispers “you didn’t realize this was a presentation for marketing did you? I giggled & said, “is it that obvious?”

The presentation carried on, it was now 10:30. When are we going to eat!? I made a few friends, it seemed as if I was the most interesting person at the party. (HAHA!) The appetizer came & I decided I have to get out of here. I exchanged contacts with a few & I went to pay (even though I didn’t get all of my food yet). In broken english, the waiter says.. “50”. WHAT?! $50?! That’s absurd. Everyone had left me, I didn’t get my full meal, we interrupted a presentation that was given in French & now I’m being forced to pay $50. Frustrated, I hand him my card & he says cash only. I exit the restaurant & get cash from an ATM. I reluctantly hand him the $50 & part ways. Not knowing how to get home by bus, I flag down a taxi. I give him the address & he shakes his head, “yes”. I hop in, we drive a block & he picks up a couple. We drive them home. As they exit, they don’t pay. He picks up another man on the corner & drives him 10 minutes out of the way. That man exits the taxi, & doesn’t pay. Seriously! Of course he doesn’t speak English so I can’t communicate, we finally arrive to my destination an hour later (for a drive that should only take 15 minutes) & he states “80 dirham”! 80?! No! It normally cost 30, but since we drove all over town for these other people it was 80! After the evening I had, I didn’t put up a fight, I couldn’t. It was now almost midnight, I go inside & try to shake off the evening.. thinking tomorrow will be a new day. 

A few days pass.. & it’s now Sunday. Bea & I awake, head downstairs for breakfast & talk about our plan for the day. I have an appointment at the hammam (what Moroccans call a spa) with a local hotel. One I found while wandering the streets earlier this week. I couldn’t pass up the price for such a STUNNING hotel (Villa de les Orangers). 450 dirhams, $45 USD, for a 45 minute massage & a body scrub with an included lunch. Bea decided to head to the office for a meeting & we agreed to meet up in the later evening. We got dressed & walked towards the bus stop. While standing at the bus stop, a man shouts, "Remy!", I turn & it was a man I met earlier this week on the bus! He was in the passenger seat of a make shift car. It reminded me of a tuk-tuk. He said he was headed towards the Medina & I shouted back, "us too!". He offered us a ride & Bea looked at me like, "Duh! Get in!" Our new friend popped open the back & we climbed in the open air bed. Being that this is Bea's last full day to adventure out I thought it was perfect! Locals were staring at us like these crazy white girls! It was great. We drove  about 10 minutes until we pulled over, our friend came to the back & said the roads closed, do you want to get out & walk the rest? "Sure, no problem! Thanks for the ride", as we offered him coffee at a later time. Bea & I went our separate ways. I headed towards my appointment​

& of course I got lost. It was in the same area of The Medina. The labyrinth of confusion. After walking in circles for a half hour I found a cafe that had a sign in the window for wifi. I rush inside & ask if anyone speaks english. Nope, not a soul. The employee asks, "french?" No. "Italian?" Again, no. Spanish? YES! I ramble off what I could in eśpanõl & he got the point. However, the wifi doesn't work. So, against my good judgement, I told him.. "I'm lost" He laughed & asked where am I going.. I told him & fortunately I was right around the corner! I had no clue! I thanked him & went on my way. I arrived, & immediately a feeling of calmness came over me. This place is an oasis! The perfect escape from the hustle & bustle of the streets. I enjoyed my treatments, my food, my tea, the sun, & the peace & quite. What a perfect way to end my day! 

Of course I still have more to share but my free time to write seems to be cut shorter & shorter every time I sit down. So I must go now, tomorrow we're back at school bright & early & it's already 10 PM here.. Thank you for tuning in. I hope my story continues to get better & better as the days pass! Hugs & kisses! I miss you all! 

Bislamah! XOXO

I’ve landed ya’ll! Six months of intense planning. Six months of playing devils advocate. Six months of figuring out how to say goodbye. Six months of cutting all ties & six months later I’m finally in the land of Camels! 

Marrakech, Morocco, this is where my story begins.
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After 10 days in the hustling bustling city of New York I was more than ready to make my way to the airport. I anxiously packed all of my belongings the evening prior & planned to stay in & rest up. As I was slipping into something more comfortable I was asked by a bunkmate if I’d like to join her for free drinks in the lobby. I said yes, of course. We wandered down to the lobby where we made a friend or two & decided to carry on the evening with a larger group & bar hop. My last night made for a great one with great new friends (Rachael, my Aussy! If you’re reading this.. I hope we cross paths once again!).

she was sorry to inform me, but then said, "$180". ONE HUNDRED & EIGHTY DOLLARS!!! “No way!”, I thought to myself.. My jaw dropped & “I’ll have to figure something else out” came out of my mouth as I couldn’t contain my reaction. She looked around & made her way to my side of the counter, placed her arm around my shoulder & whispered.. “I didn’t charge you, enjoy your trip”. I smiled from ear to ear & thought “what goes around comes around”. What a beautiful way to start my trip. 

Midnight comes around & we board the plane. Six & a half hours later we land in Portugal, I wait another 2 hours & they begin “boarding” for my connection to Morocco. I stand in line, they scan me in & I follow the crowd to where I believed we were boarding the plane. We go down a long flight of stairs that exited onto a bus. We all scanned the bus in question.. why are we on a bus? No one knows. Ten minutes later the bus begins to move, taking us onto the tarmac. It dumps all 13 (yes, only 13!) of us in front of this tiny “plane” with propellers. We shuffle along the tarmac & board.

Two short hours later, running on ZERO hours of sleep I arrive in Marrakech, Morocco! We are again dumped onto the tarmac & directed towards customs. I’m next in line. I’m nervous for no reason at all. The employee shouts something along the lines of “next!” in French & I hand him my passport. He flips through the pages & stops at my photo. Glances up at me & looks back at my passport then says, “this isn’t you”. Uh, yes it is. I giggle out of nervousness. He calls over his friend & they discuss in French. He then asks for another form of identification. I pull out my drivers license & he says, “well you look different”. Yeah I look different! I’ve been sitting on a damn plane for almost 10 f'ing hours & I’m going on hour 30 of being awake. Give me my papers & let me go! Of course I wasn’t stupid enough to say this, but as I was getting ready to open my mouth he handed me my papers & I walked off. Welcome to Morocco!

As most of you know, or may not. I’m in Morocco working with a volunteer program, IVHQ. The program director picks me up & brings me to “the office”. However, I did not know this. I thought he was bringing me to my host family. We pull up, gather my bags & walk up the stairs of an apartment building. Assuming this was my placement I was trying to keep a positive attitude. It met my low expectations. It was small & dingy but it had a roof & 4 walls. However, as we entered I was greeted by another volunteer, my host sister. Introducing herself as Bea from Italy she explained this was not our placement.

Our placement was in fact 10 minutes away via car & was way above her expectations. I sighed of relief! Hallelujah! The worst is over. I can stop worrying. She goes on to say the house is beautiful, 4 stories & they have “so many living rooms”. 

Our host father brings us to our placement & man oh man! She wasn’t kidding. 5 living rooms, 4 bathrooms & 4 stories. I feel like royalty. Our host father is a teacher for a nearby "school" & our host mother is a former english teacher. Both native to Morocco. Both former Peace Corps volunteers. Our host mother is a big ball of love & laughter. Our host father is a straight-edge smartypants. My host sister is a first time traveler native to Italy but living in the Netherlands. It’s truly the best I could have asked for. 

I can’t wait to tell you all about my first few days but I've run out of time. Come by next time for our introduction to the cities public transportation, getting lost in the Medina, getting ourselves in a ball of adventure when we didn’t have enough money to pay for our first meal outing, our first days work in our school & learning the hard way when being taken advantage of because we look like the average foreigners.

Stay tuned, I love it here!
Bislamah (goodbye in Arabic)! XOXOX

I’m sitting here on day seven of ten at the extra large windowsill of my hostel’s room, glaring out of the window watching the rain trickle down as I scratch my head trying to figure out where to start. These past few days since my arrival have been a ginormous whirlwind! I checked in with you guys on day three and I sit here four days later wishing I would have typed sooner. Since writing, I’ve had a Smorgasbord of emotions & feelings. As many of you know I was crippled with food poisoning. It genuinely felt like it left me for dead for the past few days, so, on that note let’s focus on the beforehand.

Prior to the sickness and post my last check-in, New York (or as I like to call it, New Yaw-k) has been nothing short of a fast pace blur of collected memories. Between the people, the cars & subways alike New York is a go-go-go city. The locals (surprisingly) sport New York gear (maybe they're just proud?). Disgustingly oversized rats scurry along the subway tracks. Between the horrendous hours of 5 AM - 11 AM & 2:30 PM -7 PM throw your claustrophobia out the window, because there’s no way to get around being packed into the subway like a can of sardines waiting to explode. Food carts are posted at every corner hoping to score their next dollar on an easy-to-get tourist. NYPD’s finest line the vast majority of popular streets keeping the flow of traffic (because street lights aren’t enough?). According to my observation, there are very few overweight people.. now I’m wondering if that’s because they can’t afford food after paying their overpriced rent or if it’s because the average person in NYC walks 21,000 steps in any given day. The only New York accent I’ve heard came from our house keeper (& she was funny as hell). I have now adjusted to the constant blaring sirens at night, in fact I probably couldn’t sleep without them (...kidding!). New York is truly the city that doesn’t sleep, the ONLY difference between the middle of day & the middle of the night is the sun isn’t out. There is no shortage in delicious food or quaint boutique restaurants, it’s a foodies heaven on earth.

Despite it all I’ve fallen for New York City. I love it. It has definitely made it to my “return to” list. 
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On a completely off topic side note I’d like to sum up the past few days that I’ve failed to document, so bare with me. 
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Here it goes.. Starting with the third day I awoke to a 30 year old Swede moving into our room. We made friends & explored together. Hit Time Square for a polaroid photoshoot, moved on to the Statue of Liberty to be bombarded & pay way over price for an expedited 1 hr tour, dropped in on China Town to only plan a quick escape route & topped off the evening with a few other bunkmates at a gay bar in Greenwich Village for comedy night. (Best moment of the evening being my bunkmate’s face when the preforming trans woman spoke about “her” testicles.. she wasn’t aware she brought us to a gay bar.. priceless)
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Jump to day four: I awoke early without a plan. Knowing I needed caffeine I drifted towards the Upper East Side where I found an adorable coffee shop on Yelp. I grabbed my jacket.. & another jacket (because it’s colder than cold, it’s freezing) & followed my map. Along the way I found myself walking through a farmers market where I pretended to elegantly taste cheese as the man running the booth used words like dirty & radiant (whatever you say, sir. It was delicious). I reluctantly purchased a warm loaf of pumpkin bread & shortly arrived at my destination. While ordering my coffee the adorable barista questioned me about my camera, gave me his card & invited me to shoot with him before I leave.. then whispered my coffee was on the house (cha-ching bada-bing! Thank you sir). Finishing my cup, I wandered the avenues.. Not having any direction, I asked a woman walking her dogs “Where should I start?”, she pointed to the left and said “there”. So, I followed her lead. Honestly, I could have been mistaken for the paparazzi. These neighborhoods were so uniquely beautiful, I couldn’t help it. There were children in loafers, Bentley’s & Tesla’s lined the curbs, & toddlers were being dropped off at preschool by chauffeurs. What a life. Any who, I stopped off at Bluestone Lane Cafe (a delicious healthy eatery) for a bite to eat, I highly recommend their avocado feta toast (mhm, yum). As I finished my meal & requested the check, I was told my meal was already paid for.  When I asked who, the waiter pointed towards the handsome man sitting in the corner. So let’s backtrack when he entered the cafe I was standing by the door & held it for him. I also offered to let him be seated prior to me because he was in a hurry. I suppose this was his unneeded thank you & as I gathered my belongings to leave & thank him.. he was gone. Deciding to call it a night I headed back to the hostel where my bunkmates & I played a few board games for the remainder of the evening.

Day five: Having made plans the day prior with a girlfriend I met on my previous travels I awoke early again. Plan was to chase the snow, we were going to board the train heading north & venture up towards Connecticut. That didn’t happen. However we still boarded the train towards the Bronx. Exited there & caught a nearby free shuttle to Wave Hill Estates. We wandered through the estates admiring the gorgeous views of the Hudson River & their charming green house. As we decided it was time to get moving it began to snow (saying I was giddy would be an understatement). We boarded another nearby train that ran along the bank of the river into Harlem. As we exited the train station it was apparent this isn’t somewhere you “wander”. As I held onto my belongings with a tighter grip I could feel the intense stares coming from all directions. We walked at a slightly faster pace & finally arrived at our Soul Food lunch spot. The minute you walked in the door you felt a vibe. I great vibe. A soulful vibe. With slow jams playing in the background, the staff & majority of customers being of ethnic background, the aroma of fried chicken filled the air.. we couldn’t wait to chow down! Thoroughly enjoying our fried chicken & waffles, collard greens, black eye’d peas, corn bread & garlic mashed potatoes we took the remaining to go. Trekking it through the snow we finally made it back to the train station. Parting ways, that was the last exciting experience I’ve had. That evening I became ill. Without getting into too much detail I’m now on the mend, hoping I’ll fully recuperate before my flight to Morocco departing Friday. Wish me best of luck! 


Until next time y’all! 
Ciao XOXO

I'm 1 of 9.1 million people in the city that never sleeps. Where am I? New York City baby! Arriving Tuesday evening, yesterday was my first day to break in my walking shoes.. & oh boy did I. I also conquered  that subway! Well sort of... (haha) not really. If you know anything about the New York subway you know it's confusing as all hell. When you ask for directions their response is, "take the 4 train to the R platform, get off walk up a flight of stairs.. make a left & go back down the stairs to get on the 1 going uptown".. yeah, um okay.. just give me a second to figure out how I'm STILL going to get lost. 

TIP: I recommend 110% to purchase the 7 day unlimited Metro pass for $31 (otherwise expect to spend $2.50 each way every time you board)

Eager to explore I woke at 7:00 AM with red eyes & a smile on my face. I grabbed a map from the front desk of my Hostel (Hostel International NYC - which might I add completely exceeded my expectations!) & hit the streets. Walking 3 blocks to the closest subway I stopped for coffee, tripped over a chunk of melting snow, & avoided 2 monstrous sized rats like the plague. I boarded the first train heading towards Time Square.. All is good so far. I exited & wandered as I'm on sensory overload. My head felt like one of those lazy susan's, this way.. that way.. & every which way. As I was taking photos a couple next to me asked if I would take their picture, I did & we got to talking. She pulled out their itinerary & I giggled. I was surprised her next breath wasn't also listed. She later recommended I visit the Trump Tower no matter my political stance, stating she didn't know where exactly it was but said, "you can't miss it, there's dozens of media crews camped in front & NYPD lining the streets in full riot gear". I headed that way & she wasn't being dramatic. I stopped to photograph the madness as I was interrupted by NYPD's finest shooing me along. I carried on deciding my next destination was the Brooklyn Bridge.