Its time for Africa...

Atlas Mountains

While Scotland was an instant hit, my Spring Break in Morocco was without question the most interesting cultural experience in my life thus far.  In retrospect, I don't think I mentally prepared myself for the fact that traveling to an Islamic country might present cultural differences of which I should be cognizant.  To me, Morocco sounded like another tourist destination. Of course there is a lot of tourism in Morocco but it is infinitely more...
I must admit to being in complete shock when I got off of the plane in Marrakesh (probably had something to do with us neglecting to look up the address of our hostel...or even how to get into the city itself).  After wandering from one shady alley to the next for a few hours, we finally found our destination and were greeted by the meowing of stray cats, scent of warm mint tea and the heavy smoke of shisha. While obviously a youth hostel in Marrakesh is not a stay at a Ritz-Carlton (but lets be real, my idea of fun is sleeping in the woods anyways), the staff was exceptionally helpful and made sure to explain how daily life in Marrakesh plays out.  That is to say, they explained to us how to haggle for a taxi ride (fare meters don't exist in Morocco).

 One of the most amazing things about Marrakesh was the generally relaxed nature of people, crowds gathered around snake charmers in the square, all of the shop owners in the Souks wander about chatting with their fellow shopkeepers and friends, there is absolutely no sense of urgency about anything....order a tajine or some cous cous at a restaurant and you might get it...an hour later....after the waiter is done shooting the breeze with the guy running the jewelry shop across the street and maybe running an errand for his mother.

Harem time

But really, I'm not complaining because that cous cous is so delicious I would wait an eternity or at least the entire length of all of the Godfather movies.  After filling up on amazing cous cous and getting lost in the souks of Marrakesh on the first day (where I bought some crazy harem pants to fulfill a life long dream of making my own MC Hammer fan video....kidding), we decided to get back to nature and explore a bit of the scenery of Morocco. The Atlas Mountains were incredible, there is positively no way for me to describe the view we were able to see. We drove through Berber villages, up mountains and down into desert valleys, the diversity of the landscape was beyond impressive. 

Rainbow over the Atlas Mountains

Perhaps my favorite part of our day trip into the Mountains and Ourzazate (Moroccan Hollywood) was when we Rocked that Casbah, the Sharif may not have liked it....but I sure did.  Apart from the fact that I don't think our guide was really a guide at all, but a mere random guy off the street looking to make a few bucks off of some westerners who wanted to see where Gladiator was filmed, our visit into this UNESCO world heritage site was smashing. I've always loved the Clash song, but I never really knew what a Casbah was (as a child I thought they were singing Cat Box) so it was interesting to finally put the song to reality.

Casbah and questionable tour guide

All in all it was a fantastic if not eye opening experience for me, I often forgot the luxuries that I have been provided with growing up as a western woman. However, from the snake charmers, to the man that sold us 4 kilos of dried fruit and almonds to our first Casbah experience....Morocco was an adventure that I won't soon forget.

Advice from Anthony Bourdain

Unsurprisingly, my favorite Travel Writer/ Foodie/Blogger/Sometimes Asshole is Anthony Bourdain.  While I often take the sarcastic life advice he provides in his books and on his television show with a grain of salt (even more so after my horrific foray into Czech cuisine in Prague), he does provide kernels of unoffensive wisdom (only once in a while).  Bourdain advises "If you're 22, physically fit, hungry to learn and be better, I urge you to travel - as far and as widely as possible".  
Ok....so I may only be 21 but I figure that is a minute detail in the grand scheme of life and in Bourdain's message.  I often get so overwhelmed by the hustle and bustle of Paris life as well as my seemingly constant stream of rigid French exposes and dissertations to complete that I forget how fortunate I am to be provided with the opportunity to see other parts of the world.  When Anthony Bourdain jokes about how Rachel Ray is the scum of reality television or how he dropped out of college because he took too many drugs, I laugh, of course. On the other hand, his dry sense of humor is not what makes him my favorite best/worst human being...it is the fact that he allows himself to be open to so many cultures and experiences them without fear or apprehension. So, in the same vein as Bourdain I have decided that my second semester in Europe should be more about enjoying experiences than moping because I don't have ready access to peanut butter.

Here's an update on how my new mantra is going...

Scotland : 
A weekend trip to Scotland was the perfect remedy for anything and everything that was getting me down about being so far from home and living in a city that can often seem miles away from friendly.  Paris may have a place in my heart, the baguettes, the constant barrage of amazing visual arts and even that annoying dog biting my feet while I am trying to drink my café crème all constitute a true parisian experience. However, I have to say that I haven't felt truly at home anywhere in Europe until I went to Glasgow.

Loch Lomond

 What started out as quick trip out of continental europe to see a concert (in an english speaking country!) turned into one of the best weekends possibly ever.  Sometimes you can forgot how much a quick mountain view or stroll on the shore of a lake (oops I mean loch) can improve your mood.  Paris, while beautiful certainly lacks for accessible green space.  Sure, there are gorgeously landscaped parks  but they're all so manicured that it still feels somewhat artificial.  Scotland is the antithesis, the Highlands have looked the same for hundreds of years and probably will for many more. There is something refreshing about visiting a place that bears no trace of modernity.

Growing up in a dilapidated city like Detroit has made me feel more at home in cities that seem to be a bit underrated/have a grungier edge.  The only way to describe Paris is pretty, the architecture, the way food is presented and even the way people present themselves is pristine (except the metro....which smells like urine 24/7).  I love the attention to detail in Paris, but sometimes it makes me feel like an alien. I'm used to graffiti and abandoned buildings not statues and elaborate window displays.  Glasgow, while still infinitely nicer than Detroit (love ya D-Town) gave me back a bit of that feeling.  It was funky, down to earth and filled with fantastic people....not to mention I have never had such an amusing time waiting in line for a taxi, everyone should meet a drunk Glaswegian before they die.
Its safe to say that Scotland stole my heart....but France still has my stomach.

Afternoon sun at Loch Ness

Back to Paris

My first weekend back in Paris has been quite eventful.  Although a solid 50% of it was spent on the couch in my apartment.  First of all, I am so excited to have a few of my friends from Michigan join me in Paris this semester.  Having a little UofM RC French reunion in the city of love was the perfect welcome back present!

Felix Faure in the Snow 

Thursday night was my good friend Sofia's birthday, so we took her to dinner at a restaurant called Aux Tonneaux des Halles. For those of you who have a craving for steak frites while in Paris, I would certainly recommend this place.  The atmosphere is totally relaxed and there are no reservations required (unheard of in Paris) and if you don't trust my opinion that the frites are so crispy even my mother would approve, you can check out its reviews on Paris by Mouth or David Lebovitz' blog (a hilarious american food writer living in Paris).  The restaurant is in the 1st arrondissement, located right next Les Halles and the horrific underground shopping hell that Parisians like to call Forum des Halles (seriously, don't go there).  So, despite its precarious location, this place is pretty good for a simple steak without the sometimes annoying pretention of parisian restaurants.

Bypassing the time spent at the bar and moving on to Sunday, a day spent waddling through the snowy streets of the marais (paris' Jewish neighborhood) with friends.  Sunday was an amazing day from the second my roommate Casey and I walked out of the door, that is to say, as soon as I started trekking down our block, I was pelted with snowballs by a French family enjoying the unusual Paris weather.  Needless to say, retaliation was necessary and Casey and I had a brief snow battle with our neighbors. After getting out all of that pent-up energy, we headed to the Marais to meet up with some friends of mine from back home.  After a delicious lunch of falafel and eggplant at Chez Mariane, we wandered around the neighborhood only to find some top-notch street art and vintage clothing shops. Hilarity ensued, especially considering the fact that the snow quickly turned to solid sheets of ice (Parisians have no concept of salting or plowing it seems), falls abound.

Street Performer in the Marais

Now time for classes....

Avignon/Fontainebleau

So, It has been quite a while since my last post but due to some requests from one of my favorite UAW workers (hi Sue!), I am going to try and post in my blog more regularly in the coming semester.  For now, I'm just going to update the world wide web about what went on in the last few weeks of my first semester in the city of light, love and dog poop.
Perhaps the most exciting thing came in the form of my lovely mother.  She was able to take 10 days out of her busy retired lady schedule (just kidding mom, I know the dog keeps you busy with her own Parisian lifestyle....aka defecating in the house) and come all the way to France for 10 days.  We started off with a lovely week in Paris.  We went to several lovely dinners, where of course I fabulously embarrassed myself in front of attractive French waiters.  I never fail to meet attractive guys while hanging out with my mom, on the other hand, I also never fail to make a fool of myself either. C'est la vie or ma vie I should say.

Sur le pont d'Avignon

Ok, so after walks, museums, baguettes and boeuf in the big city, mama bear and I hopped on a train to Provence.  Specifically, the ancient walled city of Avignon.  Avignon used to be (back in the medieval day) the seat of the Catholic church, so in addition to the bridge immortalized by the French children's song (and totally bizarre dance), there is an enormous Papal Palace that offers tours.
We had a great time enjoying the views not only around the city, but also in the restaurants we chose for dinner.  That is to say, one night we had a full on view of the world's most awkward first date.  From history to humor....Avignon certainly did not disappoint.

Before coming home for break, I hit up one more French monument...the palace of Fontainebleau (not to be confused with the hotel in Miami).  My lovely roommates and I decided to get out of Paris for the day and see something other than the inside of the metro and tourists in white sneakers, we settled on Fontainebleau which is about an hour outside of the city.  After the revolution and the sacking as well as  perpetual hatred of Versailles by all French people, Napoleon decided to instead restore the royal Palace of Fontainebleau (originally built in the 16th century) and use it as a symbol of the grandeur of his regime.  This means, that the Palace displays many personal affects of Napoleon in addition to tours of royal chambers.  Of course we all know that Napoleon had a little man complex and made up for his short stature with authoritarianism. However, until seeing his military uniforms etc. at Fontainebleau I had no idea that he was really the size of a middle school girl.  So, it goes without saying that I would recommend a journey to Fontainebleau almost entirely for the purpose of comparing Napoleon's shoe size with that of your 12 year old daughter....

Casey and I outside of Fontainebleau