Memphis > London

Here's a few things I've noticed:

1) Both Memphis and London are completely un-walker friendly. Entirely. Yes, there might be sidewalks, but both cities have spent time expanding out, rather than up, so they're both absolutely huge. I like to walk, so that's not usually a problem, except that neither city has anything to look at between point A and point B. Office buildings - yeehaw. Added to this are the "Walking Paths" outlined on some maps. The one I strolled down yesterday took me through a car park (not shitting you) and through an unloading dock before abruptly ending and telling me if I walked forward, it'd be trespassing. If you're traveling in London or Memphis, I advise you, rent a car.

2) You must rent a car because of number 2. Both cities have absolutely no comprehensible system of public transport. Now, in Memphis, this is largely because of political corruption and bad management. In London I believe you might be able to get around on a good day, but they get placed in this category because a few lines are under construction but there's absolutely no way to figure out which lines and how to get around these lines or others ways to get around. London is the only city in which I have declared defeat and hailed a cab.

3) They both have King's houses. And all of these houses are tourist traps. The Brits went so far as to install moving walkways in front of the crown jewels to keep people moving. If you want a blatant tourist-herd, go to the real King's house, Graceland, where at least the visitors dress interestingly enough to keep you, well, interested.

Now, those are my arguments as to why Memphis = London, but that's not my main thesis.

Why Memphis > London

1) Food. Meat Pie is awesome. Great invention, good job British. But then they named the rest of their food "spotted dick" and "toad in a hole." Who wants to eat that when you could have fried chicken, gravy, sweet tea, shrimp po-boys, and, obviously, BBQ? Come on. This one's a no brainer.

2) Soul. Memphis has it, London doesn't. End of story.

3) Memphis is hundreds of times cheaper. It's four pounds to take the metro here. FOUR. That's before conversion rates! And it's two to take the bus - and there's no way to buy a pass if you have to switch buses, you have to buy a new ticket on the new bus.

As you can see, London hasn't really done a good job of impressing me much. It's actually done a super good job of being completely unthrilling. On a scale of one to ten, judging how much you need to visit this city, I'd give London a three. Now, Memphis on the other hand...

A surprise patriotic moment

Today I took it kind of slow - slept in, went for a run, moped around the hostel, and generally didn't get going until afternoon. But I headed up to the Edinburgh castle, which is pretty sweet. Edinburgh lends itself to Gothic novels (you can just imagine some loved-crazed woman fleeing the castle towards her lovers shack chased by the dogs of her husband... Or something...). The castle isn't a let down in this respect either. Dark stones on a giant crag of a mountain. Way cool looking, and apparently despised by everybody who lived there - the royals didn't, if they had any other option.

But there was a thing I wasn't expecting in my tour. They had a special exhibition on the prisons that used to be there - housing POWs as well as pirates. The exhibition was a little silly - wax works and sound system "prisoners stories," but they did have a couple of old doors that prisoners had carved graffiti into.

Most of these were carved by POWs during a rebellion, by French men and others, and a couple were carved by pirates, treated lower than the POWs. Pirates and rebels, British men who fought against the king...

... and flew the American flag! (That's what that is.)

I just wish I could have gone back and told this man thanks... Not to wax eloquent or anything, but it really struck me that somebody over 200 years ago and thousands of miles away believed so strongly in his cause. He didn't know me, or even if they'd win, but I still have a country that this man fought for. A whole "thanks to all our troops" moment, if you will.

After that I went to The Elephant House - where J. K. Rowling wrote Harry Potter!

Morocco

So aside from my own status going from "super exotic" to "totally mundane," Morocco to Scotland has been quite a fun switch. I just went from getting a sunburn in seconds to huddling under the comforter for heat. Another note - it's 10:15 and the sun's still up. Yay high latitudes!

But I haven't fully explained about Morocco yet.

It's rather hard to take in. There's just so much going on. And while I quite liked Morocco, it's also quite obnoxious. The Jemaa El Fna, the grand square in Morocco, is unlike anything I've encountered before. It's huge and loud and bustling from about 11 AM to 3 AM. It's also there completely for the sake of tourists - snake charmers and henna artists and musicians and monkeys. Even knowing this though, knowing that it's there to satisfy your ideas of oriental culture, it's so hard to avoid how alive it is. How completely overwhelming everything is. I'm not tripping over myself to go back, but it definitely takes your breath away when you see it.

Vendors in Marrakech are ridiculously pushy. They'll grab you by the arm, follow you down the street, do absolutely anything they can think of to get you into their store. You're doomed if you do go into a store - once there the owner won't let you go until you've looked at all his wares. Saying you don't want to buy anything seems to be some kind of personal offense.

But the heat was so wonderful, it was hard to dislike it. After a rather rainy spring in Aix (a very bizarrely cold one, too), and constant rain in Spain (which did stay mainly on the plain), getting to a city that was appropriately warm was wonderful. Now I'm back in abnormally cold places. Brr...

But I did have an adventure in Morocco. I had my first couch surfing experience! My travel partner had been talking to this couple for quite a long time, he was in charge of the surfing part of our trip.

The couple we stayed with lived in Imin Tadert. They live about 3 km below Setti Fatma - a village based entirely around the tourists who come to climb to see the falls. Imin Tadert usually gets driven past entirely, however. Mostly because it's on the other side of the ravine from the road...

So we meet up with our hosts - two very hippy, dred-locked, absolutely kind-hearted people with two adorable dogs (one who was unfortunately teething). And we head towards their house -

Down steep steps carved out of the mountain, sometimes a winding path, inches away from a fall to a bridge. You remember those bridges on playgrounds when you were a kid? The ones you could jump up and down on and shake? Alright, now stretch that bridge out from ten feet to about a hundred, make it wobbly not only up and down by sideways, instead of the super-safe nets on both sides have nothing but one steel cable, and change the even, kid-approved planks for uneven, unevenly spaced logs. And add bags. Then up the other side to their house - a basic, unattractive cinder block house, like every other house in the entire village.

Inside was covered with carpeting and the walls were painted with symbols and Arabic and Berber words. Inside was beautiful.

The next day we woke up and climbed the mountain (our host was a mountain tour guide who took us up for free). And then we returned home, exhausted. But my adventure is only beginning. That night our host and, by extension, us were invited to a local wedding. I have mixed feelings about crashing this wedding, mostly because I know if several uninvited, unknown guests showed up to my wedding I'd probably be furious, but it was a whole lot of fun.

My poor travel partner was sent off with the men-folk to do manly things, and the women all clustered in a room to do what women do best - coo over the bride. She was absolutely beautiful. All the women were beautiful in sequined robes and matching headscarves. I hold to my jealousy - women in headscarves look so damn pulled together! Argh!

They brought us dinner - loaves of bread which we took and ripped apart and scattered around the table, and then two chickens, which we ate using the bread we'd distributed evenly before. I know all of two things about Morocco table manners, and they are as follows.

1) Try to eat out of the sliver of the plate directly in front of you. (Don't steal other people's food.)

2) Don't use your left hand.

So, using one hand, I grabbed a piece of bread and tried to dig into the chicken. With bread. Have you ever tried to tear apart a chicken wearing hot mitts? That's kind of what it feels like.

But I realized how easy it was - pieces of chicken were always directly in front of me on the plate. Like magic. Or like super nice women saving me trouble (and face). And then, the grandma next to me must have got it into her head that I was either eating to slowly or starving; she started handing me food before I'd even put the other bite I was holding into my mouth, she kept pressing me to eat. I've been overfed before, I DO live in the south and I've been fed by Southerners, French women, and Italians, all of whom love to overfeed guests. But I've never felt so stuffed in my life. I nearly made myself sick on the chicken, and that was before the second course came out - lamb! Lamb is much easier to tear with pieces of bread, but that didn't stop my guardian from picking me pieces and handing them to me. And the dates that came with the lamb. And whatever nuts were also floating in the sauce. So much food! So delicious, all of it!!!

After dinner it was time to amuse ourselves until the other women arrived to escort the bride to the dance. And amuse ourselves we did (or rather, they did and I was a fortunate bystander). Drums, singing, and dancing were the order for the day. And don't let anyone tell you Berber women can't dance (not that that's a stereotype I've ever heard). Because they can shake it enough to make Shakira jealous. Berber dancing involves hopping from foot to foot - kind of like polkaing but much much smaller - and moving your shoulders in time to the music. And then shaking. And that's where it gets entirely beyond me (I tried, to much laughter). I can't properly describe it, suffice it to say, "cool."

Unfortunately, my story ends here. My guardian and my host were both tired and wanted to go home. As much as I wanted to stay, I couldn't stay without my invited hosts, so I had to tag along home, walking the treacherous paths down to our house in the dark. Admittedly, this was past midnight and the main party hadn't even started, I was quite exhausted myself.

The next day we headed off to Essouria and showers. Did I mention - our hosts had no running water? Oh! And a Berber Toilet (that would be a hole in the ground with a sort of... cover... thing? Google it for yourselves). The no running water bit actually worked out quite well, since we ran down to the stream (that we'd crossed on the terrifying bridge) to get whatever we needed. We couldn't drink the local water anyway, so we were drinking bottled and had been since we got to Marrakesh, and aside from not being able to shower or wash my face, all other tasks were quite easy to accomplish.

But I was quite glad to get back to WiFi and showers. I'm a bit of a travel princess. I can deal with crappy showers and sketchy bedding and all manner of other things, but I really dislike being dependent on a stranger for my comfort level. I'm not cut out for couch surfing, even though I admit all the "cool" kids are doing it.

The rest of Morocco was fabulous, our hotel on the last night was one of the nicer ones I've stayed at, and that's by hotel standards, not just hostel standards. It was beautiful, I'd recommend it to ANYONE going to Marrakech, not just poor students.

I have mixed feelings about Morocco. The greatest part, by far, was waking up early one morning and hearing quiet - no sounds of snake charmers or drums or anything - nothing but the morning call to prayer sung from five different mosques all over town. It's right up there with bells for early morning mass. It's an eerie, lonely kind of beauty.

Tidbits and pictures!

I had originally planned to run downstairs for a few minutes to check my email, but I timed it to when the cleaning lady decided to "mop" the floors by soaking them with loads of soapy water. I think she's going to come back to wipe them up, but right now, I'm suddenly stranded in an accidental bath.

So I'll tell you a little about the Alhambra, which was stunningly beautiful, and Marrakesh, which is even more awesome.

The Alhambra was built a looooong time ago with people with the same evenness issues I have!

It's all so intricate, so awesome, and so beautifully even. The Alhambra inspired M.C. Esher to begin his drawings, which, after walking around, isn't that hard to imagine. It's also the place were Isabella sent Columbus on a crazy journey (with hints that Ferdinand might have wanted him gone because Columbus and Isabella were fooling around).

The Alhambra is beautiful.

And Charles V decided that he wanted a "normal" house, so he built a palace along side it. It just looks silly and severe next to the spacious Alhambra.

Morocco is amazing.

I haven't taken photos here yet, mostly because I'm not sure what I'm "allowed" to take photos of and what I'd have to pay to take photos of... I want pictures of the monkeys in the market, but I know I have to pay for that. And I wanted a picture of the man playing the banjo with a chicken on his head, but again, probably would have to pay.

Ah well, I'll just keep walking around and getting "unofficial tours" that I don't particularly want and then having people expect money from me. The easy bit is that they tend to walk ahead of you (at least the two guys who tried it with me), so you just duck down an alley when they aren't looking.

I bought Nun Cookies!

Kristie, I was going to write this in that letter I so desperately owe you, but I want to share this here. But imagine it's handwritten in a letter... :/

Today I woke up and took the free walking tour of Granada. On the tour, among many other cool buildings and facts, our guide mentioned that there's a nunnery in town that sells cookies. They're cloistered, they can't see people, but they're supposed to make AMAZING cookies.

You better believe I bee-lined it there as soon as the tour ended. Mostly because I love cookies and because you can't say no to nuns selling cookies, but also because I was intrigued how they conquered the issue of being cloistered and doing business.

The nuns are, as stated, cloistered. So you walk into this room where there's nothing but a little window with a lazy-susan style turnstyle that takes up the entirety of the window and, next to the window, a PA system. Nicely outlined in Spanish and English are instructions - push the button, wait for response, say what you want, get cookies, pay, go away.

Which is exactly what happened. I pushed the PA button and the turnstyle shifted just enough to hear a voice - "Si?" I said what I wanted, the voice went away and was replaced by cookies! I placed my money on the turnstyle, which seemed to know when I had because it immediately turned.

And I plopped myself down right outside and dug into my delicious nun-cookies.

Granada

"Here's your free drink coupon and there's paella in the kitchen - we're running behind checking people in, you don't mind, do you?"

With paella and sangria? Nope, all good here.

I'm safely in Granada, after quite a silly hassle with the buses in Madrid (Note: Just because you bought the ticket with, say, Greyhound, does not mean you won't be riding on a Megabus bus...).

So a recap of the last few days (over a week now, eek!):

June 2nd: I completely flubbed my final oral exam. I got quizzed on poetry in French. In Verlan (the French word-reversing slang - reverse = versere), "august" should sound like "Hugo." Stupid me for not combing through the entire poem looking for juvenile word play.

June 3rd: Headed to Loches! I had forgotten how simply beautiful Loches was, and I was staying with some absolutely wonderful family friends. I'm already excited to go back to visit the Days (and their dogs) in July! In proper Alabama fashion, I was greeted with a drink on the porch (only here it overlooked the beautiful countryside).

June 4th: We headed into Tours for the Musee des Beaux Arts and the Cathedral there. We also looked at the remnants of an older, grander cathedral that had gotten destroyed somewhere along the way. But was huge.

June 5th: Another house guest of the Days, Laurin, and I went exploring in Loches. Loches is where Joan of Arc convinced the prince to try to seize the throne of France AND where Agnes Sorel, first official mistress of the king and ancestor of nearly all of the French royalty, is buried. They have a dungeon, royal lodgings, and a lovely church, where we got to hammer nails into a stump.

June 6th: Chateaux! Chenonceau - possibly the most beautiful chateau on the planet - Azay le Rideau and Sache. And a little piece of French advice: Ladies, do you want a quality husband? Then marry whoever you like, and honeymoon to the Loire Valley, to look at chateaux. "Maybe head to Italy for some history..." But really it's about the chateaux. Then you'll have yourself a quality husband.

June 7th: Unfortunately, I had to leave Loches for Bordeaux. My thoughts on Bordeaux - when you're older, richer, and have a lot of money to spend - go. Definitely go. When you have money. Not exactly a student friendly city. But I had a FABULOUS hotel - not fancy, but the owner went far out of his way to make sure we were comfortable. He even had flowers in my room when I got there! (In an Evian bottle, which is just cute.)

June 8th: Exploring Bordeaux, lots of churches, lots of wineries, lots of cows. Then hopped on the all-night bus for...

June 9th: MADRID! I stayed with the daughter of the family I'd visited in Loches. And I spent all day (after a nap) in the Prado museum. Holy crap. I thought that a museum having one Titian was cool. Maybe a couple of Titians, an El Greco, you know, you're impressed. Then you go to the Prado. And you immediately enter an entire room full of Titians (who's one of my favorite painters). And your jaw drops, and does not close again until you leave. After one room full of Titians is ANOTHER. Followed by solid walls full of Rubens, Rembrandts, and Velazquezs! And El Grecos - an entire suite of rooms devoted to El Greco! And then some more - Bosch and Fra Angelico and Caravaggio and...

June 10th: Tried to go to the Royal Palace, but it was closed. So I spent the day in the Prado again. Did some walking around Madrid, ate some (delicious) ham. Went to the ham museum.

June 11th: Got on a bus, came to Granada, got some sangria, and am quite happy.

I exist!

So it turns out I'm pretty bad about updating here. But I promise something will be up soon.

After exams (on the 2nd) I headed to Loches, then Bordeaux, and am currently in Madrid. Today I head down to Granada.

There's lots to update in there.

But I have to catch my bus...

Love you all!