Hi readers. The four-week travel binge I find myself in currently has prevented my usual writing, as I went from Ramallah to Amman then Morocco then back to Amman/Ramallah then back to Amman then to Thailand then back to Amman/Ramallah and now I sit, unpacked and drinking coffee and contemplating something so simple as scrambling some eggs. Friday or Saturday I will head to Rwanda for the hopefully last gasp of travel before Christmas, though Turkey might sneak in there. We'll see. I assume you're probably reading this and thinking I have some kind of crazy, exotic life. I'm imaging you reading this in your apartment/home you've lived in for more than say, a year and marveling at the heady consistency of your existence.
So all that to say, YES I FINALLY WENT BACK TO MOROCCO!! For those who might not know me that well, Morocco was a big deal in the life of one faithful Blogger - a life-changer. In short, in Morocco I: found a career (international development), found a passion (helping people, for dire lack of a better term, though I shudder while writing that), found some best friends (oh, the power of female friendship when fostered in Morocco, more on that later), and changed/grew a bunch as a person (while i don't think anyone ever changes that much, I still would bet my friends from college would notice some differences if we hung out today). So yep, pretty important. And to top it off, I just really loved it there - Morocco is about as instructive a place you'll ever be to experience true human warmth and hospitality and feminism (yes, feminism!) and humor. The country is gorgeous, the people are fantastic, the food is amazing, and gosh darn it, I was so pissed I hadn't been back since living there. Both my other best friends had. I kept almost getting to go and then the opportunity would fold - devastating. So I didn't really believe it until I was on the plane. I had been cautioned by aforementioned best friends to temper my expectations - it's been six years, you've changed, the place is different, etc. etc. etc. But nope, no cautions needed - it was even better.
Maybe I'm just older and more well-traveled, but Jesus, is Morocco beautiful. I went back to my old neighborhood and was shaking my head in the absurdity of the fact that I lived in such an ancient and stunning place as a 22 year old - and at the time it was so normal! I walked the sunny, breezy medina streets, got lost, got found, asked ladies for directions, got pulled around by my hand/hip/arm/waist, went to my old hammam and had a half-naked Moroccan lady in saggy underpants scrub me as if I were her unwashed child. Oh, the importance of a good hammam scrubbing to remind you just how unimportant the human body is. Just a body, like any other body. Like all these naked bodies around me. Watching ancient, bent-over ladies and gorgeous sixteen year olds wash themselves side-by-side: this leg is just a leg.
So yes, Morocco. Amen, Morocco.
The flip side of Morocco was I came back to Palestine realizing how much I am not in love with this place. At all. I never really wanted to live in Palestine - as an Arabist (which, ostensibly, I guess I am), Palestine is the elephant in the room. It's always there. It's that toll booth you can't avoid. You must pay your dues. I was always more of a Francophone Arabist (I sense the sign-offs now), so I managed to avoid Palestine for a pretty long time, but now here I am. I think I've figured out what it's like to live in Ramallah: it's like being in the eye of a hurricane that NEVER MOVES ON. It's calm yet eerie and static yet dynamic. That not-out-of-love realization was a tough one - I sort of had a lurking feeling I was done with living abroad (oh man, and I so am after this stint), but perhaps I wouldn't feel that way if I lived in Morocco and surfed every morning and rode my moped through those hallowed streets. Guess I'll never know.
All that being said, I still got home yesterday after a hellish experience crossing back into Israel and went to the coffee shop below my office to get lunch. In between sipping the free latte they had given me as a welcome back and waiting for my sandwich while aimlessly looking around, i realized I felt happy to be home. This coffee shop felt like home. Community sneaks up on you, damnit.
So all that to say, YES I FINALLY WENT BACK TO MOROCCO!! For those who might not know me that well, Morocco was a big deal in the life of one faithful Blogger - a life-changer. In short, in Morocco I: found a career (international development), found a passion (helping people, for dire lack of a better term, though I shudder while writing that), found some best friends (oh, the power of female friendship when fostered in Morocco, more on that later), and changed/grew a bunch as a person (while i don't think anyone ever changes that much, I still would bet my friends from college would notice some differences if we hung out today). So yep, pretty important. And to top it off, I just really loved it there - Morocco is about as instructive a place you'll ever be to experience true human warmth and hospitality and feminism (yes, feminism!) and humor. The country is gorgeous, the people are fantastic, the food is amazing, and gosh darn it, I was so pissed I hadn't been back since living there. Both my other best friends had. I kept almost getting to go and then the opportunity would fold - devastating. So I didn't really believe it until I was on the plane. I had been cautioned by aforementioned best friends to temper my expectations - it's been six years, you've changed, the place is different, etc. etc. etc. But nope, no cautions needed - it was even better.
Maybe I'm just older and more well-traveled, but Jesus, is Morocco beautiful. I went back to my old neighborhood and was shaking my head in the absurdity of the fact that I lived in such an ancient and stunning place as a 22 year old - and at the time it was so normal! I walked the sunny, breezy medina streets, got lost, got found, asked ladies for directions, got pulled around by my hand/hip/arm/waist, went to my old hammam and had a half-naked Moroccan lady in saggy underpants scrub me as if I were her unwashed child. Oh, the importance of a good hammam scrubbing to remind you just how unimportant the human body is. Just a body, like any other body. Like all these naked bodies around me. Watching ancient, bent-over ladies and gorgeous sixteen year olds wash themselves side-by-side: this leg is just a leg.
So yes, Morocco. Amen, Morocco.
The flip side of Morocco was I came back to Palestine realizing how much I am not in love with this place. At all. I never really wanted to live in Palestine - as an Arabist (which, ostensibly, I guess I am), Palestine is the elephant in the room. It's always there. It's that toll booth you can't avoid. You must pay your dues. I was always more of a Francophone Arabist (I sense the sign-offs now), so I managed to avoid Palestine for a pretty long time, but now here I am. I think I've figured out what it's like to live in Ramallah: it's like being in the eye of a hurricane that NEVER MOVES ON. It's calm yet eerie and static yet dynamic. That not-out-of-love realization was a tough one - I sort of had a lurking feeling I was done with living abroad (oh man, and I so am after this stint), but perhaps I wouldn't feel that way if I lived in Morocco and surfed every morning and rode my moped through those hallowed streets. Guess I'll never know.
All that being said, I still got home yesterday after a hellish experience crossing back into Israel and went to the coffee shop below my office to get lunch. In between sipping the free latte they had given me as a welcome back and waiting for my sandwich while aimlessly looking around, i realized I felt happy to be home. This coffee shop felt like home. Community sneaks up on you, damnit.
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