tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-63209267526533575542024-03-16T14:53:11.956-04:00Halfway 'round the worldThe Spirit calls me, I must go ~Sojourner TruthAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15319759475015058811noreply@blogger.comBlogger38125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6320926752653357554.post-23170583138076406952012-06-14T00:19:00.000-04:002012-06-14T00:19:35.814-04:00The PositivesHow much do you pay for your rock n' roll lifestyle? Because I get paid for mine.<br/><br/>I've been doing this job for just about three months now and have learned a lot and had some good times. There is also a lot of negatives, but that's for the next post. Let's face it, the positives are pretty obvious. I am getting paid to travel internationally, I can fly stand by for free, I get to meet awesome people and my life is entirely spontaneous. I had my most awesome layover yet this last week, let me tell you about it.<br/><br/>I had my first trip to Hamburg on Monday. I'd been there before but this would be my first time working the trip. It didn't look to be too exciting though, the weather was supposed to be cold and rainy and all the flight attendants seemed to have different plans so it was looking like I was on my own, which when you read the negatives post you will understand how sucky that would be. Another flight attendant told me that there was an awesome spa and pool in the hotel so I made plans in my head to sleep all day, venture out for dinner, and then relax by the pool and sauna until bed time. I have never been happier that a night of quiet relaxation was ruined.<br/><br/>I headed out for dinner and happened to hear the very loud voice of the other German speaker, Kirsten,from her hotel room. I knocked on the door to see what was going on and to joke about how noisy she is and was invited in to join two flight attendants( Kirsten and Kelli) one friend( Sang, Kelli's hair stylist) and two pilots (Mark and Kyle) for drinks. They were getting ready to go see Evanescence with back stage passes provided by Sang who is a very cool hair dresser and also friend of the guitarist in the band. Turns out they had one extra ticket and after lending me an awesome outfit, I was going with. Awesome.We drank, we talked, we made it to the subway and then to Döner, the delicious Turkish fast food place, and then to the concert. It was a small venue called Grosse Freiheit.<br/><br/><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: none;"><a href="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-v36qv4p50Lo/T9ldvDU2PpI/AAAAAAAAGIM/NXXjFg4x_2I/s765/Photo%252520Jun%25252012%25252C%2525202012%2525206%25253A08%252520PM.jpg" target="_blank" style=""><img src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-v36qv4p50Lo/T9ldvDU2PpI/AAAAAAAAGIM/NXXjFg4x_2I/s500/Photo%252520Jun%25252012%25252C%2525202012%2525206%25253A08%252520PM.jpg" id="blogsy-1339647358692.5796" class="alignnone" alt="" width="500" height="669"></a></div> I found out later that night that the basement stage area is one of the first places the Beatles ever performed.<br/><br/><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: none;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-UTWvGyDhYgo/T9lfTwymQUI/AAAAAAAAGJU/xQbRuxbiBEM/s1024/Photo%252520Jun%25252012%25252C%2525202012%2525205%25253A59%252520PM.jpg" target="_blank" style=""><img src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-UTWvGyDhYgo/T9lfTwymQUI/AAAAAAAAGJU/xQbRuxbiBEM/s500/Photo%252520Jun%25252012%25252C%2525202012%2525205%25253A59%252520PM.jpg" id="blogsy-1339647358627.349" class="alignnone" alt="" width="500" height="374"></a></div> <br/><br/> The concert was amazing. The venue wasn't very big but I kind of like small places better. The performance feels more intimate and involved. We were right up close to the stage. The music was great and everyone was having an awesome time. Here's Kelli and I covered in sweat but still looking pretty good.<br/><br/><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: none;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-xfZhjeEKJRs/T9lfHejQ8WI/AAAAAAAAGIk/YD-Wb76-0hA/s764/Photo%252520Jun%25252013%25252C%2525202012%25252011%25253A18%252520PM.jpg" target="_blank" style=""><img src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-xfZhjeEKJRs/T9lfHejQ8WI/AAAAAAAAGIk/YD-Wb76-0hA/s500/Photo%252520Jun%25252013%25252C%2525202012%25252011%25253A18%252520PM.jpg" id="blogsy-1339647358680.1545" class="alignnone" alt="" width="500" height="670"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: none;">Kirsten, me, Kelli and Sang...and Mark's hand in the back.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: none;"><a href="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-VhPyNjs1RS8/T9lfA8FJCGI/AAAAAAAAGIU/jonNa8DcwMg/s640/Photo%252520Jun%25252013%25252C%2525202012%25252011%25253A19%252520PM.jpg" target="_blank" style=""><img src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-VhPyNjs1RS8/T9lfA8FJCGI/AAAAAAAAGIU/jonNa8DcwMg/s500/Photo%252520Jun%25252013%25252C%2525202012%25252011%25253A19%252520PM.jpg" id="blogsy-1339647358631.8816" class="alignnone" alt="" width="500" height="750"></a></div> And then it got even better. In addition to free tickets we also had back stage passes. After the concert was over we headed to the basement area and waited for the band. We mingled with the opener band for awhile and then Will the guitarist/friend of Sang showed up<br/><br/><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: none;"><a href="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-TkVy01wea3I/T9lfQGTSKCI/AAAAAAAAGI8/lH_HJWrX3hk/s480/Photo%252520Jun%25252012%25252C%2525202012%25252011%25253A50%252520PM.jpg" target="_blank" style=""><img src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-TkVy01wea3I/T9lfQGTSKCI/AAAAAAAAGI8/lH_HJWrX3hk/s500/Photo%252520Jun%25252012%25252C%2525202012%25252011%25253A50%252520PM.jpg" id="blogsy-1339647358634.943" class="alignnone" alt="" width="480" height="640"></a></div> <br/><br/> and shortly after the rest of Evanescence was there. We got to talk and hang out and even got a group shot with Amy Lee, who was super nice. <br/><br/><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: none;"><a href="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-2kN20lWlEzA/T9lfWltqbvI/AAAAAAAAGJs/DYAnGo3VSMQ/s640/Photo%252520Jun%25252012%25252C%2525202012%25252011%25253A59%252520PM.jpg" target="_blank" style=""><img src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-2kN20lWlEzA/T9lfWltqbvI/AAAAAAAAGJs/DYAnGo3VSMQ/s500/Photo%252520Jun%25252012%25252C%2525202012%25252011%25253A59%252520PM.jpg" id="blogsy-1339647358622.1694" class="alignnone" alt="" width="500" height="375"></a></div> This was such an incredibly awesome night and the fact that I had know Idea it was gonna happen until it was made it even better. This is why everyone thinks this job is glamorous and fantastic. Because you never know what's gonna happen, you could end up drinking beer with Evanescence in Hamburg next to the stage where the Beatles first started. Maybe next time I'll actually do some site seeing in Hamburg or get that relaxing spa night....or maybe something else crazy and unexpected will come up. Who knows? I do know that I will have concert clothes packed in my suit case from now on, just in case. <br/><br/> <br/><br/>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15319759475015058811noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6320926752653357554.post-22037941925304582812012-04-15T17:28:00.000-04:002012-04-15T17:28:43.946-04:00Silver Rain was Falling Down<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-DoMsUEeJJhc/T4s89QeHdvI/AAAAAAAAF2k/bpAUh-MlVak/s1600/4-5-2012+(56).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-DoMsUEeJJhc/T4s89QeHdvI/AAAAAAAAF2k/bpAUh-MlVak/s400/4-5-2012+(56).JPG" width="300" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>Upon the dirty ground of London Town<br />
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Sitting Airport Alert is a very stressful experience. You and quite a few other people are sitting in the crew room around tables or in lounge chairs just waiting for the phone to ring. Waiting. Waiting. Waiting. RING. Everyone's heart stops. Someone gets up and answers and then yells out a name. The chosen person goes to the phone and finds out where in the world they are being sent. The shift lasts four hours and you can either get a flight or go home with just four hours of pay. Generally, at the beginning, you are prepared to fly. Then time ticks on and you begin to think of all the things you could do later if you don't a flight and slowly you find yourself dreading the phone and not wanting them to call your name. The possibility to get a flight exists until the last second of your shift.<br />
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Last week, I was sitting airport alert and one of my classmates and possible roommate, Randi, happened to be there as well. We were talking, looking at apartments, reading, anything to pass the time. Randi did not want to get a trip, it was her boyfriend's birthday and he was planning to come visit her to celebrate. I however wanted to get a flight. If I wanted my weekend days off to be left alone, I needed a flight to depart that day and get back on Friday. The phone is ringing steadily and slowly everyone around us is getting assigned trips. Only about an hour left to go and Randi gets the call. She's going on a three day trip to London. She disappears to go check in and call her boyfriend and I continue to wait. Ten minutes later, I get the call and I'm going to London too! I know Randi was upset about missing her plans with her boyfriend, but I also know that we are gonna have an awesome time in London. Traveling the world is great and all, but doing it with a friend is a million times better.<br />
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We meet up on the plane and are both really excited about this trip. During the flight we figure out our plans for the day and get suggestions and advice from the other flight attendants. We decided to take a "hop on hop off" bus tour. You buy a 30 pound bus ticket and tour the whole city, getting off at the sites you want a closer look at and getting back on 10 minutes later when the next bus comes by. I am generally not a fan of bus tours because I feel like you see everything but you don't really see anything. However, when you only have 24 hours, and a good 12 of those are dedicated to sleep, standards are lowered a bit. Plus we decided that this will at least give us an idea of what we really want to see next time we come back. So here are my pictures from the bus tour. No hugely detailed information, because we didn't get to go inside any of the attractions and learn anything. Instead, we took pictures and made personal "to see" lists.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-oErn1-0bWug/T4s6xkZimbI/AAAAAAAAF10/-47xjU6HJ_4/s1600/4-5-2012+(38).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-oErn1-0bWug/T4s6xkZimbI/AAAAAAAAF10/-47xjU6HJ_4/s400/4-5-2012+(38).JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Big Ben(which is not its correct name) and the London Eye</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xW2FF4ML9HI/T4s7LJi2G9I/AAAAAAAAF18/trZTle2d3r8/s1600/4-5-2012+(6).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xW2FF4ML9HI/T4s7LJi2G9I/AAAAAAAAF18/trZTle2d3r8/s400/4-5-2012+(6).JPG" width="400" /></a></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Jfc-Sh8PAKo/T4s7UucFpCI/AAAAAAAAF2E/hrr25dcUDfE/s1600/4-5-2012+(2).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Jfc-Sh8PAKo/T4s7UucFpCI/AAAAAAAAF2E/hrr25dcUDfE/s400/4-5-2012+(2).JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Buckingham Palace</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-CSwRMq6wPLw/T4s7vD9DMrI/AAAAAAAAF2M/Nkuqo3dsNZM/s1600/4-5-2012+%252812%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-CSwRMq6wPLw/T4s7vD9DMrI/AAAAAAAAF2M/Nkuqo3dsNZM/s400/4-5-2012+%252812%2529.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Houses of Parliament</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-n64_E96gH54/T4s8L6XSAII/AAAAAAAAF2U/S4yPr4UfJSg/s1600/4-5-2012+(27).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-n64_E96gH54/T4s8L6XSAII/AAAAAAAAF2U/S4yPr4UfJSg/s400/4-5-2012+(27).JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Westminster Abbey</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-TTyXI-1gRv4/T4s8lGOljGI/AAAAAAAAF2c/grbk8h49Wk0/s1600/4-5-2012+(51).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-TTyXI-1gRv4/T4s8lGOljGI/AAAAAAAAF2c/grbk8h49Wk0/s400/4-5-2012+(51).JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Tower Bridge</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-BRF0LB1GjK4/T4s9KWEWnzI/AAAAAAAAF2s/t4Bd1KHp6_E/s1600/4-5-2012+(3).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-BRF0LB1GjK4/T4s9KWEWnzI/AAAAAAAAF2s/t4Bd1KHp6_E/s400/4-5-2012+(3).JPG" width="400" /></a></div></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15319759475015058811noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6320926752653357554.post-14318468208113775912012-03-30T15:38:00.001-04:002012-03-30T15:45:03.263-04:00It's all happening<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div style="text-align: left;">After five weeks of intense flight attendant training, one week at home, and my first week of work, I have reached my first day off and am sitting in the tiny sitting area in my crash pad in Elizabeth, New Jersey. Wait what? I have a job? I have a freaking awesome job? During my first week, I went to Frankfurt, Germany and Bogotá Colombia? After job-searching for so long and just about giving up hope, this is just about unbelievable. But enough about me, lets get to the good stuff.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">Unfortunately, it was Sunday when I made it to Frankfurt. This means absolutely nothing was open. We managed to find a restaurant open and I had an amazing piece of turkey schnitzel and potatoes, but that was about it. </div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-YhQEaSmn0lg/T3YBYx8u05I/AAAAAAAAFsA/o6C1GtOssyI/s1600/03-25-2012+(10).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> </a><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-YhQEaSmn0lg/T3YBYx8u05I/AAAAAAAAFsA/o6C1GtOssyI/s1600/03-25-2012+(10).JPG" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-YhQEaSmn0lg/T3YBYx8u05I/AAAAAAAAFsA/o6C1GtOssyI/s320/03-25-2012+(10).JPG" width="240" /></a><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-4v7APoCvPJQ/T3YBfg4mjoI/AAAAAAAAFsI/JkNjnmRUzwQ/s1600/03-25-2012+(5).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-4v7APoCvPJQ/T3YBfg4mjoI/AAAAAAAAFsI/JkNjnmRUzwQ/s320/03-25-2012+(5).JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;">Even though it wasn't Sunday in Bogotá, some things were still closed. The other female flight attendant on my Bogotá flight and I were interested in touring the city a little bit and doing some site seeing. Another flight attendant told us about this awesome place called Mount Monserrate. It is an old cathedral on top of a mountain. This screams Jillian come see me and I was super excited about it. Unfortunately, the cable car type thing that takes you up and down the mountain closed at 12:30pm. Now, I was up and ready by 9:30, so it would not have been an issue for me, but the girl I was with was not ready to go until 1:30. Oh well, its on the list for next time and I will not wait around for anybody haha. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Qhv2P5PL-1Y/T3YGJaGyqmI/AAAAAAAAFsY/Ti3KZxktqFw/s1600/03-28-2012+(10).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="display: inline !important; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Qhv2P5PL-1Y/T3YGJaGyqmI/AAAAAAAAFsY/Ti3KZxktqFw/s320/03-28-2012+(10).JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-dmstLh83B18/T3YG23U_M3I/AAAAAAAAFsw/-7NyVnDt8ko/s1600/03-28-2012+%25287%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-dmstLh83B18/T3YG23U_M3I/AAAAAAAAFsw/-7NyVnDt8ko/s320/03-28-2012+%25287%2529.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
We did make it to one of the city's big attractions, The Museo del Oro (Gold Museum). The museum takes you on a journey beginning with the first South American native tribes to use metallurgy up to the conquering of the region by Spain. The processes of making the gold pieces were all illustrated and explained and actual gold pieces were displayed for each tribe and method. It was really interesting to read and see the examples of different methods of forming the gold and the meanings behind the shapes and figures. It was also pointed out that although some tribes used more technologically advanced methods, it was not necessarily because they were smarter than the others. Each tribe had a specific way of forming the gold that they used to define themselves, not because they didn't know how to use the other methods but because they preferred their own way. This was proven when archaeologists found pieces from different tribes that mixed the gold making methods.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-e-NX_fuuP7g/T3YI5ShS3oI/AAAAAAAAFs4/ACxzYA2u2uE/s1600/03-28-2012+(11).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-e-NX_fuuP7g/T3YI5ShS3oI/AAAAAAAAFs4/ACxzYA2u2uE/s320/03-28-2012+(11).JPG" width="320" /></a></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-t8-K2BpHJoc/T3YI8trjLyI/AAAAAAAAFtA/eTAsaQEVuTM/s1600/03-28-2012+(12).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-t8-K2BpHJoc/T3YI8trjLyI/AAAAAAAAFtA/eTAsaQEVuTM/s320/03-28-2012+(12).JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Hammered Method</span></td></tr>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-IfsCvwZ2I50/T3YI-69-juI/AAAAAAAAFtI/c4o0ZAtmAtI/s1600/03-28-2012+(13).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-IfsCvwZ2I50/T3YI-69-juI/AAAAAAAAFtI/c4o0ZAtmAtI/s320/03-28-2012+(13).JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-zFCU-D_pBCk/T3YJBWZnxFI/AAAAAAAAFtQ/yec6Df5mI0A/s1600/03-28-2012+(21).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-zFCU-D_pBCk/T3YJBWZnxFI/AAAAAAAAFtQ/yec6Df5mI0A/s320/03-28-2012+(21).JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-narx4yGhtSU/T3YJEmjI0KI/AAAAAAAAFtY/7-hi7Ylb8zM/s1600/03-28-2012+(22).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-narx4yGhtSU/T3YJEmjI0KI/AAAAAAAAFtY/7-hi7Ylb8zM/s320/03-28-2012+(22).JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-3mNagGoUglQ/T3YJKyZ-BvI/AAAAAAAAFtg/DYlSeDYIZso/s1600/03-28-2012+(24).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-3mNagGoUglQ/T3YJKyZ-BvI/AAAAAAAAFtg/DYlSeDYIZso/s320/03-28-2012+(24).JPG" width="240" /></a></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-3tYhYkRU0V4/T3YJNfufXUI/AAAAAAAAFto/PS_SzWQy7W0/s1600/03-28-2012+(25).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-3tYhYkRU0V4/T3YJNfufXUI/AAAAAAAAFto/PS_SzWQy7W0/s320/03-28-2012+(25).JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">The stuff of nightmares</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-2JO4Xv0GSgI/T3YJQVrpIkI/AAAAAAAAFtw/QlZJLweb_-s/s1600/03-28-2012+(29).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-2JO4Xv0GSgI/T3YJQVrpIkI/AAAAAAAAFtw/QlZJLweb_-s/s320/03-28-2012+(29).JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">I want one of these</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ObbPjQ4fP5A/T3YJTTs4scI/AAAAAAAAFt4/Q_e8bz14g-Y/s1600/03-28-2012+(30).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ObbPjQ4fP5A/T3YJTTs4scI/AAAAAAAAFt4/Q_e8bz14g-Y/s320/03-28-2012+(30).JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Ancient Aliens, Galaga was real</span></td></tr>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-UaMlMzU95ZQ/T3YJV_uW4kI/AAAAAAAAFuE/4frHVymAMJ8/s1600/03-28-2012+(32).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-UaMlMzU95ZQ/T3YJV_uW4kI/AAAAAAAAFuE/4frHVymAMJ8/s320/03-28-2012+(32).JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-GUamgb_mtQ8/T3YJZMyrCCI/AAAAAAAAFuM/QCxwpkwgfEc/s1600/03-28-2012+(39).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-GUamgb_mtQ8/T3YJZMyrCCI/AAAAAAAAFuM/QCxwpkwgfEc/s320/03-28-2012+(39).JPG" width="320" /></a></div></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15319759475015058811noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6320926752653357554.post-19131413834206675942012-02-12T08:00:00.004-05:002012-02-12T08:00:03.524-05:0098% excited, 2% scared....it could be 98% scared, 2% excited but that's what makes it so intense<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">No matter how many times I do this, I still get nervous. I’m leaving again, off on an entirely new adventure and hopefully the beginning of a very exciting career. On Sunday, I am flying to Houston, Texas to begin my 5 week training to become a flight attendant. This is a dream career for me. I will get to travel all the time. I will constantly be meeting new people and seeing new places. Other bonuses are traveling to visit all the friends I made in Morocco at their various locations in the US and my family which is also pretty spread out. Free air fare is a pretty sweet thing for an avid traveler to get her hands on. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">As excited as I am, that sick-to-your-stomach am-I-making-the right-choice feeling has finally presented itself. Luckily for me, the feeling only shows up a few days before checking in at the airport, after it is too late to back down and change my mind. But I know that for the next three days I will have trouble with general human functions such as eating, sleeping, thinking and talking. Even though I know this is not forever, that I will be back in Cleveland right after training for about a week, that as far as length of time goes this is pretty short compared to my other ventures, I still feel the need to see everybody one last time and to say my goodbyes, to go out and do fun things and to stay in and spend time with my family. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">This last week has become a rush of activity. But it didn’t full hit me until last night while watching a movie with my boyfriend. I’m not leaving until Sunday but that was the last night of quality boyfriend time until I get back because of work and social schedules. So then the list starts going down, tonight will be the last night of hanging out with one of my best friends just drinking and relaxing. Friday night will be the last dinner with my parents (I get to pick the restaurant; I’m thinking Outback, I’d do anything for a Bloomin’ Onion). Saturday is my last AFS meeting and my last party. And there are still so many people and things that have slipped through and will just have to wait until I get back because my days are now as full as they can get if I still want to be able to pack. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"> I had a murder mystery party planned for Saturday night thinking I had until Feb. 19 before leaving, only to find out about a week ago that they wanted me to arrive early. Of course I said yes to the earlier training spot, but there was also no way I was canceling this party. I’ve wanted to do this for ages and I get to dress up as a 1920’s socialite/flapper. I would not miss this for anything. Needless to say, it is going to be a late night with very little sleep before my 8:30am flight the next day. But that’s fine, as I said earlier; I won’t be sleeping much anyways. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">This trip is also different from others in one big way. I may not be coming back. At least not long term anyways. After training, I get about one week to go home and get ready to relocate to my base. Cleveland is one of three options and the least likely place that I will be based. So this 5 week trip for training is most likely going to be my moving out trip too. I have boxed up most of my things, thrown out and donated everything I possibly can (watching a couple episodes of hoarders makes that process a whole lot easier by the way) and I’m about as ready as I can be. I still have a few things left to pack up, but at this point they can wait until after training because I have other “lasts” to get done. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">PS if you know what movie the title is from then kudos to you, its one of my favorites</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15319759475015058811noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6320926752653357554.post-14561688470685496742011-05-16T04:36:00.000-04:002011-05-16T04:36:55.440-04:00Clothing in Morocco<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">Are you gonna have to wear a burka? Are you gonna have to wear a head scarf? Do they wear normal clothes there like jeans? What are you gonna do when it gets hot?<br />
<br />
These are all questions I received before coming to Morocco along with questions about the actual location of Morocco and general safety. Just to clear the air once and for all, the answer to the first two questions is no and no. There are only a very few Middle Eastern countries that require the wearing of the hijab or the burka. The two main examples are Saudi Arabia(burka/abaya) and Iran(hijab).<br />
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I know I was entirely ignorant of the many different styles of veiling before I came to Morocco. I thought there were two kinds; a full head to toe burka with a mesh screen over the eyes and just the head scarf. I was wrong, way wrong.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ojkT81EnN9Y/Tcpb0cwU-TI/AAAAAAAAFFc/MzyfiKWD8DA/s1600/Picture1.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ojkT81EnN9Y/Tcpb0cwU-TI/AAAAAAAAFFc/MzyfiKWD8DA/s400/Picture1.png" width="385" /></a></div><br />
First, there is the khimar. A khimar is a long head scarf that wraps around the head, covers the neck, shoulders, and chest to just above the waist, but leaves the face uncovered. Khimar is also one of the two words used in the Quran to describe the practice of veiling by the Prophet Mohammed's wives, the word literally means to cover something, there is much debate about what the Quran is referring to when this word is used. Some say it is the literal covering or veiling of women, others say it is a metaphor.<br />
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The chador is a large semi circle piece of fabric that is thrown over top a woman's clothing. It is worn over the head and it drops down to her feet. There are no ties, buttons, or arm holes so the woman must hold it closed the entire time while wearing it. Traditionally, this would be accompanied by a long white face veil that was tied over the nose and mouth and would go down to the waist. This style, without the face veil, is most popular in Iran.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Two Meknessi women wearing the Hijab</td></tr>
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The al-amira style is a two piece set. The first piece is a very tight fitting under scarf.The second is a scarf that already has the head hole sewn in and it is slipped over the under scarf. Because the under scarf is tight fitting and the over scarf is sewn together, this model is the easiest to slip on and keep on. It requires very little adjusting through out the day.<br />
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The shayla is your basic Hollywood style head scarf. The ends are either left loose down the back or if it is a shorter scarf they are tied. In the US, this would be called the Grace Kelly style. Some people do not believe this counts as veiling because the hair is still visible and they refer to this as the non-Muslim hijab. I can somewhat attest to this, as this is my favorite style and I have worn it many times and plan to continue this in the United States. It makes me feel all "old Hollywood glamour." But I have also seen many Muslim women wear this style, because the verses in the Quran are very vague, they have been interpreted many ways and it comes down to each woman's (or husband's, father's, brother's) interpretation of the text.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-X6lz4dmbk3Q/TcsJ6Nms07I/AAAAAAAAFHo/weZoxtxwfW0/s1600/P5110048.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-X6lz4dmbk3Q/TcsJ6Nms07I/AAAAAAAAFHo/weZoxtxwfW0/s400/P5110048.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The woman in the middle is wearing a Moroccan Djellaba</td></tr>
</tbody></table>The niqab and the burka are the most controversial of the styles and are wrongly assumed to be the most common style by people in Europe and the United States. There is some debate about what style a niqab actually is, but from what I have seen it most often refers to a style very similar to the khimar. The difference is in the length and in the face. The niqab goes all the way to the thigh or even to the knees and a long voluminous skirt or dress is worn underneath. The niqab also has a face veil that is tied, or has an elastic band, underneath and covers the nose and mouth. "Half-niqab" is a term used to describe just the face veil which can be worn separately with a regular head scarf.<br />
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The burka is the full lentgh cloak that covers the body from head to toe and has a mesh screen over the eyes. The term burka is sometimes used to refer to just the eye screen and face scarf, as this can be worn separately with a niqab or other covering. The full cloak with the eye covering is also referred to as an abaya. Abayas are the dress code in Saudi Arabia.<br />
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The hijab is the most common style. It wraps around the head and tucks up under the chin, covering the head, neck, and chest. Girls wear this style with everything; sweatshirts, sweaters, traditional garments, modern styles, everything.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-mSRwoNAyrYY/TXAjWimA90I/AAAAAAAAC2U/S98A8j8WYDQ/s1600/P3030087.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-mSRwoNAyrYY/TXAjWimA90I/AAAAAAAAC2U/S98A8j8WYDQ/s400/P3030087.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Two girls wearing hijabs that match their modern outfits</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Women in Morocco wear a mixture of modern and traditional clothing. Most do not wear the full burka, niqab, or chador. Some do, but its mostly older, rural, underprivileged or uneducated women. There is no legal mandate for women in Morocco to veil or to not veil, but there are many social implications. A woman who veils is seen as traditional, modest, marriage material, and religious. She is also old-fashioned and less likely to get a job. Women who do not veil are modern, empowered, and more likely to get hired for a job. They are also considered to be sexually promiscuous, not suitable for marriage, and have no morals. All these things impact a girl's decision to veil or to not veil, as well as her family and her own religious views. While there is no legal enforcement of veiling, often women still do not have a choice because of social and familial pressures.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-2Xy6KoyF5o8/Tcw-qBBGYTI/AAAAAAAAFKE/3sJ4-eaGPy4/s1600/100_3195.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-2Xy6KoyF5o8/Tcw-qBBGYTI/AAAAAAAAFKE/3sJ4-eaGPy4/s400/100_3195.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tiffany and Alyssa in takshitas for the Amerocco fashion show</td></tr>
</tbody></table>The traditional Moroccan clothing is beautiful. The two main styles for women are djellabas and caftans. The djellaba is a long cloak with a hood. It usually has decorative buttons down the front, but doesn't have to. A caftan is similar to a djellaba, the main difference being that it does not have a hood. Caftans and djellabas come in every possible color and pattern combinations you could think of. Most women have two djellabas that they wear over their regular clothes. It acts as a quick modesty fix when you need to run out to the grocery store or anywhere else. Caftans come in many styles and there is a recent trend in designers to make modern versions of the caftan. One version of the caftan, called a takshita, is what women wear to weddings and other big celebrations. A takshita usually has two layers, a wide belt, and maybe a pair of pants, all very ornate and beautiful.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ec3rjfmXkII/TcJvGYBm3-I/AAAAAAAAE3U/pfs1IyZxLYw/s1600/P4160015.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ec3rjfmXkII/TcJvGYBm3-I/AAAAAAAAE3U/pfs1IyZxLYw/s400/P4160015.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hannah, in her takshita for her host-brother's wedding</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Clothing styles for men also vary from traditional to modern, but from my experience, the differences seem to come with age. The trend for young guys seems to be jeans, a t-shirt, and a fake leather jacket. Middle aged men wear nice suits, or slacks with a button down. Older men wear the traditional men's djellaba which is long and white or cream with vertical stripes.<br />
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P.S. my apologies, the original post was much better, blogger has some issues and somehow the post got deleted. </div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15319759475015058811noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6320926752653357554.post-450126214039244982011-05-10T16:31:00.000-04:002011-05-10T16:31:20.752-04:00A Moroccan Wedding<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">A few weeks ago on a Saturday night, Tiffany, Alaina, and I attempted to go see Harry Potter at the French movie theater. When we got there, we discovered that the posted times were not correct and that we were over an hour late. We returned to the apartment, resigned to spending the night in. Tiffany and I were just surfing the internet when, an hour later, we got a phone call. "you have been invited to a Moroccan wedding, you have 10 minutes to get ready, tell your roommates." We stared at each other for about a second and then it was like a gun when off at the beginning of a race; we were running around, deciding what to wear, putting on make up and getting dressed. I ran into Alaina's room and informed her of the evening's event. She was engrossed in a Jane Austen novel and wasn't sure if she wanted to come. All I had to say was this may never happen again in her lifetime and she was off the bed and ready to go.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-6nqfqTbPN5g/TcJzlOvLYcI/AAAAAAAAE5s/QR9zHTrMkBw/s1600/P4160066.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-6nqfqTbPN5g/TcJzlOvLYcI/AAAAAAAAE5s/QR9zHTrMkBw/s400/P4160066.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Alaina and I are wearing Djellabas, Tiffany hadn't bought one yet so she's in an American dress.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>We met up with the group outside our apartment less than 10 minutes later. We were a site to see; around 15 white people all dressed up in our interpretations of Moroccan traditional clothing walking down the street in one big group. We were all very excited and we all had no idea what was going to happen.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-mwu2gJNw_Gs/TcJtwzWVXKI/AAAAAAAAE24/qsSw3NWobIM/s1600/P4160006.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-mwu2gJNw_Gs/TcJtwzWVXKI/AAAAAAAAE24/qsSw3NWobIM/s400/P4160006.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bride and Groom</td></tr>
</tbody></table>The marriage was in the host family of two of our group members. They had been preparing for it pretty much since we arrived. Both of them actually went and bought takshitas, the formal caftan worn to celebrations. They are absolutely beautiful. Somewhere along the line, probably the day of, the host parents decided that the whole group could attend. So we all wore the nicest things we had in Morocco, although we didn't come close to the finery of these Moroccan women, for only having 10 minutes to get ready we looked pretty good.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ec3rjfmXkII/TcJvGYBm3-I/AAAAAAAAE3U/pfs1IyZxLYw/s1600/P4160015.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ec3rjfmXkII/TcJvGYBm3-I/AAAAAAAAE3U/pfs1IyZxLYw/s400/P4160015.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hannah, in her takshita</td></tr>
</tbody></table>A Moroccan wedding lasts all day and is usually held in a rented riad. The bride has any where from 4 to 7 outfits changes, this bride only had 4. The entire time the bride and groom sit above the guests on a white throne. The entire family and all their friends sit around tables in the main courtyard of the riad. We missed part when the couple was actually proclaimed to be married, but I was told that they left the throne, went to a corner table, and quietly signed the paper work. Then an announcement was made to the whole room that they were married. We got there at about 10pm and dinner had not yet been served. There is normally 3 to 5 courses so you learn quickly to not eat everything put in front of you.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/--AZEVrhMihI/TcJzaggOTII/AAAAAAAAE5c/d_80hW12XQg/s1600/P4160060.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/--AZEVrhMihI/TcJzaggOTII/AAAAAAAAE5c/d_80hW12XQg/s400/P4160060.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bride in outfit 4, we missed 1 and 2</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-nMeG1vCNKwE/TcJzUfGv28I/AAAAAAAAE5U/U1S0F9uuFmk/s1600/P4160058.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-nMeG1vCNKwE/TcJzUfGv28I/AAAAAAAAE5U/U1S0F9uuFmk/s320/P4160058.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-GWZCfvpR4UE/TcJzWtKLzKI/AAAAAAAAE5Y/9BpYOjmUMFc/s1600/P4160059.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-GWZCfvpR4UE/TcJzWtKLzKI/AAAAAAAAE5Y/9BpYOjmUMFc/s320/P4160059.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-8cVtenCFYf8/TcJzf51ujFI/AAAAAAAAE5k/Ww80vNad8d0/s1600/P4160063.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-8cVtenCFYf8/TcJzf51ujFI/AAAAAAAAE5k/Ww80vNad8d0/s320/P4160063.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-joD7f7VemVw/TcJzhcrZrdI/AAAAAAAAE5o/mMn5SrlfdsY/s1600/P4160064.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-joD7f7VemVw/TcJzhcrZrdI/AAAAAAAAE5o/mMn5SrlfdsY/s320/P4160064.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
The whole event lasted until about 3:30am. My roommates and I left around 2am. There was live musics, some of the women danced, everyone talked and ate, and the happy couple looked on from their thrown. In my opinion, the outfits and the venue might be different, but in the grand scheme of things it was very similar to a wedding anywhere else in the world.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-hEB2b3l3nfw/TcJznxErAPI/AAAAAAAAE5w/Pr6pP-qLdSo/s1600/P4160068.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-hEB2b3l3nfw/TcJznxErAPI/AAAAAAAAE5w/Pr6pP-qLdSo/s400/P4160068.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The throne</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-1eZoLzyx1mg/TcJzqvgLfwI/AAAAAAAAE50/K7jVfH2GjJY/s1600/P4160069.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-1eZoLzyx1mg/TcJzqvgLfwI/AAAAAAAAE50/K7jVfH2GjJY/s400/P4160069.JPG" width="300" /></a></div><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/--gHwQphTLyY/TcJz514skEI/AAAAAAAAE6I/VmHGnicydIg/s1600/P4160073.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/--gHwQphTLyY/TcJz514skEI/AAAAAAAAE6I/VmHGnicydIg/s400/P4160073.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jazz singer</td></tr>
</tbody></table>The big differences between a typical American wedding and a Moroccan wedding are the outfit changes, alcohol(there is none in an Islamic wedding) and the tea man.<br />
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</div>I still do not have an explanation for this man. Whenever anyone asked the only response they got was "Oh, that's the tea man." He was dressed similarly to a traditional St. Nickolaus and he sat on this big plush red cushion in the corner in front of a tea set. He was smiling the entire time and in the 4 hours that I was there, he did not get up from his seat. This might just be one of the many mysteries of Morocco that I cannot figure out.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-FUrmhtYFU_Y/TcJvRYVrFGI/AAAAAAAAE3Y/f77pyDEkafI/s1600/P4160016.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-FUrmhtYFU_Y/TcJvRYVrFGI/AAAAAAAAE3Y/f77pyDEkafI/s400/P4160016.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">These two were very entertaining</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-dMrYp2Q9SUQ/TcJywnMn4LI/AAAAAAAAE4c/blMxU8nCrrI/s1600/P4160038.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-dMrYp2Q9SUQ/TcJywnMn4LI/AAAAAAAAE4c/blMxU8nCrrI/s320/P4160038.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">They ran around the whole time. Her caftan was just a little too big so she tripped on it quite a bit</td></tr>
</tbody></table></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15319759475015058811noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6320926752653357554.post-14261068760741004772011-05-09T17:05:00.001-04:002011-05-09T19:21:01.203-04:00This little bungalow with some strange new friends<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">I have met many people since coming to Meknes and I will never forget them. Many of the fantastic people I have met are the other ISA students, there were 22 of us and I have fond memories of everyone. There are also the people who are from here who have become almost my support system. The little things they do, that I can depend on and they really brighten my day. I don't even know all their names.<br />
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Fatima is one the most amazing cooks I have ever met, and I come from a family of pretty amazing cooks. She comes to our apartment everyday, cooks our lunch, which is usually on the table and waiting for us when we get back from class. She also leaves us something small to heat up for dinner. She orders all our groceries and once a week she cleans up the apartment. She is super nice and friendly. I love coming home at lunch and having our language limited conversation everyday.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-0R9EaGbUgjU/TchH9rYtANI/AAAAAAAAE_A/B7_5KEDWD88/s1600/P5050037.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-0R9EaGbUgjU/TchH9rYtANI/AAAAAAAAE_A/B7_5KEDWD88/s400/P5050037.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_ONIrCoMwbc/TchIAbsjThI/AAAAAAAAE_E/RUcIjeCFa-E/s1600/P5050039.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_ONIrCoMwbc/TchIAbsjThI/AAAAAAAAE_E/RUcIjeCFa-E/s400/P5050039.JPG" width="300" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div> Iman is one of the ISA Morocco directors. She is from Meknes and is a great help when we have questions about where to go or who to talk to. She is also a very good listener. She has this amazing quality, all she has to do is walk in the room and I feel comforted. She is like the mother of the group, she cares about us, she checks up on us, and genuinely wants to know how we are doing. I love getting a hug from Iman.<br />
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</div>I call him "my Coca Cola guy." He runs this little news stand and at least once a week, I buy a coke from him. At some point, he started saving them for me in his special fridge behind the counter. Our conversations generally go like this:<br />
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Coca Cola guy: Coka? (derija for Coca Cola)<br />
Me: Nam, shukran! (yes, thank you!)<br />
Coca Cola guy: ala wajib (short form of no thanks necessary)<br />
me: b'slama! (see you later!)<br />
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The simple fact that he already knows what I want when I walk up and has one waiting for me in the fridge makes me happy beyond belief.<br />
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Professor Bouzekri is one of the most powerful and inspiring women I have ever met. She is currently fighting in the beginning of Morocco's women's lib movement. She teaches my Three Religions, Three Peoples class about Judaism, Christianity, and Islam. She helped organized the women's poetry slam( <a href="http://jillianstrunk.blogspot.com/2011/03/slam-au-feminin.html">Moroccan Feminist Poetry Slam</a>) and the Amerocco event that I recently stage-managed. I would love to have the opportunity to get to know her on a more personal level. I want to know her life story, how she became this woman in a society that represses anything that doesn't conform.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-8qpaTGQTztM/TchNu3XzYrI/AAAAAAAAFDU/XOtg3bdKnKM/s1600/P5090065.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-8qpaTGQTztM/TchNu3XzYrI/AAAAAAAAFDU/XOtg3bdKnKM/s400/P5090065.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-r1lv3_ZK4ZM/TchNxk0KKbI/AAAAAAAAFDc/mxnepdO1PUs/s1600/P5090067.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-r1lv3_ZK4ZM/TchNxk0KKbI/AAAAAAAAFDc/mxnepdO1PUs/s400/P5090067.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
Professor Zakaryae Arsalane is the best language instructor I have ever had and I have taken alot of language classes. He is an expert in applied linguistics, modern standard Arabic, French, and Derija( Moroccan dialect). He wrote a dictionary in Arabic for Arab medicine students who wish to learn medicine in Arabic instead of French of English. He recently visited the United States to speak at three different universities about his method of teaching Arabic. Two of them offered him jobs after hearing him speak. Qualifications aside, he is also very fatherly and protective of us. He really cares about how much we are learning and answers any question in complete detail until we fully understand. We all leave class with our heads swimming with Arabic knowledge. He's had us to his house for dinner and he frequently drives us home at lunch time. He's gotten to know all of us by asking us about our families, what do our parents do for a living, how many siblings do you have, where in the US do you live.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-exKmJTaUXXw/TchOsfBkbbI/AAAAAAAAFEM/s5BwsoX61IQ/s1600/200463_122746477800857_100001965176311_168137_21160_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-exKmJTaUXXw/TchOsfBkbbI/AAAAAAAAFEM/s5BwsoX61IQ/s400/200463_122746477800857_100001965176311_168137_21160_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Zineb is on the left in the light pink shirt, Maroua is on the far right in all black</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Along with Zakaryae, I have to talk about Maroua and Zineb. Maroua is Zakaryae's daughter and she is hilarious. She is maybe 13 years old and I met her when Zakaryae had us over to his house for dinner along with her best friend Zineb. They have both, since, friended me on Facebook and we chat frequently. Maroua found out that I had studied abroad in Germany in highschool and is now determined to visit me in the United States (hint hint Mom and Dad). She wants to go to highschool for a semester or a year, but so far we have been unsuccessful in finding an organization that offers programs to Moroccan students so she may just come for a summer vacation.<br />
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This is Mohammed, the guy who runs the teacher's cafe on campus. He chats with us all in Derija, French, or Arabic, making sure that we don't resort to English when we order coffee, orange juice, or snacks. He also generally knows what we each want when we walk in. He is also the reason behind my recent hard boiled egg addiction. He makes them every morning and they only cost one dirham each. One day, he made Meredith and I this sandwich that consisted of hard boiled eggs, laughing cow cheese, salt and cumin. It was amazing and I have repeated it at home several times now.<br />
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Professor Hamid is our adorable Derija Professor. He can remember exact days and dates when he met people over thirty years ago. He keeps every letter that has ever been sent to him. His wife is Russian, he met her when he was in college studying in the USSR. He has three sons, one of which is currently living in Germany. He recently had us over to his apartment for dinner and his wife made us a fantastic Russian/Moroccan meal. Hamid is also a very big germaphobe. Way back when we first got here, he warned me about drinking the fresh squeezed orange juice because it may not be clean. He also asked us not to sit on the ground because people often spit on the ground. He is constantly giving us compliments and telling us how much we mean to him. I am determined to write him a letter as soon as I get home.<br />
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This is our waiter at the Marilyn Cafe. Tiffany and I would go here, whenever our internet was down, to use the free wifi. After we came in every night for three nights, he knew us and what we each ordered. After about two weeks we had a friendly little routine. We don't go in as often now that we have bought wifi sticks, but when we do, he is still happy to see us.<br />
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Alaina Schultz is one of my three housemate. She lives on an island in Washington. She has this amazing head of long blond hair and a huge smile. She is fully entertained by nature and animals, especially owls. She writes a fantastically touching blog (<a href="http://moroccanbooma.wordpress.com/">Alaina's Blog</a>). We have had a great many wonderful conversations and I look forward to keeping in touch with her. We have already established that we will be invited to each others' weddings in the distant future and gone further to decide what we each will be wearing.<br />
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</div>Tiffany is my roommate whom you have all already heard a lot about(check out her blog too! <a href="http://breakfastattiffanykrauses.tumblr.com/">Tiffany's Blog</a>). We were friends almost instantly way back in Granada when we first arrived. She is from a farm in South Dakota, one of the few Midwesterners on the trip. From our long list of conversations, it is clear that we have had very similar upbringings(midwestern values don't ya know) and that our parents would get along smashingly well. She has two brothers, who both want her to bring them monkeys and camels home. We went to Ireland together for Spring break and it was a hilarious time. This summer she has an internship in DC and I hope to see her on her way home to South Dakota at the end. Both Alaina and Tiffany have made this trip. I do not think it would have been the same without them and I do not think I would have enjoyed it as much.</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15319759475015058811noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6320926752653357554.post-81971065643589117042011-05-05T10:38:00.000-04:002011-05-05T10:38:58.178-04:00Our Lady of the Olives<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-XAWfgTn-kTY/TcJrjxSFTdI/AAAAAAAAE2U/c1vV8s2EaSk/s1600/P3270048.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-XAWfgTn-kTY/TcJrjxSFTdI/AAAAAAAAE2U/c1vV8s2EaSk/s400/P3270048.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Entrance to the church compound</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Our Lady of the Olives is the one and only Catholic church in Meknes. It was built back during the time of the French occupation, but the French left before construction was finished.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Entrance to the main church</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">The congregation is mostly sub-Saharan African students who are also studying at the university in Meknes. There are a few French families as well, but not many. Mass is entirely in French, although sometimes they have the readings printed out in English for us. There is one priest, who is actually from Italy, that knows English. We talked a little bit after mass. The other priests are African and French.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-g5NmNYKc7yc/TcJn-YJ4rLI/AAAAAAAAE1A/eFalhrL4IiQ/s1600/P3270028.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-g5NmNYKc7yc/TcJn-YJ4rLI/AAAAAAAAE1A/eFalhrL4IiQ/s400/P3270028.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">the main church</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-oiVhALRP4io/TcJ6k6ecDyI/AAAAAAAAE8Q/R3kuQMe2H0U/s1600/P4170120.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-oiVhALRP4io/TcJ6k6ecDyI/AAAAAAAAE8Q/R3kuQMe2H0U/s400/P4170120.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The small chapel, the flags represent all the countries that the students are from</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-_WmAcqSHr5M/TcJ6754XvKI/AAAAAAAAE8U/pIekQCiClP0/s1600/P4170121.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-_WmAcqSHr5M/TcJ6754XvKI/AAAAAAAAE8U/pIekQCiClP0/s400/P4170121.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Tabernacle in the chapel</td></tr>
</tbody></table> I have gone to mass a couple times now and for the most part, there is about 60 people attending, 25-30 of which are the choir. The choir is the most amazing church choir I have ever heard. It is made up of all sub-Saharan African students and the songs are a mixture of English, French, and African languages.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-a_KJ8UnKW8Y/TcJoFpVwHFI/AAAAAAAAE1E/7ko-d3i6Fqk/s1600/P3270030.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-a_KJ8UnKW8Y/TcJoFpVwHFI/AAAAAAAAE1E/7ko-d3i6Fqk/s400/P3270030.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Arabic script above the tabernacle used to read God is the place of love, but many years ago someone broke in and stole the word God (Allah) so now it just reads his place of love.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">The main church is a little sparse in decorations because it was never completed. The one really beautiful piece of artwork they have is the Our Lady of the Olives statue that is above the alter. The story goes that it was carved by a Christian prisoner in an Arab king's dungeon. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-b1Vi6YeGKhU/TcJ7bU9RDYI/AAAAAAAAE8c/2qogMKi8iZ4/s1600/P4170127.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-b1Vi6YeGKhU/TcJ7bU9RDYI/AAAAAAAAE8c/2qogMKi8iZ4/s400/P4170127.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-FZ1sSa3GJhg/TcJ8GuMaEjI/AAAAAAAAE8k/HTJ6F-F9T3s/s1600/P4170132.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-FZ1sSa3GJhg/TcJ8GuMaEjI/AAAAAAAAE8k/HTJ6F-F9T3s/s400/P4170132.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This depiction of the Virgin is the Mary standing on a dragon and giving birth to the baby Jesus from Revelations</td></tr>
</tbody></table> Although it is a Catholic church and a Catholic mass, the congregation is pretty mixed between Catholic and Protestant. There is not enough population of either to constitute a separate space so many Protestants attend the Catholic mass. There is also a separate Protestant service in another room in the compound. Even the combined services can be to small to justify being in the big church so they have a smaller chapel near the Priests' house. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Dct0maXHPG8/TcJqqJN8XTI/AAAAAAAAE2I/mOgAHZo8Ycw/s1600/P3270045.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Dct0maXHPG8/TcJqqJN8XTI/AAAAAAAAE2I/mOgAHZo8Ycw/s400/P3270045.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The priests' house. Originally the whole building was intended for their use, but because of money issues, they second floor and half of the first floor are being rented out to Moroccan families.</td></tr>
</tbody></table></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15319759475015058811noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6320926752653357554.post-86817022195772949372011-05-04T10:43:00.000-04:002011-05-04T10:43:25.794-04:00Travels Within Morocco: Merzouga<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-h6XoztWJ2qQ/Tb8fwSfltTI/AAAAAAAAErI/tneVULmCDhQ/s1600/P4300154.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: cyan;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-h6XoztWJ2qQ/Tb8fwSfltTI/AAAAAAAAErI/tneVULmCDhQ/s400/P4300154.JPG" width="400" /></span></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: cyan;"><br />
</span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: cyan;">This is it guys! The post I've been waiting for this whole trip. I have finally ridden a camel in the desert. Not just any desert either, but the Sahara Desert. It was absolutely fantastic.</span><br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-kE0ipseYcJc/TcEVfnC_u6I/AAAAAAAAEy0/8l7i7D-Ed1Y/s1600/222986_10150590630990226_548480225_18562989_1983281_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: cyan;"><img border="0" height="223" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-kE0ipseYcJc/TcEVfnC_u6I/AAAAAAAAEy0/8l7i7D-Ed1Y/s400/222986_10150590630990226_548480225_18562989_1983281_n.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: cyan; font-size: small;">Look at that! That is me on a camel at the edge of the Sahara Desert!</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: cyan;">We left Friday morning at 8 am for the all day drive to Merzouga, the very small town on the edge of Erg Chebbi. An erg is an area of desert that is covered with wind-swept sand(sand dunes) and has no vegetation. I know what you're thinking, isn't that what a desert is? False, a desert is an area with extremely low amounts of precipitation. They can be sandy or not sandy, have some vegetation and animal life or have none. To be considered an erg, an area of sand dunes must be at least 125 square kilometers. Anything smaller is just a dune field.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-SU1cqLT4Ko0/Tb7SIUekdGI/AAAAAAAAEkI/HGMX3qSQ_Zw/s1600/P4290005.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: cyan;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-SU1cqLT4Ko0/Tb7SIUekdGI/AAAAAAAAEkI/HGMX3qSQ_Zw/s400/P4290005.JPG" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: cyan; font-size: small;">Storm in the distance</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: cyan;">The bus ride to the desert was filled with stormy weather. So when we finally got to Merzouga we had to change out plans a bit. Originally, we were going to spend Friday night camping in Berber tents out in the sand and Saturday night at Hotel Riad Nezha but because of the storms, the tents had blown away. So we spent Friday night at the hotel, which was amazing to say the least. It had a very nice pool, a roof top terrace, lavish rooms, and (maybe most importantly) fabulously hot showers. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: cyan;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6FnrE-b9W84/Tb7U4ClmqfI/AAAAAAAAEko/a4G0ile1yRc/s1600/P4290016.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: cyan;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6FnrE-b9W84/Tb7U4ClmqfI/AAAAAAAAEko/a4G0ile1yRc/s400/P4290016.JPG" width="300" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: cyan; font-size: small;">Rooftop Terrace</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-HKlvkDHGXQI/Tb7Vwo0pwlI/AAAAAAAAEkw/ot3V6KLYGBg/s1600/P4290020.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: cyan;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-HKlvkDHGXQI/Tb7Vwo0pwlI/AAAAAAAAEkw/ot3V6KLYGBg/s400/P4290020.JPG" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: cyan; font-size: small;">Tiffany, Alaina, and my room, we each had a very big bed with lots of pillows.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4Z3h4m4gio0/Tb7WS6yVZPI/AAAAAAAAEk0/5yshnngpR1s/s1600/P4290021.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: cyan;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4Z3h4m4gio0/Tb7WS6yVZPI/AAAAAAAAEk0/5yshnngpR1s/s400/P4290021.JPG" width="300" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: cyan; font-size: small;">The shower! In Morocco most of the hotels that we have been to do not have a bathroom for every room, let alone a shower. The shower was big, the tile was beautiful, and there was plenty of hot water to go around.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-7gybtvJpz3w/Tb7X3HPTMRI/AAAAAAAAElE/Kt8gHDGSkjM/s1600/P4290025.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: cyan;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-7gybtvJpz3w/Tb7X3HPTMRI/AAAAAAAAElE/Kt8gHDGSkjM/s400/P4290025.JPG" width="300" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: cyan; font-size: small;">That balcony above the entry way belonged to our room.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/--Tbf-gyUJ60/Tb7ZdW9RLGI/AAAAAAAAElc/2sCscOimpPY/s1600/P4290035.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: cyan;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/--Tbf-gyUJ60/Tb7ZdW9RLGI/AAAAAAAAElc/2sCscOimpPY/s320/P4290035.JPG" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: cyan; font-size: small;">The pool! They had just put chlorine in so we had to wait until the next day to swim.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: cyan;">We had some free time Friday evening so we all made our way to the shopping area of Merzouga in search of turbans. By shopping area, I mean one street with 5 or 6 small touristy shops, out of which only 2 were open. Everything, of course, was covered in dirt and sand. Turbans are basically really long scarves or sheets of fabric that are then wrapped around the head in varying styles in order to protect your head and neck from the heat and sun in the desert. Almost everyone bought a turban, they cost anywhere from 30 Ds ($4) to 50Ds($6.50) depending on your bargaining skills. Tiffany and I bought shorter turbans,about half the length of the rest. They can be wrapped just like a long turban, they are just shorter in length and so do not provide as much protection, and they can also be worn like regular scarves because they are not as long and bulky.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-1bVbKjxh2So/Tb8czxvj4fI/AAAAAAAAEp0/OsSy9Sknbks/s1600/P4300120.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: cyan;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-1bVbKjxh2So/Tb8czxvj4fI/AAAAAAAAEp0/OsSy9Sknbks/s400/P4300120.JPG" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: cyan; font-size: small;">Blue is the most common color of the turban in Morocco so many of the ISA students opted for that color</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-X2pDr_Bk2c0/Tb8qk5oGoVI/AAAAAAAAEuA/ta-ffqt5vxM/s1600/P4300214.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: cyan;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-X2pDr_Bk2c0/Tb8qk5oGoVI/AAAAAAAAEuA/ta-ffqt5vxM/s400/P4300214.JPG" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: cyan; font-size: small;">Mine is purple, and I chose to wear it in a head scarf style, I wasn't a big fan of the turban style. It felt a little suffocating to me. </span></td></tr>
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<div class="MsoNormal"><span class="apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: cyan;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Saturday morning we got going around 9:30. We all piled into 4X4s that were going to trek us around the desert for a mini tour. Alaina, Tiffany, Hannah, Kahn, Kamel and I all ended up in a white Land Rover which sped through the desert on a barely visible path. At some points we had to drive through or over sand. Driving through sand feels extremely similar to driving through snow. You kind of sink in a little bit and slide around. At one point, one of the other 4X4s got stuck in a sand dune and everybody had to get out to help push it loose.</span></span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-btVD6m0Ucso/Tb7seH4oT1I/AAAAAAAAEoo/9OqwpC6gye0/s1600/P4300090.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: cyan;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-btVD6m0Ucso/Tb7seH4oT1I/AAAAAAAAEoo/9OqwpC6gye0/s400/P4300090.JPG" width="400" /></span></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-WszWgdwtNoU/Tb7tJ3muvJI/AAAAAAAAEos/uJmU-1rGn24/s1600/P4300091.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: cyan;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-WszWgdwtNoU/Tb7tJ3muvJI/AAAAAAAAEos/uJmU-1rGn24/s400/P4300091.JPG" width="400" /></span></a></div><br />
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</span></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: cyan;">We drove around in the sand for awhile and at good picture taking places we stopped and walked around for a bit. At one point, we were all allowed to climb on top of the 4X4s and sit up there for a short distance. That was soo much fun. My car sang songs from Disney movies during our rooftop tour. </span></span></div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-G5-5GlP0uxI/Tb7x_t5srkI/AAAAAAAAEpU/DhwEM0Y1FE0/s1600/P4300107.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: cyan;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-G5-5GlP0uxI/Tb7x_t5srkI/AAAAAAAAEpU/DhwEM0Y1FE0/s320/P4300107.JPG" width="320" /></span></a></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: cyan;"><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: cyan;">We took a break from the 4X4s and Daniel, our director, led us off into the desert. We climbed a few sand dunes and then just laid back and enjoyed the heat. </span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-GH8vQsuRLZY/Tb8fl3huhoI/AAAAAAAAEq8/zEu_pMJjfCA/s1600/P4300151.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: cyan;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-GH8vQsuRLZY/Tb8fl3huhoI/AAAAAAAAEq8/zEu_pMJjfCA/s400/P4300151.JPG" width="400" /></span></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-WYVNgHsqIt4/Tb8iFlBGWzI/AAAAAAAAEr4/TS-jVgyef60/s1600/P4300170.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: cyan;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-WYVNgHsqIt4/Tb8iFlBGWzI/AAAAAAAAEr4/TS-jVgyef60/s400/P4300170.JPG" width="400" /></span></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-wwc-LzA1Fgw/Tb8hOExrYrI/AAAAAAAAErs/QCeXv29c_Lg/s1600/P4300165.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: cyan;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-wwc-LzA1Fgw/Tb8hOExrYrI/AAAAAAAAErs/QCeXv29c_Lg/s400/P4300165.JPG" width="300" /></span></a></div><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: cyan;">The 4X4 trek ended at about 2:30, we then went back to the hotel for lunch and about a 3 hour period of free time. I swam and laid by the pool and showered before getting ready for our camel ride and camping in the desert. We got on the camels at 5:30 on Saturday and didn't return to civilization until Sunday morning.</span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Zzxioru1s64/Tb8mWRV94SI/AAAAAAAAEtE/-vnMUHtSsJc/s1600/P4300189.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: cyan;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Zzxioru1s64/Tb8mWRV94SI/AAAAAAAAEtE/-vnMUHtSsJc/s400/P4300189.JPG" width="400" /></span></a></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: cyan;"> </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: cyan;">Camel riding through sand dunes is exactly as fantastic as it sounds. My roommates and I meticulously picked out our outfits for the occasion so that we could take fabulous pictures. Alaina went for the imperial European look with a sun hat and white flowing skirt while I went for the Arabian princess look complete with a small sword and head scarf. The camels took us to the second largest sand dune in the world, which we then climbed.</span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-DdqSvjQUCSQ/Tb8s53_Gg0I/AAAAAAAAEvE/GlqTMWjaihI/s1600/P4300256.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: cyan;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-DdqSvjQUCSQ/Tb8s53_Gg0I/AAAAAAAAEvE/GlqTMWjaihI/s400/P4300256.JPG" width="400" /></span></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/--WNKOmWGGEA/Tb8ttLac5cI/AAAAAAAAEvg/fpVEY7sX-gE/s1600/P4300266.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: cyan;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/--WNKOmWGGEA/Tb8ttLac5cI/AAAAAAAAEvg/fpVEY7sX-gE/s400/P4300266.JPG" width="400" /></span></a></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gPG0mgjKmQI/Tb8t2SAQSMI/AAAAAAAAEvo/y28KAjbYzP8/s1600/P4300267.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: cyan;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gPG0mgjKmQI/Tb8t2SAQSMI/AAAAAAAAEvo/y28KAjbYzP8/s400/P4300267.JPG" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: cyan; font-size: small;">World's 2nd largest sand dune</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: cyan;"> We stayed at the top of the sand dune for a good two hours. Some members of our group had rented sand boards and were experimenting with riding the dunes. Everyone looked like they loved it until they had to carry the board back up the dune so someone else could have a turn. I don't know how they did it. I was struggling to get up the dune the first time around without carrying a sand board. I didn't get too many pictures from the top of the sand dune because the wind was very strong. Strong wind plus sand does not equal good things for a camera, one grain of sand getting inside can destroy the whole thing. We all had our cameras wrapped in plastic bags or in scarves. Sadly, quite a few people's cameras are no longer working because of this trip. I did manage to get a few good sunset pictures before I ziplocked my camera away.</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-u66UA5xjBGo/Tb8vZJHqRDI/AAAAAAAAEwI/IOn56iDX4lQ/s1600/P4300276.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: cyan;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-u66UA5xjBGo/Tb8vZJHqRDI/AAAAAAAAEwI/IOn56iDX4lQ/s400/P4300276.JPG" width="400" /></span></a></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: cyan;"><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: cyan;"> Exhausted, we climbed down the giant sand dune, got back on our camels, and took about an hours ride under the stars to our campsite. We all wanted to eat and go straight to bed, we were so tired. But in true Moroccan fashion, the food was not ready and our bags had not yet been delivered. The tents that we were in were basically a lot of blankets sewn together and held up by wooden beams.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-J0-SiDlk4Us/Tb8wa3OQ_-I/AAAAAAAAEwY/wjlAdlbFIso/s1600/P4300281.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: cyan;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-J0-SiDlk4Us/Tb8wa3OQ_-I/AAAAAAAAEwY/wjlAdlbFIso/s400/P4300281.JPG" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: cyan; font-size: small;">Meal tent</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: cyan;">Dinner was served after about a half an hour. It was delicious and we were starving so there wasn't much food left. After dinner, the hotel guys who had been escorting us this entire trip brought out drums and began to play tribal music. We listened for awhile, and a few ISA students were given drums so they could participate. At about 11:30, my roommates and I were ready for bed. Only problem was our bags were still not there, it was cold, and I needed somewhere to put my contacts. Tiffany lent me her water bottle and I dropped my contacts in. We crawled into bed and quickly fell asleep. I woke up again at about 12:30, everybody was up and about making noise, our bags had just got there. I ran out into the cold, got my bags, put on about three more layers, and went back to sleep. The sleeping mats, the sheets, the pillows, every inch of the tent was covered in sand, but it didn't matter. Everyone was too exhausted to care and the place was silent within 15 minutes. </span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-UFoq5O2A6xQ/Tb9BnjKdyjI/AAAAAAAAEwo/vJY4h8Z2NsE/s1600/P4300290.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: cyan;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-UFoq5O2A6xQ/Tb9BnjKdyjI/AAAAAAAAEwo/vJY4h8Z2NsE/s400/P4300290.JPG" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: cyan; font-size: small;">The outhouse, which was surprisingly nice because it had a normal toilet instead of the Moroccan style hole in the ground.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: cyan;">We woke up bright and early on Sunday, packed up our bags, and walked back to the hotel. We had about an hour and a half for breakfast and showers and then we were back on the bus. The bus ride home took a ridiculously long amount of time. We stopped for bathrooms, tourist sites, and lunch that altogether probably added about 4 hours to the trip. My dad and his minimal stops policy would not have handled this well. In fact, I did not handle this well. To make matters worse, the weather got very bad on the drive home. It was very cold and the bus does not have any sort of climate control. Rain was streaming in through cracks in the windows and it was very very cold. At one point it even started snowing! We were amazed that we could experience the Sahara Desert and a snow storm all in one day. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: cyan;"><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: cyan; font-size: small;">snow!</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15319759475015058811noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6320926752653357554.post-29014402361682575552011-04-28T12:55:00.000-04:002011-04-28T12:55:20.315-04:00St. Patrick's Cathedral<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-rxLSIwznoac/TaYFrWRrGwI/AAAAAAAAES4/HX6zqm0b8-4/s1600/P4080455.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-rxLSIwznoac/TaYFrWRrGwI/AAAAAAAAES4/HX6zqm0b8-4/s400/P4080455.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">St. Patrick's Cathedral, Dublin, Ireland</td></tr>
</tbody></table>This trip to Morocco and the subsequent trip to Ireland have checked off tons of boxes on my life's to do list. Many of which were not on the list until I got to Morocco, like going to the Hammam, visiting the Hassan II mosque,and riding the Kanguroo. The spring break trip to Ireland, however, let me check off things that have been on my list for a very long time. Visit St. Patrick's Cathedral: Check. St. Patrick's was not what I expected, but it was still very cool and very interesting. <div><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-MAAfzvMyZ7Q/TaYONw3-UtI/AAAAAAAAEUg/KJ5uvnjK_Nk/s1600/P4080483.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-MAAfzvMyZ7Q/TaYONw3-UtI/AAAAAAAAEUg/KJ5uvnjK_Nk/s400/P4080483.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The building(completed in 1192) was not originally a cathedral, but was elevated to cathedral status in 1224. This cathedral is one of two Church of Ireland(very similar to the church of England, all beliefs are the same as Catholicism except that the Pope does not have universal power) cathedrals on the island. St. Patrick's was originally a Catholic cathedral, but after the English Reformation it became part of the Church of England around 1535, even though a majority of its constituents remained Catholic. It is located directly next to the spot where the "well of St. Patrick" was supposed to have been. St. Patrick used this well to convert and baptize the native Irish people. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">There are many famous and important people of Irish history buried in St. Patrick's. One of the most important being Jonathan Swift, author of Gulliver's Travels. Swift was dean of the cathedral from 1713-1745 and many of his writings were delivered in the church. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-rJtcR7-xP80/TaYXAbGRdII/AAAAAAAAEWA/1nM5KooyUYY/s1600/P4080505.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-rJtcR7-xP80/TaYXAbGRdII/AAAAAAAAEWA/1nM5KooyUYY/s400/P4080505.JPG" width="300" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">A fantastic church choir was practicing in the church when Tiffany and I arrived. It made the whole experience a little surreal. Surrounded by beautiful stained glass, historic artifacts, and angelic music is exactly my idea of a good time in a cathedral. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-8_Omt0GiXCI/TaYUAVUsH5I/AAAAAAAAEVY/dSVPZZUb4co/s1600/P4080494.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-8_Omt0GiXCI/TaYUAVUsH5I/AAAAAAAAEVY/dSVPZZUb4co/s400/P4080494.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">All the keys to the cathedral for the past 100 years or so.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>One really interesting artifact was a book encased in glass containing the names of the 50,000 Irish men who died in World War I. The information panel said that "from time to time, the Cathedral staff turn the pages of the volume so that all names may be seen." <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Cxtiq_9V4pA/TaYaMV3EXPI/AAAAAAAAEXI/Y_Woq8Xti8o/s1600/P4080523.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Cxtiq_9V4pA/TaYaMV3EXPI/AAAAAAAAEXI/Y_Woq8Xti8o/s400/P4080523.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Doyles: Richard, Robert, Stephan, Thomas, Vincent and William (a good 20 of these are Thomas and William)</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-zmJ3xMy8CKc/TaYYedVneoI/AAAAAAAAEWs/Ohvb8l8PzLM/s1600/P4080514.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-zmJ3xMy8CKc/TaYYedVneoI/AAAAAAAAEWs/Ohvb8l8PzLM/s400/P4080514.JPG" width="300" /></a></div><div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Legend has it, that a Romeo and Juliet-esque family feud was going on in Dublin in 1492. Both parties were getting quite sick of the warfare however. Seeking respite, Gerald the King of Kildare and his men found shelter in the cathedral. He was of course pursued by his rival, James of Ormond, but he promptly shut the door in his face. After an amount of time, trying to wait it out, and realizing that James was not going anywhere, Gerald cut a whole in the door and stuck his arm through in order to shake on a truce. This is supposedly the origin of phrase "chancing your arm" as in taking a risk. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-tVmAyDL5XQg/TaYYHf0fciI/AAAAAAAAEWQ/gnVMImMoW-w/s1600/P4080509.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-tVmAyDL5XQg/TaYYHf0fciI/AAAAAAAAEWQ/gnVMImMoW-w/s400/P4080509.JPG" width="300" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-7n9hmoyEDIg/TaYbhHI8IEI/AAAAAAAAEXc/RAdeY15qMmY/s1600/P4080529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-7n9hmoyEDIg/TaYbhHI8IEI/AAAAAAAAEXc/RAdeY15qMmY/s400/P4080529.JPG" width="300" /></a></div><br />
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</div></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15319759475015058811noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6320926752653357554.post-55446713751728655452011-04-26T13:17:00.000-04:002011-04-26T13:17:02.011-04:00National Leprechaun Museum<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-q_iIdL7BmAA/TaXOEza1yKI/AAAAAAAAEOM/ZI8WGKVM1bg/s1600/P4070311.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-q_iIdL7BmAA/TaXOEza1yKI/AAAAAAAAEOM/ZI8WGKVM1bg/s400/P4070311.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div>After the Irish Writer's Museum, Tiffany and I made our way over to the National Leprechaun Museum. This was a very entertaining, little museum. The atmosphere is definitely geared towards children, but I think its something that everyone can enjoy. It reminded me a little bit of Willy Wonka's Chocolate Factory. You begin in this little anteroom filled with Leprechaun memorabilia and "facts." I learned that leprechauns are shoe makers to the fairies. Fairies are not like Disney fairies, they are tall, beautiful people-like creatures who love to dance. They dance so much that they always need new shoes and so the leprechauns have a lot of business and in turn a lot of gold.<br />
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After a brief introduction to the history of leprechauns by our guide, the first order of business was to shrink us to the size of leprechauns.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-H9REkvikktU/Tbb2J1j85XI/AAAAAAAAEhw/mMfrgpNMDsk/s1600/100_1486.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-H9REkvikktU/Tbb2J1j85XI/AAAAAAAAEhw/mMfrgpNMDsk/s400/100_1486.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vPOv4HV7Cv4/Tbb0U6K8YnI/AAAAAAAAEho/yReEvUzyXFw/s1600/100_1485.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vPOv4HV7Cv4/Tbb0U6K8YnI/AAAAAAAAEho/yReEvUzyXFw/s400/100_1485.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
Then we got to experience the difficulties of being so small.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-t9lQ9fIyUQk/TaXQZ6nFNYI/AAAAAAAAEO4/6wob5c-iVSA/s1600/P4070327.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-t9lQ9fIyUQk/TaXQZ6nFNYI/AAAAAAAAEO4/6wob5c-iVSA/s400/P4070327.JPG" width="300" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-L-yDg_S7QUs/TaXQzpQb0OI/AAAAAAAAEPA/7p_RKvfp63g/s1600/P4070330.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-L-yDg_S7QUs/TaXQzpQb0OI/AAAAAAAAEPA/7p_RKvfp63g/s400/P4070330.JPG" width="300" /></a></div><br />
After that, we all sat around a pot of gold and our guide told us leprechaun tales.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-y3jrUAF-wtU/TaXSjlOvdkI/AAAAAAAAEPc/QiZCERRVokI/s1600/P4070351.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-y3jrUAF-wtU/TaXSjlOvdkI/AAAAAAAAEPc/QiZCERRVokI/s400/P4070351.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
We then passed through a forest and learned the story of Tom Fitzpatrick and how he almost got a leprechaun's gold.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-3orlqTS23kk/TaXTPohfb1I/AAAAAAAAEP4/pDZzOCXO3Xo/s1600/P4070363.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-3orlqTS23kk/TaXTPohfb1I/AAAAAAAAEP4/pDZzOCXO3Xo/s400/P4070363.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-YUwoZIM9BxQ/TaXTszE7LBI/AAAAAAAAEQM/JKwj4DE5hwA/s1600/P4070369-1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-YUwoZIM9BxQ/TaXTszE7LBI/AAAAAAAAEQM/JKwj4DE5hwA/s400/P4070369-1.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-4_eGL7dZb58/TaXT3IqGlsI/AAAAAAAAEQQ/J2Wn8t52Kp0/s1600/P4070371-1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-4_eGL7dZb58/TaXT3IqGlsI/AAAAAAAAEQQ/J2Wn8t52Kp0/s400/P4070371-1.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
We emerged from the forest and found ourselves returned to normal size and in the museum gift shop. It was a fantastic little adventure.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15319759475015058811noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6320926752653357554.post-46570973277595093632011-04-19T18:07:00.001-04:002011-04-19T18:13:12.510-04:00Irish Writer's MuseumWe got into Dublin at around 12:30 in the morning after a very long train ride from Kilarney. We were exhausted so the goal was to just find a hostel, good or bad, and just stay there for the night. If we really didn't like it, we could move on the next day. After getting directions from some locals, we found our way to Paddywagon Hostel. It is very close to the bust station in Dublin. We actually ended up staying there for the rest of the trip, because it wasn't that bad of a place and it was just easier. They had a mix up with room bookings so Tiffany and I ended up with a private room for the same price as a 4 person room which was pretty sweet.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-eGDEQtKodCI/TaXGwi592QI/AAAAAAAAEMQ/GMcZt4k1ylo/s1600/P4070279.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-eGDEQtKodCI/TaXGwi592QI/AAAAAAAAEMQ/GMcZt4k1ylo/s400/P4070279.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Statue commemorating the war for Irish freedom</td></tr>
</tbody></table>We were really worn out so we ended up sleeping until like 10:30 that morning. The plan for the day was the Irish Writer's Museum and the National Leprechaun Museum. Neither of which took very long and were easily done in one afternoon.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-UFqNeuU1FQo/TaXECM-Re7I/AAAAAAAAELc/TM6OQtxT80A/s1600/P4070263.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-UFqNeuU1FQo/TaXECM-Re7I/AAAAAAAAELc/TM6OQtxT80A/s320/P4070263.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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We arrived at the Irish Writer's Museum just in time to watch a small performance. An actor, who works for the museum, acts out a few excerpts from popular Irish writer's works, such as James Joyce's Dubliners, Seamus Heaney's Digging, and my personal favorite of the hour Oscar Wilde's The Importance of Being Ernest. It was very entertaining to see this mid-40s man portray two or more characters, with different voices and mannerisms for each. He also gave a small amount of background information about each auther and their works.<br />
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The Irish Writer's Museum is appropriately enough in the house that used to belong to the Jameson family, of alcohol fame. It is very ornately decorated to show the family's wealth and good taste. In the room where the performance was done there are four doors, each with a mini series of paintings around the theme of time. One shows months of the year, another shows the four seasons, one shows night and day, and one is astrological signs.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-xdGHnNy-t3A/TaXKSQJc9hI/AAAAAAAAEM0/MbV7-FQMuQE/s1600/P4070288.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-xdGHnNy-t3A/TaXKSQJc9hI/AAAAAAAAEM0/MbV7-FQMuQE/s400/P4070288.JPG" width="300" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-D4UU2KeOj3k/TaXKtcz2RlI/AAAAAAAAEM8/45NtBf46Z5E/s1600/P4070290.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-D4UU2KeOj3k/TaXKtcz2RlI/AAAAAAAAEM8/45NtBf46Z5E/s400/P4070290.JPG" width="300" /></a></div><br />
The museum was very informative and had a great many artifacts of Irish writers. I learned a lot about different authors and have added quite a few books to my reading list. For someone who likes to read or who is into Irish history, this museum is a must.<br />
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<span id="goog_450859171"></span><span id="goog_450859172"></span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15319759475015058811noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6320926752653357554.post-47690718609969730912011-04-18T12:51:00.003-04:002011-04-18T16:03:58.282-04:00The Ring of Kerry<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br />
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Our original plan was to travel to the Aran Islands after Cork and check out the Cliffs of Moher, but things change. Everyone we encountered said that we should do the Ring of Kerry, and I mean everyone. So since our plans weren't set in stone, we looked up train times and headed to Kilarney, where the Ring of Kerry starts. The plan was to stay in hostels the whole week, but we decided for our one night in Kilarney we would stay in a Bed & Breakfast. Just to have a break from hostel living and because they are really cute. We stayed at Emerville Bed and Breakfast. It was adorable, the room was fantastic, and the bed is the best thing I've slept on in months.<br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Our first night in Kilarney, we mostly just wondered around. We found a beautiful church to take pictures of called St. Mary's, not to be confused with the more famous St. Mary's Cathedral in Kilarney, this was the Anglican Church. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-TgJc0Mdxbes/TaSyk-z_wcI/AAAAAAAAD9g/_AfVzML5Hos/s1600/P4050330.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-TgJc0Mdxbes/TaSyk-z_wcI/AAAAAAAAD9g/_AfVzML5Hos/s320/P4050330.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">That night, we ate pretty cheaply, to make up for the cost of the B&B, at a restaurant called Den Joe's. I had some fantastic fried chicken and Tiffany had a pot pie. Tiffany bought me a new claddagh ring (because its bad luck to buy one for yourself) and we had a couple drinks at a local bar. We were back super early though, we both wanted to take full advantage of the nice beds and get as much sleep as possible. The next day we were planning to take a bus tour around the Ring of Kerry. The Ring of Kerry is basically route 179 in County Kerry, located in the south west of Ireland. You can drive yourself, take a tour bus, or make the 8 day hike on foot. There are many little towns, coastal views, the Mountains of MacGillycuddy, and historical buildings along the route to stop and look at.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-PuCLSkR2waA/TaSy23Lg0MI/AAAAAAAAD94/08_84Q65xGs/s1600/P4050341.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-PuCLSkR2waA/TaSy23Lg0MI/AAAAAAAAD94/08_84Q65xGs/s320/P4050341.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-CuzP9cAknbs/TaSy1Uub6_I/AAAAAAAAD90/5I-5HaAK7SI/s1600/P4050335.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-CuzP9cAknbs/TaSy1Uub6_I/AAAAAAAAD90/5I-5HaAK7SI/s320/P4050335.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">We had looked up a few bus tour companies, and we thought we found a decent priced option, but once we got to the B&B our hostess offered to book the tour for us. So we ended up using Deros Tours, they picked us up from the B&B in the morning and gave us a wonderful day tour of the Ring of Kerry that lasted from about 10am until 5:00pm. Deros tours was not the cheapest option, but we're assuming that the B&B's of the area all have a contract with a specific tour company and having them pick us up right in the morning was very convenient. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-8geN2J-cKr8/TaSzZ6UYHwI/AAAAAAAAD-8/pCuWkgyF09Y/s1600/P4060025.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-8geN2J-cKr8/TaSzZ6UYHwI/AAAAAAAAD-8/pCuWkgyF09Y/s400/P4060025.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Killorglin</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The first town we came across was called Killorglin and it is a popular spot because of a fair that takes place every August. Puck Fair lasts three days and three nights, during this time a goat is taken from the mountains, placed high up on a platform, and crowned king for the three days. The ensuing festivities are very much like Mardi Gras and the saying goes "The goat can act the king and the people can act the goat." This fair predates Christianity and St. Patrick, there are just some holidays that you can't get rid of. The small town's population of 1,500 jumps to about 100,000 for the three days of drunkenness, carnival rides, cattle and horse fairs, and more drinking. At the very end, the goat is then released back into the wild, probably very confused and ready to get back to doing whatever goats do.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-YYMof-s7TNg/TaSzcnf-ezI/AAAAAAAAD_A/wQw1PI7IweY/s1600/P4060026.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-YYMof-s7TNg/TaSzcnf-ezI/AAAAAAAAD_A/wQw1PI7IweY/s400/P4060026.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Statue commemorating the Goat King of the Puck Fair in Killorglin</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Most of the tour is going up and down the MacGillcuddy Mountains. This is the tallest mountain range in Ireland with peaks that reach 1,000 meters high (3,280 ft). The mountains and the coast were covered in small farms and sheep. And ,as the guide informed us, there 9 million sheep in Ireland and only 4.2 million people.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-0oI_Xt9wdus/TaSzeRidArI/AAAAAAAAD_E/k3xzXw_2Ktc/s1600/P4060027.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-0oI_Xt9wdus/TaSzeRidArI/AAAAAAAAD_E/k3xzXw_2Ktc/s400/P4060027.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Carhah River with the MacGillycuddy Mountains in the background</td></tr>
</tbody></table>The tour also showed us quite a bit of bogland. Bogs are basically fields of rotting plants. The plants sit and rot for thousands of years eventually becoming this gross, wet, pile of brown plant material and mud and by eventually i mean a really long time. It takes 1,000 years for 1 foot of bog to build up. The bog farmers go out into these fields, cut up chunks of bog, and then lay them out to dry. Drying can take anywhere from three weeks to three months. The peat (the dried bog material) is then used as fuel to heat homes and cook food as well as insulation for roofs and walls. The wet peat is very heavy so horses are used to transport the material, however regular horses are too heavy to walk across boglands, as the guide put it, they would sink and have only their heads sticking up, so very small horses are used.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-0wwD1o2fiSM/TaSzk7M14nI/AAAAAAAAD_Q/swi44VA9rkg/s1600/P4060034.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-0wwD1o2fiSM/TaSzk7M14nI/AAAAAAAAD_Q/swi44VA9rkg/s320/P4060034.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bogland</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-oR-B30H6K6A/TaS0eibYjuI/AAAAAAAAD_4/z-qiFLFPbB0/s1600/P4060046.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-oR-B30H6K6A/TaS0eibYjuI/AAAAAAAAD_4/z-qiFLFPbB0/s320/P4060046.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dried peat</td></tr>
</tbody></table>The bus stopped at a museum, which was a little misleading. We were told that it was a Famine Museum set up as an old town, but it turns out it was the Bog Museum. It was a reconstructed little town whose main function was drying out the bog land and collecting peat. It was cute, but not really any more informative than the tour guide. </div><div><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-_Crv2gnamEc/TaS1DYhPwnI/AAAAAAAAEAE/0A4S3o5neEM/s1600/P4060049.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-_Crv2gnamEc/TaS1DYhPwnI/AAAAAAAAEAE/0A4S3o5neEM/s400/P4060049.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bog Town houses</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-aA-CWAGi_-k/TaS2IB3nnJI/AAAAAAAAEAc/3hxB6nj769Q/s1600/P4060057.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-aA-CWAGi_-k/TaS2IB3nnJI/AAAAAAAAEAc/3hxB6nj769Q/s400/P4060057.JPG" style="cursor: move;" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Horse used for collecting bog, he is small so he won't sink.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>The next big stop was to visit Our Lady of Kerry. Near a cliff's edge, with a great view of the coast, was a Mary statue encircled by a small stone wall. We took pictures of the statue and of the coastline, but that wasn't all. There is a man who hangs out near the statue because that is where all the tours stop. He has with him two white lambs and one black lamb and his dog. If you put some money in his hat, you can play with the animals and take pictures with them. At first I was like ok that's dumb, but then this little white lamb was peeking around a car and I gave in. It was adorable and soooo soft. It even tried to snuggle and lick my cheek.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Co3AkMNJcR8/TaS5fedWV9I/AAAAAAAAEDY/tO_wR0HyoYg/s1600/P4060111.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Co3AkMNJcR8/TaS5fedWV9I/AAAAAAAAEDY/tO_wR0HyoYg/s400/P4060111.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our Lady of Kerry</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-iWwM-YDYwzg/TaS7YSrtlqI/AAAAAAAAED4/2cIXL4au1mg/s1600/P4060119.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-iWwM-YDYwzg/TaS7YSrtlqI/AAAAAAAAED4/2cIXL4au1mg/s400/P4060119.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div>After playing with the sheep, we made our way to the lunch stop. We stopped at a cafeteria style restaurant and gift shop. It was a little expensive for the amount of food you received and for the cafeteria set up, but it was literally our only option. The food was good, I had seafood chowder and a fresh garden salad and Tiffany had a bowl of shepherd's pie(ironic because we were just playing with lambs).<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-KrzzuTXSPNY/TaS9p2a6XII/AAAAAAAAEFI/otBuIHBG7Mc/s1600/P4060145.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-KrzzuTXSPNY/TaS9p2a6XII/AAAAAAAAEFI/otBuIHBG7Mc/s400/P4060145.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A stone Caher, giving the town its name Caherdaniel</td></tr>
</tbody></table>This tour also showed us a number of old constructions. One of which was called a caher, a circular stone fort. They were used in very ancient times to protect community members and animals from attack. They are spread out sporadically across modern day farms, taking up valuable land space, but no farmer dare take them down for fear of supernatural repercussions. Supposedly, banshees and fairies use them, and they will get very upset if you take them down. I guess there was a farmer who tore down the caher on his property and thirty years later he got cancer a died. This was, of course, the work of the fairies.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-0cGbiQwY2DA/TaS-yZMPvdI/AAAAAAAAEGY/eI3sWjJypAc/s1600/P4060165.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-0cGbiQwY2DA/TaS-yZMPvdI/AAAAAAAAEGY/eI3sWjJypAc/s400/P4060165.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Rock Outside Murphy's Bar in Sneem, the poem on the wall talks about sitting on the rock and getting drunk.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>We stopped for tea, bathrooms and whatever else anyone needed to do in Sneem. Sneem is a very small town, it has one the Smallest Town award in Ireland several times. Tiffany and I came across Murphy's Bar in Sneem. Now, I'm sure you all know by now that my dog at home is named Murphy. Murphy is a very short and very fat beagle and the source of endless entertainment. I took pictures of all the Murphy things I could find in Ireland and it is at Murphy's Bar in Seem that Tiffany and I had our first Irish Coffee (coffee with cream, sugar, and whiskey). It was kind of expensive, so we split one, but that was more than enough. The bus was only stopping for 15 minutes, so towards the end we had to chug the coffee pretty quick.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-WN-62jMA7vk/TaTBPGrJdyI/AAAAAAAAEJc/gElMxgLM_oQ/s1600/P4060216.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-WN-62jMA7vk/TaTBPGrJdyI/AAAAAAAAEJc/gElMxgLM_oQ/s400/P4060216.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ladies' View</td></tr>
</tbody></table>The last photo stop was Ladies' View. In August, 1861, Queen Victoria had traveled to County Kerry to visit a noble family. She was a very unhappy guest and was constantly abusing her ladies-in-waiting. On day, a picnic was planned in this spot, but the Queen arrived early so the food was not prepared. She supposedly had a tantrum and screamed at her ladies for quite some time. Once the food was ready, however, all was forgiven and the picnic went on in happiness. The towns people truly felt for those poor ladies-in-waiting and named the picnic spot after them.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-4iwgzQbTQCY/TaTBmPpDb7I/AAAAAAAAEKI/CW8NGGeL1XA/s1600/P4060227.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="76" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-4iwgzQbTQCY/TaTBmPpDb7I/AAAAAAAAEKI/CW8NGGeL1XA/s320/P4060227.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>The National Park of Kilarney is located along this route and we drove through some of it, but we unfortunately missed out on its most impressive feature. The Muckross Estate is a very large house located in the national park. It was built for the sole purpose of hosting Queen Victoria in 1861 and the owner, Henry Arthur Herbert, went into debt building it. They were hoping to receive a title and therefor a better paycheck for their troubles, but since Queen Victoria was such a cranky guest, the title never came. The house and its lands were then sold and turned into the national park. There was a huge wake, funeral, and party for Henry Arthur Herbert when he died. He was an odd man and requested to be buried standing up. His request was honored and it is said that after three days of drinking to his death, he was the only one still standing. The house is set far back in the woods so the bus tour did not take us there. If we had another day in Kilarney, we would have been able to go back and see the house, but we left that night for Dublin.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-qW0yRJw3vxQ/TaXCmmOXUVI/AAAAAAAAEK8/5YefFOkZQjY/s1600/P4060242.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-qW0yRJw3vxQ/TaXCmmOXUVI/AAAAAAAAEK8/5YefFOkZQjY/s320/P4060242.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Muckross Lake, National Park of Kilarney</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15319759475015058811noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6320926752653357554.post-42145966414059707402011-04-16T10:00:00.001-04:002011-04-16T10:15:15.004-04:00St. Patrick's ChurchBefore everybody gets all excited, this is not about St. Patrick's Cathedral in Dublin. That post is coming later. This is about St. Patrick's Church in Cork which, in my opinion was equally as impressive as the Cathedral.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-VCEsNuyL9es/TaSurlPd6HI/AAAAAAAAD5Q/LB0Xafw8lMc/s1600/P4040250.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-VCEsNuyL9es/TaSurlPd6HI/AAAAAAAAD5Q/LB0Xafw8lMc/s400/P4040250.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div>Tiffany and I were wondering around Cork and came across this church. We didn't think we would get a chance to attend mass at the cathedral in Dublin so we figured we could come back the next day and go to a week day mass here, they have a daily mass at 10 am. Mass was interesting to say the least. I don't go to week day masses very often and for some reason I completely forgot what they were like until we got there. It was me and Tiffany and about 10 older ladies and a very very very old priest. Mass was in English, but I can't tell you a single thing that was said. It also lasted only about 30 minutes. This guy was speeding through his readings. I almost feel bad for him, and all the other priests who should probably retire, but there isn't anyone to replace them sadly. That is one of my suggestions for the church, they need to make some improvements in recruiting people to the order, get more young people interested. And, hopefully I won't be excommunicated for saying this, but if they allow priests to marry there would be no shortage of available applicants.<br />
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I was blown away by this church. I was not expecting this to be as ornate as is was. I was thinking this isn't a cathedral, its just the local church, it's going to be simple, but at least I get to go to mass. I was wrong, way wrong. The church is beautiful and very very old. Building began in 1832 and construction continued on and off for many years. The original design was changed a few times as styles changed and new donors were involved, but the entire structure was built from Cork Limestone. Father Sylvester Mahony,( pen name Father Prout) author of the Bells of Shandon which was in my last post, was the main fundraiser for the construction and the furnishing of the church. The church had an informational brochure at the front and it turns out this is actually a very historical church. Annie Moore, the first person to disembark at Ellis Island ever, was baptized at St. Patrick's church in 1874. Frank O'Connor, a famous Irish writer, wrote a humorous short story about his first confession which took place in St. Patrick's. The churches records have baptisms dating back to 1832, marriages from 1836 and confirmations from 1911.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-rynSZ3h0xLg/TaSvWyPQrKI/AAAAAAAAD6c/Zue5UXxdbRc/s1600/P4050277.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-rynSZ3h0xLg/TaSvWyPQrKI/AAAAAAAAD6c/Zue5UXxdbRc/s400/P4050277.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Relic of Saint Patrick</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Above the altar is a replica of The Last Supper which is one of many beautiful works of art in this church. The theme of the church seems to be the four symbols of the Eucharist: the pelican feeding her baby her own blood, the Host and the Chalice, the IHS monogram, and the Lamb of God. These symbols are on each side of the tabernacle, on four large panels around the altar, and on the outside doors.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-muvO_MOyC-4/TaSvg1I15hI/AAAAAAAAD6w/hwbJ_6wRr6g/s1600/P4050284.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-muvO_MOyC-4/TaSvg1I15hI/AAAAAAAAD6w/hwbJ_6wRr6g/s400/P4050284.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Row of confessionals</td></tr>
</tbody></table>The Honan family were large financial supporters of this church and, as was custom, have many amazing statues and ornate altars. The Holy Family Altar is located just above the family's plot in the church's underground crypt.<br />
<div><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-tIedWO5ky-4/TaSvcWKFCkI/AAAAAAAAD6o/1uHK3XL6OvY/s1600/P4050280.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-tIedWO5ky-4/TaSvcWKFCkI/AAAAAAAAD6o/1uHK3XL6OvY/s400/P4050280.JPG" width="300" /></a></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-iXx3gpsFHN8/TaSveZRkjyI/AAAAAAAAD6s/fThkRcQNIP0/s1600/P4050282.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-iXx3gpsFHN8/TaSveZRkjyI/AAAAAAAAD6s/fThkRcQNIP0/s400/P4050282.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Holy Family Altar</td></tr>
</tbody></table>The stained glass is relatively new, ranging from the 1920s to the 1940s, and is very beautiful. I particularly liked the Our Lady of Lourdes depiction(1941) behind the side prayer candle altar to the Virgin Mary.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-i3nUk7zQlag/TaSv5t3q6VI/AAAAAAAAD7U/DCYVGHPWyyA/s1600/P4050294.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-i3nUk7zQlag/TaSv5t3q6VI/AAAAAAAAD7U/DCYVGHPWyyA/s400/P4050294.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our Lady of Lourdes</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-XvwFheR0pMk/Tamc76VcUXI/AAAAAAAAEgs/Xx17X_Tgan0/s1600/100_0989.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-XvwFheR0pMk/Tamc76VcUXI/AAAAAAAAEgs/Xx17X_Tgan0/s400/100_0989.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tiffany got a picture of me lighting my prayer.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Going to mass was very refreshing after all this travel. Mass always refreshes me and I walk out feeling like I can take on anything. It was especially powerful to be going to church in such an old church in Ireland. Ireland was the origin of so many Catholic practices and St. Patrick is so highly beloved, it was just awesome. Ok, two religious rants in one post is enough. More Ireland still to come!Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15319759475015058811noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6320926752653357554.post-3290528086069363332011-04-14T17:57:00.000-04:002011-04-14T17:57:21.110-04:00What is he, like, king of the guinea pigs?<div class="MsoNormal">After visiting Blarney Castle and kissing the Blarney Stone, Tiffany and I headed back to Cork. We had an amazing lunch at a place called The Green Leaf Café. It was a very small cute tea shop down the street from our hostel. The tea menu had well over 50 different kinds of tea. So if tea is your thing, check this place out.</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Wu9fIxojm_g/TaN13301i6I/AAAAAAAADyE/wtCsPFV3lHU/s1600/P4040115.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Wu9fIxojm_g/TaN13301i6I/AAAAAAAADyE/wtCsPFV3lHU/s400/P4040115.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Seafood pie, potatoes and fresh salad- my lunch from The Green Leaf Cafe</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-0T9zM-sMA8o/TaN1610U9aI/AAAAAAAADyI/sPD671OEMWY/s1600/P4040116.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-0T9zM-sMA8o/TaN1610U9aI/AAAAAAAADyI/sPD671OEMWY/s400/P4040116.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tiffany's lunch at The Green Leaf Cafe</td></tr>
</tbody></table>After lunch, the weather cleared up a little bit, so we headed back out and got on a train to go to the zoo. FOTA wildlife park is located just outside Cork and it is a very cool zoo. As the website tells you<div>"<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 22px;">The park is not like an ordinary zoo; here you can come face to face with free roaming animals & birds from all parts of the world. So whether it's a kangaroo that hops in front of you or a ring tailed lemur which jumps down from a tree, each visit is sure to bring its own fantastic memories." <a href="http://www.fotawildlife.ie/">Fota Wildlife</a> This means no cages! It was awesome. There are not alot of animals, and the bigger more dangerous ones are behind fences, many of the birds and smaller animals were just loose. I took way to many pictures at the zoo and for those of you who have already made through my massive amount of Ireland pictures, I'm sorry, you will be looking at them again. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 22px;"><br />
</span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-BrgD6DeTApM/TaN2u1G1G0I/AAAAAAAADzI/9d0Lt6zA9E0/s1600/P4040135.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-BrgD6DeTApM/TaN2u1G1G0I/AAAAAAAADzI/9d0Lt6zA9E0/s320/P4040135.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I was about 2 feet away from this Lemur...no bid deal or anything</td></tr>
</tbody></table>The lemurs had an exhibit with a little house. There was a whole lemur family hanging out and even though there were no fences holding them in, they gravitated towards their little home. <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-3Nz05y3wJcA/TaN2yzx1KeI/AAAAAAAADzQ/5Ooqbd5541o/s1600/P4040137.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-3Nz05y3wJcA/TaN2yzx1KeI/AAAAAAAADzQ/5Ooqbd5541o/s400/P4040137.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lemur Family</td></tr>
</tbody></table>There was an animal that seemed to like to wander around the whole zoo though. It's a very strange looking thing. It reminded me of an animal that my friend, Grace, and I saw in a pet store once called a Cavie. This little guy is called a Mara. Tiffany and I decided that its a mix between a rabbit and a deer. <div><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-xmBtjVHp7b4/TaSr3s1gbZI/AAAAAAAAD2U/4yu1hM1Euc8/s1600/P4040199.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-xmBtjVHp7b4/TaSr3s1gbZI/AAAAAAAAD2U/4yu1hM1Euc8/s400/P4040199.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-C9Wu0Z2YjWE/TaSsI-t_7wI/AAAAAAAAD2g/mlK8vpgTrGA/s1600/P4040203.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-C9Wu0Z2YjWE/TaSsI-t_7wI/AAAAAAAAD2g/mlK8vpgTrGA/s400/P4040203.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I can hear Uncle Tom and some sort of hunting joke but I can't quite figure out what it would be...</td></tr>
</tbody></table>There was a pond in the middle of the zoo with a huge variety of birds. You could get some bird food for 50 cents and feed them. So of course I did. It got a little crazy, I was worried one of the swans was going to get violent and hurt one of the smaller birds. <div><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ntwX24-wXjs/TadHAKHPKZI/AAAAAAAAEf4/s6hwvr22hpM/s1600/100_0939.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ntwX24-wXjs/TadHAKHPKZI/AAAAAAAAEf4/s6hwvr22hpM/s400/100_0939.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-EDmODrHYHk8/TadI9Ml8YyI/AAAAAAAAEgA/VviiLuYvcR4/s1600/100_0941.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-EDmODrHYHk8/TadI9Ml8YyI/AAAAAAAAEgA/VviiLuYvcR4/s400/100_0941.JPG" width="300" /></a></div><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-j_UnD4m_kK4/TadLD3TEpiI/AAAAAAAAEgI/EbfW_s8fT4g/s1600/100_0943.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-j_UnD4m_kK4/TadLD3TEpiI/AAAAAAAAEgI/EbfW_s8fT4g/s400/100_0943.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">When I look at these, I hear Feed the Birds(Tuppence a Bag) from Mary Poppins in my head</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Anyone who knows me from home, or knows my dog Murphy, will understand my obsession with sausage shaped animals. Well, ladies and gentleman, we saw the best sausage shaped animal and we had no clue what it even was. It looked like a super-sized guinea pig and all it was doing was sleeping under a tree. It wouldn't move.<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vZxloiZROYs/TaStvEzB5TI/AAAAAAAAD4Q/ZHhhR-QIf-M/s1600/P4040232.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vZxloiZROYs/TaStvEzB5TI/AAAAAAAAD4Q/ZHhhR-QIf-M/s320/P4040232.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">For anyone wondering, the title of the blog is a quote from the movie Madagascar</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div><br />
</div><div>After some internet searching, I discovered that this is a Capybara, the largest rodent species. Its native home is in South America. I also found some people who keep them as pets and let them swim in their swimming pools. </div><div><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-7GSljxbSF2M/TadpI4ka51I/AAAAAAAAEgk/DJJCpitbtmE/s1600/17848_224860725417_638450417_3264756_2009159_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-7GSljxbSF2M/TadpI4ka51I/AAAAAAAAEgk/DJJCpitbtmE/s400/17848_224860725417_638450417_3264756_2009159_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-fC-EPehtviE/TaStqkxzQ3I/AAAAAAAAD4M/MmAsnvDyrM8/s1600/P4040231.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-fC-EPehtviE/TaStqkxzQ3I/AAAAAAAAD4M/MmAsnvDyrM8/s400/P4040231.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Maybe extended family, I see some resemblance </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>Besides that, the zoo only had a few of the usual animals. There were zebras, giraffes, buffalo, gazelle, monkeys. There were no lions or tigers or bears, but there was a cheetah, behind two layers of chain link fence, no free roaming for him.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-m3IHEuKtdmM/TaSrWdATg0I/AAAAAAAAD14/Vbq5t-I0BE8/s1600/P4040187.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-m3IHEuKtdmM/TaSrWdATg0I/AAAAAAAAD14/Vbq5t-I0BE8/s320/P4040187.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ZFp_GoMZZdw/TaSriDX2PqI/AAAAAAAAD2E/xcdtyFzx-OA/s1600/P4040191.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ZFp_GoMZZdw/TaSriDX2PqI/AAAAAAAAD2E/xcdtyFzx-OA/s320/P4040191.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-hzwjKD9a6WI/TaSs1_js1xI/AAAAAAAAD3U/3-uVs4a43a0/s1600/P4040215.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-hzwjKD9a6WI/TaSs1_js1xI/AAAAAAAAD3U/3-uVs4a43a0/s320/P4040215.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-NkLtzAvzsxE/TaSuWXkrXOI/AAAAAAAAD44/UWCN0RL39v4/s1600/P4040243.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-NkLtzAvzsxE/TaSuWXkrXOI/AAAAAAAAD44/UWCN0RL39v4/s320/P4040243.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div><div><div><div><div></div></div></div></div></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15319759475015058811noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6320926752653357554.post-61201789080106339802011-04-13T17:26:00.001-04:002011-04-13T17:26:40.717-04:00This is all Blarney...<div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Last week, Tiffany and I took a break from Morocco and flew to Ireland. We had a fantastic amazing wonderful awesome time. I have always wanted to go to Ireland and it lived up to my dreams. I’m going to break it down into little sections for the blog so that no one has a novel to read.</div><div class="MsoNormal">We flew with Ryan Air, a super budget European airline, from Fez to Paris-Beauvais, spent Saturday night in Beauvais, and then flew to Dublin on Sunday. Right off the bat, the trip was great. The Irish woman sitting next to us on the Beauvais to Dublin flight thought that we were Irish girls. I know it’s ridiculous, but this made us really happy. After not fitting in for 2 months and constantly being stared it, it was nice to be able to blend in. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-OIEdji6yx8g/TaNxc0DASvI/AAAAAAAADtY/rciKpYC_wFI/s1600/P4030035.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-OIEdji6yx8g/TaNxc0DASvI/AAAAAAAADtY/rciKpYC_wFI/s400/P4030035.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bru Bar and Hostel in Cork</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal">Once we got to Dublin, our next step was to get right on a train to Cork. We were going to spend a few days in Cork, then head up to the Aran Islands and the Cliffs of Mouer, and then end the trip back in Dublin. Plans changed slightly, but let’s not get ahead of ourselves.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-bnd9ThUwU-A/TaNxjwvVEDI/AAAAAAAADtg/hE8OJP8YduU/s1600/P4030037.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-bnd9ThUwU-A/TaNxjwvVEDI/AAAAAAAADtg/hE8OJP8YduU/s320/P4030037.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Lee River in Cork</td></tr>
</tbody></table> Cork was very nice. We stayed at Bru Bar and Hostel on MacCurtain Street. In Dublin we were given a little brochure with the top rated hostels in each county. This was number three on the list for Cork. Not gonna lie, the fact that it was above a bar influenced our decision to stay there. It was a really nice hostel, 15 euro a night for a six person room. The first night, we shared a room with this German kid named Nils, another German girl, and two American girls. We only saw them briefly, we went out before they did and were in bed when they got back, but it was nice to see some Americans. Plus I got to use some German. There is little opportunity to speak German in Morocco, no big surprise there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br />
</span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-mJY2JplOKno/TaNzau6rvCI/AAAAAAAADvA/Nt3RTgQV87Y/s1600/P4040062.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-mJY2JplOKno/TaNzau6rvCI/AAAAAAAADvA/Nt3RTgQV87Y/s400/P4040062.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Blarney Castle, it was very rainy that day, which was a little annoying I guess, but it fit with the castle atmosphere.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal">On Monday morning we got up early and went to Blarney. Blarney is a little town outside Cork, about a twenty minute bus ride. It has the famous Blarney Castle that contains the even more famous Blarney Stone. Now it’s time for some history (I hope you didn’t think that because it was my vacation I wasn’t going to be paying attention to the learning opportunities so that I can pass them all to you).</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-AtYxGo3amE4/TaN0XiFNKqI/AAAAAAAADv4/dj6l-476QYo/s1600/P4040081.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-AtYxGo3amE4/TaN0XiFNKqI/AAAAAAAADv4/dj6l-476QYo/s320/P4040081.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Old piece of the castle</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal">Blarney Castle originally belonged to an Irish noble family known as the MacCarthys. They were the most powerful family in the region and are historically seen as the ruling family of Munster, the southern-most province of old Ireland. After some scuffles with England, the MacCarthys and other ruling Irish families had to accept the superiority of Henry II, the English king. The MacCarthys surrendered earlier than most and were rewarded for their compliance. Cork was turned into a classic medieval city and the MacCarthys were left in charge. They chose Blarney as the place to build their fortress in 1446.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ojuQBkHkCuo/TaN0qLLuy3I/AAAAAAAADwk/E2twWhesWRQ/s1600/P4040090.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ojuQBkHkCuo/TaN0qLLuy3I/AAAAAAAADwk/E2twWhesWRQ/s320/P4040090.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-hGlxPoPw7eg/TaN07f_byfI/AAAAAAAADw8/iYu5_DL8whQ/s1600/P4040095.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-hGlxPoPw7eg/TaN07f_byfI/AAAAAAAADw8/iYu5_DL8whQ/s320/P4040095.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The stairs were definitely not for the faint-hearted. They were very narrow and very steep and spiraled. </td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal">After that, they were pretty much left to their own devices until Queen Elizabeth I came to the thrown in England. They controlled their subjects, battled their neighbors, and participated in all the regular medieval activities. But Queen Elizabeth I needed to establish her authority so she decided to start charging rent to all her Irish nobles. The current Lord of Blarney, Cormac Teige MacCarthy, was not to happy about this. He had a reputation of being a very good politician and a good speaker. He was well-known for flattery and vocal eloquence. Every time Queen Elizabeth I sent him a letter requesting payment he would respond with a very long beautifully written letter full of compliments to the queen and professions of is unending loyalty, but there would be no mention of paying the rent. The story goes that after receiving quite a few of these letters, Queen Elizabeth was upset and shouted “This is all Blarney, he never means what he says, he never does what he promises.” This is the great origin of the word “blarney” first meaning excessive speech used to persuade someone without offending them and now a speech with many exaggerated compliments or clearly untrue statements. But it is not quite the same as lying because blarney is never said with bad intent.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal">The MacCarthys held out for awhile, switching sides whenever it was convenient so that they could keep their power in Cork. This didn’t last forever though; they eventually picked the wrong side when they sided with the Irish against Oliver Cromwell. The major reason was that Ireland was behind on the times with military technology. Cannons were the new invention and medieval castles stood no chance against them. The castle was seized in 1648 but they weren’t homeless long. In 1661, King Charles II was restored to the English thrown and he gave the MacCarthys their castle back. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-qIJR9BvPzXI/TaN1Rv5Z8RI/AAAAAAAADxU/l970v07Z3aU/s1600/P4040101.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-qIJR9BvPzXI/TaN1Rv5Z8RI/AAAAAAAADxU/l970v07Z3aU/s400/P4040101.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-CS3vuEyzxZc/TaN1a8MXYcI/AAAAAAAADxc/xhSakoA_2uo/s1600/P4040104.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-CS3vuEyzxZc/TaN1a8MXYcI/AAAAAAAADxc/xhSakoA_2uo/s400/P4040104.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">At the top of the castle</td></tr>
</tbody></table>England and France began fighting their religious wars in Ireland after William of Orange came to power. The MacCarthys offered shelter to the banished King James (supporter of Catholics and religious freedom) and France also sent their support with a supply of troups. The Dutch reinforced William of Oranges military and in the end the English won. The punishment for supporting King James was the banishment of the MacCarthys from their castle.<br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-0cq9gI40NYQ/TaNzf3H20UI/AAAAAAAADvI/ChzlOdSxjpQ/s1600/P4040064.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-0cq9gI40NYQ/TaNzf3H20UI/AAAAAAAADvI/ChzlOdSxjpQ/s320/P4040064.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal">The MacCarthys had been big patrons of the arts, especially poetry and literature. There was even a school in Blarney for artistic scholars. In the 1600s, Blarney was known as the Court of Poetry and poets and scholars would go there to read and perform their works on festivals and holidays. </div><div class="MsoNormal">The castle currently belongs to the Jefferyes family, who bought it in 1703 when Sir James Jefferyes was the Governor of Cork. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-hJ2GD6sR6i8/TaN1pUAbzzI/AAAAAAAADxw/3-zRXzDL_NY/s1600/P4040110.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-hJ2GD6sR6i8/TaN1pUAbzzI/AAAAAAAADxw/3-zRXzDL_NY/s320/P4040110.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The position you are in when you kiss the Blarney Stone...I wish I had petticoats...</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal">The Blarney Stone is the main attraction to Blarney Castle. Everyone knows you have to kiss the Blarney stone if you are going to Blarney Castle. The origins of the stone are a mystery. There are many legends, some say that it was brought back during the Crusades, some say it was a gift from Scotland, but no one knows for sure. The legend goes that if you kiss the stone you will be gifted with eloquent, exaggerated, and descriptive speech.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-d3dgZwGv3p8/TaNy_MKSpMI/AAAAAAAADuo/Sxb2eOhyl6k/s1600/P4040056.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-d3dgZwGv3p8/TaNy_MKSpMI/AAAAAAAADuo/Sxb2eOhyl6k/s400/P4040056.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Blarney Castle park area</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal">Kissing the Blarney Stone was a fantastic experience. You have to lay on your back and lean out over the edge of the castle to kiss the stone. There is a guy there who holds onto you so that you do not fall and there are two bars to hold onto, but as you lean back and down about 2 feet, you realize you are at the very top of a castle and that it would be a long fall.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-EOW2Qozevrw/TaYUOKyL2vI/AAAAAAAAEVg/R6i9zDXXEBE/s1600/207240_1670128201912_1498560126_1322772_616247_n.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-EOW2Qozevrw/TaYUOKyL2vI/AAAAAAAAEVg/R6i9zDXXEBE/s400/207240_1670128201912_1498560126_1322772_616247_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-lpKeeALEN4o/TaYUBkCD9UI/AAAAAAAAEVc/uN_5Q8RFTRE/s1600/205486_1670129721950_1498560126_1322774_3588235_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-lpKeeALEN4o/TaYUBkCD9UI/AAAAAAAAEVc/uN_5Q8RFTRE/s400/205486_1670129721950_1498560126_1322774_3588235_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kissing the Blarney Stone!</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="text-align: center;"> The Bells of Shandon by Francis Sylvester Mahony pen name Father Prout</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">“There is a stone there</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">That whoever kisses,</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">Oh! He never misses</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">To grow eloquent.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">Tis he may clamber</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">To a lady’s chamber</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">Or Become a member </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">Of Parliament.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">A clever spouter</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">He’ll sure turn out, or </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">An out-and-outer</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">To be let alone.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">Don’t hope to hinder him,</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">Or to bewilder him.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">Sure he’s a pilgrim</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">From the Blarney Stone”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-dWDWzjO3koc/TaN1uUfswAI/AAAAAAAADx4/cCySbGFofXQ/s1600/P4040112.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-dWDWzjO3koc/TaN1uUfswAI/AAAAAAAADx4/cCySbGFofXQ/s320/P4040112.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15319759475015058811noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6320926752653357554.post-20198733587953153822011-04-06T12:00:00.175-04:002011-04-06T12:00:00.368-04:00Travels Within Morocco: AsilahTiffany and I are packing for Ireland! We leave tomorrow(actually when you read this, it will be Wednesday and we will have been in Ireland for 4 days already) and I am very very excited for so many reasons. The first being that I have always wanted to go to Ireland. St. Patrick's Day is one of my favorite holidays, I wear a Claddagh ring every day, and I love the color green. I am also excited to take a breather from Morocco. I absolutely love it here, but it will be nice to get back into Western society for a bit and to know how to handle life.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-KksrCa1-HY0/TZYPqWZNajI/AAAAAAAADk8/KIRYibsxAHo/s1600/P3310076.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-KksrCa1-HY0/TZYPqWZNajI/AAAAAAAADk8/KIRYibsxAHo/s400/P3310076.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
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We found out at the beginning of the week that we had two extra days of break. Our plane tickets were bought weeks ago so we couldn't just add two days to our Ireland vacation. Instead, Tiffany and I decided to go to Asilah, a beach town on Morocco's western coast.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-SC2lbPAN98A/TZZDBVWvrnI/AAAAAAAADqM/LtKZet-y9C0/s1600/100_0610.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-SC2lbPAN98A/TZZDBVWvrnI/AAAAAAAADqM/LtKZet-y9C0/s320/100_0610.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo credit: Tiffany Krause</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Asilah has a very long history, going back to Carthaginian( an ancient empire around the time of the Romans) settlements in the region. Eventually the Romans conquered the area and it was used as a trade spot between Spain and the Moroccan area. The Portuguese captured the city in 1471 and even built the walls around the old medina. This is why they have a particularly castle-like and old Europe feel.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/--4BTPuAALcE/TZYOP_wQXRI/AAAAAAAADi8/snjEQ5Vltw8/s1600/P3310045.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/--4BTPuAALcE/TZYOP_wQXRI/AAAAAAAADi8/snjEQ5Vltw8/s400/P3310045.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Medina wall</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Returning from a crusade in 1578, the king of Portugal, Dom Sebastian, was killed and Asilah landed back in the hands of Spain. It wasn't taken back by the Arabs until 1691 with Moulay Ismail, the great Moroccan king. One infamous resident, Er-Raissouli, is known for kidnapping and holding rich Europeans for ransom in his palace along the sea in the early 1900s. If Raissouli really didn't like you or your ransom was taking to long to arrive, he would literally make you walk a plank out of one of the palace windows into the sea. Spain wasn't too happy with this character so he was forced to leave in 1924.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-lA1SBSbghSg/TZYPhYVnQRI/AAAAAAAADkw/Zpc_aE-5gCk/s1600/P3310073.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-lA1SBSbghSg/TZYPhYVnQRI/AAAAAAAADkw/Zpc_aE-5gCk/s400/P3310073.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The medina is very clean and colorful</td></tr>
</tbody></table>The train from Meknes to Asilah is about 4 hours, we left at 8am and arrived just after 12. We were incredibly hungry so the first thing we did was find food. Specifically seafood because what else do you eat in a beach town? I had sword fish and french fries and Tiffany had shrimp tagine with fries. Amazing. The total for both of our meals was 75 Dirhams, just about $8. </div><div><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Ih3IiKSOpGI/TZYL91ObARI/AAAAAAAADgM/3ha14o5lUdA/s1600/P3310001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Ih3IiKSOpGI/TZYL91ObARI/AAAAAAAADgM/3ha14o5lUdA/s400/P3310001.JPG" width="300" /></a></div><br />
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</div><div>After eating, we went straight to a hotel. We had a couple of ideas from our growing collection of guide books; Hotel Marhaba and Hotel Sahara were top on our list. We had walked past Hotel Marhaba on our way to food, but we wanted to check out Hotel Sahara before we made a choice. We had to ask around a bit (and ignore all the invitations to stay at people's brother's or cousin's guest houses or hotels in the medina), and thanks to the ever presence of Moroccan hospitality, a man physically walked us to the hotel. This is not the first time this has happened, people are very nice here and are extremely willing to help you if you need it. We have been walked to ATMs, hotels, and restaraunts instead of people just pointing the way. In this situation, we were particularly grateful because Hotel Sahara does not have a sign in English so we never would have found it. I can read Arabic and so can Tiffany, but we would have just passed it over without paying attention. </div><div><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-PBsahGQMe_Q/TZZLmfsLYNI/AAAAAAAADqU/krZC3FVno1k/s1600/100_0530.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-PBsahGQMe_Q/TZZLmfsLYNI/AAAAAAAADqU/krZC3FVno1k/s400/100_0530.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hotel Sahara</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div>The hotel cost us 150 Dirhams (a little less than $20) total for a bedroom with two twin beds and a small sink. Community bathrooms were across the courtyard and a hot shower could be obtained with an extra 5 Dirhams. The hotel was beautiful, tile everywhere of course and a great open courtyard on the second floor. We got to walk around and pick the bedroom that we wanted which was very cool. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-rWLtTXcgZSI/TZYMnyn9J8I/AAAAAAAADg4/C3oReqcJ0Iw/s1600/P3310012.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-rWLtTXcgZSI/TZYMnyn9J8I/AAAAAAAADg4/C3oReqcJ0Iw/s320/P3310012.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-iYjfWHhjpGw/TZYNOcKOBJI/AAAAAAAADhk/spqNXEAI69o/s1600/P3310025.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-iYjfWHhjpGw/TZYNOcKOBJI/AAAAAAAADhk/spqNXEAI69o/s320/P3310025.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div> We wandered around the medina for a bit after we left the hotel. The medina in Asilah is very clean compared to those in other cities.This was really nice to see, until we got to the beach and realized that the medina might be clean, but they are just dumping their trash right on the coast. We followed the outer medina wall for the most part, medinas are no place to get lost, so that was the easy way to find our way back out. This led us to a beautiful lookout on the old medina wall. We could see miles of coast and the entire city(The very first picture is from this lookout point). It was clearly the place to take your date, the stones were covered in couple's names inside hearts and there was a few couples there when we arrived. Tiffany and I have an ongoing joke about us being a couple ever since one of the Moroccan boys here in Meknes told us that we look splendid together so it was only fitting that we go to the lover's lookout together and later on we even had a candlelit dinner.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-M3NmDfFpAK8/TZYQlHR1VjI/AAAAAAAADl8/jPCQt07EyIk/s1600/P3310090.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-M3NmDfFpAK8/TZYQlHR1VjI/AAAAAAAADl8/jPCQt07EyIk/s400/P3310090.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tiffany, on the lookout wall</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-wCyPxIYsdCY/TZYP2E4IHaI/AAAAAAAADlM/VHeNF4XoV98/s1600/P3310079.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-wCyPxIYsdCY/TZYP2E4IHaI/AAAAAAAADlM/VHeNF4XoV98/s400/P3310079.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rocks below</td></tr>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-bTnjRF0yRBo/TZZQch3LjpI/AAAAAAAADqo/b3RWXVM9xt8/s1600/100_0608.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-bTnjRF0yRBo/TZZQch3LjpI/AAAAAAAADqo/b3RWXVM9xt8/s400/100_0608.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-kdrpSHrij8Q/TZZQLQPnesI/AAAAAAAADqk/iZRwXVZoQ4E/s1600/100_0607.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-kdrpSHrij8Q/TZZQLQPnesI/AAAAAAAADqk/iZRwXVZoQ4E/s400/100_0607.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
After spending some time staring at the sea from the look out point ,we were determined to touch the water. We didn't really want to swim or anything, but we had to at least get in so we could say we did. We had heard that the place to go was called Paradise Beach, a few miles away from town. We had to either find a taxi or a horse-drawn carriage, both were in short supply. And by short supply I mean we couldn't find a single one. It's not tourist season yet so that probably explains it, but still, not a single taxi. From the look out we had seen a group of boys on the rocky beach below so we thought it couldn't be that hard to get there. The water looked pretty shallow so we thought we could walk across the rocks and just wade in the water for a few minutes and then head back. If I have learned one thing from Morocco, it is that nothing is that simple.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-pQ6vdM2G8ho/TZZTYc4XryI/AAAAAAAADqw/MgCb6q0ho8M/s1600/100_0636.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-pQ6vdM2G8ho/TZZTYc4XryI/AAAAAAAADqw/MgCb6q0ho8M/s400/100_0636.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">We had to walk through a field of garbage. (photo credit: Tiffany Krause)</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-uBIoGCQqe0A/TZZU4zQZA7I/AAAAAAAADrI/ASTFOegFMDI/s1600/100_0650.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-uBIoGCQqe0A/TZZU4zQZA7I/AAAAAAAADrI/ASTFOegFMDI/s400/100_0650.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Climb, slide, crawl, fall across some very slippery moss covered rocks. (Photo credit: Tiffany Krause)</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-CTSOqXMpQ3I/TZZVOGQPUwI/AAAAAAAADrM/VCimepjhG6I/s1600/100_0651.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-CTSOqXMpQ3I/TZZVOGQPUwI/AAAAAAAADrM/VCimepjhG6I/s400/100_0651.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">And when we got to the dry rocks, they were covered in this stuff, which kind of hurt to walk on, but actually made it easier to grip the rock. (Photo credit: Tiffany Krause)</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>But we finally made it!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-9SJDW9jlw9w/TZZTp6mgUMI/AAAAAAAADq0/yuVCwf-PRU4/s1600/100_0643.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-9SJDW9jlw9w/TZZTp6mgUMI/AAAAAAAADq0/yuVCwf-PRU4/s400/100_0643.JPG" width="300" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-sN1vflqDd2c/TZZT5DnqLUI/AAAAAAAADq4/PTefW6ru9EA/s1600/100_0644.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-sN1vflqDd2c/TZZT5DnqLUI/AAAAAAAADq4/PTefW6ru9EA/s400/100_0644.JPG" width="300" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-JvJeeQeQMzU/TZZUU_Cbe7I/AAAAAAAADrA/Ks2UldQiWho/s1600/100_0647.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-JvJeeQeQMzU/TZZUU_Cbe7I/AAAAAAAADrA/Ks2UldQiWho/s400/100_0647.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/--2F0GLvwaJ8/TZZUG4NdC3I/AAAAAAAADq8/bVJtdMkKqOQ/s1600/100_0645.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/--2F0GLvwaJ8/TZZUG4NdC3I/AAAAAAAADq8/bVJtdMkKqOQ/s400/100_0645.JPG" width="300" /></a></div><br />
And so did the piece of pottery that I had just bought! It's a miracle.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-qMHkch-ybZY/TZZVaUu5JWI/AAAAAAAADrQ/0tTuEs3OrXk/s1600/100_0677.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-qMHkch-ybZY/TZZVaUu5JWI/AAAAAAAADrQ/0tTuEs3OrXk/s400/100_0677.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
We were just wading in our clothes, but after all the work it took to get there we thought what the hell and went in with just our bikinis. Very scandalous, we knew, but there was only a couple of other people around and we just had to. A Moroccan woman could probably not get away with such a thing, but since we're foreign, it doesn't really matter. Before leaving the beach, I got one more souvenir for my sister. She goes to the University of Niagara and brought me a water bottle full of Niagara River water. So naturally I got her a bottle filled with Atlantic Ocean and Moroccan Sand.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">yum, salt water and dirt</td></tr>
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<div>After this harrowing adventure, we were dirty and exhausted. We headed straight to the hotel, paid 5 Dirhams for a shower which was more of a rinse since we didn't pack shampoo or soap. Then we headed back out for dinner. We had noticed the restaurant earlier and had decided that was where we would go back to for dinner. It was called Restaurant Marbella and was decorated with fishing nets, bobbins, and modern art. Very unique for the area. The tables were candlelit and very romantic. The food was amazing and inexpensive. The waiter was even friendly. There is not a single bad thing about this place. </div><div><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-TLv1SDipytQ/TZYOa7i7eZI/AAAAAAAADjI/KjsDz3O4PaQ/s1600/P3310048.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-TLv1SDipytQ/TZYOa7i7eZI/AAAAAAAADjI/KjsDz3O4PaQ/s400/P3310048.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Restaurant Marbella<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-M4VS7mkfxn8/TZYSkFH-KdI/AAAAAAAADoo/ryZ1HTkN3xM/s1600/P3310133.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-M4VS7mkfxn8/TZYSkFH-KdI/AAAAAAAADoo/ryZ1HTkN3xM/s400/P3310133.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Candle lit dinner for two</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-CFmMZBJRR7s/TZYSr_xDTTI/AAAAAAAADo0/12PvnIjx6Vg/s1600/P3310137.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-CFmMZBJRR7s/TZYSr_xDTTI/AAAAAAAADo0/12PvnIjx6Vg/s400/P3310137.JPG" style="cursor: move;" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mixed Seafood Platter 70 Dirhams (or $8.50) It was amazing.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>It was only 9:00pm when we finished dinner and went back to the hotel, but we were exhausted and had an early train the next morning so we went straight to bed. Both Tiffany and I agree that this was our best excursion so far. The town is beautiful, the people are nice, the views are fantastic, and the food is to die for.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-JDSy4sLkw8Q/TZYPDUYymYI/AAAAAAAADkA/zkmoKt0AIv8/s1600/P3310061.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-JDSy4sLkw8Q/TZYPDUYymYI/AAAAAAAADkA/zkmoKt0AIv8/s400/P3310061.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">And of course there were cats</td></tr>
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</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15319759475015058811noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6320926752653357554.post-33926529528925799902011-04-01T12:00:00.165-04:002011-04-01T12:00:06.107-04:00Travels Within Morocco: Casablanca<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-SeBqEt4Ua_E/TX47uEkJdGI/AAAAAAAADCo/41eE7GExCo8/s1600/P3120024.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-SeBqEt4Ua_E/TX47uEkJdGI/AAAAAAAADCo/41eE7GExCo8/s400/P3120024.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
We went to Casablanca two weekends ago. We were only able to spend one day and one night in the city and I do not think that was nearly enough. I could easily have spent 3 or 4 days here. One major reason is seafood. I am a huge seafood lover and Morocco has a huge seafood industry. Unfortunately, only on the coast. It is very difficult and not always a good idea to get seafood in Meknes, so I was in heaven in Casablanca. But I'm getting ahead of myself. Lets talk some history first.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-hp0oje5BjxA/TX460iC_eTI/AAAAAAAADBk/g7HYhIkDipo/s1600/P3120007.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-hp0oje5BjxA/TX460iC_eTI/AAAAAAAADBk/g7HYhIkDipo/s320/P3120007.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">mmm seafood...</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>Casablanca, founded in 1912, is one of the newest cities in Morocco. The site was an earlier Berber trading point with the Portuguese and the Spanish, but this was destroyed in the 15th century. After that, the town was rebuilt and torn down by various monarchs, until it reached its present name and form: Casablanca. Casablanca is now the commercial and financial center of Morocco and is one of the most modern cities.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-WZF1p43QYNA/TX47rs6Hc0I/AAAAAAAADCk/yH5EehEqwUc/s1600/P3120023.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-WZF1p43QYNA/TX47rs6Hc0I/AAAAAAAADCk/yH5EehEqwUc/s320/P3120023.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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The name Casablanca refers to the architecture of the city. Most of the houses and buildings are white and done in European architecture of the 1920s and 1930s. This means lots of Art Deco and Art Nouvou that mixes with the traditional Moroccan styles. In other cities, the lines between Moroccan and European are very blurred, in Casablanca they are very clear.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-_WuseXCqYjA/TX47TLmJmHI/AAAAAAAADCM/Dt70vtOYVuM/s1600/P3120015.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-_WuseXCqYjA/TX47TLmJmHI/AAAAAAAADCM/Dt70vtOYVuM/s320/P3120015.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-A3l5QdVc_40/TX4830bEqFI/AAAAAAAADD4/G1Ulh6bnGtM/s1600/P3120044.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-A3l5QdVc_40/TX4830bEqFI/AAAAAAAADD4/G1Ulh6bnGtM/s320/P3120044.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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The big attraction in Casablanca( besides the Atlantic ocean) is the Mosque of Hassan II. This is the largest mosque in Morocco and the fifth largest mosque in the world. Construction was begun in 1986 and took 7 years to complete. This was to be the major undertaking and proof of wealth and power by the late King Hassan II, King Mohammed VI's father.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-uyctaGjBmx0/TX4-MyVOtqI/AAAAAAAADFI/nlZBZhe0f-0/s1600/P3120064.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-uyctaGjBmx0/TX4-MyVOtqI/AAAAAAAADFI/nlZBZhe0f-0/s320/P3120064.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">The Mosque of Hassan II</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>I have no words to adequately describe how big this mosque was. If you look at the size of the people in the pictures that will give you an idea. The minaret is 82 feet wide and 656 feet tall. Just for comparison, the Statue of Liberty is 151 feet tall and the Washington Monument is 555 feet tall. In total, the mosque covers some 968,774 square feet, two thirds of which are actually over the sea. It was designed by Michel Pinseau, a French architect, and is covered in everything I have come to expect from Moroccan design. There is detailed tile and stucco covering every inch. Curved lines, marble, and domed ceilings that seem a million miles high.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-7HHjMm1hrOA/TX4-YzMlFlI/AAAAAAAADFc/YD8Py40Mc9I/s1600/P3120068.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-7HHjMm1hrOA/TX4-YzMlFlI/AAAAAAAADFc/YD8Py40Mc9I/s320/P3120068.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">see the tiny people?</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img height="400" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Gx_ARq3M-GA/TX4_bJU9o3I/AAAAAAAADGg/84SoEIAtXVk/s400/P3120087.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="300" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Main Hall of the Mosque</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>The atmosphere inside the mosque is surreal. The latticed windows and intricate lamps create very soft sunlight areas that contrast highly with deep shadows.<div><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-FOgMYltAp3c/TX4_XYGZjKI/AAAAAAAADGc/XV98nx8Mtus/s1600/P3120086.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-FOgMYltAp3c/TX4_XYGZjKI/AAAAAAAADGc/XV98nx8Mtus/s400/P3120086.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-4_NZN4O4_N8/TX5AYo27OhI/AAAAAAAADHg/2rnt8anDBrs/s1600/P3120108.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-4_NZN4O4_N8/TX5AYo27OhI/AAAAAAAADHg/2rnt8anDBrs/s400/P3120108.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-yxeAEb1Vx2k/TX5AdXqEA9I/AAAAAAAADHk/2ZiqbGByJIM/s1600/P3120109.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-yxeAEb1Vx2k/TX5AdXqEA9I/AAAAAAAADHk/2ZiqbGByJIM/s400/P3120109.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div><br />
</div><div>The main level of the mosque is one large hall with a sectioned off area at the end for prayer. The prayer area is covered in carpets and has inscriptions from the Quran posted on the pillars and walls. </div><div><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ecyjcDOJgm8/TX5AKs4DjxI/AAAAAAAADHU/88U5Up3X_Kw/s1600/P3120105.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ecyjcDOJgm8/TX5AKs4DjxI/AAAAAAAADHU/88U5Up3X_Kw/s400/P3120105.JPG" width="300" /></a></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-SxvVCCAEDxE/TX4_wYFVX5I/AAAAAAAADG8/ioyMHgp3p3s/s1600/P3120099.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-SxvVCCAEDxE/TX4_wYFVX5I/AAAAAAAADG8/ioyMHgp3p3s/s400/P3120099.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Shoes are not permitted in mosques so we were all in our socks or bare feet</span>.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>In the basement there is a gigantic hammam that has never been used. The king had it built just for show.<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-fh0iojcp5pg/TX5BVnC7o6I/AAAAAAAADIw/SXxPWw8vEXM/s1600/P3120128.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-fh0iojcp5pg/TX5BVnC7o6I/AAAAAAAADIw/SXxPWw8vEXM/s320/P3120128.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">The hammam inside the mosque. This hammam is much grander and more ornate than the hammams that Moroccans normally use.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>In addition to the Moroccan Hammam, the king also had a Turkish Hammam built inside the mosque. It is absolutely beautiful. I would love to relax in the water and the beauty of the room. This hammam has also never been used.<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-F9e9UhrTToM/TX5Bs_gATRI/AAAAAAAADJY/ExRCLVRbBXQ/s1600/P3120138.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-F9e9UhrTToM/TX5Bs_gATRI/AAAAAAAADJY/ExRCLVRbBXQ/s400/P3120138.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Turkish Hammam.</span><br />
</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Casablanca also has a wonderful medina. It is not quite as old of a medina as those in other cities, but it still has all the same features. Small minarets dart up all over the place and shop keepers are ready to barter. I bought an awesome pair of sandals and a ring bracelet combo. Tiffany and I also ended up in a shop for about an hour because the shop owners were trying to sell us everything in the place. We ended up having turbans wrapped around our heads and Tiffany was offered 100 camels for her hand in marriage. <div><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div><div> </div><div><div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-epDWpysD62I/TX49cDSMHLI/AAAAAAAADEY/oZSajNlWaAg/s1600/P3120052.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-epDWpysD62I/TX49cDSMHLI/AAAAAAAADEY/oZSajNlWaAg/s400/P3120052.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Entrance to the king's palace in Casablanca</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>Casablanca, I've heard, also has a very active nightlife. I didn't really get to experience this first hand because it was raining and we didn't want to stray to far from the hotel. There are bars and dance clubs in Casablanca which just shows how modern the city really is. A small group of us wondered around for awhile looking for a little bar to just hang out in, but it was raining and getting late so we gave up and went to Kentucky Fried Chicken. Yes, you read that right. You have no idea how happy we all were to be there. Everyone loves the Moroccan food, but this was just a perfect taste of home. The only downside, KFC in Casablanca does not have mashed potatoes. Tiffany and I took our chicken back to the hotel, The Prince of Paris, and watched Polar Express on the English movie channel. Even if we never found the bar, this evening got an A+ from me. </div><div><br />
</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/--BVqa5znkmo/TX49CfCa6lI/AAAAAAAADEE/Ew9xMV1EnBg/s1600/P3120047.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/--BVqa5znkmo/TX49CfCa6lI/AAAAAAAADEE/Ew9xMV1EnBg/s400/P3120047.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">I'm just napping in front of the palace, no big deal</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table><div><br />
<br />
</div></div></div></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15319759475015058811noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6320926752653357554.post-64871671769497245232011-03-29T21:07:00.000-04:002011-03-29T21:07:22.740-04:00At the Cafe on the Corner part 4/4<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">At the cafe down on the corner</span></i><br />
<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">with a lost look on his face</span></i><br />
<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">There ain't no fields to plow </span></i><br />
<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">No reason to now</span></i><br />
<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">He's just a little out of place</span></i><br />
<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></i><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Wooo! I'm finally at the last post of this series. This was a much bigger undertaking than I had anticipated and I am excited to get back to the main focus of this blog; traveling. What's going on in the Middle East right now is fascinating and I read about it everyday, but trying to blog about it and inform people without too much of a bias has been quite difficult(yes I know that everything I posted has still been biased, I can only do so much). This final post is about Morocco. There is absolutely no revolution going on in Morocco, but there have been protests. Let me explain.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Morocco's government is a constitutional monarchy. It has an elected parliament, but the king, currently King Mohammed VI fondly known as M6 in our apartment, has a large amount of power. Overall, Moroccans enjoy many more freedoms then their counterparts in the rest of the Middle East and North Africa. They already have the right to protest even if it is somewhat limited(no bad mouthing M6). </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span><br />
<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">They say crime don't pay<br />
But neither does farmin' these days<br />
And the coffee is cold<br />
And he's fifty years old<br />
And he's got to learn to live some other way</span></i><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Morocco has a very large number of degree holders and a very large unemployment rate. This is not a good combination. People are poor, jobless, and hungry and they want the government to create more jobs. Now, I know you're thinking, don't we all. The US is having just as much trouble with unemployment and job creation. Here is why Morocco is different; almost all industry, big business, education and the other major job sectors are government run. There is very little privatization(public ownership) of business. So the government is literally responsibly for creating jobs. The men, literally, sit around in cafes all day drinking coffee and watching the world go by because they have nothing else to do. It is not uncommon to see people sleeping outside during the day, not homeless people, just average people who decided to sit down and have a nap because they had nothing better to do. Getting a bachelor's degree is free so many young people go to universities not because there are any real job prospects but because there is nothing else to do. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">There are also groups of people in Morocco who are pushing for more social rights. Women would like more rights in society and more equality. There is also a hint of Gay rights at the very fringes of society. Minority rights for the Berber populations are also an important issue as well as the Western Sahara Conflict. There are many more small factions, political, and social groups that want more rights and freedoms. While it is wonderful that these groups have the opportunity to voice their opinions, it is difficult to institute any actual change. The king and the government hear only chaos and noise because the groups have not banded together and created an actual agenda for change.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span><br />
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">They say crime don't pay</span></i></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">But neither does farmin' these days<br />
And the coffee is cold<br />
And he's fifty years old<br />
And he's got to learn to live some other way</span></i></div><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span><br />
<a href="http://english.aljazeera.net/news/africa/2011/03/201139204839521962.html"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Moroccan Monarch Pledges Reform</span></a><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="http://english.aljazeera.net/news/africa/2011/03/201139204839521962.html"></a>King Mohammed VI gave a speech on May 6th in response to a day of protest on February 20th. In an unprecedented move, the king announced that he was appointing a commission to redo the constitution. He told the people that they have until June to organize their thoughts and to express their wishes for change to these commission members. In June, the commission will then remake the constitution based on the input of the people that contacted them. The flip-side to this is that the commission is going to redo the constitution even if they receive no valuable input from the population. In this instance, a few small reforms may be made, but the rest will likely stay the same. The king has put the ball back in the people's court and is asking them to organize and take responsibility for their future. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Just from my experience here, the culture tends to procrastination and to just hoping that things will change on their own. I find the king's plan very commendable. I believe that if the people here are really unhappy then they need to do something about it. I don't think its fair or effective to shout about change without a definition of what that change should be. Hopefully, this will encourage the people to take charge because they now know that someone is listening and that what they say can make a difference. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><i>At the cafe down on the corner<br />
With a lost look on his face<br />
There ain't no fields to plow<br />
He's busin' tables now<br />
He's just a little out of place </i></span></i></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">When there are protests in Morocco, the police come out and monitor the situation. They usually do nothing more than make sure it stays calm and controlled. However there have been instances when protesters have been met with police violence. This is largely because of the lack of organized leadership within the police force. The entire system is corrupt with bribery and nepotism. This leaves the lower level police men with a lot of decision making to do on issues that should be dealt with as an entire force not on an individual basis. This is something that will hopefully be addressed after the revamped constitution is instituted and power can be reassigned. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="http://english.aljazeera.net/news/africa/2011/03/2011313212948314417.html">Police Break Up Morocco Protest</a></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">This article talks about a very recent protest in Casablanca. Police responded violently and dozens were injured but there were no deaths. This is a very unusual occurring. The police normally just monitor and maintain control. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><i><br />
</i></span><br />
<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><i>And the meek shall inherit the earth<br />
And the bank shall repossess it<br />
This job don't pay half what it's worth<br />
But it's a thankful man that gets it </i></span><br />
</span></i><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">In addition to the protests going on in Morocco, the Moroccan people have many opinions about the revolutions going on in the rest of the Arab world. I have asked quite a few students and teachers at my university about their opinions of current affairs. </span><br />
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</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Most of the people I talk to have been very supportive of the uprisings in Tunisia, Egypt, Libya and Yemen. They understand that they are blessed here in Morocco with the amount of civil rights they have and wish that the people in these other countries will one day be as lucky. They are very passionate about the removal of Gaddafi in Libya, more so than they seem to be about Yemen or Bahrain, possibly because of the proximity of Libya to Morocco. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><i>At the cafe down on the corner<br />
With a lost look on his face<br />
There ain't no fields to plow<br />
He's wishin' for one now<br />
He's just a little out of place</i></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">One thing that students seem to have mixed views about is whether or not the Moroccan people should be protesting right now. Some say yes, the whole Arab world is demanding rights and freedoms and jobs and Morocco should join in even if it doesn't want a full revolution. Others say that this is just band-wagoning and that since Moroccans do not want regime change they should wait for a more appropriate time to protests; a time when Western media is not lurking around every corner to pressure those in power.</span><br />
<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></i><br />
<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">All these soldiers without wars<br />
And hometown boys without a home<br />
Farmers without fields<br />
Dealers without deals<br />
And they sit here drinking coffee all alone </span></i><br />
<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></i><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">As far as I'm concerned, it is a blessing that Morocco is as stable as it is. It may not make for exciting news, but I much prefer regular protests to full on revolution. It definitely has its problems, women's rights and unemployment are high on the list, but it is far ahead of its neighbors. If you are my friend on facebook or you follow me on twitter, you will have ample opportunity to keep up with news in the Middle East. I am constantly posting articles that I find interesting, so keep reading! </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">At the cafe down on the corner</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">With a lost look on their face</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">There ain't no fields to plow</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">They're wishin' for one now</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">They're just a little out of place</span></span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15319759475015058811noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6320926752653357554.post-68851960189439920902011-03-29T09:57:00.000-04:002011-03-29T09:57:54.934-04:00The Revolution Starts Now Part 3/4<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><i>I was walkin' down the street</i></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><i>In the town where I was born</i></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><i>I was movin' to a beat</i></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><i>That I'd never felt before</i></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><i><br />
</i></span><br />
I have been unable to find a comprehensive timeline of the events going on in Libya. Instead I will summarize a few articles that discuss the major events of the Libyan Revolution. Protests began on February 17,2011, named the Day of Anger by groups who used social networking sites to organize.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://english.aljazeera.net/indepth/features/2011/02/2011221133437954477.html">Gaddafi Hits With Deadly Force</a><br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Gaddafi wasted no time in responding violently to the protests. Just four days in and the death toll is upwards of 300. Gaddafi's forces are firing straight on crowds of protesters with no hesitation. The protests are located mainly in the eastern cities of Benghazi, Baida, Ajdabiya, Zawiya and Derna. They will eventually spread to the capital, Tripoli. Already Libyans are frustrated with the lack of international intervention or support because of the rising number of deaths. "Italian Prime Minister Silvio Berlusconi said Saturday he will not "bother" Gaddafi over the violent incidents."</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><i>So I opened up my eyes </i></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><i>And I took a look around</i></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><i>I saw it written 'cross the sky</i></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><i><br />
</i></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><i><a href="http://english.aljazeera.net/news/africa/2011/02/2011224143054988104.html">Gaddafi blames unrest on al-Qaeda</a></i></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">This article just proves the craziness of the Libya leader. In a speech on February 24, 2011, Gaddafi proclaimed that Al-Qaeda had drugged his people and then incited them to revolt. The young people were supposedly given </span>hallucinogenic drugs in their NesCafe(a popular brand of instant coffee in North Africa) and that is why they are protesting, revolting, and calling for a revolution. Gaddafi also claims that he is more of a symbolic leader and that there is representation for all his people. However, if this were true, than he would have much less of a problem stepping down and would not have had the ability to order the military to shoot on its own people.<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><i><br />
</i></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><i>The Revolution starts now</i></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><i>yeah, the revolution starts now</i></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><i><br />
</i></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><i><a href="http://english.aljazeera.net/programmes/general/2011/03/2011338154221771.html">As Gaddafi wages war against a popular uprising, Libyan exiles explain how terror has long been a tool of the regime.</a></i></span><br />
This is a video that details the events of the revolution and gives insight to the regime's general practices through the eyes of exiles living abroad. The first video shows a clip of one of Gaddafi's speeches in which he states "I have my gun and I will fight until the last drop of blood" and "We will march in the millions to cleanse Libya inch by inch, house by house, street by street, person by person."<br />
Witnesses of Gaddafi's regime who have been in exile since the 1970s talk about instances of protest in which students were shot, killed and hung in front of their friends and family. They have been waiting in exile for Gaddafi to be removed from power so that they can one day return to Libya and live without fear. Even in exile they are not safe. Gaddafi has hitmen sent all around the world to stop his dissidents.<br />
There are five different people in exile and each give their accounts. Each one also has a small biography listed below the main video.This video gives a very good depiction and the general idea of the Libyans in exile can be understood. This video is a good 30 minutes long, but well worth it.<br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><i>The revolution starts now<br />
When you rise above your fear </i></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><i><br />
</i></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><i><a href="http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20110227/ap_on_re_us/us_us_libya_22">Obama: Its time for Libya's Gaddafi to Go</a></i></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">On February 27, 2011, President Obama and Germany's Chancellor, Angela Merkel had a telephone meeting about the situation in Libya. Up until this speech, the US response to the revolution was very non committal. There were legitimate reasons for this hesitancy however. US citizens who were in Libya for whatever reason, needed to be gotten out safely before the US took a definitive stance on the issue. Those citizens could have been put in great danger in the US had immediately supported the rebel groups. This speech calls on Gaddafi to stop </span>massacring<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"> his people and to step down. Obama states that the Libyan people have spoken and that their wishes should be respected. No government has the right to rule without the approval of its citizens. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><i><br />
And tear the walls around you down<br />
The revolution starts here</i></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><i><br />
</i></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><i><a href="http://english.aljazeera.net/programmes/listeningpost/2011/03/20113121012263363.html">Libya: The Propaganda War</a></i></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">This video discusses the idea of proaganda. The situation in Libya has been greatly effected by media from both sides of the conflict. Each side has its own propaganda that it is promoting and truth can sometimes be difficult to find. The video also talks about how specific words are very important in a conflict like this, for example choosing to call this a civil war is much different than calling it an uprising or a revolution. Very good video, you only need to watch the first 10 minutes. </span><br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Where you work and where you play<br />
Where you lay your money down<br />
What you do and what you say<br />
The revolution starts now<br />
Yeah the revolution starts now </i></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><i><br />
</i></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><i><a href="http://english.aljazeera.net/news/africa/2011/03/201131720311168561.html">UN Authorizes No Fly Zone Over Libya</a></i></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">After what some may say was too long of a hesitation, the UN has authorized the military enforcement of a "No-Fly Zone" over Libya so that Gaddafi's forces will be </span>severely<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"> limited in attacking the people. The United States and France were to lead the military efforts temporarily until another international organization like NATO is able to take control. Gaddafi's land forces are also allowed to be </span>interrupted<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"> militarily if there is a threat to the Libyan people. The goal, however, is not to kill Gaddafi or force him to give up power through military means. Economic sanctions and social pressure are the means that individual countries can use to convince Gaddafi to step down. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/us_obama_libya">Obama Strongly Defends US Military Action in Lbya</a></span><br />
President Obama has come under fire for his decision to send troops to Libya in support of the UN's decision on a "No-Fly Zone". Many in the US are wondering why the US is involved in another Middle East conflict and are reluctant to support this cause. Obama has made it clear that this is not a forced regime change like that in Iraq. The US troops are there for the purposes of the UN's initiative and for nothing else<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">. <span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;">"Some nations may be able to turn a blind eye to atrocities in other countries. The United States of America is different. And as president, I refused to wait for the images of slaughter and mass graves before taking action."</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><i><br />
</i></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Yeah the revolution starts now </i></span><br />
<i>In your own backyard</i><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><i>In your own home town</i></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><i>so what are you doin' standin' around?</i></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Just follow your heart</i></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><i>The revolution starts now</i></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><i><br />
</i></span><br />
<a href="http://english.aljazeera.net/news/middleeast/2011/02/2011226182950484591.html">Mapping Libya's Uprising</a><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">If you would like to keep up with the Libya conflict, here is a very helpful map. It charts all the cities and territories in Libya that are in the news and marks who is in control of what.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15319759475015058811noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6320926752653357554.post-22178360134291113502011-03-18T08:55:00.000-04:002011-03-18T08:55:47.521-04:00Young People Speaking Their Minds Part 2/4<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><div style="text-align: left;"><i>There's battle lines being drawn</i></div></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><div style="text-align: left;"><i>Nobody's right if everyone is wrong </i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i><br />
</i></div><div style="text-align: left;">Egyptian Revolution's Timeline:</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">January 25,2011- Inspired by the successful revolution in Tunisia, and organized with the help of social networking sites, Egyptians declare a "Day of Rage" </div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">"<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; line-height: 16px;">thousands began taking to the streets to protest poverty, rampant unemployment, government corruption and autocratic governance of President Hosni Mubarak, who has ruled the country for 30 years. These were the first protests on such a large scale in Egypt since the 1970s."</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; line-height: 16px;"><a href="http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2011/01/30/egypt-revolution-2011_n_816026.html">Huffingtonpost.com</a></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i><br />
</i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><i>"</i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;">Police responded with blasts from water cannons and set upon crowds with batons and acrid clouds of tear gas to clear demonstrators crying out "Down with Mubarak" and demanding an end to Egypt's grinding poverty, corruption, unemployment and police abuses."<a href="http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2011/01/25/mubarak-faces-egypt-prote_n_813572.html#s229529">huffingtonpost.com</a></span></span></div></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">This was seen as a pretty mild response due to the regime's reputation for swiftly and harshly stifling any forms of decent. World attention and the overthrow of the Tunisian president meant that the Egyptian government had to respond with caution.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Young people speaking their minds</i></span></div></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Getting so much resistance from behind</i></span></div></div><br />
<div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">January 26-28,2011- Protests continue along with increasingly violent responses from the police. Internet and cell phone services are being disrupted, especially social networking sites like Twitter and Facebook. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">"<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;">Blocking Twitter not only enraged Egyptian citizens; it also brought increased national attention to the uprising. Over the course of the next two days, Egypt proceeded to block Facebook while the much-hated riot police took to the streets, arresting and injuring hundreds with batons, tear gas water cannons. Protests occurred not only in Cairo, the capital, but also in Alexandria and Suez, two other major cities." <a href="http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2011/01/28/whats-going-on-in-egypt_n_815734.html">huffingtonpost.com</a></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">The use of social networking sites to organize and build of knowledge of the protests and revolution show that these are the young people standing up for what they believe. They have grown up and learned that life without civil liberties sucks and they are sick of it. Many countries in the Middle East and North Africa have a demographic situation called a "Youth Bulge" meaning there is a disproportionate amount of young people. There large numbers create countrywide and longterm problems, like food shortages, not enough jobs for degree holders, and a lack of jobs in general. Their large numbers have also influenced their ability to protest and revolt. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><i><br />
</i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i>I think its time we stop, hey , what's that sound</i></div></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Everybody look what's going down</i></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><i><br />
</i></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">January 29, 2011- President Mubarak announces that he has fired his cabinet, appointed a vice-president, but still refuses to step down. Looters have begun to destroy the nations tourist attractions which are key sources of revenue. The US has begun to encourage its citizens to leave the country for their own safety as protesting, looting, and military intervention continue.</span><br />
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</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">January 31, 2011- Protesters have been camping out in Tahrir Square for days, ignoring the militarily imposed curfew. The US puts out a mild statement of dissent about Mubarak's actions stating that the needs of the people need to be addressed. Internet and cell-phone services are only sometimes functional.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">F<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">ebruary 1,2011- Mubarak announces that he will not run for re-election at the end of his term, but that he will also not step down early. </span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">"Number of protesters in Cairo's Tahrir Square are revised to more than a million people. Thousands more take to the streets throughout Egypt, including in Alexandria and Suez." <a href="http://english.aljazeera.net/news/middleeast/2011/01/201112515334871490.html">english.aljazeera.net</a></span><br />
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</span><br />
<i>What a field day for the heat</i></div></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><i>A thousand people in the street</i></span></div></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><i><br />
</i></span><br />
February 2- 10, 2011- Day of protesting in Tahrir Square and in other major cities around the country. Violent clashes between Mubarak supporters and the protesters result in many deaths, but the people do not give up and they do not go home. Government ministers and officials are resigning from their posts to join the protesters. The Muslim Brotherhood has sided with the protesters. Every day is a struggle, Mubarak refuses to step down despite the increasing pressure to do so. The Egyptian people, the youth, have made their decision and they will not go home until their demands are met, until Mubarak steps down.<br />
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February 11,2011- The people have won, Mubarak finally steps down. The announcement is made by his newly appointed vice president, Omar Suleiman. Power has been handed over to the army until a new government can be formed. <br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><i><br />
</i></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Singing songs and carrying signs</i></span></div></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Mostly say hooray for our side</i></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><i><br />
</i></span><br />
For the next week or so, people continue to remain in Tahrir Square to celebrate their victory. After a few days, the army steps in and begins to clear people out so that the square can be cleaned up and order restored. The country is now trying to form a democracy. This will not be easy, and the results will not be perfect, but the people are determined.<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><i><br />
</i></span></div></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Its time we stop, hey, what's that sound?</i></span></div></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Everybody look what's going down</i></span></div></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><div style="text-align: left;"><i><br />
</i></div></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15319759475015058811noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6320926752653357554.post-27370322225020901842011-03-15T20:43:00.001-04:002011-03-16T06:06:14.135-04:00Everybody Look What's Going Down Part 1/4<i>There's something happening here,</i><br />
<i>What it is ain't exactly clear</i><br />
<br />
The Merriam-Webster Dictionary:<br />
Revolution(noun)- 2b. a fundamental change in a political organization; especially the overthrow or renunciation of one government or ruler and the substitution of another government or ruler.<br />
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Protest(noun)- 2. The act of objecting or a gesture of disapproval especially: a usually organized public demonstration of disapproval.<br />
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<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><i>There's a man with a gun over there,</i></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><i>Telling me I got to beware</i></div><br />
Timeline of Tunisia's Jasmine Revolution:<br />
December 17, 2010- Mohammed Bouazazi douses himself in paint thinner and then sets himself on fire in front of a local municipal office in Sidi Bouzid in protest of police brutality, a lack of human rights, job loss, and overall poverty. This sparked more protests all around the country.<br />
December 20, 2010- A 10 million dollar employment program is offered to Sidi Bouzid in a failed attempt to appease the protesters.<br />
December 22, 2010- Houcine Fahli electrocutes himself in protest of unemployment<br />
December 24, 2010- Hundreds of protesters are gathering in cities all around Tunisia, security forces stage an overnight crack down, two more people have died for the cause.<br />
December 27, 2010- 1,000 Tunisian gather in protest in Tunis, the capital.<br />
December 28th,2010- Zine El Abidine Ben Ali, the country's president of 23 years, condemns the protests and states that they are the acts of extremists. In the mean time, many prominent members of society, such as lawyers and government ministers, are siding with the protesters and subsequently losing their jobs and some are also arrested.<br />
December 31,2010- more have joined the protests because of the wrongly imprisoned lawyers, authorities respond with increasing violence<br />
January 2,2011- a cyberactivist group sides with the protesters and temporarily jams the government's internet services and websites.<br />
January 3,2011- a group of 250 students protest in Thala, the police use tear gas to break up the protest. The protesters then respond by setting fire to local government buildings.<br />
January 5, 2011- Mohammed Bouazazi dies from his self-inflicted burns.<br />
January 6,2011- 95% of lawyers in Tunisia go on strike in order to end police brutality against peaceful protesters.<br />
January 7-12, 2011- Journalists, bloggers, and activists are arrested. Protests are broken up using tear gas and water cannons. When these fail, the authorities resort to violence, including the use of snipers on protesters in two major cities. These actions lead the people to move from the mindset of peaceful protesting to revolution.<br />
January 13,2011- the death toll is at 66. The president gives a televised address to the people announcing concessions and his plans to not run for reelection in 2014.<br />
January 14,2011- The president declares a state of emergency because protests have not stopped. He makes promises about legislation to calm down the protesters, but it is too little too late. Gatherings of more than 3 people are now banned and the police have approval to respond with arms if emergency orders are violated. In accordance with state of emergency rules, the prime minister, Mohammed Ghannouchi, takes temporary control of the government. In the meantime, Ben Ali- the president flees to Saudi Arabia<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Jan 15-17,2011- the absence of an official leader leads to massive rioting, looting and chaos. The military is asked to step in to restore order. "Ghannouchi also announces widespread reforms, promising press freedom, the lifting of a ban on human rights groups operating in Tunisia, and the release of political prisoners." And an interim government is appointed, but many of the members of the interim government are leftovers from Ben Ali's regime so the people are not pleased.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">January 23,2011- hundreds of people flock to the capital to protest the interim government and to defy the State of Emergency curfews and gathering rules</span><br />
January 24-27,2011- Continued protests result in violent attacks by riot police, the resignation of the foreign minister, and the removal of Ben Ali supporters from the interim government.<br />
February 27,2011- After a month of continued protests, Ghannouchi also resigned.<br />
<a href="http://english.aljazeera.net/indepth/spotlight/tunisia/2011/01/201114142223827361.html">Al Jazeera English</a><br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">"The revolution, as Tunisians call it, also has created a power vacuum, and Tunisia faces enormous challenges in rebuilding its political system. The country’s caretaker government has been confronted with nearly daily protests by a variety of groups, the police force has been badly weakened by mass desertions and the firing of top officials, and provincial government offices remain dysfunctional. The judicial system is hobbled by its links to the ousted regime." <a href="http://topics.nytimes.com/top/news/international/countriesandterritories/tunisia/index.html">NY Times</a></span><br />
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Tunisia's interim government is still trying to build order and prevent the country from falling into anarchy while preparing for mid-term elections.<br />
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<i>I think its time we stop, children, whats that sound?</i><br />
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<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><i>Everybody look what's going down</i></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15319759475015058811noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6320926752653357554.post-68354533037720389432011-03-08T18:47:00.001-05:002011-03-16T06:05:55.316-04:00Slam au Fémínín<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">(Video loads may be slow so scroll down and start loading them while you read the text)</span></div><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal">This last Thursday, I had the amazing opportunity to go to a Moroccan women’s feminist poetry slam put on by my university and an well-known spoken word poet, Roxy Azari. Roxy Azari is an Iranian-American spoken word poet whose main topics are gender issues and feminism, and occasionally strife in the Middle East. You can find out more about her on her facebook page here: <a href="http://www.facebook.com/pages/Roxy-Azari-Spoken-Word-Poet/176044106478?sk=info">Roxy's Facebook Fan Page</a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">She has started many spoken word poetry workshops in schools all around the US. She encourages young people to use their voices and their words to institute social change in the world. Roxy was awarded the Watson Fellowship which has enabled her to run these workshops with girls around the world. She began in India, then the UAE, then Indonesia and for the past three months she has been in Morocco. Now that she has finished in Morocco, she will be moving on to France and then Turkey. With the help of open-minded professors at different universities, she taught the women and girls here how to write and how to perform poetry. Thursday was the performance of all the girls who participated from my university. On Friday, they traveled to Rabat to perform with women from all over the country before a wider audience. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"> This is Roxy’s poem Azadi(Freedom), She is speaking about the Green Revolution in Iran.</div><div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/sY-iIMj11uY?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Professor Ouafae Bouzekri was the main coordinator on our campus. She is phenomenal. She teaches my Three Religions, Three Peoples class and often also teaches a Gender Studies class for ISA. She taught in the US for a number of years at prominent universities, speaks fluent English, French and Arabic, and quickly became one of my favorite professors here. She organized the event and got many of the girls interested in participating.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-w_k4S_g5pv8/TXAi2-SFVAI/AAAAAAAAC1k/gV27HFHU5wU/s1600/P3030077.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-w_k4S_g5pv8/TXAi2-SFVAI/AAAAAAAAC1k/gV27HFHU5wU/s320/P3030077.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is Professor Bouzekri.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal">The theme was feminism in Morocco and the Middle East. While Morocco is a liberal country by Middle East standards, it is far from being democratic or liberal by western standards. Women here have very few rights, sexual harassment by strangers is a daily occurrence, and even though the wearing of the veil or head scarf is not mandatory, choosing to wear it or not to wear it can greatly impact a woman’s life. Just by reading the program, I could tell this was going to be a powerful evening. The titles of the poems say so much before the author has even performed.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/--IY52IFl6Kg/TXa4F1UPNGI/AAAAAAAAC_0/rHtV7mI9I8M/s1600/IMG_5161.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/--IY52IFl6Kg/TXa4F1UPNGI/AAAAAAAAC_0/rHtV7mI9I8M/s400/IMG_5161.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo courtesy of Roxy Azari<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-bbt7qoWFtjM/TXa5Ap-ozMI/AAAAAAAAC_8/P49StKHwIYg/s1600/P3030018.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-bbt7qoWFtjM/TXa5Ap-ozMI/AAAAAAAAC_8/P49StKHwIYg/s400/P3030018.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fatima Zahra Kaddar performing Being a Women</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-gnxSYgTen2I/TXa5cXa5mYI/AAAAAAAADAA/IcG_-4bz1Jk/s1600/P3030090.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-gnxSYgTen2I/TXa5cXa5mYI/AAAAAAAADAA/IcG_-4bz1Jk/s400/P3030090.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Two of the girls, posing after the show</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">I started out just by taking pictures and writing down memorable lines from the poems, but quickly realized that in order for people to understand how incredibly impactful these poems were, they would need to see them and hear them. The performances of these women are just as important as their words. They are emotion-filled and raw. You can see that each girl truly feels what she wrote and that she is terrified and exhilarated to be presenting her feelings in front of an audience. This is something many of them have never done before and maybe never thought could happen. They live in a society that doesn’t embrace standing out, which emphasizes the status quo. Women are supposed to accept their lives the way they are. But things are changing. Women want rights, they want equality, and they no longer want to be seen has sinful just because they are women. Maybe the string of revolutions in the Middle East has given them courage or maybe they have been ready for their own revolution for a long time.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-gJ3X7WUuz6w/TXAgL5DKynI/AAAAAAAACyw/OejU4tfewoM/s1600/P3030009.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-gJ3X7WUuz6w/TXAgL5DKynI/AAAAAAAACyw/OejU4tfewoM/s400/P3030009.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Yes, I am a Girl by Nadya Izzamiouine</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-D6oHziOnVU8/TXAgTtRQ6FI/AAAAAAAACy4/hN2EBUPWYO8/s1600/P3030012.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-D6oHziOnVU8/TXAgTtRQ6FI/AAAAAAAACy4/hN2EBUPWYO8/s400/P3030012.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Ode to My Body by Najia Moussaoui, Nouria Sophia, Souad Zamzmi, and Fatima Zahra Kaddar</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal">These girls stood up on stage and performed their poems about their thoughts, their feelings, their experiences, their hopes and dreams and their bodies. Their stories were personal and meaningful. If I had been in some of these girls’ shoes, I don’t know if I would have had the courage to stand up on stage like they did.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">To My Abuser, by Samia Boutoutla was very moving. The poem was written as a girl who had been abused, sexually harassed in the street, something that is very common here. The girl is yelling at her abuser, telling him that all the things he did to her were wrong; asking why he thought it was ok to just attack her and use her. The passion and anger in her voice could be felt by everyone in the audience. The chorus of the poem is “You had no right!” She repeated this often, sometimes soft and sad and other time loud, angry and demanding. The last line of the poem implores the audience to empathize with her, “if you had been there that night, you would say I was right.” </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-7ThW83cwvgE/TXAhKQkeJwI/AAAAAAAACz4/wKThOFWj41A/s1600/P3030032.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-7ThW83cwvgE/TXAhKQkeJwI/AAAAAAAACz4/wKThOFWj41A/s400/P3030032.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-n-p-yXy-5SQ/TXAhSiIXzsI/AAAAAAAAC0A/_V-zSYcw8bo/s1600/P3030035.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-n-p-yXy-5SQ/TXAhSiIXzsI/AAAAAAAAC0A/_V-zSYcw8bo/s400/P3030035.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">To My Abuser by Samia Boutoutla</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The next performance was Silence by Kaoutar Kaddar. She talked about wanting to speak up and to say her mind, but of not being able to do so. In the poem she finds her courage and dares to speak despite the consequences. But the line “I’ll say what I have on my mind, just this once” shows that it takes new courage each and every time they choose to speak, not just the first time. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-1eCia-j7CqY/TXAheG0GMgI/AAAAAAAAC0M/BrKaA0-bsng/s1600/P3030041.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-1eCia-j7CqY/TXAheG0GMgI/AAAAAAAAC0M/BrKaA0-bsng/s320/P3030041.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Silence by Kaoutar Kaddar</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal">There were women of all ages performing, but most were late teens, early twenties. They spoke in Arabic, French, or English, but no matter what language it was in, the audience could understand their anger and frustration, their strength and their sadness, their joy and their pride.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Where is My Voice by Fatima Zahra Riffi was heartbreaking. She wrote about physical abuse and the effects it has on a woman. I don’t know if she was speaking about her own personal experience or of someone else’s but that doesn’t change the message, physical abuse oppresses women and they become afraid to speak out against their abuser. They become depressed and feel worthless. The whole poem was tragic, but there were 4 lines specifically that hit me hard. “He smacked me strongly, my tears fall to the floor.” “Why is it me that you beat? Is it because I’m the only one you can defeat?” “I am asking God, what is left for me?” and the very last line of the poem “If I kill myself, would God count it as a crime?”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-pAzML_6UWNU/TXAhz46jNYI/AAAAAAAAC0g/u9AjyRljKLA/s1600/P3030046.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-pAzML_6UWNU/TXAhz46jNYI/AAAAAAAAC0g/u9AjyRljKLA/s320/P3030046.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-JBd35LQIcMk/TXAh36LhpTI/AAAAAAAAC0o/8n-4jN1kEss/s1600/P3030047.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-JBd35LQIcMk/TXAh36LhpTI/AAAAAAAAC0o/8n-4jN1kEss/s320/P3030047.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-ZBm7Bp8veQk/TXAh7QMqptI/AAAAAAAAC0s/HZVY5ZRWxQo/s1600/P3030048.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-ZBm7Bp8veQk/TXAh7QMqptI/AAAAAAAAC0s/HZVY5ZRWxQo/s320/P3030048.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Where is My Voice by Fatima Zahra Riffi</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Shortly after that poem, I decided to start taking video because I realized that no matter how descriptive I am in writing, actually seeing the performance will be more impact-full. This video is of Sexual Harassment by Lamyae Kani, Fatima Zahra Kroum, and Imane Lahlali. It is about the street harassment that women experience every day. I can personally relate to this one because it happens to me every day. Every time a woman goes anywhere she is bombarded with harassment. This can be anything from the more innocent cat calls to molestation or rape.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/n8NOiupFr-s?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">This next video is something I think everyone will find particularly interesting. It is called Veil and is done by a group of girls(Dounia Mansouri, Khadija Fadel, Mimouna Nmiri, Fatima Zahrae Ktomi, Latifa Masou, Sophia Nouira, Najia Moussaoui, and Sauad Zemzmi). Each one talks about her reasons for veiling or not veiling. In the US, we have a pretty one-sided view of the veil; veiling equals oppression of women and gender inequality. These girls, however, explain that it is not always oppression. Many of them love their veils because it is an expression of their religious faith. There are also those who do not veil and who view it as an old-fashioned or oppressive symbol. The really amazing part is that veiled or not veiled these women are all friends. It doesn’t matter to them what whether another girl chooses to veil or not to veil. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/I5IWYJOqtOE?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Revolution by Rajae Neddi was amazing, sadly I did not take a video of this one. Rajae speaks directly to Mubarek and Gaddafi in her poem. She is one of the few poets who used rhymes and they are quite funny at the same time as being direct and straight forward. She begins with “Mr. Mubarek is the picture clear?” and then talks about the Egyptian people. Then she moves on to Libya with “Mr. Gaddafi you are a dictator, you’re turn is coming but a little bit later.” One of the audiences’ favorite lines was “Mr. Gaddafi you’re destined to hell, we hope you forever there dwell.”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Here is I Don’t Need a Man by Kaoutar Kaddar, Fatima Zahra Riffi, Rajae Neddi, and Khadija Masoud. The title pretty much speaks for itself on this one.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/2fsmAHMVd6Q?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Roxy performed again towards the end. She is very modest about her work. She really wanted the focus of the evening to be about the girls, but because of her celebrity, she was asked to perform quite a few of her poems. This is one of her more famous poems. It is called Flower. I had heard this before, in the US, although I do not remember when or where. Roxy’s poems are well-written, thought provoking, and emotional. Her performance is beautiful. When she performs the entire audience is enveloped into her words and everyone is experiencing her feelings.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/kuprVX0KyLc?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: -webkit-auto;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">This was just a tiny portion of the 4 hour event, every minute of which I was listening intently on the edge of my seat. There were quite a few poems that brought tears to my eyes. Their words were meaningful and they really got inside me. Women’s movements have slowed down in the US. Things are not perfect, but they are a lot better than they used to be, so I forget sometimes that it is not like that everywhere in the world. Living here has been a harsh reminder of the second-class status of women around the world and this poetry slam gave me some much needed insight as to their thoughts and feelings about this inequality. </div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15319759475015058811noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6320926752653357554.post-70830837231260616332011-03-02T13:03:00.001-05:002011-03-16T06:05:26.087-04:00Mr. Postman, Do you have a letter for me?I have been waiting for two packages and one letter for about three weeks now. Package number 1 was from my aunt. She mailed via UPS a Valentine's day care package 3 weeks ago. This package has yet to arrive, along with the letter that my boyfriend sent about the same time via regula USPS. Package number 2, however, from my mom via USPS, sent only two weeks ago has just arrived!<br />
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It looks like it survived a war though...<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-AOknp-5KMZY/TW58xDEh8ZI/AAAAAAAACvU/Yqz8iQN3yYE/s1600/P3020016.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-AOknp-5KMZY/TW58xDEh8ZI/AAAAAAAACvU/Yqz8iQN3yYE/s320/P3020016.JPG" width="240" /></a></div> <a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-DhPa9QB2FBw/TW5-GjcGzlI/AAAAAAAACv4/JYr3QL34j6s/s1600/P3020018.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; display: inline !important; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-DhPa9QB2FBw/TW5-GjcGzlI/AAAAAAAACv4/JYr3QL34j6s/s320/P3020018.JPG" width="240" /></a><br />
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I was still very excited to get this package. I have been waiting for mail for soo long. And since sunscreen is apparently not something you can buy here, I desperately needed this. My pale skin does not handle this African sun very well.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-uVMcKdwrwKc/TW59C1WCDnI/AAAAAAAACvc/_B7s89kWHdU/s1600/P3020019.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-uVMcKdwrwKc/TW59C1WCDnI/AAAAAAAACvc/_B7s89kWHdU/s400/P3020019.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
So i knew the government here was very controlling, but I guess it never really hit home until this package came. I've seen the police stop cars for no reason, I've heard about the informants(regular people who sell every detail about their neighbors' lives to the government), but i still didn't fully understand. Now I do.<br />
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Not only was the package already opened, I had expected that much atleast, but the envelope with the card from my mom was opened. Someone ripped open the envelope and read my letter. It's not even a really personal letter, but I still feel slightly violated. These are the things that really make me appreciate the US.<br />
<a href="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-VXMIf3LGB2k/TW56aWHqJaI/AAAAAAAACuY/VXuqEtV-iB4/s1600/P3020023.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-VXMIf3LGB2k/TW56aWHqJaI/AAAAAAAACuY/VXuqEtV-iB4/s320/P3020023.JPG" width="320" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline;"><a href="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-19bU7yV6jeQ/TW59IhNnEJI/AAAAAAAACvg/ySnBETm-njA/s1600/P3020020.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; display: inline !important; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-19bU7yV6jeQ/TW59IhNnEJI/AAAAAAAACvg/ySnBETm-njA/s320/P3020020.JPG" width="320" /></a></span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15319759475015058811noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6320926752653357554.post-46654907022828670772011-03-01T16:43:00.000-05:002011-03-01T16:43:29.326-05:00Drinking the NescafeIf you are my friend on facebook, you will see that I have a slight addiction to news articles from <a href="http://english.aljazeera.net/">Al Jazeera English</a>, yahoo news, and other sources. I read a lot of articles and I post the ones that I feel the need to spread. I have mentioned earlier that I will be doing a post about the revolutionary trend in the Middle East right now. Before I do this post though, I would like to get your thoughts and questions about the matter. I could easily write my opinion about the whole thing, but this is supposed to be mainly about the facts. So I'm putting the questions to you, what do you want to know? What would you like explained? Send it in an email, or leave a comment. I will then do my best to talk to local Moroccans, find related news articles, and then also offer my own opinion. Hopefully, at the end, I will have one comprehensive post that helps with understanding the situation in the Middle East and specifically in Morocco.<br />
<br />
:)Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15319759475015058811noreply@blogger.com0