Bologna..."love it"

This past weekend, I went to Italy to visit Mari, my roommate from Wellesley. I left Barcelona early Friday morning and after a bus, plane, bus, train, another train, and one more bus, I met Mari in Siena. Mari’s class was on a field trip in Siena, so I tagged along on their tours of various museums and cultural sites in Siena. Mari is in an Italian program, so my understanding of the tour itself was virtually nonexistent, however, many of the students would translate a bit for me.

After the tour, we piled into a bus and returned to Bologna where Mari is studying. We got dressed then went to dinner at a restaurant where Mari’s friend is the head chef (score.). We ate 5 courses (no joke) of some of the most delicious food I’ve ever had then headed out to meet up with some of Mari’s friends at a nearby bar. Bologna is an incredibly authentic city; it’s beautiful and old, but doesn’t feel artificial or touristy like many of the other Italian cities I’ve visited. What was the biggest shock for me was that of the many Italians I met, only a handful spoke English. I was able to use Spanish and have Mari translate for me, so I wasn’t completely lost. After a night of exploring Bologna and meeting Mari’s friends, we headed home.

Between the early wake up and the late night, I had been awake for over 24 hours on Friday, so Mari and I decided to sleep in. We made breakfast then headed out to explore Bologna a bit. There’s a really cool market in Bologna on Fridays and Saturdays, so we decided to check that out. After a bit of shopping, we wandered around a little more, saw the sights, then met up with Mari’s friend, Clare, for dinner at Mari’s apartment. The girls took a cooking class as a part of their program so we (I use “we” loosely. More like “they”) made an ensalata mista and pasta with HOMEMADE tomato sauce for dinner. Yum.

After dinner, we decided to head into downtown to get our night started. Mari has two bikes and Clare has her own, so we all rode bikes into town. It only took me a few minutes to realize why Mari had to purchase a second bike. The one I rode had two flat tires, only one of the brakes worked (sometimes), and the handlebars were slanted, so when the front wheel was straight, your right hand was further forward than your left, making left turns very hard(“I’m not an ambi-turner”). After an evening of dancing, talking to the most international group of people you could imagine, and a late night kebab, we headed home to go to sleep.

We decided that Sunday was going to be our “cultural” day, so we woke up, made breakfast, then set out to see Bologna. As we were walking to the main plaza, we came across a parade and celebration. Good work guys. We had totally forgotten that is was Carnival. We bought some confetti and silly string and joined the festivities. I don’t really know a ton about the traditions of Carnivale, but all the little kids who were there were dressed in Halloween costumes and everyone was throwing confetti in the air and at each other. It was quite the time to be in Italy!

We continued to wander around Bologna, seeing the churches, plazas, government buildings, sculptures, and beautiful old buildings. After a gelato and a little more wandering, we decided to head home. Mari and I changed for dinner then had aperitivos, where you buy a drink and then get to go to town on the Italian buffet. Best 6€ ever. After dinner, we went to a bar where some of Mari’s friends work and we chatted with them for a bit while we waited for Clare. After she joined us, we headed to the Irish pub and hung out with some of Mari’s Italian and study abroad friends. One of the girls had studied abroad in Morocco the previous semester, so she and I talked about the recent political events there and I got to brag about how I was able to see it all first hand. Shortly after, we called it a night because I had an early flight to catch the following morning.

After the most frustrating day of travel (delayed trains, missed flights, crying baby next to me on the plane), I finally made it back to Barcelona. I LOVED Bologna and think that Mari chose an incredible place to study abroad, however I was so glad to be “home”. After a weekend of not understanding most of the conversations, not being able to ask for directions, and constantly being turned around, it was so nice to be back in Barca.

Nene and Juan Antonio are out of town for a few days, so I had the house to myself all afternoon. I made some lunch (I’m teaching myself to make Tortilla Espanola), did some work, Skyped with Sooz and Yiayia, then relaxed in my room for a bit. The doorbell rang at around 8:30 and two teenage girls were standing outside. They explained that they were Nene’s nieces and I was going to have dinner at their aunt’s house. On our walk over to the other house, the girls asked me where I was from. When I replied, “California” the girls gasped and started asking me if I knew any movie stars, if I knew how to surf, and kept exclaiming “¡Qué chulo!” (“How cool!”). I had dinner with three girls (two cousins and a friend) and their Aunt, which turned into a two and a half hour affair talking about everything from the role of Catalán in the area to all the American music artists the teenage girls listen to.

Mari’s coming to Barcelona this week for a few days. I had such a wonderful time in Bologna, so I want to make sure her visit to Barcelona is equally fun (it will be…).

Pues…that’s all for now. ¡Hasta!

New obsessions: talking about the political situation in Morocco (there was a surprisingly large number of Moroccans in Bologna who I spoke with about the current political atmosphere), aperitivos, my adorable shoes I bought at the Bologna market (for 3€!!!), Harp, and Bologna (I’ll say it. I loveddd that city!)

Morocco!

I know, I know. I’ve gotten really bad at updating the blog. Friends, family, teammates…I’m sorry.

Here it goes.

Two weekends ago, I went to Marrakech. I have a friend, Moni, who spent some time during his childhood there and is now currently living in the city, so I figured I’d take a trip and get shown around by a local. I left Barcelona EARLY on Friday morning to catch a bus with about 15 or so other CIEE students who were also traveling to Marrakech for the weekend. After a short flight, we were greeted by warm weather and sun, a much needed treat after a cold and rainy week in Barcelona. I met up with Moni outside baggage claim then he delivered me to my hostel on his motorcycle (I know…right?!). After dropping my backpack and chatting with the two staffers for a few minutes, Moni and I set out for the day. We started out wandering through the Souq, the market close to the central plaza, Djemma Fna. It was still fairly early and things were just starting to open up, so I decided to leave the shopping to another day and enjoy the sun and have a cup of coffee. After people watching, catching up, and a cup of STRONG coffee, we headed to the Bahi Palace, an old royal building with beautifully tiled walls and courtyards full of fragrant orange trees. After wandering through the palace, we decided to go across town to the Majorelle Gardens, a beautiful house and gardens previously owned by Yves Sant Laurent. The gardens were a nice quiet haven from the bustle of Barcelona and Marrakech. After the gardens, I had lunch on my own in a restaurant near my hostel. I chatted a bit with my waiter, enjoyed chicken couscous (the food so nice they named it twice), and got a Susan Freeman sunburn (read: just on the nose). After lunch, I met up with Moni again and we did more sightseeing. We went to the new part of the city and had a cup of coffee, then went over to his house where we had tea with his parents. Moni’s parents don’t speak English or Spanish, however we were able to find ways to communicate. They asked about my family, my school, my study abroad experience, and took this opportunity to break out the family photo albums (they were both especially proud of their daughter’s recent wedding).

After tea, we returned to Djemma Fna to stroll around the night market full of performers, stands selling dinner, and families out enjoying the evening together. It was at this point that I realized that Morocco is truly different than any other place I had visited before. This exotic and bustling scene full of Berber dancers, foreign food, snake charmers, and crowds of people in traditional dress was unlike anything I had ever seen before and moreover, it was an image of everyday life for people in Marrakech. After more of Marrakech´s mint tea, I returned to my hostel and went to bed.

Saturday morning, I woke up EARLY to catch a bus to Essaouira, a small beach town a few hours from Marrakech that Jimmi Hendrix used to frequent. We arrived around lunch time so we decided to go to the port to buy fresh fish and then pay someone in the market to cook it for us. After lunch and shopping (LINEN PANTS!), we strolled around the Souq some more then walked on the beach, took pictures of camels (no joke), then enjoyed a leisurely dinner and cup of tea before heading back to Marrakech.

After two early mornings back to back, I enjoyed a relaxing morning on Sunday. I had planned to meet Moni around 1ish in Djemma Fna, so I took this opportunity to wander around a bit on my own.

As I wandered around the plaza, I noticed a crowd of a couple hundred young people holding signs in what was at the time, a very peaceful protest. I asked a few people what was going on and it was explained to me that a country-wide protest had been called by a group of students and recent graduates who were calling for governmental reform. Background: Morocco has a constitutional monarchy with an elected parliament. The king is wildly popular, however the parliament is incredibly corrupt, inefficient, and ineffective. The cost of living has been rising over the past 10 years and unemployment has been rapidly increasing. The protest called for more transparency, a halt to corruption, and a more functional democracy. After about a half hour or so, the crowds dispersed and I continued on my stroll. The protest had been, for the most part, peaceful. There was no violence, only a small and very removed police presence, and from what I saw, no damage to stores, restaurants, buildings, etc.

Though the protest had been peaceful, almost all the shops and restaurants had closed. I walked around for a bit then met up with Moni to do some hardcore shopping and haggling in the market. Each time I purchased something, I had Moni haggle for me and then was told by the shop owner that I was lucky and "was getting the Moroccan price". Thanks for telling me that had I been on my own, you would have screwed me. Vale.

After shopping, we decided we wanted to go get dinner and watch the FC Barcelona game on TV. As we were walking to the restaurant, a crowd came RUNNING towards us and Moni grabbed my arm and dragged me through the small alleys and streets of the Medina. As we dodged groups running and motorcycles shooting down the passage ways, I realized something was really wrong. Somehow Moni got me back to my hostel and firmly told me that the riots had started and I was to stay in my hostel and not leave until he told me it was safe. Obviously I ignored that advice and went out to take pictures and experience the riots first hand. As I was walking through Djemma Fna, things seemed pretty tame, so I decided to try to go find dinner. As I was walking down one of the streets off the plaza a crowd of people came running from behind me. I froze, not knowing what to do. Then a crowd came running from the opposite direction. It was clear something was wrong again, so I decided to run in the direction of my hostel (behind me). As I pushed through the crowd, it became evident I chose the wrong direction. I saw some people getting up against the walls trying to let the crowds pass, so I did the same. At that point, I saw a group of about 50 riot gear-ed police officers with shields and using their batons. A young Moroccan kid, probably around 16 or 17, saw that I had no idea what to do, so he grabbed my arm and signaled for me to follow him. He led me right into the crowd of police officers who started to run towards us but realized we weren't rioters (once I started screaming "I'M A TOURIST!"). One police officer and the Moroccan kid helped me navigate my way through the crowd and back to safety in the plaza.
A smart person would have decided to go back to their hostel at that point. However, I decided that I hadn't gotten enough pictures and I wanted to know what was going on. I kept my distance from the crowds and approached groups of young boys and men who were watching from a distance. I asked what was going on, if they were involved, what the goal of the riots were; everything. Many of the people I spoke with explained that they had been involved in the protest earlier in the day and were deeply distressed that it had turned to chaotic, violent, and destructive. People explained that the rioters had been damaging property and had been throwing stones, bottles, and pieces of pottery at the police officers. A rush of "activity" came through where I had been observing, and the young Moroccan who had helped me earlier led me into a hotel on the plaza. The old man who worked at the hotel pulled me up and chair, disappeared into the back room, and returned with a glass of tea for me. I spoke with him, the young Moroccan, and a few other people who had gone inside to get away from the violence for a bit. When I asked if the recent events in Tunis and Egypt contributed to the protests, one young man explained that the recent revolutions had shown that positive change was potential, however, the people involved in the political movement learned that they wanted to use different and less violent means.
After more picture taking, ducking into the hotel, and talking with young people, I decided that it was time to head back to the hostel and get some sleep.
My trip to Morocco made me uncomfortably aware of my gender. While I was walking around with Moni, men would rarely look at or speak to me. However when I was walking around alone during the day, I had people grab my arms and try to lead me into their shops, whistle, hiss, yell things in various languages, and most disturbingly, stroke my long hair. However, my experience during the riots were completely different. It was fairly clear I was out of place. There were NO white women out (most tourists had sought refuge in their hotels and hostels) and the few tourists who were out alone. While I was walking around I had people offering to help me find my hotel and ask if I was lost or okay. Aside from the stampedes, if I was near a crowd of rowdy protesters, they would calm down until I was at a safe distance. The hotel owner bringing me a chair and tea and constantly making sure I was alright (I kept explaining that I was interested in what was happening and didn't feel unsafe). However, the best example was the young Moroccan. After he helped the dumb tourist get out of the crowd of riot gear clad police officers, he kept an eye on me until I went back to my hostel. If things were starting to pick up he would say "Elizabeth, sígueme" (oh ps our common language was Spanish, not English. This was the case with most people I spoke with) and lead me to the hotel. I felt more unsafe and uncomfortable during the day while I was walking around than I did at night.

Since Morocco: Life has been pretty routine. We had midterms this week, which are always fun times. Not much has been going on other than the usual routine (class, work, run, exploring with friends).

Tomorrow (as in in 4 hours) I'm leaving to visit Mari Padilla, my Wellesley roommate, in Bologna, Italy. And you know what that means...lots of hugging and referring to each other as "my roommate". Can't wait.

That's enough for now. Hasta.

New obsessions: finally not having to run alone, the coffee machines at UPF, having it be ON, RACHEL HERVATIN WHO LOVES READING MY BLOG (I see you girl...)

p.s.
Running community (Dad, John, Crosby, Susan H, Brooke, Wolks, teammates in general)- My right foot has been bothering me (not a new annoyance; xc 2009). It's particularly tender in towards the front of the arch. It's particularly painful when I run up or down hill, fast running that puts me up more on my toes, and when I wear my Frees (I've stopped wearing them for now). I've been icing and rolling it on a tennis ball. Any suggestions? Taping? Inserts? Yes I know taking it easy and time off.

If you're interested in news coverage on the protests in Morocco from the weekend I was there, here are some good articles courtesy of my clipping service (aka Dad):

http://www.nytimes.com/2011/02/20/weekinreview/20logan.html?_r=1&emc=eta1
http://www.nytimes.com/2011/02/21/world/middleeast/21morocco.html?emc=eta1
http://www.metro.co.uk/news/856068-protests-spread-to-streets-of-morocco