la belle vie

No, I have not fallen off the top of the world – I’m still there, and after a long hiatus from blog-writing, I am back to tell the crazy, wonderful, often-times out-of-this-world stories from my journeys abroad.

Like fig season, Morocco came to a bittersweet end. My last week was jam-packed with great company and adventures. After my internship at the CCCL came to a sad conclusion (I miss it and the people already!), a group of my friends (the majority of whom had only just met and decided to partake the evening before at the party I threw for Kellye’s goodbye) traveled to the north of Morocco, specifically to Chefchaouen, a beautiful town of winding roads and outdoor cafés set in the Rif mountains. We spent the weekend hiking up mountains, plunging into waterfalls, cracking jokes in a 6-person squished car, and soaking up the Mediterranean rays. For the thousandth time, I encountered Moroccan hospitality as Oumiraou’s family kindly welcomed us into their vacation villa for the night, feeding us until abdominal explosion, after which point we sauntered down to the beach where we lay in the sand, covered by he blanket of Moroccan stars. The following day, Oumiraou drove us to Cepta, a Spanish city located on the African continent. There we pushed our way through herds of people as we tried to get past customs and onto “Spanish” ground per se. It was with conflicting feelings that we passed through – with thanks to privileged nationalities that were randomly thrown our way – a spacious corridor, while on the other side of a barbed wire fence, people crowded elbow-to-elbow with the aim of reaching the other side.

A taxi, a ferry and a bus ride later, we arrived to Sevilla, a beautiful town in Andalusia. Spanish tapas, sangria, and sun marked this short trip. In Cordoba, we met up with the former Wellesley Spanish TA, Laura (roll that R!), who gave us the grand tour of her lovely city, a city that once briefly served as the capital of the Muslim world. Leaving Sara, a Fletcher grad student who had been interning in Rabat, to continue her trip to Madrid, Chris and I caught the last ferry back to Tangier. The shocking Euro did a number on our wallets, and we really, more than anything wanted to return to our awaiting beds in Rabat rather than rent a room in Tangier for the night. Unfortunately, our situation was looking grim, as we had managed to miss all of the last buses and trains back to the capital. But with the mindset of “que sera, sera” (insha’allah), we ended up meeting an Italian-Moroccan who happened to be driving back to Rabat, of all places! After passing through the ferry customs, he parked his car, rearranged the overflow of Italian appliances and gifts he was bringing back for his family, and squished me and Chris in (I learned more about my physical flexibility capabilities in those following 3 hours than ever before!). We hit the road and arrived to Rabat in record time, where my summer jumped to an end.

Two jam-packed days and two overstuffed suitcases later, I was off to Paris where I transitioned into my Study Abroad program with a month-long orientation – which is to say, a month of wine tasting, museum hopping, and weekend excursions. Wellesley had us set up in these lavish apartment-style hotels in le quartier latin. Fenced off by the Seine with the Notre Dame as our backyard, it was definitely in a prime location. Amidst the museums and art galleries that we frequented, I rollerskated in front of Paris’ City Hall, dined on the top of the Eiffel Tower, selected exotic eau from a water bar, ate crêpes at sunrise, and met up with both new and old friends (from my former roommate to TZE girls to my high school prom date to Moroccan friends to UWCers to Wellesley Slater kids). Even the bout of food poisoning I suffered was somewhat exciting (and gave me a great excuse to curl up on bed with Alex to watch 4 hours of trashy, yet highly entertaining, episodes of The Hills).

Paris was bliss but I was ready to finally – after 4 months of living out of a hotel with no actual closet to hang my clothes!!! – settle into someplace that I could call home. One moment I found myself in the a north metropolitan part of France, and the next I was suddently in the villagesque South: in Aix-en-Provence, one of the quaintest, seriously most adorable towns I’ve ever been to! My good friend/roommate Bev and I walked into our apartment gasping with excitement at the amount of space & teal planked ceilings & huge windows & cute décor our place had. Just a two second stroll around the corner, et voilà - a fresh market selling everything from stalks of garlic to fresh prasscuto to basically every colour of the rainbow. Walking through town, you will see women on basket-perched bikes, old men with baguettes emerging from their knapsacks, and the cutest children on the face of this planet strolling by, tail-wagging dogs in tow.

Of course, I’ve been busy with taking classes at both l’Université de Marseille-Aix and L’Institut d’Études Politiques, but this is also the first time in ages where I’ve had the opportunity to relax, write, cook, sleep – savoury, in many more ways than one.