Kaleigh (at sea)

On the morning of September 3rd, we arrived at our first port of call: Casablanca, Morocco. I don’t know what I was expecting it to feel like to see land after a week at sea, but it wasn’t as climactic as one would assume. From my lovely cabin window, all I could see was a very industrial port. No beautiful scenery to behold, making me overcome with wonder. Actually, I thought, “Eh. I prefer ocean.” Thankfully, the view from my cabin was definitely not representative of Morocco. I spent the morning in a diplomatic briefing, learning about Morocco from an American Diplomat. There was a change in policy making it mandatory for us to carry our passports at all times when away from the port, so we then had to wait around for them to be released to us. In the mean time, we were able to walk around the city a bit. My friend, Mallory, and I wandered into Casablanca to kill time before we hopped on the train to Marrakech with a group of students from the ship. We walked up the main drag, anticipating that we would happen upon something of interest. We did end up finding the souk, which was very exciting for me. Upon arriving in Morocco, it dawned on me that it has been nearly exactly ten years since I have been in the Middle East, in an Arab and Islamic nation. In truth, America has not felt like home to me these past ten years. I moved there just when I was heading into high school, and came from a mental and spiritual place of open-mindedness and a reasonably developed worldview, only to go to a place where many people only knew and understand their very homogenous and confined realities. I really don’t want to sound like I’m putting down people who stay in their comfort zone; I only wish to convey the extent to which I have felt like an outsider for the past ten years. I didn’t have anyone who understood the world as I did (and do), no one to relate to on a very fundamental level. Walking into that souk, hearing men shout, “I have a special price for you- almost free!” (any of my Saudi friends will understand this), made me feel like I was coming home. Home is a concept that I have been contemplating and negotiating in my mind since being at sea and visiting Morocco. Like I said, being confined to one situation, place, and circumstance in America is and always has been so stifling to me. Since I embarked on my travels, I have never felt more filled with life and vigor; I have never felt so free. And I have never felt such an overwhelming sense of home. After walking through the twisting alleys of the souk in the Casablanca Medina, we made our way back to the ship to gather our documents and things, and then headed off to hop the train to Marrakech. This brought us our first encounter with cabs in Morocco. Trying to navigate oneself in a new country, let alone a group of people, is an experience in and of itself. In Morocco, meters are typically not used in cabs; therefore, you must negotiate a price with your driver. Getting to the train station wasn’t as difficult as cab experiences to come; it was 20 dirham per cab, or about $2.50 USD. Three sleepy hours later, and we were in Marrakech. Our group was pretty big, with about fifteen of us from the ship all getting off the train together, and all standing around in front of the station wondering how to go about finding our hostel. Travel tip NEVER travel with a group of more than about five people. You are already attracting attention just by not being a native of the country, without multiplying that attention you’re attracting by three. You pretty much scream, “I am a clueless tourist!” No good can come of this. So, there we stood, a group of young, clueless students (NOT tourists, although that is how we came across). A lot of folks in our group were getting flustered and nervous, not knowing what to do. In a group that large, everyone talks at the same time, trying to get their idea in, and nothing really gets done. So it took a while for everyone to figure out that the best thing to do was to catch a bunch of cabs into the Medina where our hostel was located. I have to admit, I was a little frustrated with the lack of decisiveness and mobility, and this is something I continue to struggle with as we travel. Many of the other students are scared and nervous, and I have to remind myself that the majority of the young people on the ship have never traveled like this before. I still consider myself a novice, but I have done a fair amount of traveling, and I truly feel quite comfortable doing so. I have to check myself when I begin to feel annoyed with others’ feeling uneasy, because this is new for them. Any new experience takes time getting used to. After the tension of finding cabs, we headed to our hostel in our first cab ride in Marrakech. Taking a cab in this city is… something else. I have been in some pretty ridiculous driving situations before; after all, in Khamis our compound was at the end of “Snake Road.” But let me tell you – Snake Road was cake compared to that first cab ride. I honestly did not know that the laws of physics could allow for cars to get so close to one another, to cut each other off at that velocity, to make it through stop lights in the slimmest nick of time before being completely obliterated by oncoming traffic. Motor bikes, trucks, cabs, and bicycles alike – all weaved through each other at ludicrous speeds. I even saw some kids being pulled along on rollerblades behind a van, and I swear there were goats somewhere in the mix. There was no point in being scared, though; it was so completely insane that all I could do was laugh. One of the guys from the ship sat in the front seat, and he would periodically whip his head around after the cabbie pulled a particularly unbelievable feat, his eyes bulging and the biggest, most hilarious open-mouthed grin on his face, because that was the only way to convey our amazement. That was a pretty priceless moment. All he could say when we finally pulled over was, “He just broke, like, 20 traffic laws.” I’m pretty sure it was more than that. Once we got to the Medina, we were swarmed by a group of guys who were basically forcing us to let them show us to our hostel. We were told to never do this, because they’ll always force you to pay unreasonable amounts of money just for walking you to wherever you’re going. But alas, it was dark, we had no clue where we were, we were tired, and so we just gave in. In all honesty, it’s a good thing we followed them because finding your way through the Medina in Marrakech is essentially like walking through a labyrinth with narrow twisting alleys, dead ends, and oddly, a crap load of kittens. It would have taken us absolutely forever to find the hostel on our own, and really, we probably wouldn’t have been able to. When we arrived at our hostel, true to form, the jerks who led us tried to get an absurd amount of money out of us, something like 20 dirham each. They blocked the door to our hostel, people were all scared, but the whole situation was really just pretty silly. I didn’t really care about paying two bucks for being led through that maze, which we never could have done alone, so I paid and everyone else did, as well. Then the rude guys were on their way and we could finally sit down in the hostel. People were really shaken that first night, what with all of the difficulties making it from point A to point B. This was when I had to tell myself, “They’ve never been in a place like this. It’s totally reasonable for them to be freaked out.” I’m pretty proud of myself, though; I have remained calm and level-headed this whole time. It has been a little while since I really traveled, with the exception of some very tourist-y stays and one service trip in Mexico in the past few years. I feel like traveling comes naturally to me, though. I feel so secure, so confident, so comfortable. I don’t even feel like this where I live in the States. It’s something completely different, something that is a part of who I am. I just feel like I’m not meant to be in a stable state, but rather in one of constant shifting and reshaping. Change is more natural to me than stability; I’m learning this more and more. We settled in our hostel, which turned out to be absolutely gorgeous. The best comparison I can draw is to Melrose Place – it was a majestic Arabic-Mediterranean fusion in the heart of the Medina, with a stunning courtyard in the midst of the various dormitories, complete with a ceramic tiled mosaic pool, lush vegetation, and a sky ceiling which let moon and starlight bathe the pavilion at night. There were rooftop terraces, where we dined with wine and ate cous cous while gazing at the tops of homes, shops, and Mosques. It quickly became our sanctuary, our respite from the hectic life in the Medina. Our first port helped form us; our group of like-minded souls, which is quite different from the majority of the ship patrons. We spent our Moroccan days wandering the Medina, practicing our bartering skills, talking with the people, and trying out our abysmal Arabic. We witnessed some extremely disturbing things, and felt moments of pure bliss and wonder. The first time I heard prayer call, which was the first I heard in a decade, brought tears of pure joy and homecoming to my eyes. We found treasures to bring back home, and encountered memories that will never tarnish like the trinkets we paid for. Most of all, however, we formed a beautiful bond. This port, our first, was one of extremes. We literally had to dive in head first, and the culture shock for those who had never been in the Middle East was unmistakable, which allowed us to connect to one another in an unquestionable and irreversible way. I have known these people for barely a month, and I know that we already have a lifelong connection that is seldom to come by. I owe this to Morocco. Finally, I want to express my deepest gratitude for the loveliest ladies in all of Morocco, Houda and Merica. They are a mother and daughter my friends and I met on the train back from Marrakech to Casablanca. Houda, a gorgeous, brilliant, witty fourteen-year-old girl, and her sweet and supportive mother, Merica, shared our train compartment (imagine the North African version of the Hogwarts Express). We talked, asked questions, danced, laughed, hugged and kissed. These two women were so kind to us, so warm and welcoming. My one regret in Morocco is that my friends and I didn’t accept Houda and Merica’s offer to come to their home in Rabat for homemade bastilla (the most amazing sweet and savory main course you will EVER come across). Our ship had us completely paranoid about being late, because in doing so, you receive dock time – time taken away from your next port, in which you have to return to the ship hours before everyone else is required to. It would have been possible to accept their offer, and I wish we had. All I know is, next time I’m in Morocco, I am going to visit my sisters in Rabat, insha’Allah.

Marrakech by Night

I’m sunning and listening to The Shins while I gaze at the Canary Islands on a fuel pit stop. It’s a rough life. I’ll be posting about my time in Morocco soon. xoxoxox

If you want to send me some loving messages, e-mail me! kevance@semesteratsea.net

42 35.03N 029 48.03W August 30, 2011 I’m sitting atop Deck Seven, underneath the stars and next to the waves; wind slipping through my hair in spirals. The past five days aboard the MV Explorer have rushed past me in a blur, and I feel as though I have always been on the sea. I don’t feel disdain for this; rather, I find comfort. Being on the Atlantic, in this tiny bubble of a community who has at least one fundamental drive in common for being here, which is to be gone. I think I may just give up life on land and take to the sea for the rest of my life. I have scarcely felt such peace. I boarded the ship at 0940 on August 26th, 2011. Walking up the gangway to find my new home gave me my first moment; that moment where the weight of my opportunity truly washed over me in a flood of unspeakable gratitude. I am circumnavigating our entire planet, stopping at eleven countries along the way to serve and learn with humility. I cannot think of a more grounding experience. I wandered the halls to find my room. I pleaded with the program over the summer to allow me to occupy an Economy Cabin, which is basically the least expensive category you can select. Economy cabins come in various shapes and sizes, with anywhere from two to four people residing within them. I was told upon entrance that I was assigned Cabin 4157. “The fourth deck?” I thought to myself, with slight disbelief. I was taken aback because in my scrutinous inspection of the program website when applying, Deck Four cabins are of the most expensive category. But I didn’t question my assignment aloud. Instead, I took the staircase down to Deck Four and found my room: a beautiful, quaint room with a large picture window overlooking the ocean. I took a chance on selecting Economy and ended up with one of the most sought after cabins. What a lucky kid, I am. I lucked out in various other ways, as well. Actually, every last minute detail of my current situation is due to luck, blessings, good karma, or any combination of the above. Either way, I am so thankful. Another fortunate occurrence was being placed with my roommate. She is brilliant (holds a BA in Biochemistry), amenable, tidy, friendly, adorable, but most of all, she is probably one of the most ridiculously and incredibly hilarious people I have ever met. She has me in fits of laughter on a regular basis, and I really need that. Sometimes I need that little pull from someone else to step outside of my head and my insecurities, and to just be joyful. The next day, we spent its entirety learning about our academic program and shipboard safety. The Captain and crew take operating this ship incredibly seriously, and their top priority is ensuring all of the passengers’ safety. I do actually feel quite safe here on the ship; save for the one nightmare I had about sinking ships the first time I slept and felt the ship swaying. Tonight is definitely my favorite night thus far, however. It was spent under the stars, with friends, singing and laughing. Two shooting stars swept across the indigo darkness, so close I swear I could catch them. The Big Dipper is really a sight to behold in the midst of the North Atlantic. I have never seen a constellation so close, and so massive. Nighttime on the sea is a treasure, one that I am providential to now own.

44 43.42N 040 0.52W August 29, 2011 – End of Day 3 We’re crossing the Atlantic, making our way from Montreal, Quebec, Canada to Casablanca, Morocco. Fittingly, “Casablanca” and “Lawrence of Arabia” have been streaming on one of three shipboard television channels. We are just now passing the spot where the Titanic sank, and we saw about a dozen dolphins passing by while we ate breakfast. Looking out of my cabin window to see nothing but murky waves crashing and a clouded horizon, I cannot help but think of those lyrics to my most soul-shattering song: The Atlantic was born today, and I’ll tell you how the clouds above opened up and let it out I was standing on the surface of a perforated sphere when the water filled every hole and thousands upon thousands made an ocean making islands where no islands should go Oh, no… Those people were overjoyed they took to their boats I thought it less like a lake and more like a moat the rhythm of my footsteps crossing flatlands to your door have been silenced for evermore the distance is quite simply much too far for me to row it seems farther than ever before Oh, no… I need you so much closer There is no other sight, no other feeling that can compare to the beauty and utter isolation of looking every which way, only to see nothing. But is it nothing? Why must we center our notions of security, groundedness, and life on land? Can we not embrace the oceans for everything they are, rather than dismissing them for what they are not? They are deep, holding worlds only few people care to explore, and meaning even less can interpret. They are vast, ever-changing, and at times, unpredictable. They are complicated and endearing, frightening and awe-inspiring. This is the kind of person I want to be. I don’t want to be someone who lives safely. I want to take risks; to grow and evolve, and never be the same person from one moment to the next. I want to embrace complexity, living in the grey and always questioning, wondering, and pushing. I want to live a life that is extraordinary, even if only to my own eyes. Three days of living on the ocean, and this is what she has taught me. 108 more days to go.