Morocco: The Story of How Roshan and Robyn Ended Up Butt Naked in a Room Full of Strangers.

Our story begins with two princesses named Roshan and Robyn traveling to a far off land. Or you know, it begins with two students named Robyn and Roshan flying to Morocco. (What’s the difference really?)

We rode on our princess carriage towards our new castle. (Read as: we were driven through the winding streets of Morocco where we had the pleasure of seeing this sheep’s balls and eventually ended up at our sweet hostel.)

Our castle/hostel was indeed sweet. We had a rooftop terrace:

(Robyn was really happy about it.)

A yummy Moroccan dinner:

And all the other goodies two princesses deserve:

Soon we met up with Robyn’s cousin and her cousin's posse and decided to go out and see the sites. I chilled for a bit in front of the door to the mosque:

Then we went to an amazing palace (Bahia Palace):

I held a snake:

Then while we (the two beautiful princesses) were relaxing under the warm Moroccan sun, we were attacked by a vicious creature that ran towards us and caused us to scream like little girls!! No, it wasn’t a dragon. It was this monster:

It had escaped from its owner and was sprinting towards us (ready to KILL). At the last second it turned, narrowly missing trampling us to death, and ended up racing down the freeway with its owner sprinting behind it futilely trying to keep up. Once the initial shock of almost dying wore away, the whole thing was pretty hilarious.


We also visited the Marjorelle Garden:

and the old Islamic college:

However, the most fun we had was wandering aimlessly in the souks and attempting to barter with the shopkeepers.

Here are some tips I learned while bartering:

• DO pretend not to like whatever it is you’re buying that much. Point out its flaws and shake your head a lot.
• DO NOT be alarmed when the shopkeeper starts making you a turban. Remain calm.

• DO start walking out of the store if the shopkeeper doesn’t agree to your price- either her calls you back or you go two stores over and find practically the same thing.
• DO NOT walk around with your tall blonde friend and expect shopkeepers to give you a reasonable price.
• DO set a price and then reach into your wallet and say “Oh darn I’m 200 Dirham short!” The shopkeeper will give it to you anyway.
• DO pretend not to speak English very well because you’re from Iran. Suddenly the shopkeepers are giving you things for free.
• DO NOT get lost and wander around in the hopes that there is an end to the shops at some point. There isn’t. It goes on forever. Ask someone for directions.

Finally, at the end of our trip we decided that, for two princesses, we had been through an awful lot and maybe it was time to get our princess on. So, after Mohammed described how amazing (and cheap) going to a Moroccan bath was, we were sold! All we would need were our swimsuit bottoms and a smile :D

We had no idea what we were getting ourselves into. Soon we were in a brightly lit room with two ladies drinking tea in a corner giggling to themselves as they motioned for us to get undressed. Then two half naked wet old wrinkly ladies entered the room, rather forcefully grabbed us by the wrists, and led us to a dark humid room filled with tons of naked Moroccan women. They sat us in an empty corner of the room, pulled over two big blue buckets, and proceeded to rub us down. And I mean RUB US DOWN. To top it all off, my manhandling old lady kept insisting that I put my head in her lap and her big ole saggy boobs kept slapping me as she used the force of her whole body to rub my skin. A full hour went by with us being shoved, turned, bathed, and rubbed until we were deemed clean. We feebly thanked our old ladies and ran away with our silky soft skin.

After being skinned alive by two old ladies we realized that we weren’t actually princesses and headed back to Cordoba, two squeaky clean estudiantes.

Please note: Someone (ahem Arya) said that I talk about food too much. Notice that there is no mention of the AMAZINGLY DELICIOUS SCRUMPTIOUS AND CHEAP Moroccan food that was consumed.

Oops... how did those pictures get there?

Join the Side of the Light!!

It has recently come to my attention that there is some sort of “war” going on between Seppie and Arash to see who has the better blog. I, being infinitely cooler and wiser than they are, refuse to participate in this childishness. However, this does not stop them from poking fun at my little blog.

Well, I’m putting my foot down. If anyone out there has any compassion towards the underdog, join Team Roshan as we fight to vanquish these two clowns named Arash and Seppie. They may have more followers. They may have more views. They MAY post consistently about things that are actually relevant to what they’re doing. BUT do they say shmeh? Do they struggle with high heels on the cobblestones of Cordoba? Do they wipe poo off of other people’s butts? Do they emanate waves of cool the way I do? NO!

Only you can make the decision to join the side of the light. (Get it? My name means light? Ha. See! My blog’s hilarious.)

With that because Arash has said THIS about my blog:

Arash: you wont win

you

1. dont post interesting stories

2. dont try

3. dont have dedicated readers

me: 1. why do you say that

3. youre dedicated

Arash: 1. you hide your fun stories/keep it PGish


I will give you the title of the new super sexy and exciting blog post that will be coming soon (to a computer screen near you). It was previously removed because its not…. politically correct, and will probably offend people. (I apologize in advance for being a terrible person.)

Morocco: The Story of How Robyn and Roshan Ended Up Butt-Naked in a Dark Room Full of Total Strangers.

__________________________________________

Also here’s an update on goals:

Heels: Totally overrated. I rock my converse.

Spanish: I understand everything. Please don’t ask me to talk though.

Fun: It’s Christmas. You don’t even have to try to have fun during Christmas.

A Typical Dinner con la Familia

Disclaimer: This post was actually written a long time ago and never posted because it was just a tad to self-deprecating and sad. But after reading Arash’s blog just be thankful I’m not asking you to listen to some crap music at the same time. (Really Arash? Justin Bieber? Have some shame man.) If you want to see a great parody of Arash’s blog, take a look at Seppie’s.

Dinner usually begins around an hour and a half after I’ve said to myself: “this is the end. I am going to die of hunger right here, right now.” (The time between this declaration and dinner is spent staring at my ceiling, waiting for my host mom to call me for dinner.)

Eventually, the beautiful noise of my host mom knocking on the door will finally be heard and I’ll jump to the kitchen with light speed, only to be greeted by…..

Chicken noodle soup with an egg.

(Obviously, I don’t have this soup every night, but this is a typical dinner and I’m pretty sure we eat this at least three times a week.)

And so dinner begins: me, Robyn, Anna, Lily, Host Momma, Host Papa, the chicken noodle soup, and silence. We sit silently, slurping our soup, until finally Anna will say: “So how was your day?” (in Spanish) to the girls. Cue the responses:

Lily: One minute spent talking about whatever class she had that day and how exciting and awesome it was.

Robyn: thirty seconds spent saying she went to the gym and then went to class and allwas good.

Roshan: 5 seconds saying “me too.”

Silence once again will descend upon the table until Anna, bless her, will try and start some sort of conversation. This will, more often than not, fire Host Momma up and get her talking. And talking. And talking. Anna will partake by asking intelligent questions; Robyn will partake with her overly enthusiastic “mhms” and head nods; Lily will space out and stare at the table, and I will focus all my energy on trying to understand the conversation.

Ten minutes later Host Momma will still be talking and my focus will be wavering.
It’s at this point where I start to notice things like Host momma’s broken fingernail or the way her hair is slightly longer on the left side of her face rather than the right. As I daydream I’ll find myself thinking of something funny (ie- llamas doing jumping jacks), which of course will lead me to think about how bad it would be if I started giggling to myself while Host Momma was telling her super serious story. Now, if you’re a giggly person you probably know that once you think this you’re done. Soon you’re thinking about all the other funny things you shouldn’t be thinking about and before you know it you’re the crazy loon who’s laughing like a moron in an extremely uncomfortable situation.

Go ahead and color me crazy loon. But at least the laughter will cause Host Papa to remember some horribly rude, racist, sexist or perverted joke and dinner will end with everyone laughing (or uncomfortably looking at their finished soupy eggy bowl).

The End.

PS. Obviously now things have changed. I no longer zone out and laugh like a maniac and I pretty much understand everything that’s being said (unless of course she is asking a question to me directly in which case I panic and can’t understand anything).

Remember Me?

Umm... hi! It's been a while. On the plus side, I have a fantastic excuse! On the down side, It's actually a terrible excuse. But here it goes: my computer died. It was a tragedy of epic proportions, obviously, because I needed my computer to talk to the rest of the world, but also because I use my computer as a way of heating up my toes before I sleep. Needless to say, my toes and my facebook life suffered greatly for 10 days. Thankfully, the apple store saved me and fixed my computer for freesies.

Which brings us to the other 4328409 days I didn't update this. We're just going to pretend it didn't happen. Here's a bullet point list of everything that happened. (You didn't miss much.)

-I held a human skull during my archeology class. Human heads are actually tiny.

-My host mommy made us all halloween costumes. I had a scary red cape.


-I hung out with a big group of REAL LIVE Spanish girls. Turns out under all the awesome hair and make-up. They're exactly the same as American girls. AKA: the conversation revolved around school, grades, and boys.

-I wore my heels for five hours straight!! Standing the whole time!! I thought I was going to die. Will someone PLEASE let me in on the secret? I thought the secret was a strong mojito and a cute guy to make you forget the pain. But after 2 hours, even Jake Gyllenhaal wouldn't be able to distract me from my aching feet.

-Zoila and I grew entirely too close. Somehow I turned into her favorite and now spend hours of my day playing with a 3 year old. It got to the point where I was wiping her butt after she pooed and she was falling asleep in my lap but still refusing to leave when her mom tried to take her. A strange mixture of adorable and frightening. Regardless, she taught me a lot of Spanish. Mostly Sponge Bob characters, but I'll take what I can get.



-Our family took us to La Rambla, a small town en el campo where they have a house, to celebrate Saint Rafael day. I got to pick olives and chill with farm animals. I also got to eat a huge pot of paella. It was a good day.





-I fell in love with my host mom's daughter's family. (The fam that lives upstairs.) Meri and Nikolas are the cutest couple ever. Whenever I see them the high shrills of I BELIEVE IN A THING CALLED LOOOOOVEEEEE get stuck in my head. Zoila and I clearly have a bond that will never be broken- poo wiping is quite the bonding experience. Nesta is the coolest kid ever (named after the great Bob Marley's middle name.) I may or may not (let's be honest, I probably wont) dedicate a whole post to my love for this family.

-I got a tad homesick and started consuming food like it was my mom's love. My host mom was understandably frightened when I finished an entire meal in five minutes. I told her I was bulking up for the winter. Plus side: She now feeds me more. :)

-Visited the Alhambra in Granada. 'Twas pretty.


-Visited Seville. Also pretty.


-Actually told a joke in Spanish. The host family was impressed. Mostly used hand motions and noises, but a joke is a joke. Clearly, my Spanish has improved.

-Went to Morocco.

Essentially, fun was had; friends were made; food was consumed. The usual.

High Heels

are stupid.

An Aussie, a Kiwi, an Irish Man, and Two Americans Walk Into a Bar...

Last weekend I hopped on a bus and went to Lisbon with Robyn and Karen. (Okay, maybe it wasn’t exactly a hop and it was more like a 10-hour bus ride of doom, but it was worth it. So so worth it.)

I was pretty sure the trip was destined to fail since a) it would be my first time traveling without the super savvy rents and b) because I’m not the best planner. But somehow without even trying we planned the perfect trip. The itinerary was the following:

DAY 1:
We arrived in Lisbon at 5 in the morning? 6? I don’t remember. Whatever the time was it was too early. We walked into our hostel and although it was too early to check in we put our stuff in storage and relaxed in the common room. Notice Robyn diligently planning our trip. “Momma” then made us eggs and toast and we made our first hostel friend! Brian, another American, who just graduated UCLA and was traveling alone before he goes to work in a consulting firm in San Fran. Turns out he was on the same bus as us and thus was also awake at yuck 'o clock in the morning.
Although we spent all of breakfast flipping through travel guides for Lisbon we were still at a loss and couldn’t decide what to do first. So we asked one of the people working at the hostel, Joao, for recommendations. Luckily, Joao just happened to be the nicest and the most knowledgeable person in the world because he ended up planning an entire itinerary for us, highlighted map and all. And so we were off! Our first experience of Lisbon had begun.

Somehow I became in charge of the map and led us around Joao’s route of sweet sites to see in Lisbon. I led us to some pretty cool places:



… but of course got us lost as well:




Soon it started raining and we decided that the only REASONABLE thing to do would be to stop at a free wine tasting place (once again suggested my Joao) and try Portuguese wine until the rain stops.



The tasting was free as long as we left detailed descriptions of each wine including how much we would pay for a bottle, what food we would eat the wine with, how the wine smelled, etc. Obviously, with my plethora of wine experience (ummmm Franzia?) I gave them a lot of great answers. (i.e: How does this wine taste: makes my tongue feel funny! What would you eat with this wine: meat? How does the wine smell: Shmeh.)

After a fun day of gallivanting (where really I only got us lost once… maybe twice) we went back to the hostel for Joao’s roasted sausage dinner. The Sangria was unlimited, the cheese tasted like butter and we met tons of cool people. Including Mana:





The cutest Japanese man ever. Who literally squatted next to us as he told us that he really should stop drinking since he is a lightweight (He didn’t stop). Eventually a couple of the people in our hostel asked us if we wanted to go out and even though we were exhausted from the bus ride we decided that as it could be the only Friday night we ever spend in Lisbon, we better go out. And that is how an Aussie, a Kiwi, a Japanese Man, an Irish Man, a Brit and two American girls, ended up in a bar in Lisbon.


DAY TWO:

I’ve realized that I miiiiight be blathering on too much about how much I love Lisbon. So here’s a quick summary of Day two in picture form!

Hopped on the Tram 28:


Went to a Flea Market:



Visited a Monastery with a sweet view:



Had the best five euro home made burgers (with avocado) eveeeeerrrr:



Randomly saw a peacock on the street:



Visited a castle and pretended blow up some invaders:



Went on the Pub Crawl with these fools:


Okay! The café I’m at is getting busy and I’ve finished my coffee ages ago, so the rest of my Lisbon adventuring will just have to wait till tomorrow. Hopefully I’ve done an okay job conveying how amazing Lisbon was. I’m not even entirely sure why I fell in love with it. If I was a real adult that could use words instead of shmehs and smileys and, you know, if I was emotionally aware, I’d explain it with real words. But the best I can say is Lisbon = love. :)



Yes that IS a picture of me falling in love with a pineapple. It was a damn good pineapple.

Accomplishments

The thing about me in Spain is that the smallest thing makes me feel as though I've accomplished tons of work. For example, today I bought myself stamps and mailed a post card. In the United States this would probably be something I accomplish as a side note on my way to doing whatever I actually needed to be doing at the time. In Spain, this was an earth-shattering break through that took up a good portion of my day.

It started in the wee early hours of the morning on my way to class. I needed stamps. I could not put it off any longer. It was time to pick a store and just ask if they sell stamps. So after mentally bracing myself outside of a tourist shop with a relatively friendly looking shop attendant for entirely too long , I marched on in and, ever so intelligently, asked, "Can I buy chairs here?" Turns out sillas means chairs. Sellos means stamps. Go figure. Ten minutes, a couple of shmehs, and a few arm flails later, the shop attendant kindly informed me that I could buy stamps at the tobacco store a block away.

So after my first class, I went to said tobacco store and this time asked for STAMPS and not CHAIRS. The shop attendant, an old man who looked a little like albert einstein if albert einstein had spent all his time in the sun and not... being smart, understood me, repeated what I asked with a beautiful Spanish accent. He then asked me how many I would need and BAM! I busted out the big palabras and asked how many stamps I would need to mail a card to the good ole US of A. He once again repeated my question, as if to mock my terrible accent, but nevertheless answered my question and totally understood me! I was possibly the most accomplished woman in the world! I had just bought STAMPS. From a STORE. My quota for awesomeness for the day had been filled. I sat in my next class and just stared smugly at the teacher. I had bought stamps. I didn't need to pay attention. "Entiendes?"he would say every couple of minutes to make sure we were all following and I would just stare back. My quota was full. I would not be "entiending" anything else for the day thank you very much.

On my way back home with Robyn, I decided I would go ahead and mail the letter. (Even though I had already done so much for the day). I found one of the yellow mailboxes that are around the city and figured it would be a simple "put your mail here" experience. Wrong. So wrong. I asked Robyn to wait for a minute and crossed the street to the deceivingly innocent looking mailbox and tried sliding my postcard between what looked like the only opening on the contraption. WRONG AGAIN. Apparently, that was just for show and wasn't ACTUALLY an opening. As I walked around the mailbox awkwardly poking at it a more and more people started watching, until finally a sweet old man came over and opened the supersecretbutatthesametimesoobvious handle and put in my post card without a word. I said gracias and all the onlookers went back to their daily lives. When I walked back to Robyn (who at this point was laughing hysterically), she kindly informed me that Pablo, aka photography teacher, aka second hottest person in Cordoba, (aka I had to drop the class because his hottness was too distracting), walked by and probably witnessed the whole thing.

The End.
______________________

Spanish- Clearly learned tons.
Fun- ..... ..... ummmm?
Heels- ... getting to it.