Tès Jolie

Tu es très jolie Laura.  Ta hijab est très jolie.  Marrakech est très jolie.  Ton mobile est très jolie.  

It's a phrase that gets repeated a lot in this house, très jolie.  In my French classes I learned the word jolie meant pretty.  I practiced saying phrases like: La fille est très jolie.  La fleur est très jolie.  La robe est très jolie.  But here in Morocco the girls use it liberally and it has come to mean something else entirely.
It means you look pretty.
It means that is very good.
It means I like you.
It means I appreciate you for embracing my culture.
It means I can't communicate what I want to say, but I know you'll understand this.

If my trip had a catch phrase it would be très jolie.
But just like my textbook definition doesn't cover all the uses in this house in Morocco, it doesn't encompass all that I have experienced in Morocco or Europe.
Surely my trip has been pretty, but it's also been shocking, and eye-opening, and heart-breaking, and amazing, and a thousand other overused words to describe travel.  But above all it's been beautiful.
It's not that life in Morocco, or Spain, or England, or Greece, or Germany is more beautiful than life in the United States, it's just that with the newness of every single day the beauty is right there in front of you, and you can't avoid it.
In California I don't notice the beauty of my dog curling up next to me to sleep, because he does that every night.  I don't notice the beauty in the way my neighbor greets me with a raised fist and a quiet Yay team! the way he has since I was a child, because that's what he does every time we see each other.  I don't notice the beauty in the pot pie my mom spent all afternoon preparing, because she makes it on a regular basis and it's just a normal Allen family dinner recipe.  I don't notice the beauty of going to church with my grandmother, because that's what I do on wednesday mornings.
I don't notice because that's the way it always is.

But here in Morocco, or wherever I find myself, I notice.  I notice because every single moment is full of something new and every single moment I think to myself I may never see this again.  In a few weeks I may never see these girls again.  In less than a month I may never experience this again.  

Every place I have visited I have loved in some way.  Not every part of every place, but a little piece of everywhere.  And when you open yourself up to experiencing beauty and to loving somewhere new, you eventually have to say goodbye.  And as the list of places where I've been grows, so does the list of  places where a piece of me has been left behind.
A little piece is on the streets of Berlin, right where the wall used to stand.
A little piece is in the harbor of Chania, in a little restaurant that serves the best grilled mushrooms.
A little piece is in London, in the British Library, tucked away between the manuscripts and letters.
A little piece is in Valencia, hidden away in the bustling Central Market.
And a big piece is here in Dar Asni.

Contrary to popular belief, leaving all these pieces behind doesn't mean somehow there is less of me to give.  Loving the girls here doesn't take away from loving my family and friends back home.  And loving where I've traveled doesn't mean I love California any less.

For a few weeks about a month into my trip I started question why I committed to traveling for such a long time.  "I have a wonderful life back home," I cried, "why would I leave it all behind?"
Now I know.  I know that sometimes you have to go far away not just to appreciate the beauty of what you have, but the beauty of everything, wherever you are.  In my everyday routine I get lost in the monotony of doing laundry, running errands, and driving to school.  But when the daily routine of life involves doing laundry with a washboard, navigating a bustling souk and bartering for your errands, and driving to school in a rickety van with people hanging out the back and no seat belts, you notice.  You can't help it.

In some moments you notice how foreign everything feels and perhaps you desperately wish for some familiarity.  In others you notice some, perhaps small, similarities between life here and back home.  And in a few very special moments, you notice both.

It is painful and uncomfortable to hold both in your hand at the same time.  To try to reconcile the foreignness of a foreign country with the things that remind you of home.  In the worst moments it can lead you to search for a flight home, as the familiar things only grate against the alien ones, but I've found that here in Morocco I can embrace both.  I can hold the love and longing I have for my home and family with the love and longing I have to connect with the girls here at Dar Asni.

The thing about travel, and life in general I suppose, is that as soon as you think you have it figure out, as soon as you think you've got a handle on it, something changes and everything gets thrown out of whack.

Sometimes it's something small, like not being able to find pasta sauce at the grocery store after a long day.  And other times it's a big thing.

On Sunday my grandmother passed away.  My much beloved, stunningly lovely, 94 year old grandmother passed away on Sunday night.

Grieving is a lonely process, but grieving in a country where no one speaks your language, where everything is harshly different seems even lonelier.

Just when I think my heart can't handle any more stretching, any more pain, or beauty, or love, it is expanded a little bit farther.

After talking with my mom and receiving the news, the girls crowd around me and kiss my forehead and stroke my hair.

My cousin and I share memories over a pixely skype connection, her in her home in Napa and me in a village in rural Africa.  I cry tears of grief or happiness or something thinking about the beautiful life that my grandma led.
"We're not even distantly related" I marvel, "I can't believe I'm lucky enough to be her granddaughter."
"Yeah, Grandma was the shit," she replies.

After I thought I was through the worst this trip could throw at me, again I find myself searching for flights home.  Searching to find guidance.  Searching for the "right" thing to do.  My heart longs to be at home with my family and it longs to be right here in Morocco with these mountain girls.

After all these months of longing to be in two, or three places at once, after weeks of loving people spread across the world and living with the knowledge that there are people I care about that are hours and hours away, the feeling of this divide is starting to become familiar.

But I'm also realizing it's not an either-or situation.  It's not either beautiful in the United States or in Morocco.  I don't have to choose either to love life abroad or love life back home.  I can be present wherever I find myself and still stay involved in the lives of the people I love, even if they're halfway across the world.

Because above all, that a girl who has never lived outside of Santa Rosa, California for 22 years can find connections and things to love about a country as different as Morocco isn't just beautiful,  it's so stunning that sometimes I don't think my heart can handle it.  Sometimes I feel like it will literally split in two from the beauty of it.

And when I think about my grandmother, and how last time I went to church with her she slipped her hand into mine, gave me a shinning smile and whispered, "I'm so thrilled you're here darling!" I feel those tears well up in the corners of my eyes.  Those tears that aren't quite grief and aren't quite joy.  They're both.

Because life is très jolie, even in the heart-breaking, difficult moments, no matter where in the world we find ourselves.  Sometimes it just takes a lot for us to notice it.

Up the Mountain

I came to Morocco because I thought I had something to offer the girls at the boarding house here.  I had grand plans to teach art classes, and bring in supplies.  I planned to teach the girls English and I figured I would spend my evenings planning activities for the next day, creating lesson plans and mapping out all I wanted to accomplish during my time here.

I've been in Morocco a week and a half and I have yet to teach an art class.  I have yet to plan any structured activities.  The most structure I've had to offer the girls here was a short dance lesson and going over the colors in English.
Yesterday I hid in my room until 4 pm, emerging only to eat meals.   In fact most of my mornings are spent on my own, not planning anything, simply trying to take care of myself and recovering from the constant overpowering newness of every moment in Morocco.

The girls on the other hand, have be in a constant state of giving since I arrived.  They give me little notes and drawings, flowers picked from the garden, and near constant affection that ranges from holding my hand while out on a walk to literally applauding my attempts to speak Arabic.

Wildflowers from the girls

I have had far more Arabic lessons then they have had English.  I have had henna applied twice, I have learned how to make Moroccan tea, and I have tried more new dishes than I have in the past 10 years combined.

One of the villages I visited

This weekend I accompanied a few of the girls on their journey back to their villages in the High Atlas Mountains.
Their families, living in bare, concrete houses served me meal after meal, cup after cup of tea.  I had plates full of salad prepared especially for me (funnily enough, Moroccans have the same reaction to finding out I'm vegetarian as Americans do) and heaping plates of freshly picked cherries placed in front of me with an encouraging mangez, mangez Laura! repeated through out the meal.   I had entire cakes baked for me, and plates of cookies served to me by families that sleep on thin mats on the floor.

I used squat toilets, and didn't brush my teeth or shower for 3 days straight.

My salad.  Yes, I was expected to eat it all by myself

Since I returned, I've been trying to reconcile what I saw over the weekend with the exuberant, joyful girls that I have come to love since arriving in Morocco.  Girls who love nail polish but hike up mountains on a weekly basis to return home wearing only thin flip flops.  Girls who love Shakira but have houses lit only by a bare bulb on a wire in a handful of rooms.  Girls who carefully make sure their hijab (head scarf) matches their outfit and shoes but wear the same clothes for a week straight.
Girls who suddenly get shy and timid when surrounded by boys but have a cousin who recently got engaged at only 16 years old.

Girls who squabble with their little sisters but who tell me they have a total of 10 siblings, 3 of them dead.

Girls who dread exams but are the only girls in their village to receive a secondary education.

The sign for the village primary school

In many ways they are just like American kids.  They argue and hug and giggle and pout.  They complain about school and don't want to do their chores.  They are just like American kids, until suddenly they aren't.

Suddenly the reality of growing up in a village so remote it is accessible only by donkey or on foot comes crashing down around me.  Suddenly having illiterate parents and a mouth full of rotten teeth hits me square in the chest because these girls aren't just a sad photo in an infomercial asking me to donate to needy kids in Africa.  Their names are Kadija, Maraem, Mina and Fatima- Zhara.  They bring me flowers and hold my hand and burst out laughing when I make a face after trying a disgusting milk drink.

Where I slept for the weekend

Going to the village for the weekend was an exciting adventure for me.  I got to trample up and down a mountain for a few days, sleep on the floor and wake up before the sun.  I had my backpack carried by a donkey and sticky babies climb all over my lap.

I keep wanting to come to some definite conclusion about my trip up the mountain.  I want to know if these girls have it better or worse than kids in the US.  Is their life harder or better or more meaningful than life in the US?  Are these girls stronger, more determined than their American counterparts?  Or are they more disadvantaged?

I keep comparing and contrasting and trying to pin down a definite answer.  My human mind likes certainty, but try as I might I can't come to a single conclusion to the many questions bouncing around my head.

One of the girl's houses I visited

The United States has poverty and kids with mouths of rotten teeth.  It has unemployment, and kids going to bed without enough to eat, kids getting married and having babies extremely young and girls dropping out of school.  Morocco isn't better or worse than the United States, it just is.

My time here isn't better or worse than my life in California.  My trip isn't either worth all the money and anxiety or not worth it at all,  it just is.  I am not a good traveler or a bad one, I just am.

I am here and having these experiences, absorbing all I can, and for now, that is enough.  Maybe one day I will untangle this messy knot of feelings regarding my Moroccan mountain girls but for now I am here and it is enough just to be alongside them.

Morocco

For a bit of background, I'm currently in Morocco for a month volunteering with the organization called Education For All.  They run 4 boarding houses where girls from poor families and rural villages are given room and board so they can continue their education.  There are no secondary schools in the villages and it is too far for the girls to walk every day. The organization brings in volunteers as a sort of cultural exchange for the girls.  I am living at one of the boarding houses called Dar Asni which houses 27 girls ages 11-15.  

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In the other four countries I've visited during this trip I've kept an ongoing list of "Things I Don't Want to Forget," but I've been in Morocco for 3 full days and I have yet to add anything to the list.  It's not because I don't want to remember anything, but because I want to remember everything.

The Strait of Gibraltar from the airplane. Two continents are in this picture, Europe and Africa.

I want to remember the way Moroccan tea is made, with fresh mint leaves and blocks and blocks of sugar, and how the first thing I am greeted with each morning is a friendly bonjour and a cup of freshly brewed tea.

Tea on my first day

I want to remember the way the girls greet me not with the formal (but still lovely) handshake followed by touching your heart that is the standard greeting here, but by pulling my shoulders close and pressing their cheek up against mine.  Four or five kisses above the two typical of friends is standard now.

I want to remember the funny gesture people did when they saw the photo of me and the girl I mentor.  "Ta soeur??" they asked, while rubbing their index fingers together.  I later learned the gesture means sisters, and I want to remember that this is a culture where family relations are so close that there are gestures that means certain members of your family.

Notes from the girls

I want to remember the way the girls will carry my massive journal off to a quiet corner of the house and flip through each page slowly.  I want to remember how they are filling the pages with their artwork and how I have no idea what I'm going to do when I run out of pages (soon at this rate!) and how I don't care one bit.

The girls working away on a page in my journal

I want to remember the way one of the girls spent nearly an hour trying to translate something from Arabic for me.  Even though she could have asked one of the adults with better French she kept at it.  I want to remember that desire to connect that transcends language barriers.  And I want to remember how somehow we came to some understanding despite French being my second language and her third.

The view from the terrace outside my bedroom door

My first day here I was walking down the stairs and I had a moment where I couldn't believe that all this was real.  That I have been so unabashedly welcomed into this culture by not only the girls and staff at Dar Asni but by nearly everyone I've met.  By the driver at the airport who gave up his seat so I could sit down while I was waiting.  And by the shopkeeper who bantered with me in French, and enthusiastically repeated bienvenue (welcome) over and over when he learned it was my very first day in Morocco.

My days are long.  I roll over for a few extra hours of sleep after the call to prayer sounds at 5 am, and am surrounded by at least 3 enthusiastic, chattering girls until all 27 are herded up to bed at 10 pm.

Although I've been abroad for a while, in countries where other languages are spoken, this is the first time I've been in a country where virtually no one speaks English.  Straining to communicate in French and having 30 new Arabic words and phrases thrown at me daily (which I am immediately expected to remember) is exhausting.

The heat is exhausting.

The girls are exhausting.  As soon as one group settles down it's time for them to go to school and shortly after the next group arrives.

Trying to remember customs for a very different, conservative culture is exhausting.  I cannot use my left hand at meals, despite being left handed.  Each morning I stare at my small selection of clothes, trying to judge what is conservative enough to be appropriate, while not stifling in the heat.  I never know how often kisses on the cheek are appropriate, as some girls greet me every time they see me, while others have not since I arrived.

My precious journal that I usually carefully guard has things falling out after being flipped through by so many little hands.

I have called adults the offensively familiar tu, and the girls the cold and formal vous more times that I like to admit.

I've choked down olives on several occasions and had "vegetarian" meals served drenched in meat juice.

All food safety advice I was given has completely gone out the window.  How do you politely turn down a salad that has been prepared specifically for you when you know you should avoid anything that can't be peeled?  And when you know it has been washed in the very water you are trying to desperately avoid?

The town near the boarding house

By 4 o'clock I am toast and desperate for a moment to myself, but then one of the girls will slip me a little note, written in 3 languages "I love you Laura, tu es très joile, شكرا لك لورا."

Or I will catch one of them flipping through the photo album I made, and I will see them give the the baby photo of me a little kiss.

Or the girls will crowd around me when they learn I used to teach dance, begging me to teach them and our night will conclude with a tap/ ballet/ Shakira/ traditional Berber dance party.

The days are long but they are full.  Full of new, amazing, definitely once-in-a-lifetime, wonderful, indescribable, overwhelming moments.  One right after the other.  My list of things to remember is not confined to a few moments each day, a few subtle cultural differences, a new museum, an interesting dish.

My list of things to remember is woven into the very fabric of every single moment here in Morocco.

My first ever sentence in Arabic "I love my family very much"

I have realized during this trip that I am not a typical backpacker, if there is one.  I like to settle in, to have time to get to know a place, to develop favorite places and dishes.  I am nearly always sad to leave a destination and still after dozens and dozens of transitions I still struggle my first night in a new location.

When I was back in the U.S. I imagined that this trip would turn me into someone who could just arrive in a destination with no plans, just going wherever the wind blew me.  The reality is that I've realized some of the things I like best about myself are fundamentally incompatible with that type of personality.
But if there's one thing this trip has taught me is to be flexible and let go of my expectations.  I am not a bad traveler, just a unique one.  The fact that I didn't manage to only pack a small backpack does not negate my growing expertise at choosing the best hostel.  The fact that leaving a destination fills me with dread while my fellow travelers are chomping at the bit to explore somewhere new does not invalidate the stamps quickly accumulating in my passport.

I have spent the first 21 years of my life planting deep roots in California and that is not a habit that is easily broken.  And the more I travel the more I realize I really like that about myself.

After a lot of back and forth about calling off my trip completely and questioning whether I could handle the inevitable culture shock in Morocco, what has been most shocking is just how easily I've adjusted to life in a tiny village in an Islamic country in Africa.   I am truly, unreservedly, heart-breakingly happy here.

If there's a right way for me to travel the world, I think I've found it.

My home for the next month

Greece

I had planned to be in Greece for two and a half weeks, but I left after only 4 days.  It's hard for me not to view that as some sort of failure on my part.  Like I did something wrong by cutting my time short in what is a undeniably beautiful country.

My first day exploring the beach near my hostel

Arriving in Greece was invigorating.  After arriving at the tiny airport on the island of Crete, I caught the bus into town.  We passed olive groves, open-air fish markets, signs in characters that were completely alien to me, and lots of flat roofed houses with Greek flags flying out front.  My senses were buzzing and I could not wait to begin to explore this new and fascinating country.

I met a group of wonderful travelers in the dorm and we immediately hit it off.  None of us knew anyone else, so we all went out to dinner together that evening.  It was the oddest assortment of countries covering everywhere from Pakistan to Sweden, and there was something quite poetic about the fact that not a single country was repeated in our group of nine.

Chania's harbor by day.  We ate dinner at a restaurant along the water

Dinner was wonderful.  I ordered grilled mushrooms which were slathered with olive oil and lemon. Simple but delicious.  We were served by the owner of the restaurant himself and even treated to free fruit, semolina orange cake, and alcohol after our meal.

The next day was spent exploring Chania (the main city of Crete) with my new international friends.  Chania has a wonderful Old Town and harbor and we spent some time just lounging by the bay, soaking in the sun and enjoying each other's company.

Chania's Old Town has the most wonderful, narrow streets

We asked locals for recommendations and found fresh cheese and local wine to bring back to the hostel for a backpackers feast.  A candle was fashioned out of the book binding thread I had (yes, I brought some) and some olive oil.  As the sun set behind the hotel, it was one of those moments I couldn't believe was actually my life.  It was like something out of a novel.  Sun soaked backpackers from completely opposite corners of the globe become fast friends over a delectable, locally produced meal.  Only days into my time in Greece, my trip felt luxuriously endless.  I had plenty of time to lounge around on the beach and explore many of the amazing sights Crete had to offer.

Our very, very local wine

And then I got sick.  Really sick.  So sick I could hardly move and couldn't even keep water down.

My roommates were so sweet about having a delirious, vomiting human in their midsts.  Through out the day they checked in on me periodically.  My English and Irish roommates brought me tea on multiple occasions.  My Polish roommate gave me medication in a package I could not read and advised that I take a shot of hard liquor.  My Swedish roommate cut up an apple for me and also made me tea.  Apparently tea can cure everything.

I woke up the next day with a wave of depression like nothing I'd experienced in a long time.  It knocked to my feet and for a second day I couldn't get out of bed but for a completely different reason.

The beach minutes from my hostel.  The most beautiful windflowers were blooming all over the island. 

Suddenly the smells, sights, sounds of Greece became too overwhelming for me.  I couldn't handle the pushy local restaurant owner or the frail-looking stray dogs that followed us everywhere.  The thought that I was hours away from home took the breath out of me and nearly everything made fat tears well up at the corner of my eyes.

I also woke up to the knowledge that my roommates had completely changed their travel plans and would be leaving that day.  In that moment, I realized two very important things about myself: that I don't let people in easily and I certainly don't let them go easily either.

The backpacker culture of meeting people, spending an intensive few days with them, and then jetting off to different corners of the globe doesn't sit well with me.  Yes, we're now friends on facebook, but the idea that I would have to do that over, and over, and over was too much.  Even worse was the thought I could end up at a hostel like the one I stayed at in Nuremberg where I hardly anyone would talk to me.

Even though I had yet to see the blue roofed houses of Santorini, the stunning pink sand beach hidden in a corner of Crete, or the Acropolis in Athens, I left Greece for London after only 4 days.

At the time I wasn't sad.  I was desperately homesick and all I could think about were the non stop flights from London to San Francisco flying out every day.  In hindsight, it's hard not to wish I had pushed through it, that I had stayed longer.  One thing I am struggling with my trip so far (among many things...) is not letting the regret get to me.  Already I feel like I have a list miles long of the things I missed, while the list of the things I did get to do seems much shorter.

But at the end of the day, I know I did what was best for me.  Flying to London was the right decision to take care of my emotional well being.  It's been over a week and only now am I recovering from the depression that took ahold after I got sick.

I don't want to define my time in Greece as either being all amazing-things-that-I-should-have-stayed-to-see or all horrible-I-was-miserable-and-sick-the-whole-time, because neither captures my time there.

There are spectacularly beautiful moments that I don't want to forget.  Like one night when myself and two of my roommates were going to sleep at the same time.  They shared how to say goodnight in their languages and after I turned out the light, my Polish roommate started talking about a cartoon he saw as a child with a Polish lullaby.  He pulled up a video on his phone of a claymation teddy bear wearing a nightcap and hesitantly sung the song in Polish while we drifted off to sleep.

But my time in Greece was undeniably challenging.  It was the most desperate emotional pain I've felt in years and as hard as that was to experience, I don't want to forget or wash over that either.

It is all a part of my experience.  Traveling is the most challenging, invigorating thing possibly that I've ever done.  Some days I feel on top of the world and never want it to end.  Other days I would seriously consider cutting off my own arm if it meant I could instantly be at home with my family.

I'm not sure where that leaves me for the rest of my trip.  I am equally scared by the thoughts that I might push myself to hard and go through another intense depression, or that I might keep myself too safe and miss out on some amazing experiences.  For now I am resting, fighting off another cold, and trying to experience as much of London as I can handle.

Αντίο Ελλάδα! Ελπίζω να σας δούμε ξανά κάποια μέρα.

Tschüss Deutshland!

I've been keeping a running list of the little, everyday things that I don't want to forget from my time in Germany.  Things that, over time, are likely to slip away from my memory slowly enough that I likely won't even remember they were ever there.  Here are some of my favorites that I pulled from my notes...

10 Things I Don't Want to Forget About Germany:

1. Understanding my first German swear word ("scheisse"- shit!) on the bus to Stuttgart from Berlin.  (A car cut us off and the driver had a few choice words to share.)  
2. Feeling somehow comforted to see lilacs, wisteria, buttercups and dandelions (yes, they're the same here!) during my stay.  At least some of the flowers are similar when so many things are different.  (On a side note, I'm planning a visit to the Porsche museum when I return in June.  Mom and Dad, did you guys ever doubt you had an influence on me??)
3. The fact that a slow watch could be detrimental.  In punctual Germany on time is already late.  
4. The look on Claudia's mother's face when I replied to her heavily accented "good morning" with "guten morgen!" (probably also heavily accented)
5. The first German song I heard after being in Germany for more than two weeks.  The music video was a boy band wearing lederhosen and t-shirts while dancing on a beach with bikini clad girls.  
6. The Turkish restaurants that are everywhere here, and how I was confused when everyone was talking about "kebab" which was not, as I expected, meat or veggies on a skewer, but a giant (and I mean giant) rotating cone of meat that is shaved and put into flatbread with veggies and sauces. Turns out it's actually spelt kebap and is completely different from kebabs.  
7. That, despite passing many vineyards and orchards, I could never lay my finger on what distinguishes them from California vineyards and orchards.  Something about them is unmistakable different but still reminds me of driving through Sebastopol or out to Sonoma in a bittersweet way.  
8. My friend Ramona's slight Irish accent from her time studying abroad. 
9. The fact that it rained after I left California.  Then it rained when I arrived in Frankfurt.  And it rained when I left Berlin.  And it rained again the day I left Oppenweiler.  Every other day has been warm and sunny.  In the car, I told Claudia that it's because California and Germany are sad to see me go.  
10. My favorite German word, tschüss! Pronounced like "juice" with a "t" at the beginning, it means "bye!"  So much fun to cheerily reply with the right phrase when leaving a shop. 

Meeting Claudia

On a shopping trip together the day after I arrived

I met my penpal Claudia.  In person.  I gave her a hug.  We went on a walk around her neighborhood and ate dinner sitting at the desk in her room.

This moment was in the works for years.  For months and months and months we have been dreaming of meeting in person--making plans and imagining what it would be like to be together at last.

Town Hall in Backnang, a town near Claudia's village where we went shopping

She was not my first penpal, or even the first penpal I'd met in person.  And really there was nothing remarkable about our friendship in the beginning.  I never would have guessed it from our very early letters exchanged so many years ago, but through many letters and postcards, packages and skype calls, we've grown extraordinarily close.

She's the penpal who sends me boxes and boxes of candy when she knows I am struggling, just as a reminder that "you are not alone."  She's the penpal who regularly posts inspiring quotes on my facebook wall with long messages explaining how grateful she is for our friendship, just because she was thinking about me on a Monday afternoon.  She's the penpal who's letters have grown to a record 32 pages long, discussing everything from what we ate for breakfast to out deepest thoughts and fears.

From our evening walk together around Claudia's village

Sometimes I sit back and marvel over just how unlikely, just how surreal it is that I'm writing this update from her house in her little village in Germany.

Born nearly 6,000 miles apart on different continents, our paths should have never crossed.  We grew up with different languages, different cultures, different realities.

But somehow we both decided to look for a penpal, and somehow we ended up on the same website at the same time.  Somehow I posted a message and she replied and I wrote back.  Somehow her first letter to me didn't get lost along the way, like so many letters do, and somehow the million things that could have prevented us from becoming friends didn't happen and we kept writing, and writing, and writing.

Somehow we were exactly the type of friend the other one needed at exactly that time in our lives.

A beautiful protestant church in Stuttgart, the biggest city near where Claudia lives

On the 8 1/2 hour bus ride from Berlin to Stuttgart I had plenty of time to cycle through a complete range of emotions about finally meeting Claudia in person.  I had time to go from complete exhaustion and "I can't handle this right now" to complete giddiness, practically bouncing up and down in my seat.

For months I wondered how I would react.  Would I start sobbing uncontrollably?  Would I run up to her jumping up and down?  Would I be so overwhelmed I would shut down and not respond at all?

New Castle in Stuttgart

In reality I didn't do any of those things.  In reality we exchanged a long, warm hug, a few giggles and seamlessly moved into place beside each other, as if every Wednesday afternoon I came by for a visit.  As if every Wednesday I flew halfway across the world just to have dinner and spend the evening chatting with my dear friend.

This time together hasn't been at all like I imagined.  It has been marred by health problems and difficult family situations and life obligations, but in many ways that is how it should have been.  Our friendship is not one created on unrealistic expectations, or molded through imperfect, fairytale versions presented of ourselves through carefully crafted letters.  Like my "real life" friendships, ours is one formed through messy circumstances and misunderstandings.  Life has gotten in the way of our best laid plans and we have been forced to readjust and replan.  I won't lie and say my time here has been easy, because it hasn't.  It's been emotional and challenging every single day as I see someone I love dearly struggling.

The good news is I will be back in June and hopefully some of these difficult circumstances will have past, and Claudia and I will finally get to enjoy a few carefree moments together.  But still, I'm incredibly grateful for these few days where I got to be a physical presence in Claudia's life.

To be able to sit down together and talk about what's going on without waiting weeks for a letter to arrive has been an enormous blessing.  To be able to call her without calculating the time difference and to see her face without battling grainy video delay on skype is not something I have taken for granted.

I consider myself very lucky to have a friend like Claudia in my life, and despite the difficulties, I am so grateful for the time I've gotten to spend with her these past few days.

Berlin

Brandenburg Gate

Berlin and even Germany as a whole actually were never places I never specifically set out to visit.   Somehow I ended up here almost accidentally, and I'm so glad I did.

I wouldn't necessarily have gone to Germany if it wasn't for my friend Claudia, and I wouldn't have necessarily gone to Berlin if it wasn't for my other friend Ramona.

Me and Ramona at the East Side Gallery,  where murals are painted on pieces of the Berlin Wall

Berlin is a difficult city to describe.  Many parts of it reminded me of San Francisco, especially the little vegan/vegetarian hole-in-the-wall restaurant I ate at most nights for dinner.  Naan pizza, burritos and teriyaki tofu under one roof?  So Bay Area.

But the history that penetrates Berlin is unlike anything I've ever experienced, and it adds a certain somber tone to the city.   A palpable loss that is impossible to ignore.

At the Jewish museum, in one of the "memory voids" that represents the missing Jews of Europe due to the Holocaust.

My first full day in Berlin I went on an 8 hour walking tour.  Yes, that's not a typo.  EIGHT hours of criss-crossing Berlin, but I'm so glad I did it! Although I couldn't feel my legs for the next few days, I learned so much about Berlin's history and got a good feel for how I should spend the rest of my time in the city.

The tour guide pointed out a lot of things I wouldn't have necessarily noticed, like how many buildings still had shrapnel damage, or how just by looking at the architecture you could tell that some entire city blocks were obliterated by Allied bombing in WWII.

WWII shrapnel damage 

WWII history is fairly well covered in American high schools, but I knew virtually nothing about what happened to Germany after the war.  Through out the day, we crossed from East to West Berlin multiple times, and it was hard to imagine the little line of cobblestones in the middle of the street was once a heavily fortified border.  

From West Berlin looking East

Chilling graffiti on the wall

I'm an avid reader of dystopian literature.  It's definitely my guilty pleasure genre.  I've read 1984 more times than I can count, and finished the Wool Silo Saga just a few days ago.  My hostel was located in the Eastern part of Berlin, which was once part of the GDR (German Democratic Republic, the Soviet occupied part of Germany during the cold war period.)

Former Stasi headquarters

During my stay in Berlin I was able to visit the former Stasi (East German secret police) headquarters and the GDR museum, which was wonderfully interactive.  The museum was quite a surreal experience.  Every plaque and exhibit felt like it was right out of the pages of 1984.  From the diary of a GDR resident who kept track of unobtainable items to the bugged apartment,  it reminded me of the overwhelming feeling I always get reading about Oceania and Ingsoc. 

In one part of the museum you could listen to what visitors were saying in the replica East German living room

While I still know very little about the GDR, I am definitely planning on learning more.  I've already downloaded a book on the subject and am already enjoying it--as much as one can enjoy reading about a brutal communist dictatorship I suppose.   

Memorial for the Jewish victims of WWII.  A whole city block was taken up by towering, gray columns. 

But my time in Berlin wasn't all serious all the time.  On the tour I met a wonderful group of Americans who so generously included me in their photos and explorations that afternoon, even though they were traveling together and it would have been easy for them to remain an exclusive group.  And a few days after I arrived in Berlin I was joined by my penpal Ramona and her friend (who is now also my dear friend) Lucy.  

Even though I had already experienced Ramona and her family's generosity, I was still blown away by how accommodating and encouraging her and Lucy both were.  Ramona even arrived with a gift for me (seriously?!?), a very handy German phrase book.  

With Lucy, enjoying a radler after a long day of sightseeing

I'm trying hard to look forward on my trip and not start counting all the things I wish I'd seen.  It's only been a little over a week and already there are multiple sights in Nuremberg and Berlin I'd wish I'd made time for.  It's hard to not think that I could have fit more in, that I could have rested less and pushed myself to go out and explore more.  But I know with more than 3 months to go, I definitely need to keep a slower pace than travelers who are only in Europe for a few weeks.  I can't just push through the exhaustion forever, and I'm working hard on being okay with that.

Sunday morning flea market.  I managed to find some unique souvenirs.
GDR stamps and coins as well as "inflation money" (100 million marks notes)

Ramona kept reminding me that I'll have to return to Germany one day.  After all I have to visit Bamberg's Christmas market sometime.  And who knows, there are a few portions of my trip where I don't have anything planned.  It seems silly to go back to a place I've already been when there's still so much of Europe to see, but Berlin is the first city I've really fallen in love with in a long time.  There are definitely places I've enjoyed, but there was something impossible to describe about how I felt in Berlin.

I always expected it to be wandering through in Montmartre in Paris, or relaxing on a beach in Santorini, Greece where I would find my passion for travel.  I didn't foresee that it would be entering the stuffy U-Bahn (metro) station, hurrying down the steps to catch the train in the middle of Berlin where I would pause and think to myself that even with all the stress, the anxiety, the panic...

I wouldn't rather be anywhere else but here.  

Cloud No. Seven

As soon as I knew the final dates I would be in Germany, I messaged my two German penpals and let them know when I would be visiting.  It has long been a dream of mine to meet one (or all!) of my penpals and I wanted to take the opportunity if it was possible while I was in Europe.

I've been writing to Ramona for a while, and from our very first letter we always "clicked."  While I love all my penpals, like all friendships each one has grown differently from the rest.  Ramona and I have very similar writing styles and like to write long, chatty letters (and include lots of "extras"), so we've always gotten along well--at least on paper.

When I told Ramona the dates I would be in Germany, she invited me to meet up with her and a friend in Berlin.  They were planning a trip for part of the time I would be in Germany, and it sounded like a great opportunity to see another German city that wasn't originally on my itinerary.

Before I left the US, the plan was to go from Prague to Berlin, then to Stuttgart to meet another penpal of mine.  After Prague was canceled, on my first full day in Germany, I posted photos of my day in Nuremberg.  You can imagine my surprise when Ramona commented that she would be there on Friday.

As it turns out, Ramona lives only about 20 minutes from Nuremberg, and since she was on her semester break she offered to not only spend the day showing me Bamberg (where she attends university), but also to pick me up in Nuremberg, let me stay at her parent's house for the night, and escort me to the bus to Berlin the next day.  She helped find me an inexpensive bus ticket direct to Berlin and absolutely went out of her way to make sure I felt welcomed and had a nice day.

Me with my wonderful penpal Ramona

I'm happy to report that not only do we make great penpals, but in person Ramona and I get along very well.  She met me at the train station in Nuremberg and after storing my luggage in a locker, we caught the train to Bamberg (did I mention Ramona borrowed a family ticket from her mother's friend so I didn't have to pay anything to get to Bamberg and back?!?)  We talked the whole 45 minute ride without an awkward pause.  I don't even remember what we talked about, but it felt great to have an actual conversation after several days of being pretty much on my own.

Bamberg's City Hall is situated in the middle of a river 

One of the many narrow, winding streets

Once in Bamberg we walked to the city center.  Bamberg is a fairly small city with less than 100,000 residents.  The center of a city is a UNECSO World Heritage Site.  Much of the town survived the two World Wars, and therefore displays some unique historical architecture.  Ramona had sent me postcards showing Bamberg (we both collect UNECSO postcards) and I knew if I had the opportunity I wanted to take a trip there.

The Dom Cathedral.  It contains the only papal grave outside of Italy or France

A courtyard where a fight scene from the Three Musketeers was filmed

Bamberg did not disappoint.  It is exactly what Americans imagine charming European town to look like.   We walked all over town, and I got a personal tour of the best sights.

After finishing our tour, we met up with one of Ramona's friends, Jenni, at a restaurant near their school.  Over a delicious lunch we talked about American stereotypes, idioms and Tchibo.  I crushed Ramona's world view when I explained Americans are ashamed to admit if they like McDonalds.  They taught me some German idioms, and I confirmed that "I understand only train station" is an actual expression in German.  We pondered why, in English, you say you're on cloud nine if you're extremely happy, whereas in German you're on cloud seven.  It was a great meal with great friends and while I was sitting there I realized this is why people travel.

This is why people spend hours on cramped flights and trains, forgoing sleep and familiarity.  This is why traveling is worth it.  All it takes is one beautiful city, one good meal, and one welcoming friend.

A former monastery

The view of Bamberg from the monastery garden

By the time we reached the train station, I was already yawning.  After two more train rides and a drive through the country we arrived at Ramona's house, in a small village of about 100 people.

Although her parents spoke very little English, they could have not been more welcoming.  Neither of them stopped smiling the whole time I was there.  Who said Germans are unfriendly?

My experience meeting Ramona will definitely remain a highlight of my trip, I'm sure.  And the good news is I get to spend a few more days sight seeing with her in Berlin!  I'm already looking forward to getting together with her again soon.

Bread and Mayonnaise

Today was another day of taking it easy and adjusting to being in Germany.  In the morning I hung out at the hostel and caught up on some emails about my placement in Morocco.

Around noon I decided to venture out and visit the Germanisches National Museum, since it is literally around the corner from my hostel.  It was a bit of a mix between fine art and every day artifacts spanning from before the middle ages to modern day.

 This ship was made entirely out of silver and even converted into a wine goblet!  It had something like 74 mini figureines acting out various scenes on the deck, including, according to the audio tour a "pair of lovers."  Couldn't find them though (yes, of course I had to look!)  

 If you've seen my room at home, you'll know it's covered in maps so it's no surprise that one of my favorite items was this globe.  It's the earliest spherical depiction of the Earth and was created around the time Columbus was sailing to the Americas.  The surface is illustrated with little pictures of landmarks, people and creatures--real and imaginary.  

Amongst the standard portraits and still life paintings, the museum had an exhibit on bookplates.  I tend to glaze over paintings, but anything featuring bookmaking/ paper art is totally up my alley.  The illustrations were so tiny, I couldn't get any good photos but they featured the most exquisite, detailed scenes.  My favorites were the ones featuring libraries.  Apparently rich people liked all of their books to show off how many other books they had, so they would commission bookplates to be made featuring idealized images of their huge libraries.  Kind of the Renaissance equivalent of blogging about your new kitchen remodel.  I believe this book belonged to Albrecht Dürer, but I can't exactly remember.  

One of the exhibits was solely dedicated to musical instruments.  There were lots of pianos, LOTS of pianos.  Or at least relatives of the piano.  There apparently was a section of the exhibit where you could hear songs recorded on some of these instruments, but I never found it.  The layout of the museum was a bit confusing.   I did love this one instrument where the keyboard emerged from a ladies' skirt.  Why wouldn't you have have a keyboard hidden in a life-sized statue of a lady? 

Also no surprise, I loved this writing desk.  Can you imagine the letters that were penned there?

In the middle of a room with all these serious statues were a pair of "character heads." Apparently the expression sculpted on this particular bust is impossible for a human to replicate.  Of course I had to try.  

This cabinet was painted in the early 1900's by an art student.  The botanical and insect paintings reminded me of something my mom would love.  Plus even found a snail! (Molly or Anne if you're reading this you'll have to show Tim!)

Lastly, there was an exhibit on toys that featured some AMAZING dollhouses.  My inner child was seriously freaking out.  The rooms were kept fairly dim, so I couldn't get any good photos, but there is this one that shows one of the dollhouses.  You can't see all the little details though, which is the best part. Why do I find such joy out of tiny pots and pans?  

After the museum I walked to a restaurant that my friend Ramona recommended to me.  I hadn't eaten a full meal since arriving, and I'd been surviving mostly on snacks, so I was pretty starving my the time I arrived.  

I'm going to say it was the lack of sleep because somehow when she told me it was a Spanish restaurant I thought I was going to be eating chips and salsa.  It wasn't until the waiter brought out a basket of bread with mayonnaise (???) that I realized she means Spanish as in Spain.  Because you know, I'm in Europe and all.  

I really shouldn't have posted about hoping plan D stuck yesterday, because I've already moved onto plan E, or is it F by now?  But I promise it's even better than what I was thinking.  It involves meeting a wonderful penpal of mine and seeing the beautiful city where she lives.  Nuremberg is a great city, but I've been a bit isolated here and I'm really looking forward to moving onto the next thing.  The next few days will involve lots of travel as I hop from Nuremberg to Bamberg to Berlin, but I can hardly wait!