Marakech en la noche

It was time to venture out for the evening. We were told the food stalls were a sight to see. Food stalls?? I didn't even know what that meant and had no idea what to expect. We headed out walking through the medina and decided to look for a place to have a drink that B read about on wikitravel. The place was ubbbberrr fancy. Definitely the nicest place we had seen. There was only one couple in the huge restaurant when we arrived. The ambience was nice so we decided to stay for a drink. Drinks were stupid expensive and the guy took about 30 minutes to bring us one drink so we had one and went on our merry way. Guess he was pretty busy with the one other table in the place :) 

We got to the square and saw tons of people all over the place and guys holding menus and grabbing us and shouting out a slogan with a number like "Stay Alive with number 25!" and "Number 7 straight to heaven!" and pulling us all over the place trying to get us to eat at their food stall. The more they grabbed us, the less interested we became. I was losing my appetite by the minute. Finally one guy got our attention so we sat down and ate a couple bites of some chicken and lamb. We were craving lamb so bad, but this wasn't cutting it. It was about $2 so we ate the couple bites and moved on. We came to number 13... No one yelling. No one hassling us. Just a handsome middle eastern guy with piercing eyes standing there cooking his LAMB! There was picnic table style seating around Hussain's food stall and one bench right in front of him. We sat down right there and asked for a plate of lamb... It was the most amazing lamb, perfectly seasoned, melting in my mouth, I've ever had. We were in heaven and this wasnt stall number 7. Whoever said #13 was unlucky was so wrong. We savored every bite of that plate of lamb and shared one more. Cloud. Nine.

Once we finished we said our goodbyes and started exploring around the square checking out all the circles of people and all the activities. First we saw a circle of people using fishing pole type sticks with strings attached to them and a ring on the end. They were trying to lay the ring down on the tops of coke and fanta bottles. It didnt look THAT hard. B paid about 20 cents to enter and try to no avail. 

The next circle of people we came to were a bit more lively. They were cheering and shouting and tossing coins in the center of the circle. When we made our way up to the front we could see 2 boys, about 11 years old, wearing boxing gloves. Prize Fighters... Oh dear... We looked at each other in shock, but kind of chuckled. wow. only in morocco? They couldnt start the fight until the man running the operartion collected enough money. They were taking bets on which boy would win. Finally the fight began. The guy that was leading the Prize fighting was bouncing around in the middle of the circle, slapping the boys around, getting them jacked up. He was a scrappy lil moroccan guy. I was scared of the him. Poor kids... gettin tossed around by him while also trying to box each other. My brother took out his iPhone to take a picture and the scrappy moroccan came over and started motioning for B to pay him for the photos he was attempting to take. My brother refused. This went on for a few minutes. Scrappy STOPPED the fight saying he would not continue until my bro paid him. My brother instead said... "Why dont we box?" 

oh god...

The guy agrees... they finish the kids fight and then the men get the larger size gloves.

oh god...

this guy is little but s . c . r . a . p . p . y .

im worried. my brother has the gloves on and and hes bouncing around stretching while another guys comes to collect money from the crowd for the boxing to begin. he also makes the crowd back up... 

back, back, back... in a thick arabic accent... motioning for everyone to give them some room.

B looks at me and we are laughing and hes motioning that hes gonna get knocked out.

we're both worried.

this little guy might just put on a show and lay my brother out right here in the square.

Where are you from?

California! 

GWOW! CALL -EEE -FOR -NEE -YAAAA!!! 

The moroccans start cheering over and over. yelling CALIFORNIA!!!! !

after about 10 minutes of asking for more money, B is about to throw in the towel. Hes over it. and probably scared from the anticipation building up! ;) 

He takes off the gloves and starts to throw them on the ground. The referee stops him! no no no. its okay! Lets begin!

Talk about prize fighter...

Barrett puts the gloves back on and the fight begins. They are bouncing around and b is pushing scrappy all around the "ring" of people. The ref is pulling them apart, while also laughing and trying to get b off the prize fighting champion. hes not doing as well as we imagined.

after a few minutes of boxing its very apparent who the winner is... the ref pulls them apart and is holding their wrists in his hands asking the crowd who they think the winner is. people are cheering and yelling in arabic and he is smirking. after a minute or so of building up the anticipation, the ref announces... WINNER!!! and raises my brothers arm. B starts laughing and goes in for a hug... 

But what better way to show you than pictures??

Marrakech Prize Fighter

Marrakech By Day

I got to the train station in casablanca with 10 minutes to spare before the train was supposed to depart. plenty of time right? wronggg. it was a straight zoo with a line wrapped out the door to buy tickets at the window, but there were also two machines you could buy tickets from. of course you need to know french or arabic to read the dang machines sooooo.... it was finally my turn and i was trying to guess what the touch screen was asking me. then i swear this sweet lady behind me had to be the only person in a 20 mile radius that spoke english at all. let alone so well! she was an angel! the machine wouldnt accept international credit cards and wasnt accepting cash at the time so she bought the ticket on her debit card and i gave her dirhams. then she told me where i needed to go and to RUN! by this time the train should have left 5 minutes ago. its quite a struggle between being a light packer and having just your pack when youre a photographer. blaaaa. so here i am with my 65L pack on my back and my thinktank rolling camera bag and my carry on trying to run down tons of stairs only to run back up another set to get to the right train to take me to marrakech. i remembered reading about sitting first class on the trains being the way to go with air conditioning and your own reserved seat so thats just what i did and it was great. 

marrakech was a bit more than i wanted to handle... I got to the train station in marrakech and assumed I could tell them the name of my hostel and they would know exactly where to take me... wrong again. after buying a pistachio milkshake so i could access some internet, i called on skype to the guy at the hostel who originally told me there would be free transportation from the train station. when i called he said i needed to take a taxi for 30 dirham to bob luxor and to call when i arrive and someone will pick me up from there. okay. we arrive at bob luxor and the cabby tells me he doesnt have a cell phone and leaves me on the corner. fine. i cross the street with all my crap to use a payphone. i have no idea what coins to use to make a call. i give a guy the number and hold out some coins in my hand and ask him to call for me. he says ohhhh Riad Layla Rouge???? I work there... I will take you. its just minutes down the road...  Umm. nope. no thanks bro. after telling him multiple times that i want him to call the place he finally calls, they start speaking arabic and laughing and he looks at me and says "He told me to take you!" and gives me the phone for the guy to tell me, yes, that man you are with. he will bring you. okay fine. take me. he offers to carry my luggage. nope. im good. just show me where to go. after a few minutes of walking he finally convinces me to hand over my pack to lighten my load. when we arrived at the hostel they were warm and friendly, offered me mint tea and a comfy couch while I wait to get checked in. then the guy who escorted me down an ally to the hostel demanded 40 dirham. thieves.

the next day my brother arrived and i was thrilled to have him. i could tell from the previous days in morocco, this wasnt a country i wanted to venture around on my own. we wandered around, had some lunch, and started exploring the medina. after a bit a guy came up saying hey where are you from? AMERICA! WOW! Ya california! California knows how to party! In a thick arabic accent... Then he says hey my friend works at the tannery... He can show you where it is! and the other guy pops in and starts walking in front of us... "Guiding us" to the tannery. Brother and I both say, We are fine! Thanks! We are just taking a walk. he says "No its okay, I work there, I dont want money, Just want to Well for about 15 minutes there is no other way to turn and this guy is still just walking in front of us... then turns to us and says Here we are... The Tannery!

oh um... cool bro... but no thanks. we are gonna head this way.

No here is the tannery.... ya. awesome

No thanks bro. We don’t want to go to the stinkin tannery (literally). B heard that its cool, but you don’t want to go in the heat of the day because of the smell. Yikes. We’ll pass. But thanks for “showing us the way”. Byeeeee. He got super hostile and up in my brothers face asking for money then proceeded to say “don’t touch me!’ pointing his finger at my brothers chest maybe half an inch away from touching him.

“You don’t touch me!”

“Lez go. Lez go lez go.” Insinuating that he wants to fight. And now touching his chest this time…

Ummm no. I’m not having this. And having 50 Moroccans on the street turn on us. I stood between this angry thief jerk and my brother. All 5’2 of me, standing in between my brother standing at 6’1 and this Moroccan guy who was probably 5’10. Hey umm… guys!!! Guys! Talking up at the Moroccan with my back to my brother like I was protecting him… Stop!! I raised my voice.

All the while thinking, “Bet you wont hit a broad!!!!” ((But seriously please don’t cause that totally ruins the whole girl standing in the middle to break up the fight thing)) I’m trying to be a hero. Don’t screw this up for me.

My brother, being the sensible one (Strange, I know!) says cmon! And leads me in the direction we came from. We want out of this situation. We start turning around and homeboy is not having it. He is still antagonizing my brother

“LEZ GO. LEZ GO!!!” while standing close and following us back in the other direction. He goes and finds a friend to follow us.

Greeeeeattttt. Brothers been in Morocco for 3 hours and I’m sure hes wondering why the hell he joined me, already. Herumph… We start walking with a little bit more pep in our step and after a few minutes our dear pal finds a new set of tourists to harass, but before he starts “guiding them” to the tannery he turns and shouts “F*** you Uh-mare-ee-can!”

Such lovely people, aren’t they? We laugh it off and continue exploring the Medina, but with a guard up this time.

Bath time…. All bets were off. There was no walls we could put up in the Hamam. We were vulnerable. But with risk comes reward!

A couple different people had told us separately about the “baths”… we were intrigued and decided to ask the guy at the hostel if he would help us find it and make sure we don’t get taken for a ride… He was glad to take us to the Hamam (Ha-mum)…  He told us to leave EVVVVERRRYYYTHING in our room so we would not get anything stolen while at the Hamam. He asked multiple times… “You left EVVERRRYYTHING in your room, right???” Now we were worried. We couldn’t stop laughing, but nervous laughter that it wasn’t the people at the Hamam that were going to rob us, but the guy at the hostel. After all it was his dinky lock on the door. The door to the room with our passports, money, computers, phones, MY CAMERA, all my lenses, everything we have while traveling was in that room.

I went back to the room and added another padlock I had for lockers at the hostels. I’m smarter than the average bear. B gave me fist pound when I told him what I had done, but we still couldn’t help but laugh about it the whole way there when he asked us yet again, “Now you left EVERYYYYTHINGGGG in your room right???” I couldn’t contain my laughter.

We didn’t know much of what we were getting ourselves into, so our faces when we walked in vs our faces when we walked out were a bit different, to say the least. A girl at the hostel told me “you’ve never been this clean in your whole life” and B said he heard you get down to your knickers and someone scrubs you “squeaky clean.” Both comments couldn’t have been more right. Girls to the girls side. Boys to the boys side. We nervously waved goodbye and went our separate ways. I walked down 2 stairs into a room that felt like an large empty locker room with tile floors, walls, and ceilings. The woman didn’t speak any English at all. She motioned for me to take my clothes off and then she did the same. There were other women just laying along a tile covered bench. One side had wood planks like in a sauna. There was a woman sitting in her towel relaxing. She was wearing gellies for shower shoes. I was standing in my bra and underwear when I looked up and realized I stood out more than all the naked women. I took my bra off and added it to my pile of clothing. Standing there crossing my arms across my chest, so embarrassed… My girl came over to me and took all my clothes except my cheeky underwear that i was not about to remove. I was uncomfortable enough as it was. Don’t they teach you guys that these are your privates???? Its supposed to PRIVATE!!! WHAT AM I DOING HERE…. She had 3 giant buckets in one hand and grabbed my wrist with her other hand to lead me into the scrub area. It was so muggy and steamy in the room. There were girls my age and old woman of all shapes and sizes in there sitting on the ground using water from their buckets to bathe. Some were bathing themselves and some were being scrubbed down by a professional. And believe me when I say… they are professionals! My pro scrubber pointed for me to sit. I sat on the hard cold tile cross legged covering my chest while she filled the three buckets full of scalding hot water. She lost about half the water in each of the buckets sloshing it everywhere while dragging them to our station. She started cleaning my arms, legs, and entire body with unscented soap. It was awkward. I didn’t know where to look. She was short with a large set of knockers that were flopping around. Should I close my eyes? Should I look ahead? Am I being rude? We cant communicate and even if we could… What would we say? Would we be having small talk while she cleans ever crevice of my bod? She massaged my scalp while shampooing my hair for what seemed like an eternity. It was heavenly. I was finally relaxing a bit when she dumped one of the buckets that had become luke warm on my head to rinse. She had to refill the buckets again before she began the real work. She motioned for me to roll over and lay down on my stomach on the tile floor. THE SCRUB. It felt like a rough mix of sandpaper and that silver stuff you use to clean pots and pans. She wasn’t holding back at all. She put more elbow grease in cleaning the dead skin off EVERY INCH of my body than I ever have cleaning a casserole dish after Thanksgiving dinner. Owe. Owe. Owe. Ohhhhh Dear…. There?!?! Owe. WHOAAA. She was stretching me in yoga poses I sadly hadn’t done in a couple weeks. And there was no regard for the underwear that I chose to keep on. Those weren’t about to keep her from cleaning my tush. She had a job to do. And By God, She was gonna do it to the best of her ability. Time stood still in the Hamam. It may have 2 hours or maybe 30 minutes. There’s no way of knowing. But what I do know is I was, albeit, somewhat shocked at the events of the afternoon, I WAS CLEAN! Squeaky clean, to be exact. We walked out and looked at each other and just started laughing. We had both experienced something that we will never forget. My brother was already thinking through how he could have someone in LA give him a traditional Hamam scrub every morning. (Preferably a female from here on out.) My ribs and chest bones were bruised and sore for a couple days from the depth of her scrubbing and pushing me into the tile floor. And to think we pay for this! Yet somehow, I am left with fond memories of the Hamam.

Casablanca

as much as i wanted to get in bed and sleep...it was daylight. gotta take advantage.

the guy at the front desk when i was checking in gave me a cute little map of casablanca and used a pink highlighter to show the main attractions, the mosque, train station, bus station, ricks cafe from the movie casablanca, etc. everything appeared very close. 

off to the mosque. after walking for about 30 minutes in what seemed to be the right direction (I could see the mosque the whole time) it was like an oasis. So close, yet so far... i didnt see one tourist in the near hour of walking there.  i was beginning to wonder. ummm... "HAYLO! WELCOME! WELCOME TO MOROCCO" "سلام"   (Salam: HI in Arabic) Lots of french and lots of arabic. both of which i known practically none. I lit up when a seldom few spoke spanish to me. a familiar language! 

((which made me realize how much i hate visiting places and not knowing the language... guess i better learn every language, because it definitely wont keep me from traveling.)) 

then the moment i got to the mosque i finally saw some tourists around. relief. there was an older gentleman wearing reef flip flops, plaid shorts, and a FILA tank top... He musssst speak english. i awkwardly stalked him for quite some time while we took in the beauty of the mosque (Together, even though he didnt know it) I lost him a couple times weaving in and out of the mosque then finally, my moment. 

"Where ya from?"

Australia! you?

California!

We chatted for a bit... Morgans on the tail end of a year away. He started in central america then went on to south america, europe, etc. He's just about ready to go home, but not before north korea, and a few other stops. 

Nice to meet you Morgan! 

we went our separate ways this time for good...

I read there wasnt much to see in casablanca but the mosque so if you were traveling through you should take the time so i had all day and i thought id seen all of the mosque i was going to see. i thought i would just lay on the steps like the flood of women, men and children who were all through the mosque. as i was laying there i looked up to see a girl about my age and same skin color walk by, we smiled at each other. it was refreshing. the moroccan kids were riding bikes, playing a dodgeball type game, and soccer right there in the middle of this beautiful landmark. i was taking it all in and snapping some photos when i noticed a few asian very obvious tourists walking down some stairs into the mosque.... i was intrigued. i was told the last tour was at 2pm and i didnt arrive at the hotel until 3. i stood up and followed the guys down the stairs of the mosque when i start hearing HEY!!! and some clapping... for a moment i thought, dont turn around. act like you know where youre going. confidence is key.... right? well i turn around to a man speaking arabic... i give him a blank stare, then he starts speaking french, nope. blank stare. (Ignorant american: here) right then a girl covered from head to toe in a traditional black muslim sahree grabs my arm, giggles, and says come on! she spoke great english. Zuni told me that was the stairs for men. oooooo. woops. she takes me around to another entrance where a woman stops us, points at me, and says no. Zuni starts explaining to me that its time for "Pryer" ((prayer)) and only muslims may enter. she takes me down another staircase on the side down to this room where there are women bathing themselves... she tells me we need to pray and bathe... umm okay!? lets do this. she gets me a stool and a bucket near one of the spouts of water and tells me we need to wash hands 3 times for "pryer", mouth 3 times, face 3 times, hair 3 times, arms 3 times, and feet 3 times. we shared this moment of bathing and prayer while cleansing ourselves. then she tried one more time to get me in for prayer. she tells the woman at this door that i am albanian. (thats all I understood)... she told the women she wanted to show me how prayer works. she wasnt buying it. muslim only! Zuni walked me out of the mosque, asked for my Facebook, hugged me, kissed both cheeks, and went back in for prayer. 

wow.

Hassan II Mosque was beautiful to see and take pictures of.... but THAT was awesome. 

my brother and i always joke that we will do anything if a good story might come of it. 

gotta be a go getter. even if it means trying to go in the mosque in the mens door. i gotta thank the asian tourists that were taking selfies in front of the mosque for inspiring me to get up and get on in there! I would have never met Zuni. 

i had met my satisfaction of seeing the mosque. i was ready to head back to the hotel, but was also getting hungry... i started heading back in what i thought was the same direction i came to get to the mosque and found myself right in the middle of medina... old market. it was wild. there was a table of huge fresh fish... like... reaaaalll fresh. eww. and tables upon tables of fresh veggies, all through these narrow alleys, once again. not another tourist in sight. i need to learn to blend in better :) my camera never helps me blend! one of the joys of being a photographer means you constantly look like a nerdy tourist. 

After turning around and getting back to the last familiar spot I remembered I took a different turn this time and ended up back in some medina alleyways again but a different scene this time. Camera across my body, but I didn’t take one photo. I was in such awe, I couldn’t even cover my eyes with a camera.

I was standing on the corner now realizing I was no where near my hotel when a girl about 16 years old in a purple satin dress said “are you lost?” I guess I stood out about as much as I felt like I did. I showed her the map from the hotel and she pointed me in the right direction. On my way back, I fell upon ricks café. It was one of the tourist traps I heard I needed to see while in Casablanca. Apparently its from the movie, Casablanca? I couldn’t confirm or deny this, since I’m fairly certain ive never seen it :-/ oops. But I stopped anyway. It was 6:24 and they were opening back up for dinner at 6:30. I waited on the stoop. 6:30 on the dot, they opened the door and said madam? And laughed at me... table for 1 please. When they opened the door and then a curtain into the restaurant I realized this wasn’t exactly a “café”… I was a bit underdressed and overly sweaty from traipsing all through Casablanca on foot all day, but they graciously sat me at a table upstairs. I ordered a mojito and signed into their wifi and thought I would keep me to myself and let everyone know I was safe and having a great time when they sat a girl at the table right next to me. Table for 1. It was the girl I saw at the mosque that exchanged a smile with me. We were instant friends. Hannah is also from Australia. She’s moving to Istanbul in a week for a study abroad program. We chatted for hours at the irony of our situation, seeing eachother at the mosque and sitting together at dinner. We laughed a lot and got to know each other. We shared travel stories and gave each other advice on other places we’ve been. What a nice way to end the day. As we got up to leave at the same time, we realized we were both staying at Hotel Central so we walked back to the hotel together and were both so glad to have a friend to walk back with since it was now dark leaving the restaurant.

Casablanca was a success.

Next stop Marrakech.

getting here

just as i was about to buy a train ticket tuesday morning i got a call from a dear family friend who always seems to save the day. clay said, "why dont i take you to lax?"

WHAT? You're here?!

I was thrilled to have a familiar face sending me off. 

monday and tuesday were filled with really tough goodbyes. i have the best friends a girl could ask for.

but ill be back soon enough

as soon as id like. 

i have to keep reminding myself when i get nervous about the duration of my time away... i only bought a one way ticket. i can go home whenever i want. 

but deep down i think I'm more scared of never wanting to leave! 

the first song that came on in the car on the 2+ hour drive to la.... just guess... 

its 1 of my probably top 5 all time favorite songs and oh how fitting...

Man in the Mirror. Thanks MJ. <3

LAX >> Istanbul: 12hours 51minutes

so elated about all the movies on the flight i hadnt seen and planned on knocking out... little did i know i would soon become a full on hospice nurse throughout the next 13 hours. i was sitting in row 53 out of 53 rows on the plane in a 2 person row right next to who i am guessing must be the oldest woman in the history of the world. she was dressed in full indian garb and sporting a mustache that would put my roommates march mustache madness to shame. i never caught her name, but shes from mumbai, india. her son lives in San francisco with his two kids and her daughter is in la with her two kids. she was telling me her daughter just had a baby and she was caring for the child for the week. now after sitting with her for 13 hours helping her put water in a cup, put her seat back, put her tray up, buckle her seatbelt, unbuckle her seatbelt, take her meds, turn her overhead light on, turn her overhead light off, turn her screen to the "computer" (the tv on the seat) off, I can assure you, this woman was in no condition to be caring for a newborn. her husband passed away in december of 2007, just a year after my dad. her kids want her to move to california,  its clear its time for her kids to start taking care of her, but she still feels at home in india. oh and i learned all that in the first 10 minutes of taking off. all hospice and mustache jokes aside, she was one of the kindest women ive ever met. so soft-spoken, polite, warm, and caring. my adopted grandma for sure.

We were supposed to land in Istanbul at 5pm, but we landed over an hour late then i proceeded to go through security to continuing flights, not realizing i actually needed to buy a visa and find the exit to the airport, unless i wanted to spend the next 16 hours in the terminal. by the time i got the visa and found the exit, i learned that turkish airlines was providing hotel rooms for everyone with the overnight layover. of course this took another hour + to get all our names and boarding passes to confirm our free room. i was exhausted seeing how i didnt sleep much while taking care of grandma. i fell asleep on my folded arms at the table of the starbucks waiting for them to call my name. MAZZZZO, BAR-BAR-O...???  I jolted right up! they herded us like sheep on to the shuttle and to the hotel. i fell asleep in the 5 minute ride to the hotel which i thought was about 30 minutes. then i fell asleep in the lobby while we had to wait once again for our name to be called. MASO, BARBA? i realized when i woke up that i had started drooling, mouth wide open in this awkward chair in the lobby. i hopped up skittishly while the families around me started to giggle. i got to the hotel room and took a second to connect to wifi and let everyone know i was in safe. i showered, and as much as i was dragging, i told myself i only have one night in istanbul. you can sleep when youre dead! GO OUT! plus... i was starving. i thought id venture out for some dinner and maybe hit one of the bars i read about online. by the time i showered and got dressed in my turkey appropriate clothing, i was off to the front desk to ask for a recommendation on a good place for dinner. it was 9pm. the girl at the front desk laughed at me and said "upstairs?" she said town was a 40 minute cab ride and "no maybe not safe you, just you, alone". she took what little wind i had right outta my sails. i went up to Olivelos, the hotel restaurant, to find some of the same families who caught me drooling earlier in a very well lit buffet style restaurant. the waiter asked me for my dinner voucher from turkish airlines. i didnt have one. they made a call then returned to me and said, only breakfast included. sigh. guess turkish airlines thought i could stand to skip a meal or two. i left olivelos hungry. I wasnt feeling the vibe anyway. i went to scope out the scene and menu at the hotel bar... after i sat there on a sofa for a while debating between a club sandwich with a fried egg on it or chicken fried rice, i was over it. i bailed on the bar scene. i scoped out the pool, was intrigued, then realized i didnt pack a suit in my carry on (my momma taught me better than that) and felt completely defeated. give it up elisa, you havent slept in days. i made it to the room and ordered pizza from the room service menu that consisted of 3 types of pizza. then fell asleep before the cute little turkish kid even had time to bring the dang thing. i woke up, scarfed it down, brushed my teeth, and slept for about 4 hours then was wide awake. thanks jet lag. 

Istanbul >> Morocco 6 hours

i kept telling myself that the plane gods would surely bless me with a smokin hot single guy for all my good deeds with grandma on the last flight... okay lets be real, id settle for anyone that speaks a lick of english at this point. 

creepy alex from ukraine spoke only russian. 

sigh. i need to sleep anyway. 

if youre one of those people who will shake the stranger next to you to wake them up every time a stewardess passes by.... i hate you.

i apologize for the harsh words. but CMON BRO. im not talking a polite tap on the shoulder. this was a violent shaken baby syndrome shake. a real good shoulder shake to notify me that he set the customs form in my lap, oh and another when the meal came (fine), oh and another when they were picking up the trays, then another when they came by with tasteless peanuts. noooo alex. no. just let me sleep. God knows I need it. 

the little english alex could muster was asking me if i could show him around morocco when we arrived. well seeing how ive never been i won't be much a tour guide, alex. also, um, no. 

i hung back and used the WC to ensure i lost alex. 

no visa needed in morocco. sweet. 

met a nice girl my age from turkey who was coming in for her friends wedding. a friend! she was hanging by my side every step of the way through customs, baggage claim, taxi lines, then POOF. her friend appeared and she disappeared. sigh. time to find a "TAKSI" to the hotel i havent booked...

"taxi?" "taxi?"

ya, im walking to the taxi line arent i? 

okay come this way... after about 20 steps in the direction opposite of the taxi line towards the parking lot, i said nope. thanks for the offer though. 

no no, cmon! My taxi parked right over here....

nope. creep.

then another guy approaches... TAXI OFFFFICCCIIIAAALLL???!!!!?? YESS???

yes. 

yes yess!!! come come! he escorts me 10 feet back to the taxi line where i get in the first taxi in the line and then he wont let me shut the door until i tip him.... CHIPSSS?? CHIPPSS??? 

im sure you mean tips. and i hate you.

exhausted, but thrilled to be in AFRICA, i tell the cabby, "Hotel Central" by the medina...

ummmm "OTEL CENTER?"

do you speak english?

ehhh.... medina? medina yes?

umm.... near medina?? HOTEL CEN-TRALLL

wait wait... he calls his bro on the celly and lets me talk to him who speaks perfect english. ooo hotel central? ya great, thats a good location by the mosque and medina. okay i will tell my brother.

40 minutes and $40 later. 

"no reservation? okieeeee dokie! okie dokie room 11 i think, yes???" 

I DONT CARE WHAT ROOM. JUST GET ME IN IT.

:))

sooo happy to be here. 

The Letter...

I sent this via email, but wanted to share here for anyone I missed! 

Dear friends and family… 

It has been about a year since you received one of these emails from me… Well, here I go again! Last year was Nepal and Dubai with Highland Park United Methodist Church in Dallas. I traveled with them as their official photographer to capture a women and children's ministry trip. 

This year it's Africa! I leave August 27, 2013! I will be traveling through Morocco first for 9 days just to explore, then on to Tanzania where the work begins! I will be volunteering about 7 months of my time to The Janada Batchelor Foundation for Children in Mwanza, Tanzania. 

Some of you may recall my parents fulfilling my life long dream of going to Africa since I was 2 years old. They always promised if they could afford it someday they would take me. Summer of 2006, a few months after high school graduation, it happened! It was 16 years of anxious anticipation and wonder of what might be in store for me in Africa. It was an incredible experience I will never forget. It was in Africa that I found my true passion for Humanitarian Photography. My life will never be the same. I know that God had called me to Africa for a reason. That summer was just a taste of what's in store for me. 

I met Chris Gates and his grandmother, Janada, in August of 2006 when my mom and I stayed in Africa longer than the rest of the family after our amazing Safari vacation. We helped at an all boys dorm in Mwanza painting and planting trees, etc. My love for those boys was something I had never felt before. They were the happiest kids I had ever met and they had less than anyone else I had ever met. They have forever changed me. I will always remember them and their sweet smiles and laughter. From then on I decided that when you have nothing, you appreciate everything. I want that for myself and my future family. 

I am so thrilled to have the opportunity to go help Chris and JBFC, back where it all began… Mwanza, where I fell in love with Africa and its people.

Please take a moment to look at JBFC's website and read about what they are doing and donate! http://www.jbfc-online.org

It is my hope that my images from Tanzania will draw attention to, help educate, and so assist in funding future endeavors for JBFC. 

As many of you may know my goal in life is to travel the world and bring awareness through my images. Through Elisa Marie Photography with photos from Nepal, this move to Africa, and future travels all over the world, I will be well on my way.

If you have not seen the images from Nepal, you can see some on my website… www.elisamariephoto.com 

Follow along on my blog as I work in Tanzania and also travel through Morocco, Uganda, Mozambique, Zimbabwe, Namibia, and South Africa. 

http://sabatticalsally.blogspot.com

Thank you for all your prayers, love, and support. 

Elisa Masso

Elisa Marie Photography

www.elisamariephoto.com

www.facebook.com/elisamariephoto